Jo signed the last of her correspondence and folded the parchment. She’d written to her father, a friend from St. Ives, and a few of the villagers who’d started sending her notes of sympathy and encouragement after Matthias had died. Now that she’d come to London, their letters talked of missing her and Matthias’s presence and how the new vicar was terribly dull in comparison. They spoke highly of Matthias, and it took everything Jo had not to tell them their faith and devotion were utterly misplaced. Matthias had been a liar and a wretch. If they only knew the truth…

“Writing letters?” Nora breezed into the drawing room, carrying a bit of sewing.

Jo twisted in her chair. “Yes, I wrote to Father.” Their father was a terrible correspondent, but they made sure to write him a couple of times a month.

Nora sat near the windows, setting her sewing on her lap as she looked at Jo. “I need to coordinate his annual visit.”

Jo had seen him only once in the six years since he’d relocated to Dorset, but he’d managed to visit Nora every June after she’d become a duchess. “I suppose that means I’ll get to see him this year.”

Assuming she was still residing with Nora. The sensation of an uncertain future was very strange. At least her marriage to Matthias had given her a security in knowing where she would be and what she would be doing. Security was, perhaps, overrated.

“Yes,” Nora said. “Unless you decide to get married.” She flashed Jo a wide smile.

Jo’s stomach curdled, and she jerked her gaze to the windows. Knighton’s proposal had been at the forefront of her mind since the ball three nights ago. Along with the kisses they’d shared. He’d called her extraordinary. She still didn’t know what to make of that. He had to have been flattering her. She was the very definition of ordinary. Or even lackluster, if Matthias was to be believed. Her common sense told her that Matthias wasn’t to be believed, that he was a callous liar. And yet she couldn’t help but think there was a kernel of truth to his criticism of her. Otherwise, she likely would be a mother…

But she couldn’t. She was, as Matthias was so fond of telling her, only half a woman. Unable to please a man in bed and bear children, she wasn’t even sure if half was an adequate measurement.

“Jo?”

Nora’s gentle query drew her to turn her head once more. “Yes?”

“You seem faraway. You’ve been like that the past few days. Since the ball, really. I know something had to have happened. I wish you’d tell me.”

After fleeing from Knighton, Jo had found the retiring room where she’d hidden for close to an hour. By the time she found Nora again, she pleaded a dreadful headache and asked to go home. Nora had insisted on accompanying her, worried that Jo had disappeared for so long and that she apparently felt so horrid.

“Nothing happened. I told you it was a headache, nothing more. I’m merely feeling introspective as I think about the future. I can’t just ride your skirts for the next fifty years.”

Nora’s brow creased. “You aren’t doing that now.”

They’d had this conversation so many times, and it was beyond tired. Jo turned back to the desk and gathered up her correspondence to give it to Abbott.

“You’re going to ignore me, aren’t you?”

Jo exhaled in exasperation. “I don’t wish to discuss it. You have to stop worrying about me.”

“I’m your older sister. I’ve always worried about you.”

Then why did you mess up my life?

The question rose unbidden in her mind, and she instantly regretted even thinking it. But it persisted. She didn’t blame Nora for her lot. At least not consciously. Oh hell, she barely knew her own mind anymore.

Becky and Evie dashed into the drawing room just then, their grins as wide as the Thames.

Nora chuckled upon seeing them, and Jo couldn’t help but smile too. They both looked so happy. “How was the marzipan?”

“It was ever so much fun!” Becky said. “We made animals and flowers and even a cottage. They have to set for a bit, and then Abbot will bring them upstairs so you can see them.”

Nora leaned toward the girls, her eyes twinkling. “Oh good, I can’t wait to see your creations.”

“I tried a castle, but it was too hard.” Becky’s mouth tightened with determination. “But I’ll work at it. Next time, I’ll try for something a bit less complicated and work my way up to turrets.”

“So there’s to be a next time?” Jo asked.

Both girls nodded. “Cook said so,” Becky said. “She said once a month if it was all right with Mama.”

“It’s all right with me. We’ll just check with Lord Knighton.”

“Papa will agree.” Evie looked at Jo. “Don’t you think so?”

