“Any news from Lucy or Aquilla?” Nora asked their guest, the Duchess of Clare, who was simply “Ivy” to them.

Ivy set her teacup down on the table. “Nothing yet. They both write to me nearly every day.” She let out a brief laugh. “Indeed their correspondence has increased along with their bellies.”

Nora nodded knowingly. “Because they have to sit more than normal—at least that’s how I felt. And at this stage, it’s especially frustrating because they likely have spurts of energy.”

Ivy rested a hand on her round midsection. “Yes, I’m beginning to feel that way too.”

As usual, Jo felt disjointed from the conversation, having no experience to add anything of value. She ate another cake and mused that it was the only way her belly would ever grow. Ugh, what a depressing thought. She turned her mind to all the bad things that could happen, up to and including her own death in childbirth. It was a merciless tactic, but the only one she had to combat the disappointment and depression.

“It’s much different from last time,” Ivy said quietly.

Jo snapped to attention, not certain she’d heard her correctly. She glanced over at Nora, who smiled warmly at her friend.

“Are you nervous at all?” Nora asked.

Ivy nodded, taking a moment to answer. “I try not to think about it too much. As I said, things were so different. I never had enough to eat, and I was ill.” She looked over at Jo. “I don’t mind sharing my secret with you, but very few people know. I had a child about ten years ago. She was born early and didn’t survive. At the time, I was living in a workhouse.” She stroked her belly, and Jo wondered if she even realized.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Jo said, thinking that if she were to miraculously become pregnant and then lose the child, she might very well not recover. And yet it was always a possibility.

“I’ve convinced myself over the years that it was for the best—for everyone. The life she would’ve had to endure as a bastard with a mother in a workhouse…” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “My apologies. I cry at the slightest provocation these days.” She let out a tremulous laugh as she pressed her fingertips to the corners of her eyes.

“But you didn’t stay in the workhouse,” Jo said, stating the obvious but hoping that Ivy might tell her what had happened. Hers seemed an example of a complete change of fortune.

Ivy shook her head. “I moved to another one after that and found a benefactress who recognized that I had education and poise. She helped me to find work as a companion. I changed my name and left that life behind.”

Jo blinked, pondering how marvelous that must have been in her circumstance. “And you enjoyed being a companion?”

“I did, very much. I would still be happily working for Lady Dunn if not for West.” Her lips curved up. “I did try to dissuade him, but he was most persistent.”

Jo still wanted more information so she decided to speak candidly and hope that her sister wouldn’t comment. “I’ve been considering employment—as a companion or a governess.”

Ivy pivoted toward her. “Indeed? The most important thing is finding the right employer. I was fortunate to work for women who were generous enough to allow me time to devote to my personal interests. They treated me as a person, not a servant. After my experience and the kindness of my benefactress, I felt it was my duty to dedicate my energy to supporting workhouses where I could. My employers supported those endeavors.”

“You were quite fortunate. However did you manage that?”

“It wasn’t easy, and I did turn down several offers of employment.” She exhaled, her spine straightening. “I’d decided that I was going to live my life as I chose.”

That was a luxury Jo actually possessed. She didn’t have to take employment, so she could be selective.

“It’s too bad that Lady Dunn isn’t still looking for a companion. I think she’s quite happy with Sarah. I believe she has a friend who is looking. If you’d like me to inquire, I’d be happy to do so.”

“I keep trying to encourage Jo to marry again,” Nora said, offering Jo a nervous smile, as if she knew she was being an annoying older sister. “I know she’d like to have a family of her own.”

“Well, marriage isn’t for everyone,” Ivy said, and Jo suppressed the urge to give her sister a childish smirk. “I never planned to marry, and I daresay West is one in a million. He had to be to win me over.” Ivy winked at Jo.

Nora picked up her teacup. “Who’s to say Jo won’t find her own West or Titus?” She peered at Jo over the rim of her cup as she took a sip.

“Who’s to say I won’t find an employment situation like Ivy had?” Jo asked with a touch of irritation. “Anyway, I tried marriage, and I didn’t care for it.”

Ivy gave her a knowing glance. “I’m sorry to hear it. It’s difficult not to cast all men in the vein of our first experiences. The father of my first child promised to marry me and didn’t. You can perhaps deduce why I’d sworn never to trust another man.”

Easily. Jo knew that not all men were like Matthias. In fact, most of them weren’t. But how could she know she wouldn’t get one of the few who were? Or who were potentially even worse.

“Yet you did,” Nora said. “What made you change your mind?”

