to be there than her.
She glared back at him, not caring what he might think. ‘I assure you, my lord, I am most careful when it comes to stairs. And since lightning does not strike twice in the same place, a second fall in this house would be a most unusual circumstance indeed.’ And then, without waiting for dismissal, she released the handrail that they were both holding, and went to pass him and continue her ascent.
There was not enough space to go around without brushing against him, and she steeled herself for the moment when their bodies would touch.
And suddenly he reached out to steady her, his hand on her waist. The touch was like a jolt of electricity, cutting through the fear she felt of him. For a moment, she was sure that he was debating whether to embrace her, or give the downward shove that would cause another fatal accident.
Then the moment passed, and he was helping her to find the handrail and go on her way. She continued up the stairs, hurrying her pace, all the time aware that his downward steps did not resume.
Tim waited on the stairs, frozen in place, listening to her progress. She must be in the small room in the attic, for he could hear her, passing the second-floor landing and continuing upwards. It was a lonely spot at the back of the house, far away from prying eyes and ears. No one would know if he turned and followed her.
But he did not want that, did he? For only a moment before…
He hurried down the stairs to the ground floor, shutting himself up in the study and reaching for the brandy decanter. One drink would not matter, surely. Just to steady his nerves. He poured, and drank eagerly, praying for the numbness that would come with the first sip.
For a moment, when he had heard her call out, he had been convinced it was Clare. Although he had not noticed it at the time of introduction, there was a similarity in tone, just as there was in colouring. And her voice had startled him so that the trembling of his hand had put out the candle. He’d stood, rooted to the spot, hearing those approaching footsteps, waiting for the figure that would round the corner: the vengeful spirit of his wife.
And he had not been disappointed. There were her accusing green eyes staring up at him, as though daring him to run. He had all but given up the main staircase. For that had been where he expected to see her, when she finally came for him. But the sight of her approaching on the back stairs had been totally unexpected and utterly terrifying. When he realised that it was a mistake of the light and his overwrought nerves, his response had been a jumble of emotions. Anger at being so foolish. And suspicion of her behaviour, which had been quite ordinary and probably an appropriate match to the strangeness of his.
And then, there had been that hint of desire, as he’d stood close enough to feel the warmth of her body and smell her scent. Longing that a touch might lead to something more than a chance meeting on the stairs.
He looked down in to the half-full glass of brandy, momentarily surprised to find it in his hand. Then he smiled and set it aside. He gave a nervous, involuntary chuckle, and ran a hand over his eyes in embarrassment. It did not say much for the state of his nerves if he could manage to work himself into such a state over nothing. There were no ghosts on the front stairs, or the back. Although she was most attractive, the governess’s resemblance to Clare was superficial, at best.
The cause of all his problems was a penchant for brandy and redheads. Once he learned to leave them both alone, the remainder of his life would go easier. And he sank back into the chair, and laid his head on the desk to rest, too weak from the realisation to take either set of stairs to his room.
Chapter Three
Daphne awoke with the dawn, the rays of morning light streaming upon her bed with aggressive good cheer, making sleep impossible. It was just as well. For she suspected the real Miss Collins would have risen intentionally at this time, so that she might be washed and dressed and down the stairs to breakfast. She would be ready to start lessons before the children were half out of bed.
Daphne had never been an early riser. The best she was likely to manage was prompt, but surly. She pasted a smile upon her face and put on one of the sensible gowns that she had bought off the real Miss Collins. Then she came down the stairs to the nursery wing, walking down the hall until she found the open door to the children’s dining room.
The sight of it made her smile; it was attractively decorated but informal, rather like the breakfast room in her own home back in London. The woman who had been introduced to her on the previous evening as Cook was setting eggs and ham and tea things on a side table. It was most unusual to see her doing work that would be better suited to a footman. But she gave Miss Collins a defiant look, that seemed to say, What if I am? Someone must watch out for them.
The children filed in from the hall, and Cook greeted them pleasantly, making sure that their plates were full and that everyone had enough of what they wanted. She extended her offers to Miss Collins, as though relieved to see that there would be an adult present at the meal, before excusing herself and returning to the kitchen.
Daphne smiled hopefully at the three children across the table from her, and attempted polite breakfast talk. Had they slept well? Was it not a beautiful day? Did they have enough to eat? And were they sure that they did not want a second helping of anything? Absolutely sure? Because she had no problems with delaying the lesson, and they should not feel a need to rush their morning meal.
It would have been a blessing to her if they could manage to delay lessons indefinitely. She had no more interest in sitting in a classroom as teacher than she had managed to display when she had been a student.
The children answered all questions in polite monosyllables, as though they had decided her presence was to be tolerated for the moment. But they intended to make no effort at a closer relationship than was absolutely necessary.
Eventually, her attempts at conversation were exhausted, as was the breakfast food. She suggested that they wash their hands and make their way to the classroom, where the real business of the day could begin.
They were almost eerily agreeable to it, as though faintly relieved to be able to do something they preferred over socialising with the governess. They took what appeared to be their regular seats in the room, and folded their hands on their empty desks, waiting to be impressed.
‘Very well then,’ she said, and waited for something to fill the blank void in her mind as to what would happen next. Perhaps it was best to discover what the children already knew, before attempting to educate them further. ‘Please, children, gather the books you have been working in and show me your progress.’
They remained unmoved, still in their seats, staring out at her.
So she reached for the nearest book, a maths primer that had given her much trouble when she was their age. She opened it, paging through the equations. ‘This would probably be yours, wouldn’t it, Lily?’ She arched an eyebrow, for she had seen the girl’s name written clearly inside the front cover. ‘Show me how far you have got.’ And please Lord, let it be not far, for Daphne had given up on that particular subject before she was halfway through the text.
The girl took the book sullenly and flipped through pages until she was nearly at the end.
Daphne gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, my. How well you are doing. Perhaps I will allow you to tutor your brother.’
Lily gave her a disgusted look. ‘He has been this far and further for at least six months.’
Daphne narrowed her eyes. ‘Then perhaps I shall allow him to tutor you. Edmund!’ She smiled and turned suddenly upon the boy, to catch him making faces at his sister.
He had the grace to look embarrassed at being caught, and then his expression turned as sullen as his sister’s.
‘Lily says you are good at maths. Is that your best subject?’
The boy raised his chin and said, ‘I prefer reading.’
‘Do