"I CAN HIRE FIFTY LIKE YOU," HE DEMANDED. "THEN DO IT," I REPLIED—BUT HE REFUSED TO LET ME WALK AWAY. - Movies & TV update: News, Reviews and Trending

Part 3

The rain hammered against the windows of Montford House with relentless force of an English autumn storm.

Lady Heather Ashkam stood in the entrance hall, water dripping from the hem of her worn traveling cloak onto the pristine marble floor.

She watched the small puddle form at her feet, and looked down at the growing puddle, the kind that had become her constant companion since her father’s death 18 months ago.

His grace will see you now.

The butler’s voice was carefully neutral, but Heather caught the flicker of pity in his eyes before he turned away.

She followed him through corridors lined with portraits of stern-faced Montfords, their painted eyes seeming to judge her soden appearance and diminished circumstances.

The study door opened to reveal a room that smelled of leather, tobacco, and old money.

Behind an enormous mahogany desk sat Greg Montford, fifth Duke of Montford, his dark head bent over a ledger.

He didn’t look up.

Heather waited.

The silence stretched.

Finally, he set down his pen with deliberate precision.

Lady Heather Ashkam.

His voice was deep, cool, utterly devoid of warmth. daughter of the late Earl of Ashkam, currently residing in what remains of your father’s estate, which I understand is mortgaged to the hilt and due for foreclosure within the quarter.

Heat flooded Heather’s cheeks, but she kept her chin high.

Your grace is remarkably well informed about my private affairs.

It’s my business to be informed about anyone entering my household.

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers, and Heather felt the impact like a physical blow.

Greg Montford was handsome in the severe way of classical statuery, all sharp plains and aristocratic angles.

His eyes were gray as winter ice, his mouth a firm line that looked as though it had forgotten how to smile.

He was, Heather estimated, perhaps five and 30, with the kind of presence that made the enormous room feel suddenly smaller.

You come highly recommended by Lady Westbrook, he continued, leaning back in his chair with the careless grace of a man accustomed to absolute authority.

She assures me you’re well educated, accomplished in all the necessary arts, and capable of instructing my daughter in deport, music, languages, and literature.

I am grateful for her Ladyship’s reference.

I haven’t finished.

The words cracked like a whip.

Heather’s mouth snapped shut.

Lady Megan is 6 years old.

She has been difficult since her mother’s passing 3 years ago.

Feeling the tension, She has driven away four governnesses in 18 months, the last one left in tears after a single week.

Perhaps, Heather said carefully, the child is in need of understanding rather than what the child needs, Greg interrupted, rising to his full considerable height, is discipline, structure, and consistent instruction, not sentimentality, not coddling.

My daughter will be raised to understand duty, propriety, and self-control.

If you cannot provide that, then this interview is concluded.

Heather felt her temper, the same stubborn streak that had caused her father endless constonnation, begin to simmer.

And what of affection, your grace?

What of kindness?

The child has lost her mother.

Surely she requires Surely. his voice dropping to a dangerous softness.

You are not presuming to lecture me on the raising of my own daughter, a woman who arrives at my door, desperate for any position that will keep her from the workhouse.

The words struck like a slap.

Heather’s hands clenched in the folds of her damp skirt, her nails biting into her palms.

She should apologize.

With a deep breath, She should lower her eyes and accept whatever terms he offered.

She needed this position, needed it with a desperation that woke her in the night, with her heart hammering and her sheets soaked with cold sweat.

But she had been raised an Earl’s daughter, and some things ran deeper than necessity.

I beg your grace’s pardon. her voice steady, despite the chest rising and falling rapidly.

I spoke out of turn.

However, if we are to be clear with one another, and I believe we should be, then allow me to state my position plainly.

I am not a governness.

I have not been trained for service.

I am a gentle woman who has fallen on difficult times.

And I am willing to serve as companion and instructress to Lady Megan because circumstances require it.

But I will not be treated as something less than human.

And I will not stand silent if I believe a child in my care is being harmed.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Gently, The Duke’s eyes narrowed to slits of gray ice.

You have extraordinary audacity, he said softly.

I wonder if you can afford it.

I wonder, Heather replied, matching his tone.

If your grace can afford to lose another instructress, Lady Westbrook indicated you were becoming, how did she phrase it?

Ah, yes, rather desperate.

For a long moment, they stared at one another across the expanse of polished mahogany.

Then, to Heather’s utter shock, one corner of the Duke’s mouth twitched.

It wasn’t quite a smile.

She suspected Greg Montford had forgotten how those worked, but it was something.

Very well, Lady Heather, you may have your trial period, 1 month, £15 peranom, paid quarterly.

You will have a room in the east wing.

Take your meals with the upper servants, and report to me weekly on Megan’s progress.

You will be neither family nor servant, but something in between.

The position is companion and instructress, and you will remember that distinction at all times. £15.

It was an insult.

A London governor could command 40, sometimes 50 perom.

But Heather had no references beyond Lady Westbrook’s kindness, no experience, and creditors circling her father’s estate like ravens.

I accept, she said quietly.

Excellent.

You will begin tomorrow.

Mrs.

Hixon will show you to your quarters.

He had already picked up his pen, his attention returning to his ledger as though she had ceased to exist.

Heather turned toward the door, then paused.

Your grace.

Yes.

He didn’t look up.

Thank you for the opportunity.

I shall endeavor to prove worthy of it.

Now he did look up, his expression unreadable.

See that you do, Lady Heather.

I have very little patience for disappointment.

As she followed the housekeeper up the servant’s stairs to a small, sparse room that would be her new home, Heather told herself that she could endure anything for security, even a cold, arrogant duke, who looked at her as though she were a particularly tedious item on his household accounts.

She told herself this very firmly.

Taking a step back, She almost believed it.

The nursery at Montford House occupied a suite of rooms on the third floor, well away from the formal areas where the Duke conducted his business and entertained his guests.

It was a bright space, or would have been if the curtains hadn’t been drawn against the pale morning light.

Heather entered to find a small figure huddled in the window seat, half hidden behind heavy velvet drapes.

Lady Megan?

No response.

Heather moved closer, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

The child was dressed in a severe gray frock that looked more suitable for mourning than for a six-year-old’s daily wear.

Her dark hair, so like her father’s, was pulled back in a tight plat.

She clutched a ragd doll to her chest and stared fixedly at nothing.

My name is Lady Heather Ashkam, Heather said gently, settling herself on the far end of the window seat, careful not to crowd the child.

I’m to be your new companion and instructress.

Still nothing.

But Heather saw the small fingers tighten on the doll.

I’ve heard you’re very clever, Heather continued conversationally. that you can already read quite well and that you know your sums better than most children twice your age.

That’s remarkable.

A flicker of interest in the dark eyes quickly suppressed.

I wonder, Heather said as though thinking aloud, if you might help me with something.

You see, I’m quite new here, and this house is enormous.

I’m terribly afraid I shall get lost.

Do you think you might show me about?

I should be very grateful.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then barely audible.

You’ll leave anyway.

They all do.

Heather’s heart clenched.

Who leaves?

Sweetheart, everyone.

Mama left.

Miss Thornton left.

Miss Peters, Miss Caldwell, Miss Warren.

The little girl’s voice was flat, reciting names like a litany of losses.

