Page 7 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

The Academy’s Royal Charter had been granted less than a year ago after there’d been an attempt on the Queen’s life—the fifth attempt in only a handful of years.

A man named Robert Pate had viciously struck Her Majesty with his cane as she’d quit Cambridge House in Piccadilly in her carriage.

Quite shockingly, three of the Royal children had been present during the attack, along with Mrs. Temple, who’d thrown herself in front of her charges to defend them.

The Queen had been so impressed with the young woman’s selflessness and bravery, she’d issued the Parasol Academy’s Royal Charter the very next week when she’d recovered from her ordeal.

What wasn’t known by the public—or even the Crown—was that the Parasol Academy had another Royal Charter, which had been issued when the training college had first been founded by Mrs. Temple’s great-grandmother, Verity Truelove, ninety years ago.

A secret charter, not from the earthly realm, but the Fae Realm that had been granted by Good Queen Maeve to help combat her evil sister Mab’s practice of abducting human children and leaving changelings in their place.

It was why Parasol Academy nannies and governesses were equipped with magical abilities to aid in the protection of children.

The students didn’t know exactly how the Academy’s founder had managed to secure such untold support from a Fae queen—and Mrs. Temple always remained tight-lipped on the subject—but Emmeline did wonder if there might be Fae blood in the headmistress’s family.

It would certainly account for the woman’s petite stature and ethereal air. And her almost preternatural insight.

Mrs. Temple was aiming one of her thoughtful, far too perceptive looks at Emmeline right now. “You know, Mrs. Chase, I’m still trying to fathom how the Duke of St Lawrence knew about you.”

Emmeline shrugged, barely resisting the urge to squirm like a naughty child who’d been caught with a hand in the sweetmeat jar.

“I could not say.” She didn’t want to keep secrets.

She didn’t want to lie, but admitting she’d mistakenly teleported herself onto the duke’s roof wouldn’t do her any favors.

Although Emmeline would readily own that she did not regret meeting the Duke of St Lawrence yesterday.

Truth to tell, he was the most curious man she’d ever met.

After she’d quit St Lawrence House, she’d found that her thoughts kept drifting toward the nobleman at odd moments.

Like now, and it was all kinds of bothersome.

But she really couldn’t stop thinking about his starkly handsome features.

His fierce arctic-blue eyes and his storm of black hair.

And then there was his rich cultured voice.

It was the most beautiful baritone Emmeline had ever heard.

Listening to the Duke of St Lawrence speak had been the auditory equivalent of wallowing in melted chocolate.

He was a peculiar mixture of hot and cold, and Emmeline was nothing but intrigued.

While her face still flamed at the way they’d met, it hadn’t been quite so awkward at the end.

And even though the man’s manner had been quite unusual—he had the most disconcertingly direct gaze Emmeline had ever come across—she couldn’t help but think he might be a good employer.

He’d gone out of his way to personally help her yesterday when he hadn’t been obliged to.

And he’d been kind to his ward, Harriet, about the whole frog incident.

He might have come across as a little stuffy at times, but he certainly wasn’t an arrogant pain-in-the-derriere.

Oddly, it was the upper-middle-class banker, Mr. Culpepper, who’d turned out to be the prig.

Mrs. Temple was speaking again, so Emmeline forced her thoughts away from her encounter with the duke so she could pay attention.

“Just so you know,” said Mrs. Temple, “His Grace is a horologist of some renown who is working on a very important project with a fast-approaching deadline. But he also has three young wards who I gather are quite ‘spirited.’ The poor mites are orphans, so I suspect they need a good deal of nurturing as well as managing. But don’t let any of that put you off.

I know you will be brilliant and simply perfect for this position. ”

“I certainly hope so,” said Emmeline. At least she had some idea of what she’d be dealing with.

A bright nine-year-old with a penchant for frogs, and two exuberant boys, didn’t sound like too much of a challenge to her.

While Emmeline had told a little white lie about how she’d come by the lost toy soldier that belonged to Gareth—she’d simply found it inside her magical nanny’s pocket; it hadn’t been on the roof as she’d claimed—she was relieved the duke had believed her explanation and seemed to have formed a favorable opinion of her.

Mrs. Temple stood and rounded the desk, her pearl-gray silk skirts swaying in time with her light footsteps.

She took both of Emmeline’s gloved hands in hers and looked her up and down.

“I can see you’re perfectly attired in your Parasol Academy uniform today.

