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This chapter is dedicated to my friend Maria.

For while I was writing this, Marie (the elderly nurse, who previously appeared in this story by the name Mrs Davies) suddenly took on the appearance of my friend and colleague Maria!

Of course now I am totally unable to unsee Mrs Davies like that.

But my friend Maria loved the idea when I told her, so here is to her: one of the kindest ladies of my acquaintance!

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It had been rather awkward meeting each other outside church the next morning.

"Miss Kenway."

"Sir."

A self-conscious inclination of his head, a blushing curtsey from her, and a semi-innocuous, "I hope you slept well?"

She could not look him in the eye. "Not really, sir. Thank you."

"Neither did I," he admitted. A sigh, and then he drew her slightly aside. "Would you be amenable to continue our conversation tonight? I have a feeling we still have a lot of ground to cover."

She hesitated.

"After the children have gone to bed of course," he quickly clarified. "I would rather not involve them yet. Or would that be too late, do you think? Or…" He suddenly seemed struck by a new thought. "Or would you rather do it tomorrow, seeing that it is your day off today?"

She quickly shook her head, her cheeks burning. "No. Tonight is fine, sir." Though she still could not look him in the eye. Was this what it was like to have secret assignations with a man? Yet another topic to add to her list: if in the end nothing came of their courtship, what repercussions would that have on her reputation?

Hartwell meanwhile swallowed uneasily. What was she thinking? Why did she refuse to look at him? Had he said or done something terribly wrong?

And when Philip ran up and pulled on his arm, he did not know what else to do but to self-consciously bow to her. "Until tonight then, Miss Kenway."

That was this morning.

By now it was three o'clock and Philippa knew that Marie would have woken from her Sunday snooze. So she knocked on the elder nurse's door, was invited in, and promptly seated in an easy chair in the sun with tea and biscuits. No one could say the Fitzwilliams of Matlock did not house their senior staff well.

At first they just basked themselves in the early March sun in silence, but in the end, Marie started prattling away about her little grandson.

Philippa knew she had joined the household when the master's first brother was born – God rest his soul. The master had been but a toddler then. She had served them until they both had started school, intermittently helped out when the boys were home from school, came back for real to help take care of the master's youngest brother, and in the meantime, she somehow managed to raise her own daughter.

Until the master had specifically asked her to come back into service when Henry was born, and she had been here since. Yes, if anyone knew their master around here, it would be her.

"Marie," she at last jumped in at a convenient pause. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dearie. What is on your mind?"

A deep breath. "You know the master quite well, don't you."

A warm smile. "You can certainly say that. He is a good man. One of the best I have ever known."

"He is?"

Marie nodded. "So what about him?"

Another deep breath. "He has…" But suddenly, she changed course. "You will keep this between us, won't you? I would not want this talked about all over the house. And I don't think he would appreciate that either. It is just…" She closed her eyes. "I need to talk to someone."

Marie frowned. "Of course, dearie. You have my word." She laid a hand on her arm, her eyes full of compassionate worry. "What has he done? You can tell Marie. I may be getting on a bit, but if he has hurt you in any way, I shall…"

"No! No, not at all!" she interrupted her valiant confidante. "Nothing of the sort! It is just that last night… well, with a lot of hedging and maybe possibly perhaps one day eventually…" A deep breath for the truth. "He basically asked me to marry him."

Marie gaped at her. "He didn't…"

"He did."

"He did?"

She nodded. "Well, a courtship to explore our suitability for marriage really, but…"

She had never expected it from a lady in her sixties, but Marie positively squealed! "Oh, Pippa, that is wonderful! I am so happy for you! I told you: he is such a good man! He will take care of you – don't you worry. Oh, and the children will be so happy to have a mother! And…!"

"Marie! Stop! It's nothing like that yet!"

"It's not?!" A frown. "But… you said…?"

"I said he asked me for a courtship. We have not gotten any further than that."

"Oh." An even deeper frown. "You have concerns?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I don't know, Marie. He seems to want to recreate the sublime happiness of his cousin Darcy's for himself, and he seems to think that I am his best bet in obtaining that."

Slowly, Marie shook her head.

"So what do you think?" she pressed.

A slow smile spread over Marie's kind-hearted face. "I think he could do a lot worse."

"What?!"