Papa says I’m difficult that I drive them away.

He’s probably right.

He’s always right about everything.

Oh, my dear child.

Heather slid closer slowly, as one might approach a wounded animal.

You haven’t driven anyone away.

You’ve simply been very sad.

And sadness sometimes makes us behave in ways we don’t quite mean.

That’s perfectly natural.

Papa says there’s no excuse for poor behavior.

That I must learn discipline and self-control.

Your papa, Heather said carefully, loves you very much.

But even papa’s can be wrong sometimes, especially about feelings.

Megan’s head swiveled toward her so fast that Heather almost flinched.

You can’t say that.

Papa doesn’t like being wrong.

Well, that’s something we have in common.

I don’t much care for being wrong either.

But we’re all wrong sometimes, whether we like it or not, even Dukes.

The ghost of a smile touched the child’s lips.

You’re peculiar.

I’ve been called worse.

Now then, about that tour of the house.

I’m particularly interested in finding the library.

I was told it’s quite magnificent.

Megan hesitated, then uncurled from her defensive position.

She was a tiny thing, all sharp angles and big eyes in a solemn face.

It is magnificent.

Suddenly, It has books from floor to ceiling, and there’s a sliding ladder and a globe that’s as tall as I am.

Then I absolutely must see it.

Will you show me?

For the first time, something that might have been eagerness flickered across the child’s face.

I suppose I could, since you’re new and might get lost.

How very kind of you.

As Megan led her through the corridors, chattering about the house’s history and pointing out various portraits, Heather felt a weight settle in her chest.

This bright, wounded little girl needed so much more than rigid discipline and structured lessons.

She needed warmth, laughter, the freedom to be a child rather than a small adult in training.

But providing those things would mean defying the Duke’s explicit instructions.

Heather looked down at Megan’s small hand, tucked trustingly in her own, and made a decision that would change everything.

Some battles, she thought, were worth fighting, even against a duke.

Brenda Montford, Daaja, Duchess of Montford, had not survived 63 years of aristocratic politics by being unobservant.

She noticed everything.

The slight hesitation in a servant’s step that indicated brewing trouble in the kitchen.

Hesitantly, The way her son’s jaw tightened when certain topics were raised, the quality of silence in a house that revealed its emotional temperature as clearly as any thermometer.

So when she descended to breakfast on Heather’s third day in residence, and found the household humming with a different energy, she took note.

Mrs.

Hixon was smiling as she supervised the footmen.

The maids whispered excitedly as they changed the flowers in the morning room.

And from somewhere above came a sound that Brenda hadn’t heard in three long years.

A child’s laughter.

Mrs.

Hixon, Brenda said as she settled into her chair, who prayel is making my granddaughter laugh.

The housekeeper’s smile widened.

That would be Lady Heather your grace.

She’s been an absolute godsend.

Yesterday she convinced Lady Megan to take her lunchon by turning it into a story about a princess who could only break an enchantment by eating all her vegetables.

This morning they’ve been in the music room.

I believe they’re composing a song about ducks.

I think it was.

Brenda’s eyebrows rose.

Ducks?

Yes, your grace.

Lady Megan has been singing it all morning.

Something about a waddling duke who Oh, merciful heavens, I shouldn’t repeat that part.

Now you must tell me, Mrs.

Hixon leaned in conspiratorally.

Something about a waddling duke with his pompous quack, who thought he ruled the pond, but was actually quite quackers.

Lady Megan thought it was the cleverest thing she’d ever heard.

Brenda pressed her napkin to her lips to hide her smile.

Did she indeed?

And has my son heard this composition?

Not yet, your grace, though I suspect it’s only a matter of time.

I suspect you’re correct.

I think I shall take my breakfast in the morning room after all, and perhaps I might meet this remarkable Lady Heather.

Greg Montford’s morning had been perfectly ordered, as all his mornings were.

He’d risen at 6, ridden for an hour through his grounds, reviewed correspondence over breakfast, and was now working through a complex contract negotiation with his solicitor.

Then he heard it, drifting through his study window carried on the autumn breeze.

The waddling duke with his pompous quack thought he ruled the pond, but was actually quite quackers.

Waddle, waddle, quack, quack, quack.

Even mighty dukes can’t argue with a duck.

Followed by gales of childish laughter and a warm musical voice, saying, Excellent.

Now, shall we add a verse about the Duchess duck who was far clever than her husband?

Greg’s pen stopped moving.

He set it down with extreme care rose from his desk and moved to the window.

Below in the garden he could see two figures.

His daughter actually running.

When was the last time he’d seen Megan run, her dark hair coming loose from its plat, her gray dress grass stained at the hem.

And beside her, Lady Heather Ashkam, hatless and equally disheveled, spinning in a circle with her arms outstretched as though demonstrating some crucial element of duck deport.

They were both laughing.

Something sharp and uncomfortable lodged beneath Greg’s ribs.

He told himself it was displeasure.

The woman was supposed to be teaching his daughter discipline, deportment, and academic subjects.

Not romping through the gardens, singing ridiculous songs about quackers, he muttered.

She said I was quackers.

Whose quackers, dear?

His mother’s voice came from the doorway.

Greg turned to find Brenda standing there with an expression of such studied innocence that he immediately knew she’d heard everything.

Mother, I wasn’t aware you were.

I’ve just been meeting your new employee.

Delightful girl, wonderful sense of humor.

Illowan adors her.

Brenda settled herself in one of his chairs without waiting for an invitation.

I haven’t seen the child so animated since before Alice died.

Greg’s jaw tightened at the mention of his late wife.

The child should be at her lessons, not gallivanting about the garden, making noise.

With steady eyes, The child, Brenda said mildly, is 6 years old.

Six-year-olds should gallivant.

It’s practically their primary occupation.

And as for making noise, I believe the ability to laugh is one of life’s more precious gifts, particularly for those who’ve experienced grief.

Discipline.

Oh, do stop saying discipline as though it’s the answer to every question.

You’ve always been far too much like your father, Greg.

All duty and no joy.

It’s what made him miserable, you know.

And it’s what’s making you miserable now.

I am not miserable.

I am managing my household and raising my daughter according to Yes.

Yes.

According to proper principles.

I’ve heard it all before.

Brenda waved a dismissive hand.

Tell me, when was the last time you actually spoke with Megan?

Not at her or about her education and behavior, but with her.

When did you last ask what she’s thinking?

What makes her happy?

What she dreams about?

The uncomfortable feeling beneath Greg’s ribs intensified.

I see her every evening.

I inquire about her studies.

You interrogate her about her lessons and then send her back to the nursery when she fails to provide sufficiently detailed answers.

The poor child is terrified of you, Greg. terrified.

That’s absurd.

I’ve never raised a hand to her.

Never.

There are many ways to frighten a child.

Coldness can be just as devastating as cruelty.

Perhaps more so.

Brenda rose, smoothing her skirts.

I like Lady Heather.

I like her very much.

I suggest you don’t drive her away as you did the others.

I drove no one away.

They left because they were incapable of managing a spirited child.

Taking a step back, They left because you undermined their authority at every turn, contradicted their methods, and made it clear that nothing they did would ever meet your impossibly high standards.

Brenda paused at the door.

Lady Heather seems to have a spine, though.

