“Sarah Elizabeth!”

Matthew tried hard not to smile as his precocious five-year-old daughter stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, a somewhat guilty expression on her face.

“What is it you think you are doing with that creature?”

His daughter stood up slowly, a small, black, furry kitten nestled in her arms.

“Papa, I found this.”

“This?” Matthew repeated, arching one eyebrow and trying not to allow the swell of emotion he felt on seeing his daughter so tenderly patting the small creature to push the frown from his face.

“I found the kitten,” she said slowly, her eyes downcast. “The cook was going to throw it outside.”

A surge of compassion ran through him for the poor creature, seeing just how tiny it was. Most likely it was the runt of the litter, and the mother cat had simply left it behind. It happened all too often, unfortunately.

“It is too small for you to look after, Sarah,” he said softly, coming toward his daughter and bending down to look her directly in the eye. “The cat obviously had her kittens somewhere warm, and she has left this one behind when the rest were big enough to be moved.”

His daughter’s eyes filled with tears. “But why?” she whispered, as the tiny creature let out a small squeak. “It is so beautiful. Why would its mother leave it all alone?”

Something tore in Matthew’s heart as he looked at his daughter’s big blue eyes, his throat aching. Was she only asking about the kitten, or was there more to her question? He had often wondered how his daughter was faring without a mother of her own, even though she had a wonderful nurse and a maid who doted on her almost as much as he did.

“It is just something cats do,” he said with a shrug. “This kitten is very small, Sarah. The mother cat probably just had too many kittens to look after all on her own.”

His daughter sniffed loudly. “Then, I want to look after it, Papa.”

As much as he wanted to refuse her, Matthew found that he could not speak those words. She looked so forlorn, and the creature was so completely tiny, and Matthew knew it would not survive were he to return it to the cold.

“Very well,” he said heavily. “But it will be entirely your responsibility, Sarah. It will need milk and scraps of food if it is to get any bigger. It will need a warm place to sleep and plenty of loving care.” His smile dimpled, as he looked down at his daughter, seeing her tear-filled eyes now shining brightly. “Do you think you can do that?”

She nodded at once, her expression serious. “Yes, of course I can, Papa. I will take very good care of it.” She set the animal down on a small scrap of blanket she had near her, only to throw her arms around his neck and hold him tightly. “Thank you, Papa,” she said again, as the kitten let out another tiny squeak. “He will be a lovely cat; I know it.”

Matthew chuckled and patted his daughter’s cheek. “I am sure he will be. Although, I would make sure to check with nanny whether it is a boy or a girl before you name him.”

His daughter’s eyes opened wide for a moment, her mouth forming a perfect circle before, with a cry of, “Yes, at once, Papa!” she scooped up the forlorn kitten and hurried from the room back toward the nursery.

Matthew stood up slowly, his lips stretched wide into a smile as he took in his daughter, seeing her bouncing curls and flying dress ribbons as she practically ran down the hallway. She had all the impetuousness of youth, but he could not chide her for it. That was part of her character, and Matthew was sure that, in time, she would learn to think things through more carefully. However, he adored her soft heart, her compassion for creatures more helpless than she, her desire to help them in any way she could. The kitten was just another example of her sweetness, and whilst it was a tiny scrap of a thing at the moment, Matthew was sure that by the week’s end the kitten would be well on its way to good health. His daughter would dote on it and feed it only the best food she could wrangle out of the cook, who, Matthew knew, would end up being more than willing to give her whatever she wished.

His smile faded as he turned toward the window in the drawing room, looking out across his wonderful, ornate gardens. His home had been a happy one these last few years, for the most part. That was not to say that there had not been times when he had been confused, lonely, and afraid about his child and how she would fare without a mother. But as the years had gone on, he had seen just how wonderful his daughter had been. She was not troubled by lack of a mother—although it did, at times, come to the forefront of their conversation. Sometimes, when she tilted her head to the side and regarded him, he was caught by a memory of Lady Elizabeth, seeing her in his daughter.

He had done all he could for her thus far, making sure to spend as much time as he could with Sarah Elizabeth, and that had gone a long way to soothing his lonely soul. It was not that he missed the love he had once shared with his wife, for they had never had any kind of affection to speak of, but rather it felt as though his heart had been longing for something that could never come to pass for him. That desire for love and companionship from the one he had called his wife had never been fulfilled whilst Lady Elizabeth had been alive. Now, five years a widower, he had no expectation for it ever coming to pass.

