The following afternoon, despite the dowager Countess of Winstead’s insistence that she did not wish to let her newly returned son out of her sight, Daniel made his way over to Pleinsworth House. He did not tell his mother where he was going; she would surely have insisted upon accompanying him. Instead, he told her that he had legal matters to attend to, which was true. A gentleman could not return from a three-year trip abroad without having to visit at least one solicitor. But it just so happened that the law office of Streatham and Ponce was only two miles in the opposite direction of Pleinsworth House. A mere trifle, really, and who could say that he wouldn’t suddenly take it upon himself to visit his young cousins? It was an idea that could come to a man as easily in a carriage riding through the city as anywhere else.
The Pleinsworths’ back entrance, for example.
Or the entire time he’d walked himself home.
Or in bed. He’d lain awake half the night thinking of the mysterious Miss Wynter—the curve of her cheek, the scent of her skin. He was bewitched, he freely admitted it, and he told himself that it was because he was so happy to be home. It made perfect sense that he’d find himself enchanted by such a lovely example of English womanhood.
And so after a grueling two-hour appointment with Messrs. Streatham, Ponce, and Beaufort-Graves (who apparently hadn’t quite managed to get his name on the door yet), Daniel directed his driver to Pleinsworth House. He did want to see his cousins.
He just wanted to see their governess more.
His aunt was not at home, but his cousin Sarah was, and she greeted him with a delighted cry and a warm hug. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you’d returned?” she demanded. She drew back, blinking as she got a good look at his face. “And what happened to you?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut in with “And don’t tell me you were attacked by footpads, because I heard all about Marcus’s blackened eyes last night.”
“He looks worse than I do,” Daniel confirmed. “And as for why your family did not tell you I was back, they did not know. I did not want my arrival to interrupt the concert.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” she said wryly.
He looked down at her with affection. She was the same age as his sister, and growing up, it had often seemed that she’d spent as much time in his household as in her own. “Indeed,” he murmured. “I watched from the rehearsal room. Imagine my surprise to see a stranger at the piano.”
She put a hand to her heart. “I was ill.”
“I am relieved to see that you’ve made a speedy recovery from death’s door.”
“I could barely remain upright yesterday,” she insisted.
“Really.”
“Oh, indeed. The vertigo, you know.” She flicked her hand in the air, as if waving away her words. “It’s a terrible burden.”
“I’m sure people who suffer from it think so.”
Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she said, “But enough of me. I assume you heard Honoria’s splendid news?”
He followed her into the drawing room and took a seat. “That she is soon to be Lady Chatteris? Indeed.”
“Well, I am happy for her, even if you are not,” Sarah said with a sniff. “And don’t say that you are, because your injuries say otherwise.”
“I’m overjoyed for them both,” he said firmly. “This”—his hand twirled before his face—“was merely a misunderstanding.”
She gave him a dubious look, but all she said was, “Tea?”
“I would be delighted.” He stood as she rose to ring for it. “Tell me, are your sisters at home?”
“Up in the schoolroom. Do you wish to see them?”
“Of course,” he said immediately. “They will have grown so much in my absence.”
“They’ll be down soon,” Sarah said, returning to the sofa. “Harriet has spies all over the house. Someone will alert them to your arrival, I’m sure.”
“Tell me,” he said, sitting back into a casual position, “who was that at the piano last night?”
She looked at him curiously.
“In your stead,” he added unnecessarily. “Because you were ill.”
“That was Miss Wynter,” she replied. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She is my sisters’ governess.”
“How fortuitous that she could play.”
“A happy accident indeed,” Sarah said. “I had feared the concert would be canceled.”
“Your cousins would have been so disappointed,” he murmured. “But this . . . what was her name again? Miss Wynter?”
“Yes.”
“She knew the piece?”
Sarah leveled a frank stare in his direction. “Apparently so.”
He nodded. “I should think the family owes the talented Miss Wynter a rousing round of thanks.”
“She has certainly earned my mother’s gratitude.”
