Page 6 of What Lies Beneath

“A lady?” the earl repeated sceptically, which Regina hardly wondered at. 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 and passed him an elegant, embossed card.

Regina watched his reaction with interest, wondering what woman would have the audacity to arrive on the earl’s doorstep unannounced. It was very bold, even if she had a chaperone.

“What the devil does she want?” he muttered, making Regina wonder if it was one of his paramours. For as discreet as the earl was, it was well known that he always kept a mistress. In the years after he had hidden himself away with his daughter, he had lived a monk like existence, but inevitably, he had returned to his old ways. Not that any of them lasted for very long. It seemed the earl was easily bored.

Regina kept her eyes on the board as the earl strode out. But the moment the door closed, Tilly leapt to her feet and ran to his desk, snatching up the card the footman had given the earl.

“Lady Belinda Madox-Brown,” she read out loud.

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

Tilly pulled a face. “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!” the girl said fiercely, more than a touch of desperation audible in her words.

Feeling her stomach lurch, Regina knew that her perspicacious pupil was entirely correct. If—no—when the earl married, everything would change.

Later that day, whilst readying herself for bed in the quiet calm of her own room, Regina would assure herself that it was for this reason alone that she had allowed Tilly to drag her from the room and eavesdrop on the earl and Lady Belinda. Forewarned was forearmed, she assured herself, though the hastily arranged agreement the two had made to marry had stunned her. Yet this extraordinary arrangement had not even lasted the day. Though she did not understand how or why, by teatime Lady Belinda had been engaged to Felix Knight. So it appeared the earl was not to be married after all.

Regina shook her head, still bemused. She did not know if she was reassured or disappointed. Lady Belinda had said she would not interfere in Tilly’s schooling, which meant Regina’s job would be safe, yet Regina had felt a rush of relief when she had understood the marriage would not take place. Which was ridiculous, for he would marry eventually, and the next prospective bride might not look so kindly on a governess to her husband’s illegitimate daughter remaining in the house.

Setting down the brush, Regina padded to the bed and slid beneath the covers, shivering as the cool cotton enveloped her. Blowing out the candle, she lay in the darkness, remembering the moment the earl had offered her a brandy to celebrate Lady Belinda and Mr Knight’s engagement. Quite inappropriate, of course, but the earl seemed to be increasingly blurring the lines between what was right and proper and what would be considered far too informal. For a moment she wondered at it, before telling herself not to refine too much upon it and closing her eyes.

7th August 1850, Montagu House, St James’s, London.

Regina sat at the desk in the nursery and frowned down at the lines she had just written. It just wasn’t quite right. The Earl of Wendover was a vile, wicked man, but how to get that across without the melodrama of a theatrical villain twirling his moustache. The success of His Grace and Disfavour had taken her quite by surprise. She had done it for her own sake more than for any financial reward, a way of getting back at the two men who had stolen her life from her.

Stolen her life, she thought with a snort. Now who was being melodramatic? She was quite content, she assured herself, but the words rang hollow and only made her feel increasingly uneasy.

A knock at the door made her look up and Genevieve got to her feet as the earl walked into the nursery. Surreptitiously, she gathered her papers and turned them over in case he noticed them. Much to her discomfort, she had discovered Ashburton had been reading her story and seemed quite engrossed by it, a situation which she had belatedly realised was terribly dangerous. She had tried to gain the publisher’s agreement to cancel their arrangement, but she had signed a contract, and the story was such a success, they had refused. All Regina could do now was to get their consent to change the story enough that it did not raise the earl’s suspicions.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said politely. “Miss Ottilie is with your father,” she added, assuming he had come looking for her, but surely he knew that?

“Oh, is she? Never mind,” he said with his customary cool smile.

He was a man of reserve, that much she knew, and only ever relaxed in the presence of his daughter or his close family. That she had seen the mask slip was a privilege few were granted. She watched, puzzled, as he walked to the window and looked out, wondering why he lingered if he had come in search of Tilly.

“A fine day,” he observed, looking out at the sunshine.

The weather had been stormy of late but yesterday had been glorious, warm and sunny and today looked set to be just as lovely.

“It is,” she replied, wondering what he was about.

“Yet you are shut in this stuffy nursery, working away,” he observed, though the nursery was bright and airy and far from stuffy, but he looked at her so intently, she felt all on edge. “Surely whatever it is you are doing can wait a little. You ought to enjoy some fresh air whilst Tilly is occupied.”

Regina opened and closed her mouth, uncertain how to respond to this.

“It’s not a trick,” he replied, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Come, take a turn about the garden with me. I wish to talk to you.”

“To me?” she repeated, which she knew instantly was a daft thing to say but she was so surprised she couldn’t help it.

The earl made a show of looking around the room before quirking one imperious eyebrow. “Yes, Mrs Harris. You.”

The way he said the word made the oddest sensation flutter in her chest, as though there was some significance to it. Nonsensical creature, she told herself impatiently. He just wished to speak about his daughter, that was all.