Page 48 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

In Which Brandy Is Sipped, Tea Is Not Taken, and a Delicate Matter Is Broached…

Upon returning to St Lawrence House, Xavier sent for his own physician, Dr. Fotheringham, to examine Mrs. Chase’s injuries, and then to assess the health of her father.

According to Woodley, Edward Evans was still coughing, short of breath, and weak, despite resting in his room for the best part of the day.

While the doctor was busy with his patients, Xavier went to his study and helped himself to a fortifying glass of brandy. It wasn’t even three in the afternoon, but he needed something to quell the roiling fury in his veins.

There was no doubt in Xavier’s mind that the kidnapping attempt had been orchestrated for the sole purpose of throwing his life into turmoil so he wouldn’t be able to finish his Westminster Palace clock design.

Because who would be able to concentrate on anything at all after something so terrible had happened?

The scarred brute who’d taken Gareth needed to be apprehended and prosecuted.

But whoever was behind this wicked, insidious plot to disrupt his life and threaten, or even harm, those he cared about needed to pay too.

It might be his uncle, but in his gut, he was certain Sir Randolph Redvers was the “guv’nor” the thugs who’d chased him and Emmeline had been talking about. But he had not a jot of proof.

He sloshed more brandy into his glass, downed it in two gulps, then wiped the back of his gloved hand over his mouth.

Most of all, he wanted to throttle Sir Randolph for so vilely insulting Mrs. Chase.

And he would love nothing more than to tear apart the kidnapper for physically hurting her.

He knew she would be all right, but to see her disheveled and bruised and bleeding had made his heart ache and his blood boil.

This time, Xavier’s enemy had gone too far.

Sitting on his hands now would be unconscionable.

To that end, when he’d arrived home, he’d sent word to Scotland Yard that he wished to report an attempted kidnapping of a child.

Mrs. Chase had informed him that the Parasol Academy headmistress might very well turn up on the doorstep to speak with him about the “incident” in Hyde Park as well.

Even though he was not looking forward to that particular conversation, Xavier, of course, would do nothing but sing Mrs. Chase’s praises. He thanked God she’d been able to rescue Gareth. There was no doubt in his mind that the only reason she’d been able to was because of her expert training.

On the way home in the town coach, Gareth had told Xavier and Mrs. Chase that the man with the scar had coaxed him away by offering to take him on a balloon ride.

Or “puffballoon” ride as Gareth had put it.

“He was a bit scary looking, but I really, really wanted to go,” the boy had explained.

“He said that you were already there in the puff-balloon basket, Cousin Xavier. And Bartholomew. I didn’t want to miss out. ”

Xavier wondered how the kidnapper had known that that would be the perfect lure for the young boy.

He cast his mind back over the events of the day; there’d been talk of hot-air balloon rides before they’d set out for Hyde Park—while they’d all been assembled in the vestibule if his memory served him correctly.

Aside from Bertie, Ollie, Fanny, and Woodley, there’d been any number of servants—both maids and footmen—bustling about in the background.

Though Fanny had been the one who’d let go of Gareth’s hand while they’d been waiting for a turn to see the dinosaurs.

Xavier huffed out a sigh and stared unseeingly out the window.

It seemed unlikely that the young nurserymaid would be responsible for such a heinous betrayal—to be in league with a brutish scar-faced thug who was at the beck and call of the mysterious “guv’nor.

” Nonetheless, as soon as Mrs. Chase was free—Dr. Fotheringham was currently examining her injuries—he would seek her opinion.

While he didn’t want to jump to any erroneous conclusions about Fanny, it would be wise to proceed with caution. For his own peace of mind, he’d asked Mrs. Lambton to watch over the children in the nursery while Mrs. Chase was otherwise occupied.

If anything had happened to Gareth, or any of his wards…

Or to Emmeline Chase…

Xavier gripped the window ledge so tightly, his knuckles cracked. Then it hit him. After what had happened in Hyde Park today, he would have to do something he didn’t want to, at all. Even though it was logical and practical and best for everyone.

He must send his wards and Mrs. Chase away.

The idea hurt so much, it was akin to being punched in the gut. The pain of it practically winded Xavier. For a moment he considered pouring another brandy, but he needed a clear head for what had to happen next.