“Has she been your sisters’ governess for long?”
“About a year. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just curiosity.”
“Funny,” she said slowly, “you’ve never been curious about my sisters before.”
“That’s certainly not true.” He tried to gauge how affronted he ought to appear at such a comment. “They are my cousins.”
“You have an abundance of cousins.”
“All of whom I missed while abroad. Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.”
“Oh, stop,” Sarah finally said, looking as if she’d like to throw up her hands in disgust. “You are fooling no one.”
“I beg your pardon?” Daniel murmured, even though he had a feeling his goose was cooked.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Do you think you are the first person to notice that our governess is absurdly gorgeous?”
He was about to think up some dry rejoinder, but he could see that Sarah was about to say, And don’t say you haven’t noticed . . . , so instead he said, quite plainly, “No.”
Because really, there was no point in saying otherwise. Miss Wynter had the kind of beauty that stopped men in their tracks. It was not a quiet sort of thing, like his sister, or Sarah, for that matter. They were both perfectly lovely, but one didn’t really notice just how much until one got to know them. Miss Wynter, on the other hand . . .
A man would have to be dead not to notice her. More than dead, if such a thing were possible.
Sarah sighed, with equal parts exasperation and resignation. “It would be most tiresome if she weren’t so very nice.”
“Beauty does not have to be accompanied by a bad character.”
She snorted. “Someone has grown quite philosophical while on the Continent.”
“Well, you know, those Greeks and Romans. They do rub off on you.”
Sarah laughed. “Oh, Daniel, do you want to ask me about Miss Wynter? Because if you do, just say so.”
He leaned forward. “Tell me about Miss Wynter.”
“Well.” Sarah leaned forward. “There’s not much to tell.”
“I may throttle you,” he said mildly.
“No, it’s true. I know very little about her. She’s not my governess, after all. I think she might be from somewhere in the north. She came with a reference from a family in Shropshire. And another from the Isle of Man.”
“The Isle of Man?” he asked in disbelief. He didn’t think he knew anyone who’d even seen the Isle of Man. It was a fiendishly remote spot, hard to get to and with very bad weather. Or so he’d been told.
“I asked her about it once,” Sarah said with a shrug. “She told me it was quite bleak.”
“I would imagine.”
“She does not talk about her family, although I think I heard her mention a sister once.”
“Does she receive correspondence?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. And if she posts any, she does not do it from here.”
He looked at her with a bit of surprise.
“Well, I would have noticed at some point,” she said defensively. “At any rate, I shall not permit you to bother Miss Wynter.”
“I’m not going to bother her.”
“Oh, you are. I see it in your eyes.”
He leaned forward. “You’re quite dramatic for someone who avoids the stage.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”
“Merely that you are the picture of health.”
She let out a ladylike snort. “Do you think to blackmail me? I wish you luck with that. No one believes I was ill, anyway.”
“Even your mother?”
Sarah drew back.
Checkmate.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Daniel paused, the better to draw this out. Sarah’s teeth were clenched just splendidly, and he rather thought that if he waited long enough, steam might emerge from her ears.
“Daniel . . .” she ground out.
He tilted his head as if pondering the point. “Aunt Charlotte would be so disappointed to think that her daughter was shirking her musical duties.”
“I already asked you, what do you— Oh, never mind.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as if about to pacify a three-year-old. “I might have overheard Miss Wynter this morning, planning to take Harriet, Elizabeth, and Frances for a constitutional walk in Hyde Park.”
He smiled. “Have I told you recently that you are one of my very favorite cousins?”
“We are even now,” she warned him. “If you say a word to my mother . . .”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“She’s already threatened to take me to the country for a week. For rest and recuperation.”
He swallowed a chuckle. “She’s concerned about you.”
“I suppose it could be worse,” Sarah said with a sigh. “I actually prefer the country, but she says we must go all the way to Dorset. I’ll spend the entire time in the carriage, and then I really will be ill.”
Sarah did not travel well. She never had.
