Chapter One

L ong past the afternoon hour when she should have arrived, Miss Philippa Thomas entered his study, and he felt the world shift beneath his feet.

Devon Falconer stared at the pretty governess with no small amount of consternation. He had not imagined that when he hired her based on nothing more than a letter of inquiry she would be—well, her. Temptation personified. From the raven tresses that travel had tousled to the slightly worn and muddy boots that covered her feet, she was a complication he had not foreseen. And he was well and truly stuck. No one local would take the position, and there had been little interest from the advertisements he'd placed in papers in Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool, or London and beyond. She was the only taker whose correspondence had indicated even a small degree of education that would make her appropriate for the position. But there was a part of him, after seeing her, that hoped she would be entirely unsuitable.

"Tell me again, Miss Thomas, about your qualifications."

She nodded. "Certainly, sir. I'm a graduate of the Darrow School for Girls. A well-respected institution that prides itself on turning out the finest governesses and companions in all of England. In order to graduate, one must be proficient in French, reading, writing, and arithmetic, have a firm grasp on scientific principles, and be able to offer instruction on rudimentary Latin... and barring extraordinary circumstances, I am quite punctual."

And all of those skills were precisely what he'd been hoping for when hiring a governess. He needed someone to teach Elizabeth while also providing some comfort for the very lonely little girl. "Of course. The train service is quite new, and there are issues as yet with its reliability. You need not worry about tardiness. I must tell you, Miss Thomas, my niece is a peculiar child."

"All children are peculiar in their own way, Mr. Falconer. Does Elizabeth like to play with dolls or sing?"

He shrugged. "I wish I knew, Miss Thomas, I truly do. Alas, she is very quiet and has been, from what I understand, since her mother died." He could make that assertion based only on what had been reported to him by others. And Mrs. Baynard, the housekeeper, was only too happy—or perhaps satisfied, as he didn't see the woman as being capable of actual happiness—to tell him all the ways in which Elizabeth was strange, unusual, peculiar, and likely mad.

"Grief can be quite consuming, my lord. Even for young children. It is something that I certainly understood all too well. I lost my own parents when I was very young."

If there had existed any doubt for him that she was the right choice to be Elizabeth's governess, that would have effectively squelched it. And it didn't matter—couldn't matter—how pretty she looked in her blue traveling dress with her black hair attempting to escape from beneath her prim bonnet. "You had other family?"

"No, sir. I did not. Miss Euphemia Darrow, now the Duchess of Clarenden, took me in as her ward and saw to my education. It's something she did for any number of young girls in similar situations."

He'd heard all about the Darrow School. Everybody had. It was the very reason he'd been so pleased when she replied to his advertisement for a governess for his young and very troubled niece. "I am very sorry for the loss of your family, Miss Thomas. It's a particular kind of agony to lose one's parents so young." And that was his decision made. Elizabeth needed her.

"Does Elizabeth have any family other than you, sir?"

"She does. My aunt. Her great-aunt, Vera Winthrop. She lives in Bath, and we see her infrequently. Alas, Aunt Vera is... well, she gets on much better with adults. Children are a puzzle to her. Perhaps because she never had her own."

Miss Thomas nodded. "I see." Her response seemed to be a bit incongruous. Outwardly, it was simply an acknowledgment of that information, but there was something in her tone that hinted at an uneasiness.

"If you'd be more comfortable, Miss Thomas, I can write to my aunt and ask her to come for an extended visit. At least until you feel more secure in your surroundings." The presence of another female in the house, one of her station or higher, would offer some peace of mind, no doubt, regardless of the nature of her fears. It was hardly convenient to summon his aunt, but it would be more inconvenient to hire yet another governess.

"No, Mr. Falconer, that will not be necessary. Your willingness to make such an effort for my comfort is remarkably gracious and much appreciated, but not required. This will not be the first bachelor household I have worked in. It is simply the most remote."

Had there been any question about whether or not she was entirely off limits, that would have answered it. His inconvenient attraction was just that—an inconvenience. "I'll have Mrs. Baynard show you to your room and then once you're settled and I've had a chance to speak with Elizabeth, I'll introduce you to her."

*

He was too young and far too handsome. He was also a gentleman. There had been no leering glances, no suggestive double entendres. He'd been cordial and had spoken only of things that were pertinent to his niece. So why then, as she followed the waspish Mrs. Baynard up the sweeping staircase, was she still obsessing about every single second of their interaction?

"Mrs. Baynard, how old is Peregrine Hall?"

"The main part of the castle was constructed in the 1300s. There have been additions over the years, some in the 16th century, some as recently as the past century. But you'll not go exploring. You'll stick to your room, the girl's room, and the schoolroom. You may, if you intend to take the child outside, utilize the staircase, the entry hall, and exit with her through the kitchens. Servants, Miss Thomas, know their place in this house."

Giving up any hope of civil discourse, Philippa lapsed into silence until they reached the door to her chambers. Once there, she deposited her cases inside.

"Elizabeth is just across the hall," the housekeeper informed her stonily. "I will make the introductions."

Following the rail-thin woman once more, Philippa found herself in the nursery. Like much of Peregrine Hall, it was very dark, but attempts had been made to provide a cheery environment. There were dolls and toys of every variety about the room, and the little girl was seated at a small table, scribbling on a slate with chalk. She was too young to write properly, but it was apparent that she was quite desperate to do so.

"Elizabeth, this is your new governess, Miss Thomas. You will mind her, and she will mind me. Is that understood?"

The little girl nodded, and all but whispered, "Yes, Mrs. Baynard."

"Dinner will be in one hour," the housekeeper said and then immediately left, her heavy black skirts swishing like a cat's tail as she did so.

Once they were alone, Philippa offered the child a smile. "What is it that you are writing, Elizabeth?"

"A letter," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "To Miss Hawley."

Philippa pulled out one of the small chairs, "May I?" The little girl nodded, and Philippa sat. "Who is Miss Hawley?"

"My governess before," the little girl replied absently.

Curious, Philippa probed further. "Before what?"

The child halted her writing and looked up. "Before you, Miss Thomas."

"You liked Miss Hawley, didn't you?"

The little girl nodded though somewhat hesitantly.

Hoping to get more than a silent gesture or a few-words answer, Philippa continued. "Why did she leave? Miss Hawley?"

Elizabeth's gaze was terrifyingly mature in such a young face. But it was her very succinct and matter-of-fact answer that was the most disturbing. "She didn't leave, Miss Thomas. She died."