The Governess's Convenient Marriage

It was Malcolm. Malcolm kissing Mairie McGregor.

Shocked, Alex tried to step back, to hide, even though she knew they could not see her. They were obviously much too wrapped up in each other to see anything else. And she felt the sinking, cold ice of disappointment.

Mairie jumped down from the gate and walked away, tossing a strangely angry look back at Malcolm as she left.

Impulsively, Alex called out to Malcolm as he started to follow Mairie.

‘Malcolm!’ she called. ‘Please, just a moment.’

He glanced back at her, but his expression was anything but welcoming. She had never seen him look so cold, so hard, so—so much older. ‘We can’t be seen together, my lady. You’ve already got me in enough trouble.’

‘I—I didn’t mean to, please believe me,’ she said, desperate. ‘I am ever so sorry. I didn’t think my father would see and—’

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. His Grace has done his worst by my family. Now I have to make my own way. And you have to make yours.’

Alex was baffled. ‘What has he done? I can go to him, explain…’ But even she knew her father would never listen. Never care.

‘Just take of yourself now, Lady Alexandra. That’s all any of us can do.’ For just a flashing instant, his hardness seemed to melt. He took her hand in his and squeezed it, holding on to it for one precious moment. ‘Never let them change you, no matter what.’

‘Malcolm!’ Mairie called and that hard mask came over him again. He gave Alex a bow and left her standing there alone in the middle of the road.

Alex tightened her hand over the feeling of his touch and shivered. She knew then she would never see him again.

Chapter One (#u54ae0916-b6eb-5933-87a2-b59b09e0ab67)

Miss Grantley’s School for Young Ladies—spring 1888

‘Alex! Alex, are you awake? Let us in, quickly, before we’re caught.’

Lady Alexandra Mannerly wasn’t asleep, despite the fact that it was hours past the decreed lights out. She was huddled under her blankets, reading—no, devouring—The Ghosts of Wakefield Forest, a forbidden novel loaned to her by her friend Emily Fortescue, who had smuggled it back from London. Em, whose father was distinctly unstrict, quite unlike Alex’s father, the Duke of Waverton. He insisted Alex be the perfect ducal daughter at all times, which didn’t include reading scandalous romantic novels.

But her parents couldn’t spy on her at Miss Grantley’s at every moment. And Alex had friends who knew how to get around almost every rule without getting into trouble. She herself could never have been so brave before coming to school. She hated trouble, because trouble brought attention and attention made her heart race, her mind freeze, her tongue tie. Made her want to run away.

So being a duke’s daughter was rarely fun at all. And it would surely get worse next year, when she made her debut at a grand ball at Waverton House on Green Park and began the search for a high-ranking husband. But not yet. Not quite yet.

‘Alex! Are you there? We see your light!’

Alex tossed back the bedclothes and hurried to the door, her bare feet cold on the wooden floor. Her best friends, Emily Fortescue and Diana Martin, were waiting there, wrapped in their dressing gowns, dragging an enormous hamper between them. Giggling, they raced inside before Miss Merrill, the hall governess, could catch them. If they were found sneaking out together again, they would be in real trouble.

Yet Alex didn’t seem to mind trouble so much when it was brought by Diana and Em.

‘What are you two doing here?’ she whispered, locking the door behind them.

‘What do you think?’ Diana answered. ‘Midnight picnic!’

‘Father sent a lovely hamper today. I couldn’t possibly eat all this myself,’ Emily said as she spread a blanket on the polished floor. Her father, who had started in business as a wine merchant and branched out to open one of London’s first department stores, was always sending Emily lovely things. Hampers, fashionable hats, books.

‘Isn’t Mr F. lovely?’ Diana sighed. ‘My parents only seem to send foot warmers and peppermints.’ Di’s father had been a high-ranking diplomat in India, but it was true he never sent anything exotic like Punjab muslins.

‘There’s Brie cheese and some wonderful pâté. Tea sandwiches, petit fours,’ Emily said, laying it all out on their blanket. ‘And Lindt chocolates! Your favourites, Alex.’

‘Oh, it is! How blissful,’ Alex said. She couldn’t resist taking one immediately, popping it into her mouth.

‘What are you doing up so late?’ Diana asked as she opened a bottle of ginger beer.