She might actually stand up to you.

It will be interesting to watch.

When she was gone, Greg returned to the window.

The garden was empty now.

Feeling the tension, The laughter faded, but he could still hear it in his mind, his daughter’s joy, bright and unrestrained, and underneath it that other voice, warm, teasing, utterly unafraid.

He told himself the tightening in his chest was irritation.

Glancing up, He almost believed it.

Heather’s first weekly report to the Duke came on Friday evening.

She stood in his study once more, this time dry and marginally more composed, with a written account of Megan’s progress in hand.

Greg read it in silence.

When he finally looked up, his expression was inscrable.

You’ve taught my daughter to sing, he said flatly.

I’ve taught her several songs.

Yes, music is one of the prescribed accomplishments for young ladies.

About ducks.

Ah, so he had heard.

Heather lifted her chin.

About ducks, yes, also about flowers, the changing seasons, and the importance of kindness.

Songs are an excellent pneummonic device for young children.

They make learning engaging rather than tedious.

And this engaging learning apparently requires my daughter to race about the garden shrieking.

Your daughter was not shrieking, your grace.

She was laughing.

There is a considerable difference.

Lady Heather.

Greg set down the report and fixed her with that gray stare that probably made grown men quake.

I hired you to educate my daughter, not to turn her into a huen.

You hired me to be her companion and instructress.

A companion provides companionship, a concept which I’m beginning to suspect is somewhat foreign to you.

The words were out before Heather could stop them.

She watched the Duke’s face darken and braced herself for dismissal.

Instead. You are remarkably impertinent for someone in your position.

Would you prefer I lie to you, your grace, pretend that a grieving child needs nothing but wrote lessons and rigid discipline?

I can do that if you wish.

I can turn Megan into a perfect little automaton who sits silent and still and never causes you a moment’s concern, but she’ll be miserable.

And in my experience, miserable children do not become happy, healthy adults.

Your experience. his voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

Consists of precisely one week in this household.

I think you’ll forgive me if I place more weight on my own judgment.

Your judgment has resulted in four governoresses fleeing in tears and a child who believes she’s fundamentally flawed.

So perhaps your grace, your judgment could benefit from reconsideration.

The silence that followed was so profound that Heather could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

She’d gone too far.

She knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from continuing.

Elen told me something yesterday.

She said that her mama used to laugh and that you haven’t smiled since mama went to heaven.

Pausing for a second, She asked me if sadness was catching, like a cold, if that’s why you seem so ill all the time.

Something flickered across Greg’s face.

Pain perhaps, or fury, or some combination of both.

How dare you?

She’s a child, your grace.

A bright, sensitive, desperately lonely child who has lost her mother and believes she’s losing her father to grief and anger.

You can dismiss me if you wish.

I’m sure you can find 50 women who will take this position and keep silent, while a little girl’s spirit is slowly crushed, but I will not be one of them.

She was breathing hard, her hands trembling with the force of her anger and fear.

This was it.

She’d be dismissed, and she’d returned to her crumbling estate and her creditors, and the slow, grinding poverty that awaited her.

But before Greg could respond, a small voice came from the doorway.

Papa! they both whirled.

Megan stood on the threshold, still in her night dress, her eyes enormous in her pale face.

Papa, please don’t send Lady Heather away.

Please, I’ll be better.

I’ll do my lessons perfectly.

I’ll be quiet and still and good.

I promise.

Just please don’t make her leave.

The child was crying now.

Great heaving sobs that shook her small frame.

Heather moved instinctively toward her, but Greg was faster.

He dropped to his knees in front of his daughter, his face stricken.

Everyone leaves, the child wept.

Mama left and all the teachers left.

And now Lady Heather will leave too because I’m difficult and you’ll be angry and I’ll be alone again.

And I can’t I can’t hush, sweetheart.

Hush.

Greg’s voice for the first time since Heather had met him was gentle.

No one is leaving.

Lady Heather isn’t going anywhere.

You promise?

I He glanced up at Heather and she saw something raw and uncertain in those gray eyes.

I promise now.

Come, let’s get you back to bed.

You should be sleeping.

Will you tell me a story?

Megan’s voice was small, hopeful.

Like mama used to.

Greg’s throat worked.

I I don’t remember the stories your mama told.

Lady Heather knows stories, Megan said, looking between them.

Perhaps she could tell one, and you could listen, too.

Heather saw the Duke’s struggle written clearly on his face.

Pride waring with love.

Control fighting against the desire to give his daughter what she so desperately needed.

If Lady Heather is willing, he finally managed.

I’m willing, Heather said softly.

She followed them to the nursery, watched as Greg tucked his daughter into bed with a tenderness that made Heather’s chest ache.

Then she settled in a chair beside the bed and began to spin a tale about a brave princess and a lonely dragon who learned to be friends.

Greg stood by the door half in shadow, but Heather could feel his gaze on her throughout the story, could sense the tension radiating from his rigid form.

When Megan finally drifted off to sleep, Heather rose as quietly as she could.

She and Greg left the nursery together, walking in silence down the dimly lit corridor.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped.

Lady Heather, she turned to face him.

In the low light, his features were softer, less severe, almost human.

Thank you, he said quietly.

For that, for caring about her.

I don’t do it because it’s my position, your grace.

I do it because she’s an extraordinary child who deserves to be cherished.

Something shifted in his expression.

You make it sound simple.

Loving a child should be simple.

It’s we adults who complicate it with our fears and our need for control.

And you think I’m controlled by fear?

Heather considered lying, then decided she’d already risked everything.

What was one more truth?

I think you’re terrified of losing her the way you lost her mother.

So, you’re trying to turn her into something that can’t be hurt or broken.

But children aren’t stone, your grace.

They’re meant to be soft and tender and vulnerable.

That’s what makes them children.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her.

Then £15 is inadequate for the work you’re doing.

I’ll increase it to 30.

It wasn’t an apology.

Feeling the tension, It wasn’t an acknowledgement that she might be right, but it was something.

Thank you, your grace.

Greg, he said abruptly.

When we’re discussing Megan, you may call me Greg.

It was a crack in the armor, small but significant.

Greg, Heather said, testing the name.

It felt dangerous on her tongue.

Intimate.

Then you should call me Heather.

Heather.

The way he said it in that deep voice made something flutter in her stomach.

Good night, Heather.

Good night.

She watched him descend the stairs, his broad shoulders disappearing into the shadows.

Only when he was gone did she allow herself to acknowledge the truth.

Greg Montford was dangerous, not because he was cold or cruel, but because beneath that frozen exterior was a man capable of profound feeling, and Heather was beginning to suspect that she wanted very much to be the one who taught him how to feel again. 3 weeks passed, and Montford House transformed.

It started with small things.

Elan began taking breakfast in the morning room with her grandmother, rather than eating in the nursery.

Her severe gray frocks were quietly replaced with lighter muslins in soft blues and roses.

The curtains in the schoolroom were thrown open, letting in the pale November sun, and slowly, cautiously, Greg began to Thor, he started joining them for Megan’s lessons.

At first, standing stiffly by the door, then gradually moving closer.

Heather watched him struggle not to interfere, saw his jaw clench when she allowed Megan to make mistakes and learn from them rather than correcting her immediately.

