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in the direction the footman had pointed out, Sarah was pleased by the respectful admiration in the young man’s eyes. He seemed to like her and it was refreshing to know that he had no idea that she was rich. She was tired of being courted for her fortune—and, of late, a certain person’s pursuit had been nothing short of menacing. He was determined to push her into marriage and she was equally determined to resist—but her uncle and aunt were on his side, forever telling her what a good husband Sir Roger would make.

      ‘He’s a gentleman,’ Uncle Matthew had told her. ‘He won’t interfere in the running of the mills, but he’ll be there at your side to give you more authority. A woman alone can’t hope to mange everything your father left you.’

      ‘But I told you what he did—that he is a rogue. How can you say he would make a good husband for me?’

      ‘Reformed rakes make the best husbands,’ her aunt had told her with a foolish and rather coy smile. ‘I dare say he got carried away a little at the party by his love for you, Sarah. Gentlemen can be like that sometimes.’

      ‘Love is neither here nor there,’ her uncle had said. ‘A woman should be married and caring for her children, not managing the mills. Sir Roger has mills of his own and would take the burden from your shoulders.’

      It was no use telling her uncle that Sir Roger left his mills to the care of neglectful overseers and was in danger of losing them—or that she would never subject her people to the kind of treatment they received from Sir Roger’s managers. Of course, Sir Roger never went near them himself. He was far too busy enjoying himself in London—and no doubt he imagined her money would allow him to continue with the life he desired.

      Sarah had bitten back the hasty retort that rose to her lips. She had been managing her mills alone quite well, with the help of her managers. It was true that she had found it time-consuming, giving her little leisure for herself, which was why she’d decided to take this time out. Yet she would hate to relinquish them to a man like Sir Roger.

      As she approached the drawing room, she heard the sound of voices raised.

      ‘Why doesn’t Grandfather come himself?’ a girl’s voice said on a truculent note. ‘John and I are tired of being given boring lessons and told to get on with them. We want to see other people—to have some fun.’

      ‘Well, you have me now. I think John is old enough to start fencing lessons and I’ll teach you how to shoot—and we’ll go fishing and play cricket, but of course you will have to do some lessons. Your governess will take you for those, but I’ll take you both for drives into town. If you behave yourselves, that is.’

      ‘What about me? Why should John have all the fun while I get stuck with a boring governess?’

      ‘I’m afraid that is a woman’s lot in life,’ Lord Myers said, but with a teasing note in his voice. ‘I dare say Miss Goodrum may allow you some fun if you behave.’

      ‘We don’t need her here. Why can’t we just have …?’

      Sarah walked into the room. A very pretty fair-haired girl and an equally attractive youth were standing in front of the open hearth with Lord Myers. They looked cross and upset, a contrast to the carefree children she’d observed in the grounds. The girl’s English-rose colour heightened as she turned and saw her.

      ‘Ah, here is Miss Goodrum,’ Lord Myers said into the hushed silence. ‘As you can see, ma’am, the truants have returned. I have decided they will receive no more than a warning for this day’s escapade, but I shall not be so lenient in future.’

      ‘I dare say no harm was done,’ Sarah replied. ‘It was a perfect day for fishing after all. Since we did not arrive until half the day was done, it would have been a shame to waste it all indoors. I am hoping to walk with you both on pleasant days. There is no need to sit at a desk to learn. We can observe nature and practise our Latin verbs while on a walk, John—and I think you, Francesca, may find the discussion of your favourite poets as interesting in a meadow as a musty schoolroom.’

      The girl’s cheeks went white and then pink. She was clearly undecided whether to show appreciation or hold on to her reserve.

      ‘Mr Morton made me spend the whole morning doing exercises while he sat in his chair and read a book,’ John exclaimed indignantly. ‘I want to play games and do things.’

      ‘So you shall.’ Sarah and Lord Myers spoke at the same time. ‘There are many ways to learn,’ Sarah finished while the mentor looked at her through narrowed eyes.

      ‘What about me?’ Francesca gave them a sulky look. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

      ‘Learn some manners for a start,’ Lord Myers said. ‘You’ve neither of you welcomed Miss Goodrum to Cavendish Park.’

      ‘She didn’t have to come here.’ Francesca said rudely. ‘I’m too old for the schoolroom.’

      ‘That is why I intend to teach you to dance,’ Sarah said, unruffled by the girl’s sulky manner. ‘We should discuss society and what kind of people you may encounter—and the conversations you may have with friends and acquaintances. Also, you will need to know how to spot a rake and how to avoid being compromised by ruthless gentlemen.’

      Francesca’s eyes opened wide. She stared in disbelief, her mouth slightly parted. ‘What did you say?’

      ‘We shall naturally discuss poetry and literature and you will need to practise your drawing, embroidery and the instrument of your choice—but learning to dance, to enter a room, to curtsy and to hold your own when a gentleman flirts with you is very important. You will need those skills before you have your Season.’

      ‘You don’t want me to write an essay on the decline of the Roman Empire or conjugate French verbs?’

      ‘I imagine you’ve had a varied and extensive education. We can discover the boundaries of your knowledge together in conversation. A young woman of fashion must be able to converse intelligently, do you not agree, my lord?’

      Sarah risked a look at Lord Myers, who was watching her with narrowed eyes. She was not sure whether they expressed suspicion or disbelief.

      ‘Most young ladies of my acquaintance are too missish to say boo to a goose. They repeat phrases parrot-fashion and then lapse into embarrassed silence if asked a question.’

      ‘Too harsh, my lord!’ Sarah laughed, her face lighting with amusement. ‘Well, I shall hope that Francesca will have more to say for herself on her debut. If she has not, I shall have failed in my duties.’

      ‘Remarkable …’ Lord Myers’s eyes held a look of calculation. ‘Francesca, I think you have been more fortunate than any of us imagined in your new governess. My only question is—how did Lady Mary ever bring herself to part with you?’

      Sarah refused to lower her eyes. He was probing, trying to get beneath her skin, but she would not allow him that privilege.

      ‘Lord Myers is using mockery, Francesca,’ she said in a calm and composed manner. ‘Were I a young woman of fashion I might do one of two things. If I wished to encourage him, I might give him an enigmatic smile and flirt with my fan—or, if I wish to discourage his advances, I should raise an eyebrow and move on without answering.’

      ‘Here endeth the first lesson,’ Lord Myers drawled. ‘It is actually good advice, Francesca. May one ask which you would have chosen, Miss Goodrum?’

      ‘I shall leave that to your imagination, my lord,’ Sarah replied, but was relieved when the door opened and the housekeeper entered accompanied by two maids, each of whom carried a tray. ‘Ah, here is our tea. Would you like to play the hostess, Francesca?’

      Francesca shot her a nervous look, but took her seat next to a small occasional table. Mrs Brancaster set up her butler’s tray, exchanged a few words with Lord Myers, looked curiously at Sarah and left, taking one of the maids with her.

      ‘You are aware that

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