Dragging his thoughts away from the melancholy, Matthew sighed heavily to himself. He would have to, at some point, find another bride so that he might ensure to provide the heir for his family’s line, but that held no hope of the love and affection he craved. He was a duke and that meant that the ladies of the ton would see him as nothing more than a title and fortune to which they could attach themselves. It would all just be the same as before.

Sighing heavily, Matthew shook his head to himself and walked from the room, knowing he had some correspondence to deal with in the study. He had time to think about London much later, for the Season was still a few months away. Springtime had only just arrived, and his estate was busy with all that needed to be done so that they might have a productive harvest. Of course, it was not as though Matthew himself was involved in the tilling of the ground or the planting of the seeds, but he did, at least, oversee it all and have timely reports from his steward. There was more than enough for him to do, more than enough to distract him from all thoughts of London, the ton, and the need to marry.

“Ah, your grace!”

Coming to the door of his study, Matthew was met by the butler, who was holding a few letters in his hand.

“Your correspondence, my lord. Some only arrived a few minutes ago with the post. Shall I set them on your desk?”

“No, I will take them,” Matthew replied, holding each letter carefully. “Although can you send down for some fresh coffee and perhaps any of those orange cakes the cook had yesterday?”

The butler nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. “But of course,” he replied, inclining his head. “I believe the cook made a fresh batch this morning, knowing that you liked them so much.”

Matthew chuckled and opened the door to his study as the butler hurried away. His staff had been with him for a good few years now, and he found their company to be something of a support to him. The butler knew him and his ways very well, and the cook often went out of her way to cook things she knew Matthew would like. They all doted on his daughter as much as he did, showing her so much care and consideration that it gladdened Matthew’s heart.

Sitting down at his desk, Matthew spread out the seven letters, considering them each in turn. There was one from his friend, Lord Barton, back in London, who would most likely be encouraging Matthew to return to the city again very soon. He had been doing so for the last four years although Matthew had never taken him up on his offer. Setting that one aside to read at his leisure, Matthew looked hopefully at the others, wondering if he would recognize his brother’s handwriting. Alas, there was none that looked anything like Arthur’s hand. He had not seen Arthur in as many years, although he had stopped by for a month or so a year after the duchess had passed away. However, Matthew had been glad to see that regular letters began to come to the house from his brother. It was as though Arthur somehow knew that Matthew would be feeling somewhat tumultuously thrown about and had wanted to reassure him that he was not entirely alone.

Slitting open the first letter, Matthew realized that it was none other than a response to his notice for a governess. He had written to a few trusted friends and acquaintances, asking for their suggestions, and apparently, this was one of the responses. He quickly scanned the letter before picking up the next one and opening it, too.

Soon, five letters lay on his table, each one telling him just how appropriate a governess they would be for his daughter. They were all much the same, assuring him of their references and suitability, but none caught his interest. He knew that Sarah required a governess, but it was important to him that he chose that governess wisely. She would have to fit in with the family, would have to make sure to teach Sarah with all gentleness and wisdom, bringing her up to be a lady of quality. Whilst he could, of course, send a governess away if she did not suit, he would prefer not to have to do that. He knew that his daughter would be inclined to form something of an attachment with whichever lady he chose.

Sighing to himself, Matthew picked up the final letter and opened it carefully, noticing that it bore a wax seal, although it was one he did not recognize. Frowning slightly, he began to read the first few lines, his eyebrows reaching up so high they almost disappeared into his hairline.

The writing was shaky, the words sometimes almost indistinct so that he struggled to read it clearly. At the bottom, there was something like a tearstain that had marked the signature, as though the writer had been crying.

Somewhat confused as to what this might mean, Matthew read the letter again, taking it in slowly. From what he understood, the applicant was a lady of quality, the sister of a viscount. Why was she applying to be his daughter’s governess? Had the family fallen on hard times and so she was required to do what she could to make a life for herself? On paper, she appeared to be the perfect lady, the answer to his concerns about whether he would find someone truly suitable for little Sarah, but he did not want to have a governess who was, it seemed, somewhat upset at having to become a governess instead of continuing with the life she had been born to.

Why had she not married? Was there something about her appearance or her manner that made her entirely unsuitable as a wife? Frowning, Matthew re-read the letter again, not quite sure either what to make of it or what to do.

Picking up his quill, he paused for a moment before scratching out a reply. He could not pass up on the chance of having such a lady for his daughter’s governess, even if it was very strange for a viscount’s sister to be looking for such a position. Sealing the letter with his wax seal, Matthew rang the bell and handed it to the butler to be posted at once. Sitting back in his seat, he piled up the rest of the application letters and set them to the side. He would see what Miss Sophia Weston had to say before he went in search of anyone else.