She’ll never learn proper discipline if you permit such laxity, he said one afternoon after Megan had spent 20 minutes trying to work out a mathematics problem on her own.

She’ll never learn to think for herself if she’s not allowed to struggle, Heather replied calmly.

Watch.

They both watched as Megan’s face suddenly lit with understanding.

Oh, I see it now.

The answer is 12, isn’t it?

Is it?

Heather asked.

Yes, because if I add these three and these three, and these three, and these three, Megan worked through the problem aloud, her confidence growing with each step.

That’s 12.

Excellent reasoning, darling.

Well done.

Megan beamed, then turned to her father.

Did you see, Papa?

I worked it out myself.

I saw.

Greg’s voice was gruff, but his eyes had softened.

You did very well indeed.

After the lesson, as Megan ran off to play in the garden under the watchful eye of a nursemaid, Greg lingered.

You were right. about letting her think for herself.

I’ve been, he paused, clearly struggling with the admission.

I’ve been too rigid.

You’ve been frightened, Heather said gently.

There’s a difference.

I failed Alice.

The words seemed torn from him.

She was ill for months, and I didn’t realize.

I was too occupied with business, with Parliament, with matters I thought were important.

By the time I noticed she was truly unwell, it was too late.

The physician said if I’d called for them sooner, he didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

So, you decided to control everything you could, Heather said softly. to notice every detail, manage every aspect of your household and your daughter’s life.

Because if you could just maintain perfect control, perhaps nothing else would slip through your fingers.

It sounds rather foolish when you put it that way.

Slowly, It sounds human.

We all respond to grief in our own fashion.

But Greg, she hesitated, then took a small step closer.

You cannot protect Ian from all harm.

Life will hurt her, disappoint her, challenge her.

Your task isn’t to prevent that.

It’s to give her the strength and resilience to face it.

And you believe laughter and songs about ducks will provide that strength.

I believe love will provide it.

The rest is simply method.

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.

They were standing very close now, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the silver threading through his dark hair at his temples.

You’re quite remarkable, he said quietly.

You know that, don’t you?

Before Heather could respond, Brenda’s voice rang out from the doorway.

Greg, there you are.

I need you to settle a dispute with Mrs.

Hixon about the Christmas arrangements.

We’re already behind schedule, and if we don’t Oh, she stopped, taking in the scene with evident delight.

Am I interrupting?

Not at all, Heather said quickly, stepping back.

I was just about to check on Megan in the garden.

She fled before either of them could stop her, her heart hammering against her ribs.

That evening, Brenda cornered Heather in the library.

My dear. settling into the chair beside Heather’s with the air of someone prepared for a long conversation.

I feel we should have a frank discussion.

Heather’s stomach dropped.

Your grace?

Oh, do call me Brenda.

Your grace makes me feel ancient.

The Daager Duchess smiled warmly.

I wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Megan.

The change in her is nothing short of miraculous.

She’s a wonderful child.

She simply needed to be seen as a child rather than a problem to be solved.

Yes, I’m aware.

Brenda’s shrewd eyes studied Heather with unnerving perception.

I’ve also observed the change in my son.

Heat crept up Heather’s neck.

I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

Of course you do.

You’re an intelligent woman and you’ve noticed the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.

The way he finds excuses to be present during lessons.

Quietly, The way his voice changes when he speaks your name.

Brenda.

I’m not criticizing, dear.

Quite the opposite.

Greg has been half dead since Alice’s passing.

Not that the marriage was particularly joyful even before her illness.

It was arranged, you see, when they were barely out of the schoolroom, duty and all that.

They were fond of each other, I suppose, but there was no passion, no real partnership, and then she died, and he locked whatever heart he had away entirely.

Brenda reached over and patted Heather’s hand.

You’ve brought him back to life.

You’ve made him feel again, and for that alone, I could kiss you.

I haven’t.

I’m merely his daughter’s instructress.

I have no aspirations beyond, Oh, please.

I wasn’t born yesterday, and neither were you.

I’ve seen the way you look at him, too.

Brenda’s smile turned mischievous.

All I’m saying is that if something were to develop between you and Greg, you would have my complete support and my assistance should you require it.

Nothing can develop, Heather said firmly, even as her heart insisted otherwise.

The distance between a duke and an impoverished gentle woman is insurmountable.

Nonsense.

Greg is wealthy enough and powerful enough to marry a chimney sweep if he chose to.

Society would titter for a season and then move on to the next scandal.

Brenda stood up and smoothed out the folds of her dress.

Besides, love has a way of making the insurmountable suddenly seem quite manageable.

You’ll see.

After she left, Heather sat in the gathering darkness, her book forgotten in her lap.

Love.

Was that what this was?

This constant awareness of Greg’s presence, the way her pulse quickened when he entered a room, the warmth that spread through her chest when he smiled at his daughter, or the sharp ache she felt when his guard slipped, and she glimpsed the lonely, grieving man beneath the Duke’s armor.

It was foolish, dangerous, a path that could only lead to heartbreak.

But as she sat there in the library, with its scent of old paper and beeswax candles, Heather acknowledged a truth she’d been avoiding.

It was already too late to protect her heart.

She’d fallen in love with Greg Montford, and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

The tension between them grew with each passing day.

It was there in the brush of fingers when Greg handed Heather a book, in the way his gaze lingered on her face during Megan’s piano lessons, in the charged silence that fell whenever they found themselves alone.

One afternoon in early December, Heather made the mistake of venturing outside without her cloak.

She’d only meant to collect Megan from the garden, but the child had run ahead, leaving Heather shivering in the cutting wind.

You’ll catch your death.

She turned to find Greg striding toward her, already shrugging out of his coat.

Before she could protest, he draped it around her shoulders.

It was heavy and warm, carrying the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him.

Thank you, she managed.

He stood very close, his hands still resting on her shoulders where he’d settled the coat.

You should take better care of yourself.

I’m perfectly capable.

I know you’re capable.

You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met.

But even capable women need someone to look after them occasionally.

His thumbs moved in small circles against her shoulders, the touch burning through the fabric of her dress.

Heather’s breath caught.

Greg, Papa, Lady Heather, come see what I found.

They sprang apart as Megan came racing toward them, clutching something in her cupped hands.

Greg cleared his throat roughly and stepped back.

What is it, sweetheart?

A chrysalis.

And look, you can see the butterfly inside.

Lady Heather says that in spring it will emerge and fly away.

Isn’t that wonderful?

Wonderful.

Greg agreed, but his eyes were on Heather, not the chrysalis.

That night, Heather lay awake in her small room, Greg’s coat still draped over her chair.

She should return it, should put distance between herself and these dangerous feelings.

Instead, she found herself breathing in its scent and imagining impossible things.

The breaking point came 3 days before Christmas.

Greg had been working long hours, managing year-end business affairs.

Heather saw him only in passing, brief encounters in corridors, silent meals where he sat at one end of the long dining table, and she at the other, formal and distant.

She told herself it was for the best, that the space between them was necessary and good.

Then he summoned her to his study.

Heather knocked her heart in her throat.

Enter.

He was at his desk, as always, surrounded by papers and ledgers, but when he looked up, his face was drawn with exhaustion.

Heather, thank you for coming.

Please sit.

She perched on the edge of the chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

I’ve been reviewing the household accounts, he said without preamble.