Her elderly companion turned to face her. "Dearie, this is really something you will have to decide for yourself. But since you ask my opinion: yes, I believe you could make him very happy."

"I could?"

"If you choose to, yes. Him and the children. The question is: how do you feel about that?"

A helpless shrug. "I don't know. I like him, yes, and I respect him; I esteem him as a fair and generous employer, but… I have never really thought about him in that way."

"Then it is high time you did."

She snorted softly and leaned her head back against the headrest. Think about him as a possible prospective husband – was that not what she had been doing half the night?

"Looking at the bare facts, he would be a very eligible partner for you," Marie pointed out. "And I assure you that the fault for his failed marriage with Lady Agnes lay far more with her than with him. Believe me, dearie, he will take very good care of you. So what is it that holds you back?"

"I don't know." She buried her face in her hands. "Nothing really. Or everything."

Marie chuckled. "That sounds rather contradictory. Like what, for example?"

"Well, what if it does not work out? What if I find in the end that I do not want to marry him after all?"

Marie placed a comforting hand over hers. "Dearie, that is exactly what courtships are for. And you have just as much right to make that decision as he has."

"Yes, but in my position… I mean, he is still my master. Yes, he talked a lot about wanting an equal partner, but the reality is that he is my master. And a peer. And I am nothing but the governess in his household. How can that possibly be equal?"

"I don't know, dearie. But if he is so adamant about wanting you for an equal partner, I am sure he will have given the logistics some thought, too. So ask him how he envisions your courtship."

She groaned. "The social gap would still be tremendous though."

"I suppose it would be, but obviously, it does not bother him."

"Maybe he doesn't know."

Marie smiled. "Oh, you can depend upon it that he is aware of your background. He would have been informed of that when you first came here. But don't forget who is pursuing whom here. And consider: if the master had a problem with your background, would he have asked you for this courtship?"

A sigh. "I suppose not."

"There you are then. Think of it this way: if you were still Miss Kenway from… What was the name of your father's estate again?"

Another sigh. "Hendon Hall."

"Exactly. So if you were still Miss Kenway from Hendon Hall – would you welcome his addresses?"

She stared unseeingly out of the window trying to imagine the alternate situation. If she were still Miss Kenway from Hendon Hall, would she welcome him as a suitor? Could she see that Miss Kenway being courted by him? Even marrying him – with children and title and all?

She sighed, and averted her eyes. "We would never have met, but… yes, I believe I could. If we truly loved each other…"

Marie smiled. "Then that is your starting point."

But she hid her head in her hands. "Marie, that is all very well, but I am not Miss Kenway from Hendon Hall anymore. I am a penniless nobody, with no family, no connections…! What could he possibly want with me?"

Gently, Marie pulled down her hands and waited until she could catch her eye. "That is a question which only he can answer, dearie. But put yourself in his place for a moment: being the master- and father-figure for nearly 1500 people, who all look to him to solve their problems. The sheer responsibility for the livelihood of all those people resting solely on his shoulders. His nearest relations all living far away in town. He has very little personal contact with the other gentle families in the area, and even they rely on him as the leading landholder for help. His wife was more trouble than she was worth, and she was certainly never a partner for him – not even a listening ear. All things considered, and in spite of the many people around him, I suspect he is simply lonely. And longing for someone with whom he can share his burdens and joys; someone for whom he does not always have to be strong."

She sat very still upon hearing that.

"Does that answer your question?"

She nodded, and took a deep breath. "He said something to that effect, yes."

"There you go then. As far as I know him, he will have been stewing about this for months already, carefully weighing the pros and cons. If he thinks you could make him happy, and you agree, then there is nothing to stop you from accepting him."

She grimaced. "I can think of a few things: the ton, his family, taking over as mistress of the estate…"

"Hurdles," was Marie's opinion. "Mere hurdles to take. And for what it's worth, I have no doubt you would make a wonderful mistress for the Matlock estate."

She scoffed. "Suddenly being placed above all the people I have worked with all these years, even the most senior ones? I would think it would be terribly awkward."

"At first perhaps, yes, but we will adapt. We all will. And so would you." Marie took her hands and squeezed them encouragingly. "He truly is one of the best men I have ever known, Pippa-dear. So please – if you can find it in your heart, please make my boy happy. I do not know of anyone who deserves it more."

