Page 29 of Venus in Disguise

Pip set the accounts he was working on aside with a sigh. Finally, the estate was showing faint signs of coming back to life, the promise of profitability one that he could no longer deny, even in his most pessimistic mood. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and smiled as he reached for the little Valentine’s card on his desk. It was handmade, with a slightly wobbly heart made of pink satin and trimmed with lace, stuck onto a folded piece of card. The heart had been applied with the liberal use of paste, and the card was still a bit sticky, but the sight of it made Pip’s heart lift as nothing else could.

His daughter, the hand behind the card, was the brightest spot in his life, a source of wonder and joy, and often a source of alarm and the reason he did not always sleep soundly. She made him laugh and made him want to tear his hair out, and he would not be without her for the world.

“Bless you, Jenny,” he murmured, remembering her beautiful mother.

He had uncertain notions about what heaven might look like, if such a place truly existed, but he hoped Jenny was happy and at peace wherever she might be. The sound of laughter caught his ear, and he got to his feet, moving to one of the immense windows that filled his study with light, and also made it about as cosy as a windswept moor. A chill draught blew through the ill-fitting frame and Pip made a note to get his workmen in here next. He had left many of the rooms he occupied most last on the list of those needing repair. Some masochistic idea of making amends for his past, perhaps, but enough was enough. He had dwelled in guilt for too many years. His parents loved and accepted his daughter, and they had forgiven him. Perhaps it was time to forgive himself, too.

He smiled ruefully as he looked down at the scene below. It had snowed the past days and Ottilie and her governess, Mrs Harris, were intent on making a snowman. There was a woman who would never forgive him for his well-earned reputation, or for having an illegitimate daughter. Thankfully, all her ire was reserved for him. She found no trace of shame in his daughter, else he would not have kept her on. He wondered if she would ever warm to him. She had been in his employ for five years, and yet he knew no more about her now than he had when she’d first arrived. Not that he hadn’t been grateful, she had been a godsend, and she was the only one who kept Tilly in line. As her mother was dead and the circumstances of her birth such that made Pip’s heart contract with shame, he spoiled her dreadfully. Naturally, this made her quite unmanageable at times and he knew he had only himself to blame. He knew this because Mrs Harris told him at regular intervals.

She was a strange creature, he reflected, bothered by his inability to charm the enigmatic governess. As haughty as a duchess at times, she seemed to look down upon him from a great height, despite the disparity in their situations. She was not the least bit afraid to vent her opinions about him to his face—none of them complimentary—if she thought it necessary.

It was often necessary.

Pip wondered why he bore it. Obviously, he kept her on because Tilly loved “Harry” and would have been devastated to lose her. He would not have his daughter lose another person whom she loved, and there was no doubt in his mind the feeling was reciprocated. There had been plenty of times when the two were alone and unaware of his presence, when that affection and care had been obvious. Indeed, when he was not around, Mrs Harris was entirely different, according to Tilly. It was only him who made her stiffen up and become all rigid and po-faced.

Curiosity gnawed at him. Though he was not an especially vain man, he knew what he looked like. Made in the same mould as his father, he had the kind of looks that made women do the most ridiculous things to get close to him. But not this woman.

Why?

Why could no amount of charm, no amount of kindness or consideration break through that barrier of ice?

Watching the snowman take shape, he caught his breath as he saw Tilly scoop up a handful of snow and throw it at her governess when her back was turned. It hit the woman on the back of the neck and Pip tensed as he imagined the icy shock of it, the cold water sliding down under the collar of her pelisse and gown. He held his breath as Mrs Harris spun around, for as close as she was to her charge, she was also a strict governess and a stickler for rules and propriety.

“Oh, you little fiend. You will pay for that,” the woman cried.

Pip’s eyebrows rose as a violent and somewhat hysterical snowball fight erupted beneath his window. Tilly knocked Mrs Harris’ bonnet off and it lay abandoned as they ran back and forth. Screams and shrieks echoed around the frozen landscape, and he watched in growing bemusement as Tilly tackled the woman to the ground and sat on her, trying her best to stuff snow down her neck as Mrs Harris wriggled and exclaimed, laughing uproariously as she tried to fend his daughter off.

“Pax!” she cried breathlessly, when it became clear Tilly would not give way. “Pax! You win. I surrender.”

“Huzzah!” Tilly shrieked, jumping up and running around in a circle waving her arms in the air.

Mrs Harris staggered to her feet, brushing snow from her skirts as her hair, usually pinned ruthlessly into a tight bun, unravelled and spilled down her back. Pip watched, fascinated to discover it reached way past her waist. In fact, he had never particularly noticed what a tiny waist the woman had, or the way it flared out, making him suspect the curves beneath her skirts matched those above. She reached up, re-pinning her hair in deft motions that spoke of many years practise. Turned sideways as she was, highlighted against the snow, her startlingly lush silhouette imprinted itself on Pip’s mind. Lazily, he wondered what she might be like in bed, if she would scream and laugh with the same kind of abandon if one could only get past that impenetrable barrier of ice and—

“Christ!” he muttered, turning away from the window in alarm.

What the hell was wrong with him? Fantasising about his daughter’s governess? Mrs Harris?

“Pip, old man, you are losing your mind,” he told himself sternly. What the devil had got into him? Admittedly, he was not living the life he once had, but he wasn’t a monk. With a little discretion, it was quite possible to arrange things with a lady to their mutual satisfaction. He had done so plenty of times. He was currently visiting a rather splendid little widow a few miles away. Not that he took any chances these days. He was rigidly strict with himself, never allowing the chance of creating another child out of wedlock.

Still, it was a rather depressing business, a tad too clinical. Yet his only other choice was to marry, and that idea was worse. He could not bring himself to marry for duty, knowing what his parents had, what kind of life might be possible with the right woman. Yet he could not bear to go back to town, to spend the time required to meet a woman he might have the chance of falling in love with, not when that meant leaving Tilly for months on end. Taking her to town was an obvious answer, and he knew he must, yet he shied away from the idea.

“Papa, Papa!”

Pip turned as the door burst open and Tilly barrelled in like a small but deadly cannonball, throwing herself at him and making him stagger. She brought the scent of cold, fresh air and snow into the room with her, and her face was flushed with pleasure and triumph as she stared up at him.

“I won, Papa! I slayed Harris!”

“You slew Mrs Harris,” corrected her rather breathless governess, who hurried in after her.

Pip regarded her with interest and noted that her hair was still dishevelled and there was a rather becoming glow in her cheeks.

“And what have I told you about bursting into a room like a wild animal? You are a young lady, Ottilie, or so I am told. It is not done to throw yourself into a room as though you are running from an army of savages. You must knock and wait for permission to enter.”

Tilly made a moue of displeasure. “But Papa didn’t mind. Did you, Papa?” she wheedled, gazing up at him with soulful eyes.

“Er.” Pip hesitated, eyeing Mrs Harris warily, aware he was on a hiding to nothing. “I didn’t mind, sweetheart, but Mrs Harris is quite right. You ought to heed her, for she is teaching you how to behave as you ought.”

Tilly made a sound of impatience, burying her face against his coat. “Behaving is soooo dull,” Tilly complained, her voice muffled.