Jo felt suddenly self-conscious. Why was the girl asking her? “Probably.”

Evie shrugged. “You’ve been to our house. You know what he’s like.”

Jo wasn’t certain what that meant either or what it had to do with the conversation. She knew he liked to walk about with far too much flesh showing. And that had absolutely nothing to do with marzipan. Though she imagined it tasting just as sweet.

Good Lord, she really had no control over her thoughts, did she? She hoped the heat rising in her neck didn’t make it all the way to her face.

Evie sat on the settee facing Nora, and Becky plopped down beside her. “Papa says he’s going to take me to see some castles.”

“Which ones?” Nora asked.

“The Tower of London,” Becky answered. “Mama can we go too? I know you said I’ve been there, but I barely remember.”

“Of course we can go,” Nora said.

“With Evie.”

Nora smiled. “We’ll see.”

Evie leaned closer to her friend and loudly whispered, “That means ‘maybe, but probably not’ in parent-talk. Papa says that to me all the time, and oftentimes it doesn’t happen.”

Becky’s eyes narrowed. “You’re right.” She crossed her arms and pouted at her mother.

Nora laughed. “In this case, I really meant that we will have to wait and see. I’ll have to discuss it with Lord Knighton and your father and see if we can find a mutually agreeable time.”

Becky exhaled loudly. “I suppose.”

“I hope so,” Evie said. “It won’t be as fun unless you all come too.” She looked up at Jo, who still stood near the desk. “Including you, Jo.” The girl’s eyes were so clear and earnest—she truly wanted Jo’s presence. That she could’ve been this girl’s mother if she’d only said yes to Knighton’s proposal…

Her stomach turned again, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t have said yes even if things—she—were different. She barely knew him, had no idea what sort of husband he would be. She’d endured one unhappy, thoroughly horrid marriage and had no desire to enter into another.

“Mama, are there other castles we can go to?” Becky asked.

“Well, there’s Hampton Court, but it’s more of a palace than a castle. There’s a large maze.”

The girls exchanged excited looks.

Abbott entered and announced the arrival of Lord Knighton. The butler stepped out of the way, and the earl moved into the drawing room. He seemed to immediately command every bit of space and air, making Jo feel as though she couldn’t breathe. He was breathtakingly handsome with his too-long hair and dark-as-sin blue eyes. Not to mention his mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at it and imagining the way his lips had moved over hers, the thrust of his tongue…

“Papa!” Evie jumped from the settee and hugged him. “We made marzipan! They’re in the kitchen, but I think Abbott’s gone to fetch them so I can take mine home.”

Knighton looked down at his daughter. “What did you make?”

“A cat, a turtle, and some flowers like we had at home. I tried a castle, but it was too hard, so I made it into a cottage instead. I’m going to work on mastering the elements for a castle next time. We’re going to make it once a month.”

“I see.” The earl glanced over at Nora, who gave him a nod. “Well, that’s most generous of the Kendals’ cook to offer her time.”

Evie pulled a face. “I can’t see our cook doing that.”

Knighton chuckled. “No, I can’t see her doing that either.”

Jo continued to stare at his mouth, despite her best efforts. Not that it mattered since he hadn’t looked at her once since entering the drawing room. In fact, she wondered if he even realized she was there. Yes, why not think that? It was far less painful than thinking he was ignoring her. Could she blame him if he were? She’d turned down his marriage proposal after kissing him like a wanton.

Ugh, she wished she wasn’t there.

In fact, maybe she could just tiptoe from the room…

“Papa, we must invite the Kendals to come to the Tower with us. And Jo.” Evie looked over at Jo as she’d begun edging toward the doorway.

“That would be lovely,” Knighton said, turning to Nora. “I’ll see if we can coordinate something.” Now he looked at Jo. And the full force of his gaze nearly took her breath away, as he’d done earlier by simply entering the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon?”

For the governess appointments. She’d wondered if he might disinvite her, after what had happened at the ball. “If you’d still like me to come.” Perhaps he just needed an opportunity to relieve her obligation.

His brow furrowed slightly, and he blinked. “Of course. What do I know of such things?”

