Ward arrived at Cavendish Square a good half-hour early, only to have the housemaid at the registry inform him that he’d have to wait, as Mrs. Snowe was busy.

Within ten minutes, he felt like a wild animal trapped in a china shop. He’d just spent five hours cooped up in a coach; the last thing he wanted to do was sit. He prowled restlessly around the room, spindly gold-and-pink furniture seeming to edge closer, like yapping dogs aiming to take a leak on his boots.

He set his jaw. He’d be damned if he’d quit the place simply because the room was stifling and close. The sensation was merely an odious consequence of the time he spent in Britain’s worst prison.

He’d go mad living in the midst of all this ladylike clutter. A good reason to be happy his betrothal had died on the vine. It was a hell of a lot easier to find a new governess than to find a wife.

All he’d had to do was persuade Mrs. Snowe to give him a replacement. Whereas a replacement for his fiancée? Who was, by the way, blissfully married to a duke?

Not so easy.

More to the point, the debacle of his engagement had clarified how little he understood women. He had truly believed he and Mia were in love.

In retrospect, it was more accurate to say that he’d deluded himself into believing it. His jaw still clenched involuntarily when he thought about the months he’d wooed Mia, gently coaxing her to kiss him, never touching her improperly, curbing his impatience to make her his.

Only to be thrown into prison by one of Mia’s relatives the night before his wedding. He’d escaped two weeks later, but his fiancée had already married the Duke of Pindar.

Whom—as it turned out—Mia had loved since she was a girl.

Hurrah for His Grace.

Ward had talked himself into believing sugary twaddle about their feelings for each other, when in reality Mia had been hankering after another man.

By the time the housemaid reappeared, Ward had reached the same conclusion he had had the night before: he would use every weapon he had against the children’s grandmother—his grandmother—before he’d marry.

No, that wasn’t true. If he wished, he could threaten the dowager with a public description of the one visit he had paid to her daughter, Lady Lisette, as a boy. The House of Lords would relish hearing the details of Lisette’s lunacy.

But he refused to do that. Mad or not, Lisette had been his mother, and he owed her respect.

Ward strode into Mrs. Snowe’s office feeling as irritable as a hungry tiger pacing through high grass. If he’d had a tail, he’d be lashing it from side to side.

She was waiting for him by the same grouping of chairs in which they had sat before, her elegant figure outlined by sunshine coming through the windows. All that red-gold hair of hers was piled on top of her head in a smooth style that dared a man to begin pulling out pins and throwing them to the ground.

All of a sudden, he felt better. The tension in his back eased. No wonder her agency was the best; one instinctively felt that this woman, with all her contained energy and bright intelligence, could solve any problem.

She walked toward him, holding out her hand to shake his. “Good afternoon, Mr. Reeve. How are you? And Lizzie and Otis?”

“We have survived the last few days, Mrs. Snowe. Dare I hope that you have found a governess for us?”

Mrs. Snowe nodded. “I believe so. Her name is Alithia Midge. It’s very difficult to imagine Miss Midge weeping for any reason and, equally important, she is fully capable of preparing Otis for the fall term.”

She took a sheaf of papers from her desk and led him to a chair. “Please take your time in reading the contract; I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”

He sat, but didn’t read the document. “Does it differ from that pertaining to Miss Lumley?”

“Yes. Miss Midge’s salary is considerably higher than Miss Lumley’s, as Miss Midge is not only highly experienced, but will need all her resources to bring your brother up to an appropriate standard to enter Eton by September.”

“Fair enough,” Ward said, glancing through the first few pages.

“The agreement also allows her more time to herself than a governess normally receives.”

“The registry isn’t charging a larger fee?” he asked, looking at the last page.

Mrs. Snowe shook her head. “My fee is always the same, no matter the situation. We don’t merely place governesses; we support them throughout their tenure with a family. Some will require more help and others none at all. It evens out.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Governesses bear the burden of the household and its children, so I adjust their salaries according to my opinion of a position’s complexities. Miss Lumley was charged with the care of two fragile and darling orphans in need of a soothing environment. She was well-suited to that particular task.”

Mrs. Snowe had a way of saying things in a direct manner although her eyes shone with secret humor. Ward suspected that had she been present at the conjuration of the rabbity spirit, she would have burst out laughing rather than swoon.

“Lizzie and Otis are neither darling nor fragile,” he agreed. “I cannot argue with your assessment that Miss Midge deserves special terms.”

She smiled at him. “The children are fortunate to have you as their guardian.”

“I would not describe them as fortunate,” Ward said, hardness entering his voice. “Three months passed between our mother’s death and the theater troupe’s arrival at my house, whereupon the children were literally dumped on my doorstep. I had no idea they existed.”

He didn’t add that he doubted his mother had loved her children, or had treated them kindly.