‘Reading, of course,’ Alex said. ‘Did you think I had a boy in here? Jimmy Wilkins, maybe?’ Jimmy Wilkins was the son of the local squire, handsome if a bit spotty, and, as the only male under sixty and over thirteen for miles near the school, the object of many pashes.

‘If you did such a wildly naughty thing, Lady Alexandra, I would know you had come down with a terrible fever,’ Emily said.

Alex took another chocolate. ‘Oh, I don’t know. If I married Jimmy now, there would be no need for a Season. I could live near here at his nice, quiet manor house, and read all the time and ride out with the local hunt in the autumn. Heaven.’

‘Oh, Alex, a Season will be fun!’ Emily said. ‘Think of the gowns, the dances, the tea parties, the theatre. The strange people we can laugh at in corners.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Diana declared. ‘Your father actually wants you to go into business with him, he doesn’t care if you marry. It can all be a lark to you.’

Alex gave her a sympathetic nod. They all knew Di wanted to be a writer, but her parents were much more conventional than Mr F. and wanted Diana to marry suitably. As did Alex’s parents, of course. But to the Duke and Duchess, suitable meant another duke, if an eligible one could be found, or an earl at the least. Maybe even a German prince, as all the English ones were taken.

The thought filled her with terror. She recalled, just for an instant, that boy she had known so long ago, a poor crofter’s son who’d looked like an ancient king, who’d smiled at her with the warmth of the sun. Until their painful parting. How long ago that seemed now. How impossible.

‘Alex’s Season will be the loveliest of all!’ Emily said. ‘You’re the goddaughter of the Princess of Wales, her own namesake. Just think of all the grand people who will come to your parties.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ Alex muttered. It was true the Princess was a good godmother, always sending splendid presents for birthdays and writing sweet letters, and Princess Alexandra would want to help make Alex’s debut a success. But it only made Alex want to run away even more.

Diana squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t think of it now, Alex darling, it’s all so terribly far away. You might marry Jimmy Wilkins in the meantime! But here, have another chocolate and tell us what you’re reading.’

‘The Ghosts of Wakefield Forest, of course,’ Alex said, happily obeying the order to have another treat. ‘It’s so thrilling!’

‘Have you got to the scene where Arabella meets the Count?’ Emily asked.

‘Not yet and don’t tell me!’ Alex said with a laugh. Em did tend to get carried away by her enthusiasm for stories and give away endings. ‘Did your father send more books this week?’

‘No, but he did send these.’ Emily pulled a pile of fashion papers from the bottom of the hamper.

‘Oh, this one’s from Paris!’ Diana cried happily. She grabbed one to pore over the sketches. She loved fashion and was always knowledgeable about the latest trends. ‘Are these the new sleeves for summer? How cunning. Look at this ribbon trim.’

‘Yes, and the hats are enormous compared to last year. Father is quite worried the costs will be ridiculous, with all these feathers and flowers. Alex, you must tell the Princess to start wearing small, plain bonnets immediately.’

Alex laughed. ‘I’ll write to her tomorrow.’ She scanned one of the papers, caught by a sketch of a grand building. All of five storeys, with classical statues of goddesses at every corner and as many windows as Hardwicke Hall gleaming. ‘Gordston’s Department Store is opening a new branch in Paris?’

Emily made a face. ‘Yes, and Father is furious! Mr Gordston seems to beat him at every post lately. The man seems unstoppable.’

‘Even my mother loves Gordston’s hat counter and she always said she would never buy ready-made,’ Alex said. She tried not to sigh when she recalled she had once known a Gordston, too, in those golden days in Scotland. Memories were always so sad now.

She read over the breathless descriptions of the new Paris store, its marble floors from Italy, its gilded lifts operated by young ladies in red-velvet suits, its shocking new cosmetics counter. It was just as giddy in writing about the store’s owner and his ‘godlike face’ and ‘intoxicating laugh’, hinting about his romances with actresses and countesses and American heiresses.

‘Is he really as handsome as all that, Em?’ Diana asked. Emily was the only girl at school who had ever met the notorious Mr Gordston.

Emily’s head tilted as if she contemplated this question carefully. ‘He is—interesting.’