The next morning, Thea dressed hurriedly, eager to see Edmund again. Once she’d tightened her front-lacing corset, arranged her petticoats, and buttoned the nicer of her two dark, plain gowns, she coiled her hair in a simple plaited bun and set out from her chamber.

The great hall was empty. Perhaps Edmund had already broken his fast? She crossed to the north tower stairs and headed for his study, supposing that was the next most likely place to find him, even this early. He’d been working so hard in the near-month since Thea’s arrival. Now that she understood just how harmful the clearances would be—had already been, especially to Lady Clarissa—she knew why he spent so much time poring over his papers.

Thea swung open the study door, her heart already leaping in anticipation of seeing his handsome face.

“Edmund, I thought today Lady Clarissa and I could—”

She pulled up short. The man sitting behind the large oak desk wasn’t Edmund—it was Selfridge.

“Ah, Miss Reynolds,” Selfridge said, leaning back in Edmund’s chair. “I’m afraid Lord Kinfallon—or Edmund, as you so familiarly call him—had to see to a small matter at one of the crofts early this morning. Mrs. MacDuffy showed me in here to wait.” His dark blue eyes grew sharp. “Perhaps we can wait together.”

Unease rippled through her. What was it about Selfridge that reminded her of a snake? He bore no forked tongue, no unblinking, vertically slitted eyes, yet he seemed to slither as he rose from Edmund’s chair and moved around the desk.

“You see, I have something very particular to inform Lord Kinfallon,” he said, stepping closer. “But now that I think on it, perhaps you are the person I should speak to regarding this…matter.”

Thea’s mouth went dry. Cold foreboding swept through her. She turned to exit the study, but Selfridge darted forward, closing the door with one hand even as he loomed in front of her, effectively trapping her between his body and the door.

“It might be less messy this way,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Less of a scene.” He looked down at her, his gaze frostily assessing. “Yes, I think this will be far cleaner. You see, Miss Reynolds, the particular matter I came to discuss with Lord Kinfallon is actually regarding you.”

“Me?” Thea murmured. Her mind screamed at her to move, to find her spine, to put Selfridge in his place, yet a terrible sense of dread seemed to weigh her limbs.

A sly smile that didn’t touch his eyes lifted his thin lips. “Yes, indeed. I had a friend in London look into you, Miss Reynolds—or should I say, Miss Tynham?”

Thea’s stomach plummeted. Before she could speak, though, Selfridge went on.

“But that isn’t quite right, is it? Your father didn’t give you his name, since you were bastard-born. Lord Tynham’s name carries a fair bit of weight in London, but it wouldn’t do to give it to a child borne of a whore.”

The study seemed to tilt on its side. Thea’s vision clouded as she felt herself beginning to fall. Selfridge’s bony fingers suddenly dug into her upper arm, holding her up and giving her a shake.

“Now, let’s see if I remember this right. Reynolds was a distant cousin’s name. No, that’s not it.” He snapped the fingers of his free hand, drawing her partially out of her stunned torpor. “An aunt. Yes, that’s right. A childless aunt’s name, which you took to give yourself enough respectability to pass yourself off as a governess.”

“I…I am a governess,” Thea mumbled, willing her eyes to focus on Selfridge. Think! her mind screamed, but everything was happening too fast.

“You are a bastard,” Selfridge sneered, “and the daughter of a whore and a nobleman who couldn’t keep his trousers fastened. Yet you presented yourself as a respectable young lady, inserted yourself into noblemen’s homes.” He paused for effect. “Taught those noblemen’s children. You see how this looks, don’t you?”

Yes, she did. She knew exactly how it looked, and what would happen to her if anyone ever found out. She would never find work again. No one would hire a governess, who was supposed to be a model of propriety to young children, if she was bastard-born and had lied about her pedigree.

Her mind skittered back to what Selfridge had said earlier.

“And,” she said, swallowing hard, “you plan to tell Lord Kinfallon this?”

“It is my duty as his friend to look after his wellbeing,” Selfridge said. “I cannot stand by knowing that a deceiver, a liar, and a woman of immoral character is living under his roof, spending time with his sister.” He let his gaze sweep slowly over her, making her skin prick with revulsion. “Especially not when that woman has clearly used her charms to cloud the earl’s judgment. What must you have done to earn the right to call him by his Christian name? Dropped to your knees before him? Spread your legs like your whore mother?”

Selfridge’s cruel words were like a splash of ice water over Thea’s face.

“Why are you doing this?” she ground out, glaring at Selfridge. “And do not say friendship for Edmund, for we both know that is a lie.”

