The Cinderella Governess

‘I have a present for you, too.’ Miss Fanworth exchanged her gift for the slice of cake Joanna held out to her.

Joanna unwrapped it to reveal a small leather pouch half-full of coins.

‘It’s for the postage, so you can pay for the letters we send you,’ Miss Fanworth explained as she tasted her cake. ‘I expect to receive a few in return.’

‘Of course, how could I not write to everyone?’

Miss Fanworth set aside her plate, then rose. She laid her hands on Joanna’s shoulders. Tears made her round eyes glisten. ‘You were just a little babe when we first found you on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a torn slip of paper with your name on it. Now look at you, all grown up and ready to leave us.’

‘I hope I can do you, Madame Dubois and the school proud.’

‘As long as you remember everything we’ve taught you, you will.’ She laid one full arm across Joanna’s shoulders and turned them both to face the others. ‘In fact, you must all remember your lessons, especially those I told you of the gentlemen you might meet. Don’t be taken in by their kind words, it never ends well—why, look at poor Madame.’

She tutted in sympathy as she shook her head, making her brown curls dance at the sides of her face.

‘What do you mean?’ Isabel asked. All of them leaned in, eager for more. This wasn’t the first time Joanna or the other girls had heard Miss Fanworth allude to something in Madame’s past. Perhaps, with them leaving, Miss Fanworth would at last reveal the headmistress’s secret which had teased them since their first day at the school.

Miss Fanworth’s full cheeks turned a strange shade of red. She was as horrified by her slip as their interest. Then the clop of horses and the call of the coachman drifted up to them from the street below. Miss Fanworth blew out a long breath, as relieved by the distraction as she was saddened by what it meant. ‘Joanna, it’s time for you to go. Are you ready?’

No. Joanna laced her hands in front of her, determined to be brave. She’d stay here as a teacher if they’d let her, but Madame Dubois had insisted she seek a position. She hadn’t argued. She never did, but always went along, no matter what she wanted. ‘I am.’

‘I wish I was going with you.’ Rachel huffed as she took Joanna’s one arm.

Isabel took the other. ‘Me, too.’

‘I wish we could all go together,’ Grace echoed from behind them, at Miss Fanworth’s side as they left the room.

‘We wouldn’t get a stroke of work done if we were in the same house together.’ Joanna laughed through the tightness in her throat.

They walked much slower down the stairs than when they’d ascended, all but Joanna sniffling back tears between jokes and shared memories.

Madame Dubois waited beside the front door, watching the girls reach the bottom. Her black bombazine dress without one wrinkle fell regally from her shoulders. The woman was formidable and more than one small girl had burst into tears at the first sight of her, but they soon learned how deeply she regarded each of her charges. She wouldn’t hug or cry over them like Miss Fanworth, but it didn’t mean she didn’t care.

Though she didn’t care enough to keep me here. Joanna banished the thought as soon as it reared its head. The school was full of little girls who’d been sent away by their families. She shouldn’t expect to be treated any differently by Madame Dubois just because Madame Dubois had helped raise her.

In a flurry of hugs and promises to write, the girls said their goodbyes.

Reluctantly, Joanna left them to approach the headmistress while the others remained with Miss Fanworth. She stood straight and erect before the Frenchwoman. Outside, the coach driver tossed her small trunk containing all she owned up on to the top of the vehicle.

‘This is a proud and exciting day for you, Miss Radcliff. You’re leaving us at last to become a governess.’ Madame Dubois held her arms at angles in front of her, hands crossed, but the softness in her voice and the slight sparkle of moisture at the corners of her grey eyes betrayed her.

She doesn’t want to let me go. Joanna swallowed hard, the request to stay sitting like a marble in her throat. She swallowed it down. There was no point asking for something she wouldn’t receive. Madame wouldn’t give in to her wants any more than she would allow Joanna to give in to hers.

‘Yes, Madame.’ Joanna wished she could wrap her arms around Madame and hug her like the other girls did their mothers when they bid them goodbye on their first day, but she couldn’t. Madame might be as saddened by the parting as Joanna, but there would be no hugging or tears. It wasn’t her way.

‘You’re a bright, intelligent, accomplished young lady who’ll aptly represent the quality of pupils at our school in your first position.’

‘I will, Madame. You’ve prepared me well.’

Chapter One (#ulink_cac9cd99-4792-5ff4-b799-27f9351dfb15)

One month later

Madame Dubois didn’t prepare me for this!

