Page 9 of What Lies Beneath

Pip hurried out of the library and ran down the front steps just as the carriage came to a halt. He waved the footman away, opening the door himself.

“Papa!” Tilly exclaimed, jumping from the carriage into his arms.

For once, Mrs Harris did not reprimand the girl for her behaviour, but smiled indulgently.

“I believe she is pleased to see you, my lord,” she said wryly, getting up from the seat.

Pip kissed his daughter and set her down, offering his hand to Mrs Harris. She looked surprised by the gesture, and hesitated for a moment before putting her hand in his and stepping down from the carriage. “Thank you,” she said with a nod.

Pip looked at her, and though he had seen her face a thousand times before over the past years, the loveliness of her skin struck him then as something he had not fully appreciated before. It was almost perfect, her English rose colouring petal-soft and delicate, but the time she had spent in the garden with Tilly during the summer months had dusted her face with the tiniest scattering of freckles that still speckled her nose and cheeks. Pip found himself charmed by the display that most would see as a flaw, but seemed to speak of a playful side that was quite at odds with Mrs Harris’ usually stern demeanour.

“Welcome home,” he said to her, knowing he ought not tease her but finding it impossible to resist. When her lovely skin turned a deeper shade of pink, he could not help but feel pleased with himself.

Mrs Harris returned a steady gaze that told him she knew well she was being teased but was not about to rise to the bait. “Thank you, my lord. It is good to be back. Is it not, Tilly?”

“Oh, yes! I am so tired of that stuffy carriage. It was such a long way,” she complained. “Is there tea? I’m famished.”

“Of course there is tea,” Pip replied with a laugh. “Mrs Morgan has been baking all day.”

“Oh, are there queen cakes?”

“As if she would forget queen cakes,” Pip said with a snort. “Come along. Let us feast on cake and spoil our appetites for dinner.”

“Huzzah!” Tilly cried with delight.

Pip glanced at Mrs Harris, wondering if she might take Tilly to task for her enthusiasm, but she only smiled as they went up the steps together.

“You will join us, I hope?” Pip asked, as he realised Mrs Harris was not following them to the front parlour but heading towards the stairs.

“I do not wish to intrude on your reunion,” she said politely.

“Stuff!” Tilly exclaimed.

“Miss Ottilie!” Mrs Harris said, apparently having indulged the child enough. Enough was enough. “What language.”

“I beg your pardon, Harry. Only you’re not intruding at all. We want you to come to tea. Don’t we, Papa?”

“Certainly we do,” Pip replied, turning to Mrs Harris and meeting her gaze with a challenging expression.

Mrs Harris opened her mouth and closed it again. He could practically feel her desire to refuse, but she did not wish to disappoint Tilly. “Very well. I should be delighted to join you, if you do not mind granting me a few moments to wash and tidy up. I am all rumpled and creased.”

Pip’s gaze immediately fell to her gown, which looked as prim and pristine as it always did, despite the long journey. He felt the sudden and unaccountable desire to ruffle her himself. It would be interesting to see Mrs Harris truly in a state of disarray.

No.

No, it would not, he reminded himself with some force. Good God, what was wrong with him? One did not have lascivious thoughts about the staff. It simply wasn’t done.

“Tilly, you must wash your hands too,” she said, and Tilly obediently went with her without a murmur of protest.

Still, despite knowing he ought not, he watched Mrs Harris go, walking up the stairs with her hips swaying provocatively. Not provocatively, he told himself sternly. She was a woman. It was how they moved. It was built in. Nothing she could do about it. All the same, he watched until she got to the top of the stairs and could not tear his gaze away.

Regina hurriedly brushed and repined her hair in the severe style she always adopted, a centre parting that lay smooth and covered her ears and was tightly pinned at the nape of her neck. Throwing open her luggage, she did her best to shake the creases from the dark blue gown and selected a white lace collar and cuffs to brighten it up a little. Once satisfied she was as neat and tidy as was possible on such short notice, she made her way down the stairs feeling strangely agitated.

She halted outside the parlour door, suddenly reluctant to go in.

What is the matter with you? she demanded crossly and, having no immediate answer, raised her hand to knock. Yet still she did not. Regina put her hands on her hips, shaking her head, and then gave into vanity and ran to the huge mirror in the entrance hall. Once she was certain no one was around, she checked her reflection. This was hard to do sufficiently in the little hand mirror she had in her room, and in the bright light afforded in the entrance hall, she thought she looked rather wan and colourless. Though she chastised herself for being a silly goose, she took a moment to pinch her cheeks and run her teeth over her lips to give them a little colour.

“Daft as a brush,” she muttered under her breath, but took herself back to the door once again, and this time knocked before going in.