Eugenia had thought Mr. Reeve’s eyes were brown, but now they had darkened to the color of burnt amber.

Which was completely irrelevant.

“May I ask how your mother died?”

“According to the children, she developed a lung complaint and was gone in two days. She scrawled a note to me, instructing me to care for them, and sent along her husband’s will, which said the same. And she directed the manager of the theater troupe to leave them off whenever the troupe next visited Oxford.”

A curl of anger lit in Eugenia’s belly, but his mother’s shortcomings were scarcely Mr. Reeve’s fault. “The children’s father . . .” She paused and added delicately, “I gather he passed away as well. Was he known to you?”

“Yes.” His face was stony.

“It will be difficult for Lizzie and Otis to enter society, owing to their irregular parentage.” That was an understatement. Mr. Reeve was illegitimate and it seemed that his siblings were similarly disadvantaged. Thanks to being surpassingly wealthy and the son of an earl, he was welcome anywhere—if he had cared to go.

His young brother and sister, however, would not be so lucky. Otis would have a difficult time at Eton, and Lizzie’s hopes of making a good marriage were nil.

Mr. Reeve cleared his throat. “As you may be aware, Viscount Darcy died almost two years ago.” His voice was grim. “He and my mother were married.”

Eugenia’s mouth fell open.

Viscount Darcy?

The late Lord Darcy was notorious for having run away from home at age fifteen, accompanied by a much older woman, the daughter of a duke. They disappeared without a trace, and he had remained unaccounted for until news came of his death around a year ago.

There had followed a series of unsavory—if riveting—revelations about the temptress who had lured him from his home. His mother had bitterly blamed the woman for Darcy’s death and had made no bones about sharing her opinion with everyone in society.

“Lord Darcy! Your mother—that means the children’s mother—”

His jaw tightened. “She was Lady Lisette Elys, daughter of the fourth Duke of Gilner. Unlike myself, Lizzie and Otis are legitimate, though the product of a Gretna Green match that could not in any way be considered ordinary.”

Well.

This changed things.

Or did it? Lizzie and Otis were the children of a woman notorious for—to call a spade a spade—being as cracked as an egg. Eugenia hadn’t known about Lady Lisette’s decade with an itinerant theater troupe, but the lady’s seduction of an underage boy had been feverishly discussed.

After all, she had been more than thirty years of age, and Lord Darcy scarcely half that. Society had gossiped about it for months.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a beat too late.

“Obviously, our mother’s identity will become public when the children are introduced to society. I suppose it was too much to hope that it would not be discovered.”

“I’m shocked that no one recognized Lady Lisette on the stage.”

“I asked the children that. Apparently she stained her hair black and always wore a great deal of paint on her face.”

Eugenia had an absurd wish to ease his bleak expression, but there was no escaping the truth. Lady Lisette had been fascinating in all the wrong ways; no one would wish to claim her as a relative.

“I resigned my place at Oxford after the children arrived,” Mr. Reeve said, his voice without inflection. “The university has a morality cause, and they were already winking at my parents’ irregular union. A mother depicted in the popular press as being as foul as a privy would have been the last straw.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she offered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Snowe. A woman with your connections could spread gossip without even entering Almack’s. I’ve never been there myself.”

Eugenia had.

Many times.

“I suppose you already know about the assembly room; you’re as ladylike as any lady I’ve met. I don’t mean to condescend,” he continued, digging himself deeper.

“I’m grateful for the compliment,” Eugenia said, saving it up to tell her father—the marquis. He’d roar with laughter at the idea that she was as ladylike as a real lady.

She cleared her throat. “You will have considered this, but your mother’s clandestine marriage means that Otis is the rightful heir to his father’s title and estate.” The current—or soon to be deposed—viscount was a portly man with a wispy beard that gave him a resemblance to an amiable goat.

Mr. Reeve nodded. “The Court of Chancery appointed me guardian after proving the late Lord Darcy’s will and testament. The former viscount agreed to care for the estate until Otis comes of age.”

“You don’t wish to live there?”

Mr. Reeve shook his head. “I have a considerable estate of my own, and he seems to be doing a good job. My people will keep an eye on Otis’s property, of course, but the man is genuinely fond of the people and has kept the house and lands in good condition. I don’t like the idea of taking his title, lands, and occupation in one blow.”

Eugenia nodded.

“The real problem is that the children’s maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Gilner, has filed a plea for a Private act in the House of Lords, which would transfer guardianship of the children and estate to herself.”

“Due to your irregular birth?” Eugenia asked. Her Grace was a stickler when it came to polite society. In fact, she was one of that small group of dowagers who felt that Eugenia should eschew the ton altogether, now that she was “in trade.”

“Precisely. There will be a hearing in a few weeks in response to her plea.”