Jo couldn’t tell if Nora genuinely wanted to know or if she was trying to demonstrate a point to Jo. It had to be the former, of course, but if it achieved the latter, Nora wouldn’t quibble.

“It really was just West.” Ivy’s smile was soft and secretive. “He insisted I was missing something, and that if I had the courage to try, I just might find it. He was right. I never imagined I’d find happiness like this. I’d resolved that it was for other people, and it was up to me to create my own contentment, which I did being a companion.” She looked at Jo. “As I said, I’d be happy in that role still if that’s where I was today.”

But she’d been tempted with something more. Jo thought of Knighton’s proposal. That hadn’t been tempting. It had been frightening. And heart wrenching. But even if she could bear children, she didn’t know him well enough to accept his proposal.

She doubted very much he was anything like Matthias, but how could she know that, really? Until she stepped into his bedroom, she couldn’t. The thought of opening herself up to another man in that way… She wasn’t sure she could do it. Kissing Knighton the other night had been a grievous mistake.

Ivy departed a short while later, and Nora moved to sit beside Jo on the settee. “I’m sorry for meddling.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m just not sure you’ll be happy as a companion or a governess. But, that’s not my decision to make. I hope you know you’ll always have a home here.”

The irritation Jo had felt earlier was replaced with regret. When Nora had needed a home, Jo hadn’t been able to give her one. “That means so much to me. Especially since I didn’t do the same for you.”

Shame welled in Jo’s chest, but what could she have done differently? Matthias never would have let Nora come to stay with them—not with her scandalous past. When Jo thought of the scandal Matthias could have caused, well, she wanted to tell him what a hypocrite he was.

Nora clasped Jo’s hand. “I don’t blame you for that at all. I know Matthias didn’t care for me.”

Jo let out an acerbic laugh. “It went a bit beyond that. For a vicar, he wasn’t particularly Christian.”

“I hope someday you’ll confide in me. If you want to.” Nora hugged her briefly before standing. “I’m going to look in on the children.”

Jo sat for a minute, her mind turning to what Ivy had said about taking employment. Perhaps she could just talk to Lady Dunn’s friend—

Her thought was interrupted by the arrival of Abbott. “Lord Knighton is here to see you, Mrs. Shaw.”

Jo rose. What could he want? Evie wasn’t here. “Me, you say?”

Abbott gave a single nod. “Just so. Shall I show him up, or are you indisposed?”

“Show him up, please.” Perhaps he just wanted to review yesterday’s interviews. Although, she couldn’t think what more there was to discuss. They’d agreed that none of them were right. As it happened, however, Nora had conducted her interviews yesterday and today, and before Ivy had arrived, had suggested another candidate.

Knighton entered the drawing room a moment later, looking effortlessly handsome. He was also wearing gloves. She hid a smile.

He bowed. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw. I hope I’m not calling at an inopportune time.”

“Not at all. Would you care to sit?” She gestured toward the seating area she’d just stood from. “I’m afraid we still have the remnants of a tea tray, but I can have a fresh one brought up, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” He walked to her, moving with an easy grace that was somehow animalistic, she realized. Almost like a cat. “I wanted to talk with you about the governess position.”

Jo sat back down on the settee and almost instantly regretted it because he lowered himself right next to her. “I have good news on that front, actually,” she said, edging slightly away from him. “My sister had a difficult time choosing a governess. Apparently, two of her candidates were quite good. She was pleased to hear that she could recommend one of them to you since your candidates were not as successful. Would you like me to arrange for an interview?”

“I don’t need to conduct further interviews. I’ve found whom I want to hire.”

Jo straightened. “Is that so? Did you interview someone new today?”

He shook his head. “No. I want you.”

Those three simple words sent a shiver down her neck. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want you.” His dark eyes bored into her with singular intent. The room seemed suddenly warm. “As Evie’s governess.”

Ah yes, that clarification meant everything. She exhaled, realizing she’d held her breath. “I’m…surprised.” She was many other things too, but thought that description would suffice.

“Evie begged me, I admit, but once I started thinking about it, I had to agree that it’s a spectacular idea. You know Evie, and I think you like her—”

“Immensely.” Jo didn’t want him to doubt that.

His lips quirked into a half smile. “Good. She definitely likes you. I can’t think of anyone better. You’re intelligent, well-connected—and that seems important, not that I particularly give a damn—and you were most helpful yesterday with my…household issues. Furthermore, you seem up to the challenge of our foibles. I don’t think our bare feet or food particularity will concern you.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m really not sure I want to take employment. I’m still trying to find my way.”