“About the same as me.” She didn’t mean to sound tart but feared she may have.

Nora’s gaze whipped to hers, and Jo felt the intensity of her silent reaction as if she’d shouted, What is wrong with you?

“Are you saying you’d rather not come?” he asked.

Now he was giving her the opportunity to withdraw. How kind. And she meant to take it.

“Of course she does,” Nora answered before she could. She smiled placidly at both of them. “Joanna is delighted to help.”

Knighton still looked a little unsure but ultimately nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you at noon. Come, Evie.”

Abbott returned at that moment with a bag containing her marzipan. “Here you are, Lady Evangeline.”

She took the bag. “Thank you, Abbott. Are they all there, or did you eat one?” She winked at him, and Jo was charmed anew.

Abbott chuckled. “I was tempted, but I did not.” He winked back at her.

Evie turned to her father. “Papa, we need a butler like Abbott. He’s ever so much kinder than Kerr.”

Jo was sorry to hear that things weren’t improving with his servants. Perhaps she’d discuss it with him tomorrow.

What? She’d been trying to avoid tomorrow’s appointment, and indeed all future encounters with the earl, not further embroil herself in his life.

The girls said their goodbyes, and Knighton and Evie left.

Nora immediately turned to Becky. “Time to go upstairs for reading.”

Becky slipped from the settee. “Yes, Mama. Don’t you want to see my marzipan?”

“Of course, dear. After reading. I’ll come fetch you in a bit.”

The girl nodded and took herself off.

Jo tried to follow her, but Nora stopped her with her demonstrable Big Sister tone. “You are not running away. You may not want to tell me what’s bothering you, but if you don’t, I shall suspect it’s to do with Lord Knighton. You began acting peculiar after you danced with him. You disappeared directly after—for quite some time—and you’ve been in a funk ever since. Did something happen?”

Jo’s grip on the letters tightened, and she had to mentally tell herself to relax her hands before she crumpled them. “No. It’s just…dancing with him reminded me of Matthias.”

Nora paled slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to arouse old memories. But you did say you weren’t still harboring a tendre for him.”

“No, I am not.” Jo thrust her shoulders back and decided to let go—at least a little. “Matthias was a wretched husband. I don’t miss him in the slightest. He didn’t care much for me. In fact, he was often cruel.” Her sister’s eyes widened, and Jo could see the question in her troubled gaze. “Please don’t ask me to explain. I’d rather leave everything to do with him where it belongs—dead and buried with him. Dancing with Lord Knighton, indeed just being at the ball, put me in a position to entertain a man’s attentions, and I’d rather not.”

Nora nodded sympathetically. “I understand. You need time.”

Jo wanted to say that she couldn’t possibly understand, but that would only invite more curiosity. “I may never want to marry again. Being alone is better.” If she’d had children, it would be downright perfect.

Nora clenched her jaw for a moment. “I am trying to understand,” she said softly, and Jo appreciated that she was maybe beginning to realize that they’d led very different lives. They might be sisters and best friends who loved each other dearly, but their experiences were disparate, and there were some things they didn’t—and couldn’t—share.

“Thank you,” Jo said simply. “I’m going to post these letters.”

She left the drawing room before she was tempted to let down more of her guard. And once she did, she feared the dam she’d worked so hard to build up would crumble completely.

* * *

Hudson stepped into Bran’s office carrying a coat, waistcoat, and cravat just before noon. “I’m afraid it’s time to dress, my lord.” The valet wore a vaguely pained expression that reflected what Bran felt.

“I suppose so.” Resigned, Bran stood from behind the desk and allowed Hudson to garb him. All the while, Bran silently counted the hours until he could remove everything he was currently donning. At least the tailor was working out well, after some initial problems. He’d learned to copy the way Bran’s former tailor on Barbados had made his shirts. Bran was ecstatic. It was, to date, the best thing that had happened to him in London.

Right after kissing Mrs. Shaw.

Joanna.

Mrs. Shaw was so formal. In his mind, he’d decided to think of her as Joanna. After the intimacy they’d shared, it seemed only right. And yet not, since that intimacy seemed to be a one-time occurrence. Her refusal of his marriage proposal had come fast and stinging.