She sighed, and smiled. My boy, Marie called him. She really loved the master almost as a mother.

"So when will you be discussing this further with him?" Marie inquired.

Another sigh. "Tonight, after the children have gone off to bed."

"Alone?!"

She coloured. "Well, it is the only time we can speak in private. It is not something one would want to discuss in front of the children after all."

"I suppose not, but still…" Marie shook her head, a determined frown lining her forehead. "I will speak with Ellie; see if I can swap my evening duty with her. You are not visiting with the master late at night without a chaperone!"

That certainly took her aback. "But you said…?"

Marie huffed. "It's not him that I'm worried about – although he should know better than to detain a young lady for hours without a chaperone. No, it's your reputation that is on the line! By George, Pippa, what were you thinking?!"

Had Sunday ever been this interminable? The hours, even the minutes seemed to crawl by at the agonizing pace of a sick snail!

He had tried to keep busy: he had taken the children outside to build a snow castle, and when they came in, he had read Don Quixote to them while everyone warmed up with Cook's steaming hot cocoa. He had played three games of checkers with Philip (losing twice due to nothing but his own distraction), he had posed for Ginny so she could draw his profile, and he had discussed the latest findings and plans regarding the avalanche prevention project with Henry.

But the blasted afternoon just did not seem to want to end…

Dinner he had greeted with alacrity – if only because it marked that evening had finally come.

The company was oddly lacking however; he had gotten so used to having Miss Kenway at dinner with them, that he really missed her company on her nights off.

He wanted to talk with her; he hated being left in limbo like this. True – he wanted her to think things over carefully. But he would much rather be discussing whatever problems she saw than sitting around wondering what possible impediments she might come up with.

If only he could push the hands of the clock ahead a bit. An hour or two would suffice. But although Philip might – perhaps – still fall for that trick if it was not too blatant, Henry and Ginny most definitely would not; they had a clock in their own rooms, and would immediately realize that he had cheated them into going to bed early. That would never do.

But finally, finally the hands of the clock made a right angle between the nine and the twelve, and he could finally hug his two eldest good night.

He heaved a sigh of relief once Ginny had pulled the door shut behind her. Now his torture was nearing its end: Miss Kenway could come.

It was another interminable ten minutes though before there was a knock on the door.

He was instantly on his feet. "Enter!" he called.

And in came… Mrs Davies. With some sheet music in her hand, and with an embarrassed looking Miss Kenway following in her wake.

"Sir," Mrs Davies greeted him with a curtsey, followed by Miss Kenway.

"Mrs Davies." His eyes flew uncomprehendingly between the two ladies. "Miss Kenway?" What was going on?

"Sir." Mrs Davies boldly approached him. "Miss Kenway came to me this afternoon for some advice regarding the request you made her."

He swallowed, his eyes flying to the blushing Miss Kenway who was biting her lip.

But Mrs Davies already continued. "Of course you may depend upon it that it will not go any further. However…" Her voice took on the steely quality she tended to use to reprimand the young charges in her care. "Master or not, I will not have you jeopardize her reputation. What were you thinking, boy, speaking with her until all hours of the night without a chaperone?! I should box your ears!"

"I… ehm…" Hartwell coughed nervously, a fiery blush quickly overtaking him. But then he turned to Miss Kenway. "My most humble apologies, Miss Kenway. Mrs Davies is right: that was very badly done of me."

She lowered her eyes. "It is alright, sir. I did not think of it either until she pointed it out. So you are no more to blame than I am."

"Very well," Mrs Davies interrupted their awkward tête-à-tête. "I dare say you have more important matters to discuss. But from now on in the presence of a chaperone – is that clear?"

"Of course, Mrs Davies. I would not have it any other way."

"Good. Now why don't you go and sit over there and offer her a cup of tea. I will retreat to the pianoforte and practise my rusty skills. You can speak freely, for I won't hear a word you say over the music. But not alone! Is that clear?"

Hartwell bowed to her demand with a bashful smile. "Yes, Mrs Davies." He gestured to the easy chairs across the room. "Miss Kenway?"

But before he could follow her, Mrs Davies put a hand on his arm. "If I may say so, sir," she said quietly, "I believe you have made a very wise choice. If indeed you are to marry again, I cannot think of a better partner for you than Miss Kenway. She would make you a wonderful wife!"