Page 37 of A Wicked Business

Pip opened his mouth to chastise his beloved little madam, but Mrs Harris just quirked an eyebrow at her. Tilly flushed.

“I beg your pardon, Harry,” she said meekly and sat back down again, studying the board with an expression of intense concentration.

Mrs Harris smiled and reached for her teacup, pausing with it in midair as she noticed Pip watching her. A tinge of colour touched her cheeks, and Pip knew he ought to look away. But Mrs Harris was a thorn in his side, a stone in his shoe, a bothersome puzzle, a gnat that buzzed constantly in his ear and would not be quieted.

She looked away first, returning her attention to her charge, and Pip sighed, forcing his attention back to his papers. The names laid out before him detailed the shortlist he had made of those women he might consider a good choice of wife to him and mother to Tilly. Asking a well-bred lady to be mama to his bastard daughter was the height of bad taste among polite society, he knew, but he would ask it, nonetheless. Anyone wanting to become the next Marchioness of Montagu when he inherited his father’s title would need to not only agree to it, but to prove to him they did so wholeheartedly and with no resentment. For Tilly would know if they did not mean it and he would protect her heart with every weapon at his disposal. His own happiness was of no moment. He had forfeited that right when he had made her mother pregnant through his own carelessness and she had died because of it.

Staring at the list, he crossed one off with a sharp sweep of his pen, black ink cutting through the lady’s name. She was only nineteen, barely more than a child to his mind. Frowning, he glanced again at Mrs Harris. Mrs Harris. He had never believed that. Though the airs she affected and her disapproving manner put years on her, she was not as old as she made out. When she had first arrived six years ago, he had put her anywhere between twenty and thirty, but she had finally stopped doing whatever it was she did to make her hair look so damned awful and brittle. Or perhaps she had just discovered a soap that suited it and made it shine as it now did. She had relaxed somewhat, too, perhaps finally believing he was not the monstrous seducer of innocents she had thought him to be. He hoped so, anyway. Whatever it was, she looked no older now than when she had first arrived, and he still felt uncertain what age that was. Anywhere between twenty and thirty, he supposed, but thought her closer to twenty than he had previously imagined. But no, that couldn’t be right. She’d have been a child herself when she began working for him… and yet…

Stop thinking about the blasted governess, he chided himself, but found himself looking up again. To his surprise, Mrs Harris was watching him. She started and returned her attention hurriedly to the chessboard.

Oh. Now that was interesting.

No. it wasn’t, he told himself severely. It wasn’t the least bit interesting, and he had a wife to choose. Pip pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he ought to have agreed to Keston’s proposal and then he would not have to bother with all this. It had been a generous offer, to be sure, though Keston would gain through it too, snooty bastard that he was. Montagu’s lineage and the inherent power associated with that title was such that Ashburton had been a target for hungry matchmakers almost since he was in short trousers. The earl might be high in the instep, but his title was a relatively new one and did not carry as much weight as he would like. Links to the Barrington line would suit him down to the ground, though if he was expecting an invitation to sojourn at Dern Palace, he’d be disappointed. Pip’s mama loathed the man and, whilst his father afforded Lord Keston no more notice than he might a disagreeable smell, he would not have his lady wife in any way discomforted.

He looked up as a knock at the door heralded the arrival of a footman who entered quietly. “A lady is here to see you, my lord.”

Pip frowned. He had not been expecting anyone, and he was in no mood for visitors. “A lady?” he repeated sceptically, for ladies did not visit unmarried men at home. “Does she realise my parents are no longer in town?”

“I informed the lady of that, but she was adamant, my lord,” the footman said quietly, passing him an elegant, embossed card.

Pip looked down at the name and groaned. “What the devil does she want?” he muttered, wondering if he’d conjured the woman by thinking of her father’s offer. “Very well. She’s in the drawing room?”

The footman nodded, and Pip got to his feet. Whatever Lady Belinda wanted, it would do neither of their reputations any good if anyone saw her here. The quicker he got rid of her, the better.

5th August 1850, Montagu House, St James’s, London.

Regina Harris, or ‘Harry’ to her obstinate charge, looked up as Tilly leapt up the moment the door had closed and ran to the desk where her father had been sitting. She reached for the card the footman had given him and read it out loud.

“Lady Belinda Madox-Brown.”

“Tilly!” Regina objected. “What have I told you about snooping into your father’s affairs?”

“Oh, Harry, don’t be a stick in the mud. You know as well as I do you don’t want Papa to marry any more than I do.”

Regina started at the girl’s words. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“If Papa marries, things will change. He’ll have to please his wife, and she’ll not want me around. Eventually she’ll persuade him I need to go away to school, and if I go, you’ll go too!” Tilly said, sounding rather frantic.

Swallowing, Regina had to acknowledge Tilly was perfectly right and she was unable to fault her logic. “Lady Belinda seems nice, Tilly,” she said cautiously. Regina had known her time with this family would end one day. After all, little girls grew up, but she had not expected it quite yet. Foolish of her. The earl needed an heir and a spare and his father was putting increasing pressure on him to provide them.

“Nice?” Tilly repeated, her expression so incredulous that Regina had to suppress a laugh.

“Well, she’s rather forthright, I grant you, but at least she’s not a milk-and-water miss,” she said, trying at least to console Tilly.

Tilly had a mulish expression on her face, which boded ill. Regina sighed as the girl stalked over to her. “Come, Harry,” Tilly said, grasping her hand and tugging at it.

Regina got up but frowned at Tilly. “Where are we going?” she demanded, but Tilly shook her head, pulling her out of the room.

Regina was aware she ought to protest, but morbid curiosity overwhelmed what she knew to be right, and she allowed Tilly to hurry her across the hall and into the salon beside the drawing room. When the girl hurried to the door that led into the drawing room and pressed her ear against it, however, Regina had to draw the line.

“Tilly!” she whispered urgently, horrified.

“Hush!” Tilly said, flapping her hands at Regina as her face paled. “Oh, Harry, she’s asking him to marry her!”

“What?” Despite knowing it went against every rule of etiquette she had spent the last six years trying her best to drum into Tilly, Regina hurried to stand beside her. The voices on the other side were somewhat muted but still perfectly audible.

“I’m afraid I already turned down your father’s offer,” Lord Ashburton said, firmly but not unkindly.