“Her Grace is a powerful woman,” Eugenia said carefully.

His mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “I considered marrying a lady—any lady—without delay, to atone for my illegitimacy, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“It would be difficult to woo under these circumstances,” Eugenia agreed, not allowing herself to smile back.

This wasn’t funny.

Well, it was a little funny.

“But I doubt that the circumstances of your birth are sufficient to overturn Lord Darcy’s will,” she said. “I think Court of Chancery follows paternal wishes whenever possible.”

“Yes, but I was thrown in prison last year. It was an illegal imprisonment by my fiancée’s uncle, but the duchess plans to ask that I be barred from guardianship on that basis.”

“That is terrible,” Eugenia said, losing all wish to laugh.

“The Duke of Pindar, my former fiancée’s husband, will testify on my behalf.”

Eugenia narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s odd that the Duchess of Gilner is acting as an arbiter of polite society even though her only daughter ran away with Lord Darcy when he was merely fifteen?”

Ward shrugged. “I’d rather not use that against her. After all, the late Lord Darcy’s will has been proved. If I can demonstrate the ability to raise the children according to their station, it would be reasonable to follow their father’s wishes.”

Eugenia had an inkling that it would take more than a good governess to wage war against the contemptuous old woman, but there was nothing she could do to help. “Have you sent in Otis’s name for admission to Eton?”

“Better,” Mr. Reeve answered, with that quick smile of his. “I sent a large donation to commemorate Otis’s father. Darcy was only two years ahead of me.”

Mr. Reeve had been at Eton with his future stepfather? It was a small world, and an odd one.

“I can see Otis racketing around Eton without difficulty,” he added. “It’s Lizzie who poses a problem. I could send her away to school, I suppose, but she wouldn’t fit in with the other girls.”

Eugenia had to agree. “Where did Lizzie acquire her headgear?”

“It was part of Lady Lisette’s costume for playing Lady Macbeth.”

Mrs. Snowe’s eyes melted in sympathy. “That’s heartbreaking.”

Ward wasn’t sure why Lizzie wore the veil, but he didn’t think it was because she wanted to feel closer to her mother. For one thing, she always referred to her mother as “Lady Lisette.”

Mrs. Snowe cleared her throat. “I gather that your mother was not playing minor parts.”

“Lady Lisette took all leading female roles, as I understand. Cleopatra and the like. I suppose I’m fortunate that Lizzie isn’t wearing a gilt Egyptian headpiece.”

“Miss Midge is versatile and creative,” Mrs. Snowe said, sounding as if she were reassuring herself. “I shall dispatch her to you tomorrow; she should arrive in the late afternoon.”

With that, she rose and headed toward the door. Ward followed suit. The way Mrs. Snowe’s hips swayed was transfixing.

He’d like . . .

No.

She was a respectable widow. She wasn’t a woman who would entertain thoughts of an illicit liaison. Anyone could tell that.

Mrs. Snowe stopped at the door. “I believe that Miss Midge will enjoy coming to know your children.”

“Is she likely to faint at the sight of entrails?” Not that Ward thought Lizzie had plans for further dissection.

“I cannot imagine Alithia Midge being unnerved even by the events described in the Book of Revelation.” Mrs. Snowe replied. “She would likely offer the Four Horsemen a cup of tea.”

With that, she opened the door, making it clear that he was expected to leave.

“Lizzie and Otis will be fine,” she said, placing her hand lightly on his for a second. “Children are remarkably good at weathering unusual living arrangements. In fact, placidity produces tiresome adults.”

“That bodes well for their future.”

“Was there anything else, Mr. Reeve?”

Ward had the impulse to tell her everything: that Lizzie was filled with fury instead of grief, that Otis never mentioned his mother and was obsessed with money.

That Lizzie seemed to believe she had magical powers and that Otis saw no ethical problem with stealing money in lieu of earning it, even though gentlemen did neither.

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Mrs. Snowe had been a governess, but she was obviously something of a lady as well. Perhaps she’d been a vicar’s daughter.

She was making a deep curtsy, for instance . . .

That bosom.

No man could ignore it.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Snowe extended her hand, not to be clasped but to be kissed, for all the world as if they were taking leave of each other at a ball.

Ward had been instructed by the best—his father’s title ensured that—so he swept a bow and kissed her hand.

His lips brushed her skin and he caught that elusive scent again. Sweet berries, warm woman . . .

“What did you just say, Mr. Reeve?” a confused voice asked.

Had he spoken aloud?

Ward straightened with the urgency of a soldier on review. “I’m most grateful for your forbearance and generosity,” he said, probably laying it on too thick.

But she smiled at him again, so it seemed not.

It was demoralizing to realize just how much flummery a man might babble in order to see that smile again.