And I find myself concerned.

Her stomach dropped.

Concerned?

You’ve been here nearly 2 months.

You work from dawn until well past dark.

You teach allow.

Yes, but you’ve also taken on responsibilities far beyond what I hired you for.

You’ve reorganized the nursery, coordinated with the kitchen staff to ensure Megan has proper meals, even begun supervising the maids who maintain that wing of the house.

You’re functioning as a governness, a companion, and a household manager.

I don’t mind the extra work, and I’m paying you £30 peranom, less than I pay my headgroom, Heather’s cheeks flamed.

The salary is adequate.

It’s insulting.

He leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on her face.

I’m increasing it to £60, effective immediately, and I’m formally changing your title from companion and instructress to governness.

It’s more appropriate to your actual duties. £60.

It was generous, more than generous.

Suddenly, It was enough to pay off her father’s smaller debts to keep the estate from foreclosure for another year at least.

It was also a clear boundary, a reminder of what she was, an employee, a governness, not a lady of the house, not a potential.

Heather stood abruptly.

If that’s all your grace, I should return to Megan.

Heather, thank you for the increased compensation.

It’s most generous.

Will there be anything else?

She saw hurt flash across his face, quickly masked.

No, nothing else.

She made it to the door before his voice stopped her.

I didn’t mean to offend you.

Heather turned back.

You haven’t offended me.

You’ve been very clear about my position in this household, and I appreciate the clarity.

That’s not He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body.

Blasted Heather.

I’m trying to do the right thing here.

The right thing would have been to not look at me the way you’ve been looking at me. her voice shaking.

Hesitantly, The right thing would have been to maintain proper distance, but instead you you confuse me.

You stand too close and touch my shoulders and give me your coat and make me feel things I have no right to feel.

And then you remind me that I’m an employee, that there’s an insurmountable distance between us.

So yes, your grace, perhaps the clarity is exactly what I need.

A profound quiet descended upon the room.

Then Greg was moving, rounding his desk with startling speed.

He stopped mere inches from her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

You think I don’t know there’s distance between us?

His voice was low, rough.

You think I haven’t lay awake at night cataloging every reason why I should keep away from you?

You’re in my employee.

You’re young enough to be well, not my daughter, but certainly too young for a man of 5 and 30.

You’ve lived through hardship and loss, and you deserve security.

Not the complications of an entanglement with your employer.

I’ve listed every rational objection a hundred times over.

Then why?

Because none of it matters when you’re near me.

The words seem torn from him.

Because I think about you constantly.

Because Megan asks me every morning if I’ve noticed how pretty you look, and I want to tell her that I noticed nothing else.

Because yesterday you laughed at something. and I wanted to cross the room.

And he cut himself off, breathing hard.

And what?

Heather whispered.

This, he kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative or gentle.

Looking away, It was fierce and desperate, the kiss of a man who’d been holding himself back too long.

His hands framed her face, tilting it up to his, and Heather’s carefully constructed restraint shattered.

She kissed him back with all the longing she’d been suppressing, her fingers clutching at his lapels, her body arching into his.

He made a sound low in his throat and backed her against the door, his mouth trailing fire along her jaw, her throat, merciful heavens.

They sprang apart.

Brenda stood frozen in the doorway, the connecting door to the morning room, not the hallway, thank God, her hand pressed to her heart.

Brenda, Greg began, his voice rough.

This isn’t, Oh, do be quiet, Greg.

It’s exactly what it looks like, and I’m delighted.

The Dowager Duchess’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

Though perhaps next time you might lock the doors, Mrs.

Hixon will be coming through in a moment with the tea service, and I suspect she’s less broad-minded than I am.

Heather wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.

I should go.

You should stay, Brenda countered.

Both of you should stay, and you should discuss what comes next like rational adults, which I realize is asking quite a lot, given that you were just attempting to devour each other against the study door.

But, mother, Greg said through gritted teeth, your assistance is not required.

No, then you have a plan for what to do about this situation?

The silence was damning.

I thought as much.

Brenda settled herself in one of the chairs with the air of a woman preparing for a long stay.

Very well.

Here’s what’s going to happen.

Greg, you’re going to acknowledge that you’ve fallen in love with Heather.

Heather, you’re going to acknowledge that you’ve fallen in love with Greg, and then we’re all going to discuss how to navigate the practicalities without causing a scandal that will have the ton gossiping for decades.

I can’t possibly, Heather began.

Love me, Greg finished quietly.

Because I love you.

I’ve been trying not to, but I’m apparently not very good at controlling my own heart.

The world seemed to tilt.

Heather stared at him at this proud, difficult man who just laid himself bare in front of his mother and God and anyone who might be listening.

I Her voice failed.

She tried again.

I do love you, but Greg, you’re a duke.

I’m nobody.

I have no fortune, no connections, nothing to bring to.

You brought my daughter back to life.

You brought me back to life.

If you think fortune and connections outweigh that, then you haven’t been paying attention.

Society will be merciless.

Let them be merciless.

I’m wealthy enough and powerful enough to weather any storm.

He reached for her hands, gripping them tightly.

Say yes, Heather.

Say you’ll have me.

Say you’ll be my wife and Megan’s mother, and let me spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.

This is all happening very fast.

We could wait, if you prefer, a proper courtship with flowers and poetry and whatever else one does.

Though I should warn you, I’m terrible at poetry, and my flower arranging skills are non-existent.

Despite everything, Heather laughed.

You’re ridiculous.

I’m in love.

Apparently, it has a similar effect.

His expression turned serious.

But truly, Heather, we can take this as slowly as you need.

I’ll not rush you into anything you’re uncertain about.

She looked into his gray eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the hope.

And she thought about Megan, who’d already started calling her Mama Heather when she thought no one was listening.

About Brenda, who’d become more of a mother to her in 2 months than her own mother had been in 23 years, about this house that had somehow become home.

Yes, she said.

Yes, I’ll marry you.

Greg’s smile was transformative, lighting his entire face with joy she’d never seen before.

He pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers.

Thank heavens, I was running out of rational arguments.

Oh, you never had any rational arguments, Brenda said cheerfully.

You had desperation and determination and a complete inability to admit when you’re wrong.

But it seems to have worked out.

Now then about the practicalities.

But before she could continue, the door burst open and Megan appeared, her face al light with excitement.

Papa, Lady Heather, it’s snowing.

Come see.

The whole garden is, she stopped, taking in the scene.

Why is everyone crying?

Are you sad?

Happy?

Heather said, dashing at her eyes.

We’re happy, sweetheart.

Why are you happy?

Greg dropped to one knee, bringing himself to his daughter’s level.

How would you feel if Lady Heather stayed with us forever? if she became your mama.

Megan’s eyes went wide.

Then she launched herself at Heather with enough force to nearly knock her over.

Yes, yes, yes.

Please say yes.

Please stay forever and ever and be my mama and never leave.

I’m staying, Heather promised, holding the child close.

I’m not going anywhere.

Over Megan’s head met Greg’s, and in his gaze she saw everything she’d been afraid to hope for.

Love, promise, home.

The engagement was announced on Christmas Day.

Brenda had advocated for a longer period before making it public, but Greg was adamant.

I’ll not have Heather continue as my employee while we’re engaged.

