And that was that. He would not be budged. So with an admonishment that they must remain in the shadows and alleys where they would not be seen, she allowed him to escort her to the servants’ entrance of Pleinsworth House. He kissed her hand, and she tried to pretend she did not love the gesture.
She might have fooled him. She certainly did not fool herself.
“I will call upon you tomorrow,” he said, still holding her hand in his.
“What? No!” Anne yanked her hand back. “You can’t.”
“Can’t I?”
“No. I am a governess. I can’t have men calling upon me. I will lose my position.”
He smiled as if the solution could not be easier. “I will call upon my cousins, then.”
Was he completely ignorant of proper behavior? Or merely selfish? “I will not be home,” she replied, her voice firm.
“I’ll call again.”
“I won’t be home again.”
“Such truancy. Who will instruct my cousins?”
“Not me, if you are loitering about. Your aunt will terminate me for sure.”
“Terminate?” He chuckled. “It sounds so grisly.”
“It is.” Good heavens, she had to make him understand. It did not matter who he was, or how he made her feel. The excitement of the evening . . . the kiss they’d shared . . . these were fleeting things.
What mattered was having a roof over her head. And food. Bread and cheese and butter and sugar and all those lovely things she’d had every day of her childhood. She had them now, with the Pleinsworths, along with stability, and position, and self-respect.
She did not take these things for granted.
She looked up at Lord Winstead. He was watching her closely, as if he thought he could see into her soul.
But he did not know her. No one did. And so, wearing formality like a mantle, Anne drew back her hand and curtsied. “Thank you for your escort, my lord. I appreciate your concern for my safety.” She turned her back to him and let herself in through the back gate.
It took a bit of time to sort things out once she was inside. The Pleinsworths returned only a few minutes after she did, so there were excuses to be made, pen in hand as she explained that she had been about to send a note explaining her departure from the musicale. Harriet could not stop talking about the excitement of the evening—apparently, Lord Chatteris and Lady Honoria had indeed become betrothed, in quite the most thrilling manner possible—and then Elizabeth and Frances came running downstairs, because it wasn’t as if either of them had fallen asleep in the first place.
It would be two hours before Anne finally let herself into her own room, changed into her nightgown, and crawled into bed. And it would be two hours more before she could even try to fall asleep. All she could do was stare at the ceiling, and think, and wonder, and whisper.
“Annelise Sophronia Shawcross,” she finally said to herself, “what have you got yourself into?”
Chapter Three
The following afternoon, despite the dowager Countess of Winstead’s insistence that she did not wish to let her newly returned son out of her sight, Daniel made his way over to Pleinsworth House. He did not tell his mother where he was going; she would surely have insisted upon accompanying him. Instead, he told her that he had legal matters to attend to, which was true. A gentleman could not return from a three-year trip abroad without having to visit at least one solicitor. But it just so happened that the law office of Streatham and Ponce was only two miles in the opposite direction of Pleinsworth House. A mere trifle, really, and who could say that he wouldn’t suddenly take it upon himself to visit his young cousins? It was an idea that could come to a man as easily in a carriage riding through the city as anywhere else.
The Pleinsworths’ back entrance, for example.
Or the entire time he’d walked himself home.
Or in bed. He’d lain awake half the night thinking of the mysterious Miss Wynter—the curve of her cheek, the scent of her skin. He was bewitched, he freely admitted it, and he told himself that it was because he was so happy to be home. It made perfect sense that he’d find himself enchanted by such a lovely example of English womanhood.
And so after a grueling two-hour appointment with Messrs. Streatham, Ponce, and Beaufort-Graves （who apparently hadn’t quite managed to get his name on the door yet）， Daniel directed his driver to Pleinsworth House. He did want to see his cousins.
He just wanted to see their governess more.
His aunt was not at home, but his cousin Sarah was, and she greeted him with a delighted cry and a warm hug. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you’d returned?” she demanded. She drew back, blinking as she got a good look at his face. “And what happened to you?”