“So the princes were buried there?” Evie pointed at the White Tower.

“They were, but then they were moved.” Becky scanned the guidebook in her hand. “I can’t believe they were murdered.”

Evie shivered. “Let’s read the part about the Jewel Office again.”

Jo looked over at the White Tower and tried to imagine the two boys but decided she didn’t want to. She’d much rather enjoy this pleasant spring day with Knighton, Evie, and Becky.

They’d made plans to come to the Tower of London and had invited Nora and Titus and their children. Titus had been unable to attend, and Nora had decided that this excursion might be a little too much for Christopher yet. Consequently, Knighton had offered to just bring Becky along. The girls were having a marvelous time, and Jo, as the governess, was delighted to see them reading the guidebook Knighton had purchased for sixpence as soon as they’d arrived.

The girls walked a few feet in front of them, and Knighton noted, “What a dreadful story to include in the guidebook. Don’t they realize children might read it?”

“It’s history,” Jo said, though she agreed with his assessment that it was a bit ghastly. “It’s important for children to learn history, even when it’s ugly.”

“I suppose that’s true. I recall learning all sorts of things about various battles.”

The girls had moved a little farther ahead but still well within sight. Becky turned her head to look at them. A moment later, Evie did the same.

“They look like they’re plotting something,” Knighton said.

Perhaps, but they were five-year-old girls. What could they possibly be up to? “Nonsense, they’re just having fun. I’m glad they have each other.”

“I am too. Becky’s made this transition far more bearable for Evie.” He shot her a warm glance. “As have you.”

Jo didn’t think she’d done all that much. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve scarcely done anything.”

He paused and looked at her intently. “You shouldn’t do that.”

She stopped. “Do what?”

“Diminish your talent or your gifts. You’re an exceptional woman.”

She blushed and turned from him to start walking again. He kept doing that—making her blush. He said things to her and looked at her in ways that evoked a heady response. Matthias had never, ever made her feel like that.

He had, however, made her feel worthless, as if she were a grave disappointment. She supposed that was why she balked from praise. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“That’s just it. You don’t have to say anything. Accept who you are.”

She thought she had, but it did seem that she was trying to sort out who she was. She was the vicar’s widow and the duchess’s sister. But who was Jo? Right now she was a governess, and it was the most comfortable she’d felt. With the exception of the way Knighton provoked her. The other day in his office after his mother had left, there’d been several moments when she’d been drawn to him, both from the things he’d revealed about his childhood and from the way he’d looked at her. Then she’d gone and called him handsome, voicing the thought that had vaulted into her head when he’d compared himself to his brothers. She’d immediately wanted to defend the notion that he wasn’t attractive, and she’d done so without thinking of the consequences.

She glanced over at him. “I’ll…try.”

“Good,” he said, looking appeased. “Need I remind you of the critical role you played in hiring the cook yesterday?”

“All I did was ask her to demonstrate something so we could be assured of her skill.” She realized she was doing it again. She had contributed something valuable. “It was a rather good idea, wasn’t it?’

He smiled at her. “Yes. It was brilliant. Not only were we able to test her cooking, we also learned how she worked in the kitchen with the other staff. They liked her immediately.”

This was true. The poor scullery maid who’d been cooking—or trying to, anyway—had practically cried with relief when she realized she wouldn’t have to do it anymore. “I’ve been thinking about Tilly,” Jo said. “She isn’t very happy in the kitchen, and she mentioned to me that she’d been hoping to train to be a maid. You could move her into the open position upstairs and find someone else to assist Mrs. Fletcher.”

“See why you’re so invaluable?” he asked. “You’ve just given me an idea. Rather than interview candidates for the butler, I think I’ll promote Bucket. He’s demonstrated an excellent fortitude and willingness to learn. He’s also ambitious.”

“He sounds well suited. That means you’ll only need a new footman and whatever assistance Mrs. Fletcher requires in the kitchen.”

“So it seems. I wonder if Mrs. Fletcher knows of people to hire. I’ll speak with her later. Thank you for your assistance with these issues.” He paused to look at her. “I’m not at all sure what we would do without you.”

She was about to demur but caught herself. “You’re welcome.”

The girls had stopped up ahead and were speaking with a boy who was perhaps a few years older than them. Jo and Knighton caught up and overheard their conversation.

“That’s where they chopped off people’s heads,” the boy said.