He’d been a bit anxious to see her yesterday, and he’d noted that she tried to escape the drawing room without even speaking to him. Then she’d clearly tried to avoid coming here today. All he could think was that he’d completely overstepped by kissing her. But she hadn’t stopped him. In fact, she’d kissed him right back. Enthusiastically.

He frowned.

“My lord?” Hudson asked.

Bran gave his head a shake. “Nothing.” He told his valet about most things, but hadn’t revealed the encounter with Mrs. Shaw. It felt like a secret between the two of them, particularly given her rejection and subsequent behavior. “Please convey my appreciation to Jenkins. This shirt is even better than the last.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear it. I know he’s worked hard to achieve your satisfaction.”

“It’s too bad more of the staff don’t share that sentiment,” Bran muttered.

“Indeed.” Hudson was well aware of the issues surrounding several members of the staff. Aside from Kerr, the upstairs maid, Foster, possessed a rigidity that drove Bran mad, and the cook continued to complain about the changes Bran requested. She also failed to implement his instructions, much to his and Evie’s chagrin.

He kept thinking of Evie’s comments yesterday. “Hudson, I think it’s time to make some changes with the staff.”

Hudson’s eyes widened briefly, but then he exhaled. “For a moment there, I thought you meant me. You don’t mean me, do you?”

“Of course not. What kind of person would I be to drag you from Barbados only to terminate your employment? I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Excellent. Who’s getting dumped?”

“Foster—I don’t care for the way she treats Evie. And the cook, probably. No matter how many times I tell her not to serve Evie turtle soup, she continues to do so.” And any other number of dishes, but that one was the most traumatic.

Hudson shook his head. “Ghastly.”

“And then there’s Kerr.” Bran grimaced. “I’d hoped he would adjust to our routine, but his disdain is palpable, and frankly, he casts a gloom over the household.”

Hudson opened his mouth to respond just as Kerr appeared in the doorway. Bran worried he’d maybe overheard what he’d just said, but it was impossible to tell by looking at him. He wore the same scornful expression that always pinched his face.

“Mrs. Shaw is here,” Kerr said haughtily, stepping aside as she moved past him into the office.

She stopped short at seeing Hudson and blinked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“And this is why I would prefer not to show people to your office,” Kerr announced with a great deal of frost. “As normal people would expect,” he muttered before taking himself off.

Hudson coughed delicately. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Shaw.” He gave Bran a look that said the situation was probably a disaster and then quickly fled. The coward.

Bran’s cravat had never felt tighter. He rotated his neck, turning his head from side to side. “Good afternoon. I don’t, ah, suppose you overheard what we were discussing?” If she had, then Kerr had.

Her gaze was sympathetic. “I’m afraid so.” She sat down in the chair she’d used last time, her reticule in her lap. “But it sounds as if it needed to be said, if not in that fashion, perhaps.”

Bran went behind his desk and flung himself down in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That was not my intent, of course. But yes, it’s overdue. You heard what Evie said yesterday when she compared him to Abbott. I can put up with his obnoxiousness, but when it comes to my daughter, I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior. And if she’s noticing it… Well, it’s time for him to go.”

“You plan to officially dismiss him, then?”

“Yes. Along with Foster. She’s the upstairs maid.”

“I recall her name from the last time I was here. I didn’t like her attitude about Evie’s cut finger.”

It was good to hear that he wasn’t alone in thinking Foster was lacking. Lacking? She was practically insubordinate. Like the cook, who was definitely insubordinate.

“The cook is also a problem.”

“Her dishes aren’t very good?” she asked. “Or is it just that she doesn’t make marzipan with Evie?” She smiled at the last, and he knew she was joking.

“Well, I would like a cook who could do that. I’m afraid your sister has set an expectation I can scarcely achieve, particularly in my current predicament. I can’t even get the cook to make the food I want or in the manner I want it.”

Mrs. Shaw winced. “That isn’t good. You’ve spoken to her?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Then yes, it may be time to let her go as well.” Her gaze turned sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. You’ll be happier in the end, however.”