“What is Miss Wynter’s Christian name?” Daniel asked. It seemed remarkable that he didn’t know it.
“You can discover that for yourself,” Sarah retorted.
He decided to allow her the point, but before he could say anything, Sarah turned her head sharply toward the door. “Ah, perfect timing,” she said, cutting through his words. “I do believe I hear someone coming down the stairs. Who could it possibly be, I wonder.”
Daniel stood. “My dear young cousins, I’m sure.” He waited until he saw one of them gallop past by the open doorway, then called out, “Oh, Harriet! Elizabeth! Frances!”
“Don’t forget Miss Wynter,” Sarah muttered.
The one who had walked past backed up and peered in. It was Frances, but she did not recognize him.
Daniel felt a pang in his chest. He had not expected this. And if he had, he wouldn’t have thought it would make him feel quite so wistful.
But Harriet was older. She had been twelve when he’d left for the Continent, and when she poked her head into the drawing room, she shrieked his name and came running in.
“Daniel!” she said again. “You’re back! Oh, you’re back you’re back you’re back.”
“I’m back,” he confirmed.
“Oh, it is so lovely to see you. Frances, it’s Cousin Daniel. You remember him.”
Frances, who looked to be about ten now, let out a dawning, “Oooooh. You look quite different.”
“No, he doesn’t,” remarked Elizabeth, who had come into the room behind them.
“I’m trying to be polite,” Frances said out of the corner of her mouth.
Daniel laughed. “Well, you look different, that’s for certain.” He bent down and gave her a friendly chuck on the chin. “You’re nearly grown.”
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t say that,” Frances said modestly.
“She’ll say everything else, though,” Elizabeth said.
Frances whipped her head around like a shot. “Stop that!”
“What happened to your face?” Harriet asked.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Daniel said smoothly, wondering how long it might take for his bruises to heal. He did not think he was particularly vain, but the questions were growing tiresome.
“A misunderstanding?” Elizabeth echoed. “With an anvil?”
“Oh, stop,” Harriet admonished her. “I think he looks very dashing.”
“As if he dashed into an anvil.”
“Pay her no attention,” Harriet said to him. “She lacks imagination.”
“Where is Miss Wynter?” Sarah asked loudly.
Daniel gave her a smile. Good old Sarah.
“I don’t know,” Harriet said, glancing first over one shoulder and then the other. “She was right behind us coming down the stairs.”
“One of you should fetch her,” Sarah said. “She’ll want to know why you’ve been delayed.”
“Go on, Frances,” Elizabeth said.
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because you do.”
Frances stomped off, grumbling mightily.
“I want to hear all about Italy,” Harriet said, her eyes sparkling with youthful excitement. “Was it terribly romantic? Did you see that tower everyone says is going to fall over?”
He smiled. “No, I didn’t, but I’m told it’s more stable than it looks.”
“And France? Were you in Paris?” Harriet let out a dreamy sigh. “I should love to see Paris.”
“I should love to shop in Paris,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, yes.” Harriet looked as if she might swoon at the prospect. “The dresses.”
“I wasn’t in Paris,” he told them. No need to add that he couldn’t have gone to Paris. Lord Ramsgate had too many friends there.
“Maybe we won’t have to go for our walk now,” Harriet said hopefully. “I’d much rather stay here with Cousin Daniel.”
“Ah, but I would rather enjoy the sunshine,” he said. “Perhaps I will accompany you to the park.”
Sarah snorted.
He looked over. “Something in your throat, Sarah?”
Her eyes were pure sarcasm. “I’m sure it’s related to whatever it was that befell me yesterday.”
“Miss Wynter says she’ll wait for us in the mews,” Frances announced, trotting back into the room.
“The mews?” Elizabeth echoed. “We’re not riding.”
Frances shrugged. “She said the mews.”
Harriet let out a delighted gasp. “Maybe she has formed a tendre for one of the stableboys.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Elizabeth scoffed. “One of the stableboys? Really.”
“Well, you must admit, it would be very exciting if she had.”