“Like Henry the Eighth’s wives,” Becky breathed, her eyes round.

“One woman was struck eleven times before she died!” the boy declared, eliciting gasps from both girls.

“Thomas!” A woman came striding toward them. “There you are. You mustn’t wander off.” Her gaze caught Jo’s. “Good afternoon.”

“Mama, this is where they beheaded all the political prisoners,” Thomas said.

“Not all of them,” Jo said. “This is where the more private executions took place, particularly those of women. Most were public and occurred on Tower Hill.”

“Can we go see that too?” the boy asked his mother.

The woman glanced at Jo again. “Uh, we’ll see.”

“It’s not too far.” Jo gestured to the northwest. “It’s just beyond the tower that way.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you. Perhaps we’ll see your family there later.” Her gaze flicked from Jo to Knighton to the girls.

She thought they were a family.

Jo’s chest tightened. That was the identity she wanted—and the one she couldn’t have. But right now, in this moment, she could pretend…

The girls waved goodbye to Thomas as he and his mother walked to join the rest of their family, a man with two smaller children in tow.

“Do you want to go to Tower Hill?” Knighton asked the girls.

“I don’t know,” Evie said. “But I want to see the jewels. Can we go there now?”

“Yes, the jewels!” Becky crowed.

Knighton gestured forward with his arm. “Lead on.”

The girls spun about with their guidebook and plotted a path past the church to the Jewel Office. Knighton paid the shilling admission fee for each of them, and they went inside, where it was quite crowded.

“This is a popular exhibit,” he said, as they were forced closer together by the number of people crammed into the space.

“Yes,” Jo murmured, all too aware of his proximity and fresh clean scent that reminded her of sunshine and summer. She imagined all of Barbados must smell like him.

They made their way to the first exhibit, and Jo worked to keep her eye on the girls. “Don’t get too far ahead,” she cautioned them.

“Yes, Jo,” Evie answered.

Jo imagined what it would be like if she’d called her Mama as that boy had done outside. Had Knighton heard what the woman had said about them being a family? He had to have, yet he hadn’t said anything.

Just stop with all this nonsense. They are not your family.

No, they weren’t, but she was, as Knighton had said, an important part of their household. At least for now. She’d take that and cherish it for as long as it lasted.

Knighton stood just behind her—close enough that she could feel his presence against her back. And then he touched her, a slight push as he leaned into her. “My apologies,” he murmured near her ear. “It is crowded.”

Jo’s body burned where he’d touched her. She ached to press back but wouldn’t dare.

This was not good. The awkwardness she’d feared had progressed to an agitation. Within the household, they’d become familiar—sharing information and working in tandem to solve problems, such as with the staff—and they slept across the hall from each other. That alone was enough to send Jo into a state of hyperawareness that sometimes made it difficult to find sleep. She’d never experienced a pull toward her husband. Being with him had been a duty and a chore. Knighton was altogether different, as evidenced by the kisses they’d shared at the ball. They’d left her wanting more, which frightened her. She had to believe intimacy was far more appealing than what she’d experienced, and yet she was too afraid to find out.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if he were knocking on her door, seeking her out.

They moved on to the next exhibit, the girls chattering excitedly. Jo loved watching their enthusiasm. “They’re really enjoying themselves,” she said to Knighton as they followed behind.

“Yes. Are you?” he asked as they stopped at the next exhibit.

“I am.” She turned to face him and at that moment was jostled from behind so that she was pushed into him. She caught his shoulders as his arms came around her waist. She sucked in a breath, too aware of her breasts grazing his chest and the intensity of his gaze.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

She ought to step away from him, but she could still feel people behind her, forcing her too close. Then she noticed that both girls were staring up at them with avid curiosity.

Jo withdrew her hands from him as if she’d been burned and backed away, bumping into whoever was behind her. She forced a laugh. “Too crowded. Let’s hurry through the exhibit.”

She flicked a glance toward the girls, who seemed to blink in unison before pivoting toward the next display.

Knighton slipped a finger between his cravat and his neck. “Yes, let’s.”

Was he all right? She realized he looked a bit flushed, perhaps from the crowd.

For the rest of the tour through the Jewel Office, she was careful to keep the girls between her and Knighton. He kept fidgeting with his cravat, and beads of sweat had gathered at his temple.

When they were finally outside again, the girls walked ahead, once again poring over the guidebook.