Joanna clutched the book to her chest as she stood in the dark corner of the Huntford Place library. Frances, the eldest Huntford daughter, and Lieutenant Foreman had burst into the room aware of nothing but each other. Lieutenant Foreman pressed Frances up against the wall and pawed at her breasts and hips through her dress. Instead of fighting off his advances, Frances embraced the lanky Lieutenant, raising one slender and stocking-clad leg to rest against his hip.

Joanna glanced at the door. The sighs and moans of the couple filled the room as she debated how best to slip away without being noticed.

No, I can’t. I’m the governess. She couldn’t allow Frances to ruin herself, but she didn’t have the faintest idea how to separate them. Beyond what Grace had told her, lovemaking was outside her range of experience. Despite understanding the more technical aspects of the act, it was the desire part she failed to grasp, the one which had led to Grace’s predicament and was about to ruin Frances, too.

She’d learn more about the physical particulars if she didn’t stop this. Lieutenant Foreman’s hand was already beneath Frances’s dress.

‘Ahem...’ Joanna cleared her throat, her urgency increasing with their passion when it failed to interrupt the amorous pair. ‘Ahem!’

Lieutenant Foreman whirled around to face Joanna while Frances straightened the bodice of her expensive yellow-silk dress behind him. He adjusted his red coat, his sword not the only prominent weapon near his belt. Joanna tried not to notice, but it was difficult for his white breeches obscured very little.

‘Excuse me, Miss Radcliff.’ He bowed to Joanna, then bolted out of the room, leaving Frances to face her fate alone.

Joanna opened and closed her sweaty fingers over the cover of the book. She hoped this taught Frances something about the man and made her realise her mistake. She was about to say so when Frances, cheeks red with anger instead of shame, fixed on Joanna.

‘How dare you barge in on me?’

‘I didn’t barge, I was already in the room when you and Lieutenant Foreman—’

‘Don’t you dare speak of it, not to me or anyone, do you understand?’ She flew upon Joanna and slapped the book out of her hands. It landed with a thud on the floor between them.

‘No, of course not,’ Joanna stammered, startled by the command. She was supposed to be the one in charge. She remained silent, afraid to point out this fact and make things worse.

‘Good, because if you do, I’ll see to it you’re dismissed without a reference.’ Frances threw back her head of light blonde curls and strode from the room as if it was she and not her father, Sir Rodger, who owned the house. Like all four Huntford girls, Frances was spoiled by her parents. All of them had treated Joanna with nothing but contempt since her arrival.

Joanna found the arm of the chair behind her and gripped it tightly as she sank into the dusty cushions. This wasn’t how being a governess was supposed to be. The girls were supposed to look to her for education and guidance, and keeping Frances’s secret should’ve brought her and Frances closer, like it had with her, Rachel, Isabel and Grace. It shouldn’t have garnered spite from a young lady clearly in the wrong. She should tell Sir Rodger and Lady Huntford about their daughter’s compromising behaviour, but if she did, they might blame her.

I wish Rachel were here. She had a gift for dealing with the young children and even some of the older girls at the school. She’d know what to do, but she wasn’t here, none of her friends or Madame Dubois or Miss Fanworth could help her. She was on her own, just as she’d been until she was nine and Grace, Rachel and Isabel had first arrived at the school. She wished she had a copy of the drawing of the four of them Grace had done last Christmas. It would lessen her loneliness to remember how happy they’d been together and make them seem closer instead of hundreds of miles away.

She stood and plucked the book from the floor, refusing to wallow in self-pity. Her friends weren’t here and, despite Frances’s threats, it was Joanna’s duty to guide and chaperon the young lady. She’d have to find a more subtle way to go about it. There was little else she could do.

* * *

Luke strode up the steps of the Mayfair town house. The must and damp of the ship which had brought him back from France permeated the wool of his red coat. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. He should have stopped at the Army Service Club to bathe and shave, but the moment he’d landed in Greenwich, all he’d wanted to do was see Diana Tomalin, his fiancée.

He’d been brought home with instructions to marry and produce an heir for the family. The faster he made things final with Diana, the sooner he might achieve this goal and return to his regiment in Spain. It had hurt like hell to sell his commission four months after he’d risked his life to earn it and he’d be damned if he let it go for good.

Collins, the Tomalin family’s butler, pulled open the front door. His small eyes in his soft face widened at the sight of Luke. ‘Major Preston.’

‘Morning, Collins. Is Miss Tomalin here?’ Luke removed his shako and handed it to the man as he strode into the Tomalin family entrance hall.

‘She is, sir, but—’ He fumbled the army headdress, making the feather in the front waver like his voice.