Page 28 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Oh, but—” Regina said, not wanting to do anything that involved spending time with Montagu.

“No buts, Mrs Harris,” Montagu replied, turning and walking away.

Ten minutes later and Tilly and Regina were ensconced in Montagu’s luxurious carriage, making the brief journey to Gunters. Tilly chattered happily to her grandfather, who seemed to delight in his granddaughter’s company. Not that Regina blamed him for that. Spoiled she might be, but Tilly was lively and clever, a quick-witted child who was an entertaining companion. She was also kind-hearted and loving, and she deserved a mother who would guide her through the coming years, for Tilly would be a beauty one day and then she would need careful handling. Regina could not help but worry, for both their sakes. She enjoyed her life as Tilly’s governess, though the realisation had come as a surprise to her. Once upon a time she had longed for a husband, some romantic figure to come and rescue her from a life where her future had not been her own. It was her own now, but it was by no means secure.

The elegant tea shop fell silent as Montagu walked in, every head turning to stare at him, and then at Tilly. He ignored the gazes as he always did, encased in the ice he was teaching Tilly to cultivate. A hushed murmur of voices rose after the initial silence, with women raising fans to whisper behind as they stared at Tilly. Regina hurried forward, about to take the girl’s hand, for she could see the blush rising to the child’s cheeks, but Montagu looked down at Tilly and their eyes met. Tilly put up her chin, adopting a cool, haughty expression that was an echo of her grandfather’s.

Montagu winked surreptitiously at the girl and took her hand, and Regina felt an unexpected lump in her throat at the silent exchange.

They enjoyed a lavish tea, with Montagu choosing a ridiculously indulgent selection of cream cakes and buns. Regina was rather startled to discover herself enjoying the outing. Once they had eaten far more than Regina thought quite proper for any of them, though she did not regret a single crumb, Montagu escorted them out again.

“I rather regret dismissing the carriage,” he said with a sigh. “I thought the walk would do us good after such a disgusting display of indulgence, but I’m not sure I can make it,” he said sadly, resting an elegant, gloved hand on a stomach that was as flat now as it had surely been in his youth.

“Silly, Pops. Of course we can,” Tilly said scornfully, taking his hand and tugging on it as if she would drag him down the road.

“Child, I am not a dog on a lead, kindly stop pulling at me,” he complained, though without heat.

“Tilly, you will walk like a young lady, please. We do not want your grandfather to think I have taught you nothing. He might have me dismissed.”

Though she had said it merely in jest, a look of pure panic crossed Tilly’s face, and she clung to her grandfather’s hand. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Pops? Not Harry? I couldn’t bear it if Harry left me. Not that. Please?”

“Calm yourself,” Montagu said, gazing down at his granddaughter in surprise. “Of course I shall do no such thing. Whatever do you take me for?”

Tilly let out an uneven breath, struggling to calm herself. “I-I apologise, Grandfather. I just… I’m sorry,” she said helplessly.

“It’s all right,” Montagu said, stroking her hair. “Go on now. Isn’t that Lady St Clair up ahead? Tell her what a wicked child you’ve been. She’ll enjoy that.” He smiled at her and Tilly’s expression smoothed out, the happiness returning to her eyes.

“Yes, Pops.”

They walked on in silence for a while as they watched Tilly run ahead and catch up with Lady St Clair and her friends, one of whom was carrying a fat pug. The lady exclaimed with delight and then turned and waved at Montagu, who raised his hand in greeting.

“My granddaughter thinks a great deal of you,” Montagu observed.

“I think a great deal of her,” Regina replied with a smile, though her heart was beating hard as she felt Montagu’s gaze upon her.

“I don’t believe I know anything about you, Mrs Harris. Who are your people?”

“Lord Ashburton has all my credentials and letters of recommendation. I’m sure he can tell you all you wish to know,” she said hurriedly. “If you’ll excuse me, Tilly is about to stroke that dog, and I do not know if it’s the kind to bite.”

Knowing she had likely done herself no favours, Regina hurried away before Montagu could question her further.

6th June 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

“Morning, Angus. I’m sorry to call on ye on yer day off, but I plain forgot to give ye the papers ye asked me for yesterday. If I dinnae do it now, ye will nae have them for a week or more,” Hamilton said, smiling at Angus and eyeing him up and down, for he was dressed in his best. “Well, ye are fine as fivepence, man. What’s the occasion?”

“Mary and I are taking a walk up to the Old Man of Wick,” Angus replied, looking a trifle uneasy.

“Ah, romantic. I didnae ken ye had it in ye,” Hamilton teased.

“It’s a walking party. A picnic, actually,” Angus replied, a trifle defensively. “Malcolm arranged it.”

“Oh, aye?”

“I know ye will not like it, but I couldn’t say no, and… and it was all arranged, so I figured the best we could do was to go.”

“What are ye blethering on about?” Hamilton said in confusion. “Why would I care if ye go walking with yer brother?”

“My brother and Mr Fraser, Miss Fleming, and Miss Halliday,” Angus amended, wincing as Hamilton’s gaze darkened.