It’s improper, and it would give the gossip’s ammunition.

We announce it now, marry in the spring, and face down anyone who dares object.

The initial response from their small social circle, primarily neighbors and Greg’s business associates, was cautiously positive.

Heather was, after all, an Earl’s daughter, even if impoverished.

The match was unusual, perhaps, but not scandalous.

Then the London papers got hold of it.

The first article appeared in early January, while Heather and Greg were planning their wedding.

She was in the morning room with Brenda sorting through invitations when Greg stroed in with a newspaper clenched in his fist.

Don’t read it, he said tightly.

Naturally, Heather immediately reached for it.

The Duke’s desperate choice, she read aloud.

Sources close to the Duke of Montford confirmed that his grace has indeed become engaged to one Lady Heather Ashkam, formerly employed as governness to his young daughter.

Lady Heather, daughter of the late and much lamented Earl of Ashkam, has been residing in Penury since her father’s death left her penniless and friendless.

One can only speculate as to how the enterprising young lady secured such an advantageous position in the Duke’s household, and subsequently in his affections.

The implication was clear and vicious.

Heather’s hands were steady as she set down the paper, but inside she felt something crack.

Well, they haven’t wasted any time, have they?

It’s absolute rubbish, Greg growled.

I’ll sue them for liel.

I’ll You’ll do nothing, Heather interrupted.

That would only give the story more attention.

We ignore it and carry on as planned.

But the damage was done.

More articles followed, each more creative in its insinuations than the last.

Heather was alternately portrayed as a scheming adventurous who’d seduced her employer, a desperate fortune hunter who’ trapped a grieving widowerower, or most creatively, a calculating governness who deliberately made herself indispensable to a motherless child.

The tone’s reaction was predictably vicious.

Several families who’d accepted their wedding invitation sent regrets.

Others who’d previously been cordial to Greg suddenly found themselves unavailable for meetings.

Heather bore it with outward composure, but Greg saw the toll it took.

She grew quieter, more withdrawn.

The sparkle that had drawn him to her began to dim.

Perhaps. nearly a month after the engagement announcement, we should consider a longer engagement.

Allow society time to adjust to the idea.

If we marry too quickly, it will only confirm their suspicions.

They were in the library, ostensibly reviewing wedding plans.

But Greg could see the defeat in her eyes, and it enraged him.

Absolutely not.

We marry in April as planned, Greg.

No.

He set down his glass with enough force to make it ring.

I will not allow a pack of bored aristocrats and scandalongering journalists to dictate my life or yours.

It’s not just about us.

There’s Megan to consider.

The things they’re saying about me, if she hears them, Megan knows you love her, that’s all that matters.

Is it?

Heather’s voice was sharp with frustration.

When she’s older, when she enters society, they’ll remember this.

They’ll whisper about how her stepmother was the governness who caught a duke.

It could affect her prospects, her.

Then we’ll find her a husband who has the sense to value character over gossip.

Heather, why are you letting them win?

Because maybe they’re right.

The words burst out of her.

Maybe I am a fortune hunter.

Maybe I did scheme and calculate and make myself indispensable.

Greg was across the room in three strides.

He gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes.

Stop.

Stop doing this to yourself.

But what if?

What if nothing?

I know who you are.

You’re the woman who sang ridiculous songs to make my daughter laugh.

Who stood up to me when no one else dared? who brought warmth and life back into this moraleum of a house.

You love me for who I am, not what I am.

And I love you for exactly the same reason.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

It’s just so hard.

Every day there’s another article, another cut.

And I keep thinking, what if you wake up one day and realize they’re right?

What if you regret this?

Never.

He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest.

I would regret many things in my life, Heather Ashkam.

But loving you will never be one of them.

She clung to him, her tears soaking into his waist cocoat, and Greg made a silent vow.

Whoever was behind the worst of the gossip would pay.

He was a duke with resources and connections they couldn’t imagine, and he would use every one of them to protect the woman he loved.

It was Brenda who uncovered the source.

She cornered Greg in his study one afternoon, her face grim.

It’s Amelia, she said without preamble.

Greg looked up from his correspondence.

Amelia.

Lady Amelia Hartwick, Alice’s younger sister.

Understanding crashed over him.

Amelia had always been possessive of her connection to the Montford family.

After Alice’s death, she’d assumed she would continue to have a prominent place in Greg’s household, perhaps even imagined she might eventually become the next Duchess.

How do you know?

Because I confronted her directly.

Brenda settled into a chair, looking every inch the formidable Duchess she’d once been.

I paid a call this morning and asked her point blank if she was spreading malicious gossip about your intended.

She denied it, of course, but she also couldn’t quite hide her satisfaction at the damage being done.

I’ll speak with her.

You’ll do no such thing.

If you confront her, you’ll confirm that her campaign is working.

No, we need a different approach.

Brenda’s eyes gleamed with strategic calculation.

We need to remind society that Heather is not some nobody.

She’s an Earl’s daughter with impeccable lineage.

We need to make them see what you see.

And how do you propose we do that?

A ball here at Montford House.

With steady eyes, A grand engagement celebration.

We invite everyone, and I mean everyone, the cream of society.

We show them Heather in her element gracious educated charming.

We remind them that she’s one of them.

Greg was skeptical.

You think the people who’ve been cutting her will actually attend?

Oh, they’ll attend.

Curiosity alone will ensure it.

Everyone wants to see the governors who caught a duke.

We simply need to ensure that what they see changes their minds.

It was a risk.

A public spectacle could either vindicate Heather or humiliate her further.

But Greg found himself nodding.

Very well.

But we do this properly.

Spare no expense.

I want every detail.

Perfect.

Leave it to me, Brenda said, already rising with the air of a general planning a campaign.

I’ll make sure it’s an evening they’ll never forget.

When Greg told Heather about the ball, her reaction was not what he’d hoped.

Absolutely not, Heather.

You want to parade me in front of the entire ton.

Let them examine me like some curious specimen.

Judge whether I’m worthy of being your wife.

I want to show them who you really are.

To remind them that you have every right to be at my side.

I don’t need their approval, Greg.

Perhaps not, but I’ll not have you living under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of your life.

And more importantly, I’ll not have Megan growing up hearing whispers about her stepmother.

That gave Heather a pause.

Greg pressed his advantage.

One evening, a few hours of polite conversation and dancing.

You faced far worse.

Have I?

At least when I was poor and alone, I only had to contend with creditors.

They were mercenary, but honest about it.

The ton is mercenary and dishonest.

They’ll smile at me while holding their knives ready.

Then we’ll face their knives together.

He took her hands, his grip warm and steady.

You’re not alone anymore, Heather.

You have me and Brenda and an entire household that adores you.

We’ll get through this together.

She searched his face, then finally nodded.

One ball, but I’m not wearing anything too elaborate.

I refuse to look like I’m trying too hard.

Wear a potato sack if you wish.

You’ll still be the most beautiful woman there.

Despite everything, she laughed.

Now I know your besotted.

My beauty has never been my chief attribute.

Perhaps not, but your courage, your intelligence, your capacity for love, those are more beautiful than any conventional prettiness could ever be.

Now, keep talking like that, and I might actually believe you love me for more than my ability to manage your daughter.

I love you for a thousand reasons, and managing Megan brilliantly is merely one of them.