She walked beside Knighton. “Your clothes are bothering you.”

He inhaled. “Yes, but it’s more than that. The jostle of people inside… I find it intolerable.”

“It was quite close.” She looked at him intently. “Were you uncomfortable?”

“Vastly. I hate other people touching me.”

She knew he couldn’t mean everyone. “What do you mean? Evie hugs you, and it doesn’t seem to cause you discomfort.”

His features relaxed, and she realized just how tense he’d been. “No. Evie doesn’t cause me discomfort. But when I come into contact with almost anyone else, I feel as though I want to crawl out of my skin.”

That sounded awful. And he’d said “almost anyone.” Where did she fall in that spectrum? They’d touched more than once inside, including a rather intimate moment, not to mention the kisses they’d shared at the ball.

He seemed to follow the path of her thoughts. He paused, his gaze boring into hers. “I don’t mind you touching me. In fact, I rather like it.”

The heat she’d felt in the exhibit gathered between them and expanded into something palpable. It wasn’t awkwardness or even agitation between them any longer—it was something far more primitive. And she had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

“Do tell me how your visit with your mother went last week,” Lady Dunn said as she set her teacup down. “I see her portrait is no longer there.” She inclined her head toward the bare spot on the sitting room wall.

Bran uncrossed his legs. “It went as well as could be expected, I suppose. I’ve set specific limitations regarding our interaction, so I don’t believe she’ll be a nuisance. Must we speak of her?”

Lady Dunn chuckled. “Of course not. But beware, my boy, she’s always a nuisance, even if you don’t see her.”

That was probably true, and he ought to ask what damage his mother could do, but decided he didn’t want to know. So long as he didn’t have to spend time with her, he would be well.

“What did Evie think of her?” Lady Dunn flashed him an apologetic glance. “I’m still talking about her. Never mind.”

“It’s fine. You care about Evie, and I can’t quarrel with that. My mother was pleasant, but she didn’t bring marzipan.”

Lady Dunn laughed. “Well, neither did I today, but I did bring Evie some ribbons. Will she be coming down, I hope?”

“Yes, with her governess.”

“Excellent. It’s Mrs. Shaw, is that correct? I’ve met her before. I’m surprised she decided to take a position as a governess. She’s a widow and the sister of a duchess. One would think she could marry quite well.”

Yes, she could. But Bran knew she didn’t want to—at least not to him. “I’m not certain she wishes to marry again.”

“Fascinating.” Lady Dunn gave her head a shake. “Some women prefer their independence. I can’t find fault with that since I am one of those women. I also knew I’d never find another man I loved as much as my husband. So I didn’t bother. Perhaps it’s the same for her.”

Bran hadn’t considered that. She’d mentioned that she couldn’t bear children, but maybe it was more than that. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe that was an excuse she’d used to avoid telling him the real reason—that she still loved her husband. Did that even make sense? Why wouldn’t she tell him the truth? He suddenly wanted to know and vowed to find out.

Mrs. Shaw and Evie appeared at that moment, stepping into the drawing room. Evie went straight for Lady Dunn, who held her arms out for a hug.

“Lady Dunn,” Evie cried as she squeezed her. “Did you bring more marzipan?”

“I did not,” the viscountess said with a touch of regret. “I hope you aren’t cross. I did bring you some ribbons.” She opened a bag and showed her the bright colors.

“I love them!” Evie turned her head toward Mrs. Shaw, who stood just inside the room. “Look, Jo!”

Mrs. Shaw stepped forward and examined the ribbons. “Lovely.” She dipped a curtsey to Lady Dunn. “My lady, it’s nice to see you again.”

“And you.” Lady Dunn gave her attention to Evie once more. “You must call me Lady D. What do you think?”

Evie nodded. “It’s all right that you didn’t bring marzipan. I learned to make it at my friend’s house.” Her eyes widened with mischief, and she smiled. “I’ll be right back!” She dashed from the room, and the three of them turned their heads to watch her go.

“Ah, to be able to move like that,” Lady Dunn said wistfully. “Sit, Mrs. Shaw. Tell me, how do you like being a governess?”

Mrs. Shaw took a chair near Bran’s. “I enjoy it immensely. Evie is a delightful child.”

