“Ha,” said Hugh. “Your nephew may be young, but he chatters like a ten-year-old. You may wish to keep away from Mama for a while if you prefer her not to know of such wild behaviour. And I suggest a change of dress and a comb for your hair.”

Selena shook her head at him. “Now, don’t be so cross. Philomena and I have been enjoying such a happy time. I never expect to enjoy myself here these days so don’t begrudge me a little fun. Come Philomena, we will leave my brother to the grumps.”

She called to John, who was running circles around the trunk of the largest oak tree in the wood. His aunt grasped his hand and set off at a run to the house.

Philomena took a step forward, meaning to follow the pair back to the Hall, but Lord Thatcham stood in her path, looking down with an unreadable expression. “My mother agrees that you are quite unsuitable. She has advised me to limit your time here with John to a few days.”

Lord Thatcham’s voice was formal, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his eye. Philomena stood as tall as possible. This, though her height was well above the average, brought her head only as high as Lord Thatcham’s shoulder. “I can assure you,” she snapped, “that I will remain here not a moment longer than I need to. I am sorry I am such a trouble. Your sister has been most kind.”

“Meaning that I am not?” he asked.

“No, you are not,” she exclaimed, temper getting the better of her. “You are full of your own importance—” Philomena stopped. “Oh, I am sorry, my lord, I forgot myself.” Hot crimson flooded her cheeks. If only she could learn to hold her tongue. The corners of Lord Thatcham’s mouth twitched. It was infuriating.

Philomena stamped a stoutly clad foot on the hard ground. “There is no need for you to laugh.”

Lord Thatcham’s smile widened, spreading to his eyes. “You are a young woman with spirit.” He took a step forward. “I value your opinions.”

Philomena fought a panicky urge to run away. She must stand her ground. Lord Thatcham must not guess at her sudden longing to touch the furrowed brow and rest her head on that broad shoulder.

The stern face was close, now, one eyebrow raised, grey eyes sparkling. “Of course, only a brave soul would travel alone on the train. Even though you sought safety by dressing,” the deep voice shook with mirth, “dressing as a boy.”

Philomena felt a bubble of laughter. She fought to keep some semblance of dignity, but it was too late. Even biting her lips failed to prevent an answering smile. She knew her mouth was too wide and a row of white teeth must be visible, showing in a most unladylike way, but there was no stopping her laughter.

Lord Thatcham’s mirth died away. He regarded Philomena steadily, grey eyes dark as the infectious smile melted. The short hairs on the back of Philomena’s neck prickled. She gasped. Their eyes met and held.