“For whom? Not for her. I don’t think any of them even know how to read.”
“Love is blind,” Harriet quipped.
“But not illiterate,” Elizabeth retorted.
Daniel choked out a laugh despite himself. “Shall we be off?” he asked, giving the girls a polite bow. He held out his arm to Frances, who took it with an arch look directed at her sisters.
“Have a jolly time!” Sarah called out. Insincerely.
“What’s wrong with her?” Elizabeth asked Harriet as they headed out to the mews.
“I think she’s still upset about having missed the concert,” Harriet replied. She looked over at Daniel. “Did you hear that Sarah missed the musicale?”
“I did,” he confirmed. “Vertigo, was it?”
“I thought it was a head cold,” Frances said.
“Stomach ailment,” Harriet said with certainty. “But it was no matter. Miss Wynter”—she turned toward Daniel—“that’s our governess,” she added, her head bobbing back to her sisters, “was brilliant.”
“She took Sarah’s part,” Frances said.
“I don’t think she wanted to,” Elizabeth added. “Mother had to be quite forceful.”
“Nonsense,” Harriet cut in. “Miss Wynter was heroic from the start. And she did a very good job. She missed one of her entrances, but other than that, she was superb.”
Superb? Daniel allowed himself a mental sigh. There were many adjectives to describe Miss Wynter’s piano skills, but superb was not one of them. And if Harriet thought so . . .
Well, she was going to fit right in when it came time for her to play in the quartet.
“I wonder what she’s doing in the mews?” Harriet said as they stepped out behind the house. “Go fetch her, Frances.”
Frances let out an indignant puff of air. “Why do I have to?”
“Because you do.”
Daniel released Frances’s arm. He wasn’t going to argue with Harriet; he wasn’t sure he could speak quickly enough to win. “I will wait right here, Frances,” he told her.
Frances stomped off, only to return a minute later. Alone.
Daniel frowned. This would not do.
“She said she would be with us in a moment,” Frances informed them.
“Did you tell her that Cousin Daniel is going to join us?” Harriet asked.
“No, I forgot.” She shrugged. “She won’t mind.”
Daniel was not so sure about that. He was fairly certain that Miss Wynter had known he was in the drawing room (hence her rapid flight to the mews), but he did not think she realized that he intended to accompany them to the park.
It was going to be a lovely outing. Jolly, even.
“What do you suppose is taking her so long?” Elizabeth asked.
“She’s only been a minute,” Harriet replied.
“Well, now, that’s not true. She was in there at least five minutes before we arrived.”
“Ten,” Frances put in.
“Ten?” Daniel echoed. They were making him dizzy.
“Minutes,” Frances explained.
“It wasn’t ten.”
He wasn’t sure who’d spoken that time.
“Well, it wasn’t five.”
Or that time.
“We can settle for eight, but I think it’s inaccurate.”
“Why do you talk so quickly?” Daniel had to ask.
They paused, all three of them, and regarded him with similarly owlish expressions.
“We’re not talking quickly,” Elizabeth said.
Added Harriet: “We always talk this way.”
And then finally Frances informed him, “Everyone else understands us.”
It was remarkable, Daniel thought, how three young girls could reduce him to speechlessness.
“I wonder what’s taking Miss Wynter so long,” Harriet mused.
“I’ll get her this time,” Elizabeth declared, shooting a look at Frances that said she found her to be ineffectual in the extreme.
Frances just shrugged.
But just as Elizabeth reached the entrance to the mews, out stepped the lady in question, looking very much like a governess in her practical dove gray day dress and matching bonnet. She was pulling on her gloves, frowning at what Daniel could only imagine was a hole in the seam.
“This must be Miss Wynter,” he said loudly, before she saw him.
She looked up but quickly masked her alarm.
“I have heard such splendid things about you,” he said in a grand voice, stepping forward to offer her his arm. When she took it—reluctantly, he was sure—he leaned down and murmured, so that only she could hear, “Surprised?”