Of that he was certain. He was also rather certain that this conversation was incredibly easy and comfortable and somewhat banished his feelings of disquiet from yesterday.

He studied her a moment, noting that she’d forgone her typical drab clothing. She’d done the same yesterday. “You look lovely today. That gown is quite fetching.”

Her cheeks colored, and she tipped her head down. “Thank you.” The awkward air from yesterday invaded the room, and he regretted commenting on her appearance.

But she had to know he found her attractive? He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake. She’d also turned down his marriage proposal, so perhaps awkward was the best he could hope for. He considered bringing it up, just to smooth out any discomfort. But then he thought of what she’d told him before she’d run off—that she couldn’t have children. He did want more of them, and if she was barren, she couldn’t be his countess. His disappointment was as strong today as it was at the ball.

He decided to plod forward as if it had never happened since it seemed she was keen to do the same. “Shall we review the candidates before they arrive?”

She nodded, clutching her reticule tightly. “Yes, please.”

A few hours later, Bran freed his throat from the confines of his cravat. He’d tossed his coat aside as soon as they’d finished the last interview, but he’d managed to keep the rest of his clothes on until after Mrs. Shaw had gone. It had been no small feat. All in the name of avoiding that awkwardness they were both doing a good job of ignoring. Or pretending to ignore.

“Papa?” Evie came into the office, her gaze darting about the room. “Is Mrs. Shaw still here?”

“No, sweetling. She left after we finished interviewing potential governesses.”

She sat down on the chair Mrs. Shaw had used. “Is one of them going to be my new governess?”

Bran suppressed a groan of frustration. “No.” He hadn’t cared for any of them, and neither had Mrs. Shaw. Which meant he had to conduct more interviews. Plus the ones he would need to conduct for the numerous gaps in his staff he was about to encounter. Bran dropped his head toward his desk and massaged his suddenly throbbing temple.

“Why don’t you just hire Mrs. Shaw?”

He snapped his gaze to Evie’s. “She isn’t a governess.”

“No, but why can’t she be? I like her ever so much, and I think she likes me. I’m certain she could teach me how to be a lady.” Evie swung her feet as if to provide a visual reminder for why she needed a governess.

Bran frowned. She was still so young. He wanted her to swing her feet. “I’m not sure you need a governess right now.”

“But Papa, Becky is going to have one. I shall need one too.”

“That’s no reason to have one. Becky also has a little brother. Are you going to ask for one of those too?”

“No, but maybe a little sister. Becky says her mama is having another baby.” Her eyes narrowed. “She says it better be a sister.”

Bran stifled a laugh. As if they could choose. He thought of Mrs. Shaw and instantly sobered. She couldn’t even choose to have a child, apparently. He felt bad for her. Observing her with her niece and nephew, and with Evie, she seemed naturally inclined toward children.

Then maybe she’d actually like to be a governess, his brain suggested.

Evie jumped off the chair and came around the desk to where he sat. “Please, Papa?” She blinked at him, and her mouth formed a small pout. “Please ask Mrs. Shaw?”

An image of her bustling about his house, offering opinions about his staff and arranging marzipan lessons for his daughter, burst into his head. He leaned back in his chair and let the fantasy take hold. Having her near would test their attraction. He’d almost certainly want to kiss her again. Which would be bad. He might be somewhat ignorant about being an earl, but he was fairly confident one did not kiss one’s governess.

He focused on his daughter’s pleading face. “Evie, I really don’t think she’d be interested in being a governess. She doesn’t need employment. Her sister is a duchess.”

“But maybe she’d want to. Can’t you just ask?”

He could… “What if she said no? Would you accept that?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I would. I’m quite grown up, Papa.”

He chuckled at that and drew her onto his lap. “Not so fast, sweetling.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and blew air against her soft skin, making a rather impolite sound. She loved that.

Evie giggled. “Papa! Does that mean you will?”

“Yes.” How could he refuse his very heart? Or her logic—indeed, what did it hurt to ask? “But I’ll remind you not to get your hopes up. Promise?”

She rested her hand over her heart. “I promise.”

“Very well.” Now Bran just had to work on not getting his hopes up.