Chapter Nine

H e could have asked her to stand on her head and recite the alphabet backward, and it wouldn't have been as shocking. It was so shocking, in fact, that her entire body began to quake. Had it not been for him reaching out to steady her, she would have fallen to her knees.

"You cannot possibly be serious," she protested.

"Why could I not? These past weeks, I have been unable to think of anything but you," he said. "Perhaps that isn't the sort of declaration you would wish for. I'm not a man who is very good with words or expressing his feelings. But you are my obsession—in my mind morning, noon, and night."

"That isn't love."

"Is love a requirement for marriage?" he asked. "There are many very happy marriages where the vows come before the sentiments."

Philippa shook her head. "And those marriages are typically favorable either socially or financially. You can marry down for wealth. You can marry up for social standing. But to marry in a way where you will be losing both financial and social opportunities is madness."

"Then I am mad. And happily so. Marry me, Philippa."

"There are things about me you do not know!" And if he did know them, she thought, he would likely change his mind.

"Do you know everything about me? Of course not. We all have pasts, Philippa. All of us. I've done many things in my life I am not proud of. But dishonoring you will not be one of them. And we clearly cannot avoid one another forever when we share the same roof."

She wanted to say yes. He was offering her something she'd only ever dreamed of but never expected to have. A home and family of her own was within arm's reach, but she was too frightened to accept it. What would Effie do in her shoes? She'd be brave enough to risk it, Philippa realized.

"I've done something horrible," she said abruptly. "And I cannot in good conscience accept your proposal unless you are fully informed of the matter."

"Whatever it is, it changes nothing about my intentions or my hopes."

Philippa shook her head. "My letter of recommendation was a forgery. My last employer would never have given me a reference because I very nearly blinded her son."

"The child you were caring for?"

"Oh, heavens no. Her very adult son. Well, late-adolescent son. He was quite determined in his advances, and I was equally determined not to be his conquest... and I struck him with the fireplace poker, and it cut his face. Here." She held up her hand to gesture diagonally across her eye. "It was quite gruesome and bled horribly. The whole house was in an uproar and he, along with his mother, was threatening to see me imprisoned and possibly transported for it—so, I ran. And I didn't think I could get much further from London than Yorkshire, and your advertisement was like a godsend."

"A godsend that brought you to a place where you see spirits roaming the halls? I shouldn't think you would view it as such. While the lie is not ideal, under the circumstances it is quite understandable," he offered reasonably. "And for what it's worth, he should have been taken out and whipped by his mother rather than her turning on you."

Philippa nodded in agreement, but she was entirely stunned by the ease with which he'd taken what she'd assumed would be the nail in the proverbial coffin. "He is a lord. Or will be when his father passes on. Sadly, the rules are very different when titles are involved."

"So, they are. But lord or not, he will have no authority over you when we are married. I may not have a title, but I do have a significant fortune, and I have found that wealth can speak as loud as privilege when one knows how to wield it."

Philippa was stunned by the fact that he was so ready to defend her based on nothing more than her word. It was a rare thing to be sure. "I would be very pleased to accept your proposal. You are quite remarkable... Devon?"

"As are you. Now, let us go and speak with Elizabeth. I have the feeling she will be quite happy to hear our news."

*

"There is something that Miss Thomas and I wish to discuss with you."

Elizabeth's face fell. "Don't send her away! I don't want another governess! I don't want someone who'll be mean and hateful as Miss Hawley was!"

"That isn't what this is about, Elizabeth. In fact, what we wish to discuss with you would have Miss Thomas here with us… permanently. We wish to be married. No, we will be married," Devon stated firmly. "I simply did not wish for you to be shocked or upset by the turn of events."

The room was so terribly quiet that a pin dropping would have sounded like a thunderclap. Then, with complete abandon, Elizabeth rose and hurled herself at Philippa, wrapping her arms around her waist and clinging to her.

"You'll stay forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever," Philippa promised her. "But you must tell me... the ghost you saw in your room, was it Miss Hawley?"

Elizabeth drew back and nodded. "I wanted to tell Uncle Devon, but Mrs. Baynard said I would be punished."

"Why would she do such a thing?" Devon demanded.

Philippa rose, still stroking Elizabeth's hair and letting the girl cling to her. "Is there some relation between them? Was Miss Hawley a family member of Mrs. Baynard's?"

He didn't know the answer to that, but he meant to find out. And afterward, he'd send Mrs. Baynard packing. It was one thing to tolerate her smugness and her apparent disapproval of everything he did. It was quite another to ignore the fact that she willfully covered up that his niece was being abused before Miss Hawley's supposed death, and was now forcing that child to now live in fear of what everyone had presumed was a dead woman.

But before he could do anything else, there was the matter of a marriage license to attend to. Given the scandalous situation in which they continuously found themselves and Philippa's fears regarding her previous employer, expedience seemed to be the order of the day.