He pulled her close, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair.

Though I confess, watching you with her does make my heart do rather extraordinary things, such as, such as, Imagine what you’d look like holding a child of our own.

Heather’s breath caught.

Greg, I know we haven’t discussed it, and we needn’t yet, but I find myself thinking about it. about a house full of children, about Megan having brothers and sisters, about She silenced him with a kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his One crisis at a time, she said softly.

First we survive this ball.

Then we plan our wedding.

Then, she smiled.

Then we can discuss filling this enormous house with more little Montfords.

Is that a yes?

It’s a we’ll see which is more than you deserve considering you’ve just volunteered me for social torture.

For which I apologize and which I promise to make up to you extensively after we’re married.

The heat in his voice made her shiver.

You’re encouragable.

I’m in love.

The condition appears to be permanent.

Firmly, The ball was set for the first Saturday in March, giving Brenda 6 weeks to plan and Heather 6 weeks to panic.

Megan at least was thrilled.

You’re going to look like a princess, Mama Heather.

And papa will dance with you, and everyone will see how much he loves you, and they’ll know the stories in the papers are all nonsense.

Out of the mouths of children, Heather thought.

If only it were that simple.

But as the date drew closer, she found herself caught up in preparations despite her reservations.

Brenda insisted on hiring a modist from London to create Heather’s gown.

Nothing from the village dress maker, my dear, not for this.

And the result was breathtaking.

The dress was silk, the color of midnight, cut simply but elegantly, with delicate silver embroidery that caught the light.

It made Heather’s skin glow, and her eyes seem impossibly deep.

You look like Starlight, Greg said when he saw her in it for the final fitting.

His voice was rough with emotion.

I look terrified, Heather corrected.

That too, but mostly like Starlight.

The night of the ball arrived with unseasonable warmth, as though spring had decided to make an early appearance.

Montford House blazed with light, every chandelier lit, every surface polished to gleaming perfection.

Heather stood in her room, dressed in her midnight silk, her hands trembling as her ladies maid arranged her hair.

You can do this, she told her reflection.

You’ve survived worse.

You can survive a few hours of polite conversation.

A knock at the door and then Brenda swept in magnificent in emerald green.

Oh my dear, you’re exquisite.

She crossed to Heather, placing her hands on her shoulders.

Listen to me.

These people, most of them are fools.

They follow fashion and gossip because they have nothing of substance in their own lives.

But some of them are worth knowing.

Some of them will see past the scandal to the remarkable woman beneath.

Focus on those people.

Ignore the rest.

And if there are more of the rest than the former, then we’ll face them together with our heads high and our dignity intact.

We’re Montfords.

We don’t bow to gossip.

I’m not a Montford yet.

You are in every way that matters.

Brenda squeezed her shoulders gently.

Now come.

Greg is waiting, and if I know my son, he’s wearing a hole in the carpet.

Greg was indeed pacing when they descended to the main hall.

He turned as they approached, and the expression on his face made all of Heather’s anxiety worth it.

Your He seemed to have forgotten how words worked.

Adequate, Heather replied.

Devastating.

Absolutely devastating.

If I didn’t have 200 guests arriving momentarily, I’d lock you in my study and spend the evening convincing you to elope.

Tempting.

But Brenda would never forgive us.

Absolutely not, Brenda confirmed.

Now positions everyone.

The first carriages are arriving.

Heather took her place beside Greg at the entrance to the ballroom, acutely aware of the curious glances from the footmen, the whispers of the arriving guests.

Her hand trembled as she placed it on Greg’s arm.

Steady, he murmured.

I’m right here.

The first guests entered.

Lord and Lady Peton, longtime friends of Brenda.

They greeted Greg warmly, then turned to Heather with genuine smiles.

Lady Heather, how delightful to finally meet you.

Brenda has told us so much.

All good, I hope, Heather managed.

All excellent.

We’re so pleased for you both.

One ally.

Heather breathed a little easier.

But then came Lord and Lady Hartwick, and with them, Lady Amelia.

Amelia was beautiful in the brittle way of expensive porcelain, perfect features, flawless complexion, and eyes like chips of ice.

She looked Heather up and down with barely concealed disdain.

How quaint, the governness playing a duchess.

The insult hung in the air.

Heather felt Greg tense beside her, but before he could respond. How kind of you to come, Lady Amelia.

I do hope you enjoy the evening.

It was perfectly polite, perfectly neutral, and it made Amelia’s rudeness all the more obvious.

Lady Hartwick flushed.

Amelia, really, it’s quite all right, Heather said smoothly.

I’m sure Lady Amelia meant no offense.

Grief can make us say things we don’t quite mean.

I understand she was very close to the late Duchess.

It was a masterful deflection, attributing Amelia’s nastiness to mourning rather than malice, while simultaneously reminding everyone of Heather’s own grace under pressure.

Brenda beamed.

Greg’s hand tightened on Heather’s arm in silent approval.

And Amelia, outmaneuvered, had no choice but to move on.

Well played, Greg murmured once they were out of earshot.

She’s not the first person to look down on me.

I’ve had practice.

The rest of the receiving line passed in a blur of names and faces.

Some guests were warm, some neutral, some clearly disapproving, but none dared be as overtly rude as Amelia.

Finally, blessedly, the last guest arrived.

The orchestra began to play, and Greg turned to Heather.

May I have this dance, my lady?

I suppose you must.

It would look odd if you didn’t dance with your own fianceé.

I would dance with you if you were a scullery maid.

Though I confess this dress makes me want to do considerably more than dance.

Greg, she hissed, feeling her cheeks heat.

Behave.

I’m always behaved.

It’s deeply boring.

I’m hoping you might teach me to misbehave occasionally after we’re married, of course.

He led her onto the dance floor, and Heather felt 200 pairs of eyes track their movement.

The music swelled, and they began to waltz.

Everyone’s watching, she whispered.

Let them watch.

Let them see how beautiful you are.

How perfectly you fit in my arms.

How absolutely, completely, irrevocably in love I am.

You’re going to make me cry.

Please don’t.

I have it on good authority that crying makes your nose red, and I need you to be intimidatingly beautiful for at least another 2 hours.

She laughed despite herself.

Where did you learn to be charming?

Surely not from your previous life as an ice sculpture.

From you.

You’ve taught me that life doesn’t have to be all duty and discipline.

That joy is possible, even necessary.

He spun her through a turn, his hand firm at her waist.

You’ve saved me, Heather.

In every way a person can be saved.

Now you’re definitely trying to make me cry.

Just being honest.

His eyes met hers.

Serious now.

Whatever happens tonight, whatever they say or think or write in their ridiculous papers, none of it matters.

You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s all that’s real.

The dance ended and Heather found herself immediately claimed by a succession of partners.

Some danced with her out of curiosity, others out of genuine warmth.

She moved through it all in a gaze, hyper aware of Greg’s gaze, tracking her around the room.

During a break between sets, Brenda appeared at her elbow with two glasses of champagne.

You’re doing splendidly, my dear.

Lady Peton told me at least six women have commented on how lovely and gracious you are.

Can’t Lord Ashford, you remember him, Greg’s friend from Cambridge, said you’re far too good for his stuffy friend, and if Greg mucks this up, you should send word and he’ll elope with you himself.

