Page 30 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

In Which There Are Two Pleasant Excursions, One Involving a Sword Fight and the Other a Bout of Fisticuffs; And Ice Is Required to Put Out a Smoldering Fire…

When Emmeline awoke the next morning—her first day off since she’d started working for the Duke of St Lawrence—she spied an envelope sitting upon the rug beside the door.

But it wasn’t any old envelope. It was a leygram, and Emmeline knew exactly who it was from even before she slipped from beneath the bedcovers and all but hurtled across the room.

Mina Davenport must have responded to the leygram Emmeline had sent last night.

Her breath quickening, Emmeline retrieved her blue, leylensed quizzing glass from her reticule, then tore open the missive.

My dearest Emmeline,

I would love to see you today! I’ve been dying to hear how you’ve been getting on at St Lawrence House. I even have some very good news of my own to share. (Now I know you’ll come.)

See you around noon at the Academy!

Your friend always,

M.

Emmeline smiled as she hugged the softly humming leygram to her chest. Even though the morning was dull and gray and it was sure to rain, she wouldn’t let the dismal weather dampen her spirits.

After she spent an hour or two with Mina, she’d pay a visit to Newgate to see her poor darling father.

Mrs. Lambton had paid her wages yesterday, so now that Emmeline had a purse full of coins, she would also be able to give the turnkey his next installment of protection money.

All in all, it was going to be a wonderful kind of day.

Once she was dressed in her own attire—her least worn widow’s weeds and matching black poke bonnet—Emmeline collected her reticule, gloves, and Parasol Academy umbrella (strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to use it if she were “out-of-uniform,” but she hadn’t another umbrella and she didn’t want to get wet if it rained), then headed for the door.

Although she could have teleported to the Parasol Academy, she decided it would be best if she went on foot.

It was but a twenty-minute walk and she wouldn’t need to worry if her kid half boots and black wool hem ended up getting wet or muddy.

She also needed to consider the to-do she might cause if she simply disappeared from the environs of St Lawrence House without anyone seeing her leave.

There didn’t need to be any more mysterious goings-on causing consternation and upset.

After she’d farewelled Fanny, who was taking charge in the nursery, and then Bertie, who was on duty at the front door, Emmeline crossed Belgrave Square, waving to young Constable Thurstwhistle in his police box before she rounded the corner onto Upper Belgrave Street.

As she walked, she tried not to think at all about the duke and everything that had transpired yesterday in his study.

In particular, that moment when he’d murmured in his deep, all-too-delicious voice, “Mrs. Chase, you are perfect for this post in every way.” And in the seconds immediately afterward when his gaze had briefly touched her mouth before falling away to the floor.

She could have sworn he’d been thinking about kissing her.

She’d felt the thrill of it shivering through her, making her breath catch and her lips tingle and the most secret parts of her body softly pulse.

For one mad moment—the tiny space between one wild heartbeat and the next—she’d contemplated throwing her arms about the duke’s neck and pressing her mouth to his.

But then sanity prevailed, and she’d beat a hasty retreat, rushing back to her room, where she’d splashed cold water onto her burning cheeks in a frantic effort to compose herself before she returned to the nursery.

The duke hadn’t summoned her to his study again later that night and she’d been half disappointed and half relieved.

No, it’s all for the best that you keep your distance from the Duke of St Lawrence , she firmly reminded herself as she strode across Eaton Square.

You’ve been spending far too much time with the man.

Learning far too many intimate details about him.

You need to stomp out this inappropriate infatuation.

You are prim. You are proper. You are an exceptional nanny.

Yes, she just needed to remind herself what was most important.

What was at stake. She needed to be the best, most professional Parasol Academy nanny she could be so she could help her father.

Because she could not achieve the latter unless she embraced the former.

And if that meant keeping her distance from her employer—both physically and emotionally—she would. She must.

Resolve restored to corset-steel hardness, Emmeline continued on her way, not even pausing to converse with a friendly group of chattering pigeons clustered at the southern end of Eaton Square Garden, or a fine black carriage horse who threw her an amiable snort and mental “hullo.” By the time she reached the Parasol Academy, she was quite out of breath (and not to mention a tad embarrassed about it).