He rested his arm along the back of the settee, bringing his hand within touching distance of her shoulder if she only leaned back an inch. “You’d enjoy every freedom you do now. You may come and go as you wish, and I’ll provide you with a large bedchamber in the main living quarters. I understand governesses often sleep in the servants’ area, but not you.”

Ivy’s comments floated through her mind. “They treated me as a person, not a servant.” What Knighton was offering was surely the best position she could imagine.

He continued his verbal assault. And it truly was an assault as she became less and less able to defend against why this wouldn’t work. “Mostly I want to provide a stable, happy environment for Evie. Coming to England has been a huge change for her, and so far, Mrs. Poole has exceeded my expectations. Which is good given the problems we’ve had with other members of the staff. With you, I know what to expect and so does she.”

How could she argue with him when he laid it out like that? Moreover, how could she say no to Evie? The girl had lost her mother and her home. If having Jo as her governess would ease her stress, Jo simply couldn’t refuse.

And yet, there were…issues.

She tried to think of how to articulate her fears. All the while, he stared at her expectantly, making her feel warm, which wasn’t to say unpleasant. On the contrary, sitting this close to him reminded her of his hands and his mouth on her, and goodness, the heat flashing through her was becoming a problem.

“Don’t you think things might be awkward?” When he didn’t respond, she dug for more. “After what happened at the ball.”

His eyes flickered with awareness. “Yes, the ball. Things needn’t be awkward. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends who’d kissed each other and who’d proposed marriage and who’d rejected said proposal. “I think so, yes. But there can’t be…” She coughed, then lifted her chin, unwilling to be brought down by any sense of embarrassment. “I was clear the other night about any romantic future.”

His brow arched slightly, causing her to relax. “Yes, quite.”

“Good.”

“Is that a yes?”

It wasn’t a no. But she had so many reservations! She also felt just the tiniest bit excited. To have a purpose every day and to spend time with a precious child was precisely what she needed. What she wanted.

“I suppose we could try it,” she said tentatively while emotion barreled through her chest. The moment of excitement had been replaced by a shaft of dread. He planned to marry again. What then? She’d watch him take a countess and just sit idly by? Of course she would. She’d had her chance, and she’d rejected him. That didn’t change the fact that she was attracted to him. Even while fear of what would happen if she acted on that attraction would undoubtedly prevent her from doing just that.

“What if things don’t work out?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Evie.”

He nodded once. “I understand. I wouldn’t want that either.”

“It would have to be a temporary arrangement until we were sure.” The war inside her head wasn’t going to reach a conclusion. She needed time to weigh everything. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

“That still isn’t a no. Which means I can harbor hope.” He stood. “I can’t ask for more than that.”

She rose alongside him. “I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.”

He bowed again and quickly departed, leaving her to feel as if her life had just turned upside down. Again.

* * *

It hadn’t even been a full day since Bran had offered the governess position to Mrs. Shaw, but with each passing hour, he grew more anxious that she would say no. It was an odd yet familiar sensation, the feeling that things were beyond his control. He’d felt that way for much of his life until going to Barbados, where he’d been beholden to no one. But now, being back here, the old anxiety had returned.

Well, not the old anxiety. This was something new, he had to admit. He wanted Mrs. Shaw to accept the position—for so many reasons.

“Papa, Papa!” Evie shrieked as she came tearing into his office, her bare feet skidding across the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and there was blood on her lip.

Bran shot out of his chair and rushed to gather her into his arms. “What is it, sweetling?” He held her up against his hip thinking he rarely carried her this way anymore.

“I lost my tooth.” She curled her lower lip down revealing a new, larger void in the center of her teeth. “Foster says I’m going to have bad luck forever!” She started crying anew, thick rivulets streaking down her face.

He held her close to his chest as the maid came to the threshold and peered into the office, her lips pursed and her gaze narrowed. “I said no such thing. I said she could have bad luck if the tooth wasn’t properly disposed of.”

What the devil was she talking about? Bran stroked Evie’s back as she clung to his neck. “Why on earth are you scaring my child?”

“I’m not scaring her.”

“Clearly you are. Even if that is not your intent. Have you no sense?”

Foster’s eyes narrowed further. “I could ask the same of you since you saw no reason to do the right thing with the first tooth.”

Evie wailed even louder, her body quivering. “She said that if we don’t burn the tooth, bad things will happen to me, and we can’t burn the first tooth I lost.”

Bran glared at the maid, his patience gone. “Your employment here is terminated as of this moment. Pack your things and leave by the end of the day. And do not ask for a reference.”

Foster’s face drained of color. She steadied herself on the doorframe as Kerr appeared just behind her.

