James considered the two women before obviously deciding that there were more interesting adventures to be had beyond the kitchen. Stealing an extra biscuit, he hopped down from his chair and left, into the darkened corridor from which Isabel had come.

Isabel assumed her brother’s seat, reaching for another biscuit herself. With a sigh, she looked to the young woman across the table and said, “Thank you for speaking with him about school.”

“I am happy to. An earl needs a proper education, Lady Isabel.”

“You know you may dispense with the formalities, Georgiana.”

The other woman smiled. “On the contrary. I am your servant.”

“Nonsense,” Isabel scoffed. “We both know you are of a higher rank than I. Please. It would make me feel better for you to call me Isabel.”

A flicker of sadness passed in the girl’s gaze. “My rank is that of governess now. I am lucky to have such a valued position as that.”

Isabel knew she was getting nowhere, and changed the course of the conversation. “Do you know the men who arrived today? ”

Georgiana shook her head. “I was working on the afternoon’s lessons for James and did not hear that they had arrived until after you had shown them to the statuary.”

“They are Londoners.”

“Aristocracy? “ An edge crept into Georgiana’s tone.

“Not entirely. Lord Nicholas St. John. Brother to the Marquess of Ralston—the antiquar—” Isabel stopped as Georgiana’s eyes widened to saucers. “Georgiana?”

“Lord Nicholas and my brother—they are—acquainted.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I have not met him, but—”

Of course they would know each other. One more thing that made the whole situation a challenge.

“Georgiana.” Isabel’s voice was firm and smooth. “You will be all right. When I took you in, I told you that Minerva House would care for you, did I not?”

The younger woman swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Then care for you it shall,” Isabel said calmly. “We shall simply keep you well hidden. ‘Tis a large house. And you are James’s governess—there is little reason why a guest should see you.”

“Why is he here? In Yorkshire?”

“I do not know. I was led to believe that he was simply on a summer journey.” She paused, considering the girl’s fear. “You are safe under the protection of the Earl of Reddich.”

As safe as any of us can be.

Isabel rejected the small, contrary voice in her head.

They were safe. She would make sure of it.

Georgiana remained silent in the face of Isabel’s words. Eventually, she nodded once, placing her trust in Isabel—in the house.

“Good.” Isabel poured more tea for them both, hoping to reinforce the girl’s calm before she added, “When you are ready to discuss your reasons for coming here, I am ready to hear them. You know that, do you not? ”

Georgiana nodded again. “I do. I simply—I am not—What if—”

“When and if you are ready, Georgiana, I shall be here.” Isabel’s words were simple and direct. She had years of experience coaxing young women out from their fear. Sisters of dukes or barmaids from Cheapside, girls were not that much different from one another.

Not that different from her.

If she had had another choice, she would never have allowed Lord Nicholas St. John into her house.

But the threat of the other choice—of turning Georgiana, and the others, out into the world with nothing but the clothes on their backs—was unthinkable. And so Isabel was taking a calculated risk.

Lord Nicholas.

The irony was not lost on Isabel that she was placing the future of a houseful of women into the hands of one of the most dangerously compelling men she’d ever met. But as she looked at Georgiana, small and uncertain, both hands wrapped around her teacup, her gaze fixed on the liquid inside, Isabel knew that he was their best chance at success. Their best hope for a future.

They would simply have to keep him confined to the statuary.

That would not be so difficult.

The next afternoon, Isabel was feeling exceedingly proud of herself.

All her worrying about Lord Nicholas had been for naught. He was no trouble at all.

In fact, since he and Mr. Durukhan had arrived that morning and she had closeted them in the statuary and delivered careful instructions that they were not to be disturbed, Isabel had effectively avoided the pair.

Hidden from the pair, more like.

Nonsense. Isabel shook the thought away. So she was on the roof once more. The roof was still leaking. And, if the clouds careening toward them from the east were any indication, the repairs were going to be particularly welcome that evening.

So she was in breeches and shirtsleeves with Jane, and they were on their knees carefully applying a wicked-smelling paste to the underside of the clay tiles that seemed to have come loose all across the roof. It had been seven years since the first of the Townsend Park servants had left, including the skilled men—those who were most marketable to other large estates across the county. With them had gone any knowledge of the craft of roof repair, stone and woodworking, and several other skills that came in particularly handy on a country estate.

Isabel sighed at the memory. She supposed they had been lucky to have gone so many years without needing to take on major structural repairs of the house. Thank goodness for the manor’s library, and its collection of titles on architecture and building practices. She smiled wryly. Roof repair was not the preferred reading of most young ladies, but it would do if she could remove the chamber pot currently perched on the end of her bed to capture the rain that seeped regularly through the poorly tarred roof.