“Yes, you couldn’t ask for a better charge, I think. And I imagine you’re proving quite helpful to Knighton as he navigates London.” Lady Dunn cocked her head to the side. “Although, you’re relatively new to town yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve only been here a matter of weeks really. In fact, I think Knighton and I might have arrived around the same time.” She glanced toward him, and it was as if they had a shared history. Of course they didn’t, but they were building one.

“She has been most helpful, however,” Bran pointed out. “As you know, I’ve had trouble with the staff, and Mrs. Shaw has been instrumental in smoothing things out.”

Lady Dunn gave Mrs. Shaw an approving look. “Have you, then? How wonderful.” She tipped her gaze back to Bran. “I did notice you have a new butler. He’s quite young. Are you certain he’s up to the task?”

“Yes. He stepped in to help with things after I dismissed Kerr, and it occurred to me that he could do the job quite well.”

With a cluck of her tongue, Lady Dunn smiled again. “Just like you to resist convention and do what you please.”

“That does seem to be working for him,” Mrs. Shaw said.

Bran turned his head toward her, surprised by her comment. It wasn’t defensive, per se, but she’d leapt to his aid. More and more he felt as though they operated like a team. This was dangerous territory.

Evie ran back into the room and unfurled her hand in front of Lady Dunn. There on her palm was the marzipan turtle she made at the Kendals’. “This is what I made. We have turtles like this on Barbados. Would you like to have it?”

Lady Dunn gingerly picked it up and brought it close to her face to study. “My goodness, this is quite dear. You really want to give it to me?” Her gaze was tinged with emotion as she looked at Evie.

Evie nodded. “That way you have something to remind you of me, just like I have something to remind me of you.”

“My dear girl, this is the most precious thing. But I daresay I don’t need an object. You are far too difficult to forget.” She set the turtle on her lap. “I’ll treasure it, thank you.”

Pride welled in Bran’s chest. He’d often wondered if he’d be able to raise Evie by himself, especially given his quirks. But she seemed to be doing all right, which he supposed meant he was doing all right too.

They chatted for a while longer about Barbados, and Bran told his godmother about the pressed flowers he’d found and how he wanted to have them framed.

“I know just the place where you can have that done,” Lady Dunn said. “I’ll write down the address.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Bran said.

Mrs. Shaw stood. “It’s time for us to return to our lessons, Evie.”

Evie had sat next to Lady Dunn and now reluctantly pushed to her feet. “If we must. See you next time, Lady D.”

“Next time, sweet Evie.” Lady Dunn gave her another hug and then Mrs. Shaw took her back up to the nursery.

“Such a wonderful girl,” Lady Dunn said. “And Mrs. Shaw seems invaluable.”

He recalled using just that word the other day at the Tower of London. “Incredibly, yes. We’re very lucky.”

Lady Dunn watched him a moment. “It occurs to me that she could be a potential countess. I sensed a certain…connection between the two of you. Have you considered it?”

Hell. He’d more than considered it. He’d bloody well asked her. And she’d rightfully refused. She’d been correct in her assessment—they’d barely known each other, and he’d rushed to ask her. But now they’d been acquainted several weeks, the last of which she’d spent in his household. He saw her multiple times a day, and their bedchambers were across the hall. As of yet, he hadn’t encountered her coming or going, but that was only a matter of time. What would happen then? He was more than attracted to her; he wanted her. He thought of her often, particularly when he went to bed at night and imagined her so close and yet so far away.

“Ah, yes. I’ve considered it.”

Lady Dunn’s expression flickered with surprise. “Indeed? Is there a reason you wouldn’t pursue it?”

Because he’d already been rejected? He might consider trying again, since they knew each other better, and he was certain they held each other in mutual esteem. But there was the matter of her not being able to give him more children. And that, unfortunately, made it a moot issue.

“There are…complications. I don’t believe it’s possible.”

Lady Dunn’s eyes narrowed, and she waved a hand. “Stuff and nonsense. Anything is possible if you try.”

Bran didn’t believe that. As a child, his mother had railed at him about his idiosyncrasies, telling him that if he only tried, he’d be able to get through the day wearing everything he ought. “That’s something you tell children to motivate them.”

“It’s also something you do if you’re tenacious. Have I misjudged you?”

Tenacious. Did he want Mrs. Shaw that badly?

Yes.

Perhaps he should try again.

“I’ll consider it some more.”

“Good. Do let me know how it goes.”

Lady Dunn left a short time later, leaving Bran to wonder just how he was going to make his next move.