Marcus descended and brushed off his coat and pantaloons. Richard jumped down beside him with a little too much confidence in his younger brother, who missed his footing. Henrietta let out a cry, starting forward. But Cromarty was faster, catching the boy as he tumbled out of the tree and then falling with him under the force.
“Idiot,” Richard said without rancor, pulling his brother off Cromarty.
“Repellant brat,” Cromarty commented, rising to his feet to display a muddy rear which made all three children chortle. Even Henrietta laughed, and they all proceeded onward toward the house without further recriminations.
Marcus, used to his sister’s almost hysterical protection of her offspring, was both amused and surprised. He accepted Henrietta’s casual introductions to Richard and twins, Horatio and Eliza, with more interest than he might normally have shown to children. And they all grinned at him in friendly spirit and thanked him for his help.
“Wait,” Henrietta said, stopping suddenly in her tracks. “We didn’t leave George up there, did we?”
“No, no,” Richard assured her. “He’s in the stables.”
“George wants to be a cavalry officer,” Horatio told Marcus.
“A worthy ambition,” Marcus said. “What do you want to be?”
Horatio scowled darkly. “Not a naval officer.”
“Indeed, why should you be?” Marcus soothed.
“People do often think he should, because his name is Horatio,” Eliza confided. “Like Lord Nelson.”
“That would be silly,” Marcus said. “Like you becoming a queen because your name is Elizabeth.”
Eliza laughed. “Then I could tell everyone what to do! Even Alvan. Even Papa!”
“I’d vote for that,” Richard grinned. “Oh, look, another carriage. Should we go in the back door?
“Through the kitchen,” Horatio said with relish.
“Not unless you wish to avoid Miss Milsom,” Henrietta said. “Because if I’m not much mistaken, that’s our ancient coach, and Old John in charge of it.”
Marcus was conscious of a new surge of interest. The carriage was moving away, in the direction of the stables, revealing a dainty figure flitting up the front steps with the disreputable, old carpetbag he remembered only too well.
The younger children galloped across the terrace after her. Even Richard strode a little faster.
“Their governess,” Henrietta explained. “At least, she’s Eliza’s governess, and looks after the boys when they’re home from school. And here comes George, too!”
Another boy raced round from the other side of the house and up the steps in front of them, calling a cheerful greeting over his shoulder. “Hello, Henrie! Captain!”
“They appear to like their governess,” Marcus observed.
“They do,” Henrietta agreed. “So do I, actually, and not just because she’s one of the few people who can reach Eliza. Although she seems very proper, almost stern, she’s actually extremely bright and droll.”
Intrigued, Marcus fell back as they entered the house. Before the wooden-faced servants, the children surrounded the slightly shabby figure of Miss Milsom, all talking at once. Eliza clung to her hand, and Horatio was jumping up and down in excitement to tell her something.
“Miss M!” Henrietta greeted her. “You found us! Mama will be delighted. As, clearly, are the rest of us! Come, I’ll take you up to her ladyship’s chamber.”
Marcus didn’t quite understand his curiosity for her. He was glad the children showed her such affection, and that Henrietta was both courteous and friendly, but he found he was most interested in how Miss Milsom regarded them. Would she tell off her employers’ family as fearlessly as she had scolded him?
Not that Henrietta had said anything offensive. Unlike Marcus. But as the governess turned to Henrietta, her gaze, caught by his movement, shifted to him and froze. Her eyes widened. As he strolled nearer, her cheeks flushed with more outrage than pleasure.
“Oh, this is Miss Milsom,” Henrietta said distractedly as she tried to shoo her siblings across the hall. “Miss Milsom, Sir Marcus Dain.”
“How do you do?” Marcus said distantly, wondering if she was about to give the game away by scolding him in public.
“Sir,” she replied with equal distance. She swung away from him at once and swept her charges ahead of her toward the marble staircase.
Cromarty strode ahead out of sight, but Marcus chose to follow the rest upstairs, and when Eliza let go of the governess’s hand to race after Horatio and George, he fell into step beside Miss Milsom.
“You might have warned me you were coming here!” she all but hissed at him. “I suppose you have told them about our wretched meeting at the inn.”
Disappointment twisted through him. “Why was it wretched for you?” he retorted. “You got my bedchamber out of it. Try for some discretion, Miss Milsom, or mine will have been for nothing.”
Her flush deepened as though she recognized the justice of his attack, but her eyes still sparkled with anger, just as magnificently as they had last night, although with less cause.
“I know you did this deliberately,” she muttered. “For your own amusement.”
He sighed. “I had hoped for yours, too, but I see I was mistaken.”
“You were,” she insisted with another flash of her brilliant eyes.
They had reached the top of the staircase, where Cromarty had been delayed by Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, whom Marcus had encountered at luncheon. The couple glanced at the lively children with haughty disapproval and were already beating a hasty retreat when Marshall halted, staring in clear astonishment. He gazed no longer at the children but at Miss Milsom.
He took several impulsive steps forward. “Helen? It is you, isn’t it?”
Miss Milsom glanced up as though unsure it was she who was being addressed and saw Philip Marshall.
The blood drained from her face. Her hand moved once in some instinctive gesture that could either have been welcoming or warding him off. But there was no doubting her agitation—or her fear.
Chapter Three
If Helen had been thrown by the unexpected presence of Sir Marcus Dain, it was nothing to the shock of seeing Philip again. For an instant, emotion swamped her so intensely, it terrified her.
Once, this man had been everything to her. In him had resided all her hopes, all her love. Her heart had burst with happiness when he had asked her to marry him—and broken like shattered glass when he had ended their engagement in order to marry another. For years, she had thrust all that hurt behind her as she made a quite different life for herself. That he could intrude upon that, too, appalled her, even as the memory of her feelings overwhelmed her.
Yet, while she stared at him, she was no less aware of Sir Marcus Dain’s presence beside her and struggled to pull herself together.
“Mr. Marshall,” she managed.
“Oh, come, my dear Helen! Is that any way to greet such an old friend? Will you not shake hands?”
There was no excuse for that. He did not speak from shock or true affection, just from total ignorance of her position as a servant.
“That would not be appropriate,” she managed, hating the faint tremor in her voice. She coughed to clear it. “You must know I am governess to Lord and Lady Overton’s children.”