Heather nearly choked on her champagne.

He didn’t.

Looking away, He absolutely did.

Greg looked ready to call him out.

It was delightful.

Brenda’s expression turned more serious.

There’s been some talk, of course.

Amelia’s been spreading poison in corners.

But I think the general consensus is shifting in your favor.

You’re winning them over.

I’m not trying to win anyone over.

I’m just trying to survive.

Same thing really.

Brenda clinkedked her glass against Heather’s to surviving.

And to the look on Amelia’s face when she realizes she’s lost.

Later, as supper was announced, Greg appeared to escort Heather to the dining room.

But before they could move, Lady Amelia stepped into their path.

Your grace, I wonder if I might claim a moment of your time.

There’s a matter concerning Alice’s estate that requires discussion.

It was a clever move.

Greg could hardly refuse without appearing rude, but Heather saw the calculation in Amelia’s eyes, and knew this was another attack.

Of course, Greg said coolly, after supper, my fianceé and I were just Oh, surely Lady Heather can spare you for a few moments.

After all, she must be quite accustomed to managing without you.

I understand that’s what governnesses do, manage on their own.

The barb was clear.

Heather felt her temper spike, but before she could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

Lady Amelia, how delightful to see you.

I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on a matter of the utmost importance.

Everyone turned.

An elderly woman in magnificent purple silk stood behind Amelia, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief.

Duchess of Pembbertton, Amelia said, unable to hide her surprise.

The Duchess of Peton was one of society’s most formidable arbiters.

Her approval could make or break a reputation.

Yes, yes, hello, dear.

Now, tell me, I’ve heard the most extraordinary rumors about you spreading gossip concerning the Duke’s engagement.

You couldn’t possibly be that foolish, could you? to speak ill of a grieving widowerower’s choice of bride, especially when that bride is the daughter of an earl with a lineage that goes back to the conquest.

Surely even you can see how that would make you look.

What’s the word I’m searching for?

Oh, yes, petty.

Amelia’s face went white, then red.

I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, your grace.

Oh, I think you do.

And I think everyone else here does, too.

Now run along.

I wish to speak with the engaged couple.

Amelia fled.

The Duchess turned to Heather and Greg with a satisfied smile.

There, that should put an end to that nonsense.

Now then, Lady Heather, Brenda tells me you’re an accomplished musician.

I do hope you’ll honor us with a performance after supper.

Heather found her voice.

I Yes, of course, your grace.

I’d be honored.

Excellent.

I’m quite fond of a good scandal, but I’m even fonder of seeing deserving people get their due.

And you, my dear, deserve to be happy.

Both of you do.

She swept away, leaving Heather and Greg staring after her in astonishment.

Did that just happen?

Heather whispered.

I believe the Duchess of Peton just declared you officially approved, Greg said, wonder in his voice.

That’s Heather.

That’s enormous.

Her opinion carries more weight than almost anyone’s in society.

So the ball was a success.

The ball was a triumph.

You were a triumph.

He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

I told you they’d see what I see.

What do you see?

Everything.

I see absolutely everything when I look at you.

The ball continued until well past midnight, and by the time the last guests departed, Heather was exhausted, but elated.

They’d done it.

They’d faced down the gossip and emerged victorious.

In the entrance hall after the last carriage had pulled away, Greg pulled her into his arms.

Tired, exhausted, triumphant, terrified, relieved.

Choose any or all.

How about happy?

Heather smiled up at him.

Yes, that too.

Definitely that.

Good, because I have one more surprise for you.

He led her to his study where a she of papers waited on his desk.

What are these?

The mortgage is on your father’s estate, all paid in full.

Hesitantly, The house is yours again, Heather.

Free and clear.

She stared at the documents, then at him.

Greg, I can’t.

You can’t just I can and I have.

It’s my wedding gift to you.

I know you have memories there, good ones from before your father’s illness.

I thought you might want to keep it.

Perhaps use it for a country house or establish a school there, or simply know it’s there if you ever need it.

Tears spilled down Heather’s cheeks.

This is too much.

This is nothing compared to what you’ve given me.

He cupped her face, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

You’ve given me hope, laughter, love.

You’ve given Megan a mother.

You’ve made this house a home.

A few mortgages are a small price to pay for that.

I love you, she whispered so much it frightens me sometimes. good, because I love you even more, and I intend to spend the rest of my life proving it.

He kissed her, then deep and thorough, and Heather forgot about the ball, the gossips, everything except the man in her arms, and the future stretching bright before them.

The wedding took place on a bright April morning in the chapel at Montford House.

Heather stood in the small antichamber, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Her wedding gown was ivory silk, simple and elegant, with delicate lace at the sleeves and neckline.

Brenda had woven orange blossoms through her hair, and she wore Greg’s mother’s pearls, a gift from Brenda that had made them both cry.

Are you ready, my dear?

Brenda stood behind her, radiant in rosecolored silk.

I think so, though I keep expecting to wake up and discover this has all been a dream.

If it’s a dream, we’re all having it together, which would be rather extraordinary.

Brenda squeezed her shoulders.

Greg is already in the chapel, pacing naturally, and Megan is vibrating with excitement.

She’s convinced this makes her a princess.

In a way, I suppose it does in every way that matters.

You’re going to make her the happiest little girl in England, Heather.

You already have.

A soft knock at the door, and then Megan appeared, wearing a tiny version of Heather’s gown.

She carried a basket of rose petals and looked so adorably solemn that Heather had to blink back tears.

Mama Heather, everyone’s waiting.

Are you almost ready, Mama Heather?

The name had stuck, and every time she heard it, Heather’s heart swelled nearly to bursting.

I’m ready, sweetheart.

Shall we go make your papa happy?

He’s already happy.

He told me so this morning.

Immediately, He said today is the best day of his whole life because he gets to marry you.

Did he indeed?

Yes.

And then he told me that after you’re married, we’re going to be a proper family, and maybe someday I’ll have brothers and sisters.

Do you think that’s true?

Heather exchanged a glance with Brenda, who was trying not to laugh.

I think it’s very possible, darling.

Good.

I’d like a sister first, please.

Someone to play dolls with.

Brothers can come later.

I’ll see what I can do.

The music swelled, and Heather took Brenda’s arm.

She’d asked the Daager Duchess to walk her down the aisle, having no family of her own left to perform the honor.

Ready?

Brenda murmured.

“I CAN HIRE FIFTY LIKE YOU,” HE DEMANDED. “THEN DO IT,” I REPLIED—BUT HE REFUSED TO LET ME WALK AWAY.

Part 3

Billionaire Gets Lost On A Road Trip, Unexpectedly Falling In Love With The Woman Who Directs Him

Boss Fired Me For Job Hunting After Saying No To Raises For 4 Years. She Was Not Ready For What Came

My Abusive Cousin Kept Me Trapped For Years — So I Fled To Marry A Complete Stranger

At The Hotel, No One Understood The German Billionaire — Until The Black Girl Spoke German

My Husband Called Me “Support” — Until I Proved I Built His $50 Million Company

The General Contractor Altered My Shoring Design To Save Twelve Thousand Dollars In Steel, And When The Wall Collapsed Into The Street, He Stood In The Mud And Blamed My Math To The City Inspector.

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Part 3

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