“My lord,” he said sharply. “You can’t just turn her out. That is not how things are done.”

“Yes, I’m aware I don’t do things to your satisfaction, Kerr. How could I not be?” He didn’t bother keeping the acid from his tone. “However, I will not be dictated to when it comes to my daughter!” His voice rose until he shouted the last.

Evie hugged him even tighter and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hot tears soaked his shirt.

“Kerr, you are also dismissed. Immediately.” Bran glowered at both the butler and the maid—rather, the former butler and the former maid—until they turned about and left.

Evie lifted her head, and Bran turned with her before setting her gently on the chair near the fireplace. “What am I to do, Papa?” She held out her hand, which he realized had been clutching her tiny bloody tooth. “I only have this tooth to burn—or whatever it is. Foster didn’t say what we needed to do, only that it was vitally important.” Her words were unsteady, her face blotchy. Bran wanted to drag Foster back in here so he could yell at her again.

Evie had lost her first tooth on the voyage from Barbados. He’d no idea what had become of it. “We’ll just have to do our best with this tooth,” he said. “I bet Mrs. Poole will know. We’ll ask her when she returns.” It was her afternoon off.

Fresh tears spilled from Evie’s eyes. “Papa, I’m nervous. Can’t we find someone to help?”

Nervous. That was a word he didn’t like to hear from Evie. She didn’t suffer from the same frustrations he’d felt as a child—the behavior that had earned him the nickname “Bran the Defiant”—but when she was very agitated, as she was now, she became inconsolable. She’d begun to signal these episodes by saying she was “nervous.”

He scrambled for a solution, and the words Evie had uttered a moment ago rose in his mind: vitally important. That phrase reminded him of Mrs. Shaw.

But of course. It was too simple. “How about we go to the Kendals’? I bet the Duchess or Mrs. Shaw could help us.”

Evie’s tears slowed, and she wiped the back of her free hand over her cheeks. “Yes, Papa. Let’s go at once.”

“Just as soon as we’re properly dressed.” He tickled her toes, eliciting a soft giggle that sounded like music to him.

After placing Hudson in charge of the household, which caused a few raised eyebrows but thankfully no outbursts such as the ones demonstrated by Foster and Kerr, who were busy packing their things, Bran drove Evie to the Kendals’ town house in his phaeton.

They were disappointed at the door, however, when Abbott informed them that the family was out. Crestfallen, Evie asked if that included Mrs. Shaw.

“Actually, it does not,” Abbot answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Would you like me to see if she is available?”

“Oh yes, please.” Evie bounced with barely suppressed energy.

Abbott ushered them inside. “Wait here in the hall.”

As it happened, Mrs. Shaw was just descending the staircase. Her gaze fell on them. “Good afternoon, my lord, Evie.” She smiled. “I’m afraid Becky and the others are at the park.”

Bran stepped forward, his hand resting against the back of Evie’s neck. He could feel the slight tremor that coursed through her. “That’s all right, I’m certain you can help.”

Evie ran to Mrs. Shaw with her hand extended. “I’ve lost my tooth, and Foster said we have to burn it with a special ceremony or something, and we don’t know what that is. Mrs. Poole is off this afternoon. And my first tooth wasn’t burned at all. I lost it on the ship, and now I don’t know where it is. Foster said I would have bad luck, especially since it was my first milk tooth.”

Bran walked up beside them at the base of the stairs and saw that Evie’s lip was trembling and that tears had gathered in her eyes. He caressed the back of her neck once more and said soothingly, “Foster is full of stuff. Mrs. Shaw will help us.” He looked at Mrs. Shaw expectantly, hoping she actually could help them. His muscles grew taut as he awaited her response.

Mrs. Shaw squatted down to Evie’s level. “Yes, Foster is full of stuff. Let me see.” She looked at Evie’s mouth.

Evie lowered her lip again to show her the new gap.

“Impressive.” Mrs. Shaw gingerly picked up the tooth from Evie’s hand. “The first thing we must do is rub the tooth with salt.”

“But what about my first tooth?” Evie whined, her forehead creased with worry. “Foster said I would have terrible bad luck for ever and ever because I didn’t burn it.”

Mrs. Shaw frowned. “Foster is misinformed and ought not speak of things she clearly doesn’t understand. Burning a tooth is important here in England, but you didn’t lose your tooth in England, did you? The rules do not apply to that tooth.”

Hope leapt into Evie’s gaze while gratitude and wonder stole over Bran’s soul. “They don’t?” Evie asked.

Mrs. Shaw firmly shook her head. “Absolutely not. Everyone knows this. Well, everyone who isn’t Foster, apparently.”