Coffee, as dark as his mood right now, would have to do.

Emmeline sat in the small window seat of her bedchamber and studied the square below. The duke’s physician, Dr. Fotheringham, had come and gone, and she couldn’t deny she was feeling a bit sad and sorry for herself.

And worried. Any moment now, a leygram might turn up in her room, requesting her presence at the Parasol Academy to account for what had happened this afternoon.

Or Mrs. Temple might suddenly arrive at St Lawrence House.

The headmistress would undoubtedly want to speak with the duke too.

Scandalous news traveled faster than any other sort of news, and what could be more scandalous than a story about a Parasol Academy nanny grappling with a man in the middle of Hyde Park on the opening day of the Great Exhibition?

An event not only attended by Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and the who’s who of British society, but dignitaries and industry leaders from around the world.

Emmeline could almost see the newspaper headlines now:

Parasol Academy Nanny Creates Chaos at the Crystal Palace!

Or worse…

Brawling Parasol Academy Nanny Makes a Great Exhibition of Herself in Hyde Park!

An icy tendril of apprehension crept down Emmeline’s spine. Because she’d failed to keep a proper watch over sweet Gareth today, if Mrs. Temple and the Academy Board decided that her actions had brought the Academy’s name into disrepute, the repercussions could be catastrophic.

In fact, she could very well lose her license to practice as a Parasol nanny. She could also lose her job altogether if the duke began to have second thoughts about her conduct today.

To be parted from the duke…

To never see his wards again…

To be a desperate and practically destitute widow once more…

Emmeline brushed a tear away from her cheek.

It was an eventuality she couldn’t bear to contemplate. Especially given the ill health of her father.

Emmeline was terribly anxious about him.

Dr. Fotheringham, who’d paid a visit to her father before he’d examined her (Emmeline had insisted, despite the duke’s decree) had reported that “Mr. Evans has developed a serious ague of the lungs.” The physician had prescribed a new tonic to ease his cough, an abundance of rest, and if at all possible, a sojourn in the country or at the seaside to escape the unhealthy miasmas of London.

Thanks to the duke, the first two recommendations were definitely doable.

The third would be almost impossible. She couldn’t afford to send her father away.

She couldn’t employ anyone to care for him.

She certainly wouldn’t ask the duke for more help.

He’d done enough for her and her father already.

Focus on one thing at a time, Emmeline. Falling into despair and panic will not help you at this point. You need a clear head.

She sighed heavily, then winced. Her face really did hurt like the devil.

While she’d changed into a clean uniform and pinafore and redressed her hair (with her proscribed lacy nanny’s cap in place in case Mrs. Temple arrived), there was no way to disguise her swollen, cut lip or the purple bruises blooming on the right side of her jaw and cheek.

She was lucky she hadn’t lost a tooth or that her jawbone hadn’t been dislocated or broken.

That hired thug certainly packed a punch.

Other parts of Emmeline hurt too. She had scraped knees and bruised ribs.

Her thigh muscles were stiff and sore from running so hard.

Even though she’d been wearing gloves, they’d only been fashioned from cotton and the knuckles of her right hand were abraded and bruised.

She’d even broken five fingernails. Five!

A vengeful part of Emmeline hoped that the punch she’d landed on the kidnapper had at least given him a black eye.

But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. She’d do anything to protect the children in her care. Slay dragons, even fight evil Queen Mab herself if she ever dared set foot in the nursery. Yet, it was Emmeline’s fault that Gareth had been taken.

That’s what hurt the most of all.

A familiar tingling sensation that Emmeline always associated with the Fae’s leyline magic rushed over her and she watched the mat before her door expectantly, her heart tripping over itself with trepidation.

Sure enough, a leygram materialized, the parchment envelope glowing with a faint silvery-blue mist for a few seconds before dissipating.

Drawing a deep breath, Emmeline pulled her quizzing glass from her uniform’s pocket then crossed the room to pick up the missive.

It wasn’t a surprise that it was from Mrs. Temple, indicating she would arrive at St Lawrence House in the next few minutes.

In fact, because she was on official business, she was teleporting into the Metropolitan Police box in Belgrave Square.

She’d speak with the Duke of St Lawrence first, then Emmeline would be called.