As per the Parasol Academy Handbook , Chapter 9, Paragraph 2, Section 1b), she must be as fit as a fiddle in order to effectively discharge her duties as a bodyguard should the need ever arise.

While chasing children about required a good degree of physical stamina, Emmeline conceded that she might need to schedule time for a brisk, early morning walk each day.

And perhaps the occasional physical training session at the Academy.

Sword-fighting, boxing, wrestling, along with accurate shooting and knife-throwing, were skills she must maintain.

She could do with a brushup on her rope-climbing and knot-tying skills too.

Emmeline found Mina in their old dormitory room. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her friend rushed over to envelop Emmeline in an enormous hug.

“My darling friend, I’ve missed you so much,” Mina cried.

Emmeline released a small laugh even though guilt pinched.

Mina Davenport was usually calm and composed and not a demonstrative sort of person at all.

She must have missed Emmeline. Quite a lot.

“I’m only a short walk away,” she said. “Not the other side of the English Channel or at the North Pole.”

“That may well be the case,” said Mina, “but don’t tell me you haven’t been horrendously busy from the crack of dawn until late at night with nary a moment to spare.”

Emmeline couldn’t lie. “Looking after three precocious children does have its challenges. I’m lucky my employer is very understanding.”

Mina’s hazel eyes gleamed with speculation. “The very eligible and mysterious Duke of St Lawrence, no less. Everyone at the Academy has been talking about him since you left to take up your post.”

“Oh yes,” said Emmeline, wondering what “everyone” had actually been saying about the duke.

No doubt there’d been all sorts of unkind whispers about him, but Mina was far too tactful to elaborate.

“I don’t see him all that often,” she added, even though that was an out-and-out lie.

“He very much keeps to himself, working on his horology projects.”

Mina suggested that they both take seats by the window. “Is it true that he intends to enter a design into the Westminster clock tower contest?” she asked as she smoothed her perfectly pressed skirts into exact pleats.

“It is.” Emmeline eyed her friend. “There certainly has been a lot of talk about the duke, by the sounds of it.”

Mina’s cheeks grew rosier than a spring rose garden. “Well, not every graduate is employed by someone in such an elevated position. He’s practically royalty.”

“I suppose he is,” agreed Emmeline. She’d never really thought of the duke that way before. She barely remembered to curtsy most days. “But he’s also…”

She was about to say kind and thoughtful and clever , but then she realized she’d have to explain how she knew so much about a man who she claimed she barely saw at all.

“While he’s a very singular sort of gentleman, he’s also very reasonable.

And while his wards do keep me on my toes, they are also a delight.

But enough about me. In your leygram, you mentioned that you had some news. ”

“I do.” The gold flecks in Mina’s eyes glowed as she said, “Mrs. Temple has secured a position for me. In Hertfordshire, so not so very far away. I start in a week’s time.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations!” declared Emmeline, claiming her friend’s hands and giving them a squeeze. “Tell me everything right now before I expire on the spot from an overdose of curiosity.”

“I’m to be the governess for an only child—a boy, aged seven, who’s also a viscount,” said Mina.

“His godmother—Lady Grenfell, a dowager countess—wishes him to start formal lessons, but she feels he’s not the sort of child who would respond well to a male tutor.

The boy—I should say Lord Fitzwilliam—lost his parents a year ago and Lady Grenfell feels he needs a teacher who will be sensitive and nurturing. ”

“You will be absolutely perfect,” said Emmeline, smiling at her friend. “And no doubt your mother and sister will be pleased for you too.”

While Mina’s family wasn’t in the same dire financial straits as Emmeline’s, most would consider them “genteelly impoverished.” Mina’s late father, a vicar and the younger son of a baronet, had passed away, leaving Mina’s mother with a meager inheritance, which included a small cottage in the Cotswolds and not much else.

Even though Mina and her younger sister, Dorothea, had elevated fraternal grandparents, they were essentially dowry-less.

So when Mina had been bequeathed a Parasol Academy scholarship by an ancient maiden aunt, she’d jumped at the opportunity to study at the much-esteemed college.

It meant Mina would be able to help support her mother and Dorothea.