The corners of Evie’s mouth crept into a small smile. “Papa dismissed her.”

Mrs. Shaw’s gaze found his. “Good for your papa,” she said softly, and Bran felt another tremor deep within himself. “Come, let’s go to the kitchen. I wager Cook will be delighted to help us.”

Of course she would, Bran thought. She made marzipan with children. He ought to ask if she had a sister since he was about to be in the market for a cook. Now that he’d dismissed Kerr and Foster, he was keen to be rid of her too.

Mrs. Shaw took Evie by the hand and led them down to the kitchen. The cook, a tall, slender woman with dark hair and bright gray eyes greeted them with a smile.

“Well, if it isn’t Lady Evie.” Her voice carried a slight Irish lilt. “What brings you here today? It’s not time for marzipan yet.”

“No,” said Mrs. Shaw. “We’re here on another errand. Lady Evie has lost a milk tooth, and we need to salt it.”

The cook’s eyes shone, and she grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of rather crooked teeth. “Do you know what song you’re going to sing?” she asked Evie.

Evie glanced at Bran, her brow furrowed again, before she looked to Mrs. Shaw. “You didn’t say anything about singing.”

“Not yet, I haven’t.” She dragged a short stool over near the fireplace and gestured for Evie to come join her. “Sit, and I’ll explain everything.”

Evie sat, her head tipped up as she waited, rapt, for instructions. Bran went to stand beside her, also eager for what was to come next.

Mrs. Shaw laid the tooth flat in her open palm. “First, I’ll rub salt on it, and while I do that, you must sing a song. Any song will do. Do you have a favorite?”

Evie glanced at her father. “I learned a few songs on our ship, but Papa probably wouldn’t like it if I sang them.”

Bran knew precisely what songs she was referring to. “No, that wouldn’t be appropriate.” He coughed. “How about ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’?”

Evie nodded, turning her attention to Mrs. Shaw, who looked as though she was trying not to laugh. “Very good,” she said.

The cook carried the salt cellar to Mrs. Shaw. “Your mother’s supposed to rub the salt on, but since you don’t have a mother, perhaps your father ought to do it.” She glanced from Evie to Bran to Mrs. Shaw.

“No, no,” Bran said quickly. “I’ve no idea what to do. I’ll leave it to Mrs. Shaw.”

Her brown-green eyes flashed with something. She swallowed as her lids fluttered close for a moment. “While you sing, I’ll rub the salt on. When you’re finished with the song, we’ll take the tooth to the fire and throw it in.”

“Is that all?” Evie asked.

Mrs. Shaw nodded. “That’s all.”

Evie’s frame relaxed, her shoulders dipping. “That doesn’t sound terrible. I assumed it would be terrible since Foster was so cross.”

Mrs. Shaw looked toward Bran and murmured, “I’m glad she’s gone.”

“No more than I,” he whispered.

Mrs. Shaw spooned some salt onto her palm and looked at Evie. “Are you ready?”

Evie started singing, the soft notes of “Baa Baa Black Sheep” filling the kitchen. The cook’s assistant and the scullery maid stopped their work to listen, and Mrs. Shaw covered the tooth with salt and rubbed the ivory surface with her thumb and forefinger.

When Evie finished, Mrs. Shaw smiled. “Time for the fire, then.” She took Evie’s hand again and led her to the fire. Bran followed them, somewhat entranced by the whole scenario.

Mrs. Shaw squatted down beside her. “I didn’t have a mother either, so my sister is the one who did this for me. And she added something special. When we threw the tooth into the fire, I made a wish. Would you like to do that?”

Evie’s eyes were wide as she listened. “Yes,” she breathed, sounding as if she were in awe. Bran had to admit he was too.

“We’ll do it together,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Put your hand around mine, and I’ll count to three.” Evie wrapped her fingers around Mrs. Shaw’s as she said, “One, two, three.”

They flung the tooth into the fire.

Mrs. Shaw turned to Evie. “Did you make your wish?”

“I did.” Her gaze locked on to Mrs. Shaw’s. “Are you going to be my governess? Papa said you were thinking about it.”

Bran was standing to the side. Mrs. Shaw didn’t turn her head to look at him, but he caught the subtle twitch of her shoulder. He briefly closed his eyes, wishing Evie hadn’t said anything. He didn’t want to scare Mrs. Shaw away.

“I was thinking about it, but I’ve decided to say yes.”

Bran’s pulse quickened.

Evie’s face bloomed into a wide grin. “Then my wish already came true.”

So had Bran’s.