He stepped back at last, tilting his sandy head. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. I have been angling for the earl to take up a business venture with me.”

“I know about your business,” Thea practically spat. “What does that have to do with my past?”

“The earl was close to agreeing to my plan,” Selfridge replied. “Until you arrived. You have created quite the problem for me.”

So that was it. Selfridge sought to drive her away so that Edmund would sink once more under the weight of caring for his sister while also trying to manage the estate. Selfridge was counting on being able to destroy Edmund—by destroying her.

And he could—or at least he could ruin Thea forever, obliterating her ability to ever find paying work as a governess again. She would be forced to go to the workhouse. That reality loomed before her. Some women could work in factories or mills for years, managing through careful effort to walk the knife’s edge between respectable living and destitute poverty. Others, however, became sick and lost their position, or their wages were lowered until they could not afford enough food to fill their bellies. Some even died in accidents or from the diseases that tore through the workhouses like flames over dry kindling.

As if his sharp eyes could read the frantic inner workings of her mind, Selfridge rubbed his chin. “Of course, it need not be the end for you. Go quietly from Kinfallon and I see no reason to make your origins known beyond this keep. You could return to England, find another position—just not here.”

Thea’s stomach turned over even as her heart squeezed painfully. If she left, she would be abandoning Lady Clarissa—and deserting Edmund knowing that he might be forced to bend under Selfridge’s clearance scheme.

But Clarissa was far more stable than when Thea had arrived. And Edmund had caught up on all the estate matters he’d left unattended for so long. Perhaps even without Thea, Clarissa would carry on with her new routines, and Edmund could attend to his responsibilities. Did they even need her anymore?

She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. Whether or not they needed her, she had begun to let herself hope that they wanted her—that Edmund wanted her, and for more than a few stolen kisses. Yes, he’d told her he was coming to care deeply for her.

Yet whom did he truly care for—Miss Thea Reynolds, proper English governess, or Thea, bastard child of Lord Henry Tynham, liar and deceiver?

“Go,” Selfridge urged, interrupting her swirling thoughts. “It will be far easier this way—for both you and Lord Kinfallon. You needn’t face him and explain how you deceived him.”

Something cracked inside Thea’s chest. She’d been a fool to hope that she could escape the truth, a fool to hope that this fairytale could last.

“Go,” Selfridge said again, more insistently this time. “My carriage is waiting at the inn. You can take it as far south as Inverness. Start over, Miss Reynolds, and forget that you ever came to Kinfallon.”

Tears burning in her eyes, Thea gave Selfridge one swift nod before spinning on her heels and rushing from the study. Head down, she hurried up the south tower stairs to her chamber. The sight of her paltry possessions stilled her for a moment.

She would have to send for her trunk. Or would she? She possessed nothing of value. That was the truth of it—she was valueless.

Snatching up her cloak and bonnet, she turned her back on the rest. Clarissa could keep her gothic novels. Her other dress and the few assorted items she had were worth next to nothing. Heart throbbing against her ribs, she quit the chamber and hurried down the stairs.

As she crossed the great hall toward the keep’s large door, Mrs. MacDuffy called from the kitchen.

“Miss Reynolds! Where are ye going?”

Thea ducked her head, hiding her face, which was hot with shame, behind her bonnet. Without slowing, she pushed her way through the door and out into the cold air.

Good Heavens. It was snowing. Hard. Thea had been in such a giddy rush this morning that she hadn’t even bothered to look out one of her narrow windows.

She gripped the front of her cloak closed and bowed her head against the driving flakes, then began trudging through the snow on what she hoped was the road back to the inn.

As she walked, her mind swirled wildly.

Oh, God, what was she doing? How could she abandon Clarissa and Edmund like this—like a coward?

They will be fine without me. The thought broke her heart, yet it was the only thing that kept her lifting one foot through the snow and then the other. They will be better without me. If she left quietly, she would not bring shame on Edmund and Kinfallon, nor would she give the village any more to gossip about. She would simply be another failed employee of Lord Kinfallon’s. Nothing more.

When she reached England, she would write to the Braxtons again and ask for a letter of reference. She wouldn’t be able to get one from Edmund. How would she explain the month-long gap after she left the Braxtons to a future employer, though? Perhaps she could claim an extended illness, or a visit to distant family in Scotland. As if none of this had ever happened.

The path before her blurred as tears filled her eyes. Selfridge’s cold words came back to her. Forget that you ever came to Kinfallon.

Yes, she would run away like a coward to protect her future and save Edmund from a scandal.

But she would never forget this place—or the love she felt for Edmund.