Which is wonderful, because the duke would like to interview you this afternoon at three o’clock sharp.

Because he’s a horologist, I suspect he values punctuality above all else. ”

Three o’clock? Emmeline’s gaze shot to the Boulle clock on Mrs. Temple’s mantelpiece. It was already a quarter to three.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” said Mrs. Temple. “If you teleport, you’ll get there in plenty of time. Which I’d strongly advise, considering it’s still raining. London is a veritable quagmire at the moment.”

“I’ll fetch my cloak and umbrella and I’ll be on my way,” said Emmeline. “Fingers crossed this job works out.”

Mrs. Temple smiled. “I have everything crossed for you, Mrs. Chase. Now go and work your magic on the duke.”

Within five minutes, Emmeline was in Belgrave Square again.

At least she hoped she was. As the bright whirling leylight dissipated and her equilibrium returned, she discerned that she was in a dark, cramped space—a stone police box.

Through an iron grille in the door and a veil of scudding rain beyond, she could make out the pale pink blossoms of cherry trees and the facades of elegant, whitewashed terrace houses.

Yes, this was definitely Belgravia; the residences didn’t need a good scrub with carbolic soap like they did in other parts of London.

The door to the police box was locked, but it was but the work of a moment for Emmeline to use her leyport key to let herself out. As she stepped into the square, she opened her Parasol Academy umbrella… and then bumped straight into a uniformed bobby.

Oh, blast! There’d been no sign of any policemen yesterday.

The mustachioed constable, who couldn’t have been more than one-and-twenty if he was a day, gaped at Emmeline in open-mouthed astonishment. “Miss, what on earth are you doin’ in my box? You can’t be loiterin’ about in there! It’s against the law!”

“I… er… I apologize if I startled you,” replied Emmeline. She quickly pocketed her dismay and adopted a polite but distinctly professional demeanor. “I’m a Parasol Academy nanny. On official nanny business. So it’s quite all right.”

The young man’s brows arrowed into a deep frown. “Parasol Academy nanny? I ’ave no idea wha’ you’re talkin’ about, miss.” All of a sudden, the bobby’s gloved hand shot out from the folds of his black greatcoat and he gripped Emmeline’s arm. “?’Ere, you better come wif me back to the Yard then.”

Emmeline gave an inward groan. It wasn’t three o’clock quite yet, but the longer she stood out here in the rain, the worse for wear she would look when she knocked on the door of St Lawrence House. She did not have time for this.

Not only that, but Parasol nannies and governesses were not to draw undue public attention to themselves.

Nor were they to bring the Academy’s excellent reputation into disrepute.

Unless, as per the Parasol Academy Handbook , Chapter 1, Section 7, Paragraph 20, there were exceptional circumstances that justified such an eventuality. She could not afford to make a scene.

“I take it you’re new to the job, Constable?

” said Emmeline with a perfectly pleasant smile, trying to keep her tone neutral rather than snippy.

“Because if you are, you might be unaware that your superiors at Scotland Yard have given Parasol Academy nannies and governesses permission to use police boxes in the course of carrying out their official duties. So in actual fact, I haven’t broken any laws at all. ”

The bobby’s cheeks turned an indignant shade of red. “Now see ’ere, miss. I know what’s wha’ and what’s not. An’ I’m sure you’re tryin’ to sell me a great porky pie. I’ve never ’eard of the Parasol Academy.”

“I assure you, I am not lying, Constable.” Emmeline emitted a small sigh of frustration. Her skirts and boots were getting wetter by the minute and her patience was wearing thinner than one of her lawn shifts. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to let me go, I’ll be on my way and no harm done.”

But the bobby did not let go of Emmeline’s arm. In fact, he began to tug her toward the end of Belgrave Square, away from St Lawrence House.

It just wouldn’t do. Emmeline hadn’t been able to talk herself out of the situation, so as a last resort, she was going to have to use her Academy-issued umbrella on the man.

“I’m sorry about this, Constable.” Emmeline lowered her umbrella and gave the young man a quick nudge in the vicinity of his ribs with the silver tip—or, as it was called in the Parasol Academy Handbook , the Point-of-Confusion.

At the same time she prodded the constable, she also muttered, “ Perplexio ,” beneath her breath.

The effect of Emmeline’s umbrella poke combined with the confusion incantation was immediate.

All at once, the bobby stopped trying to frog-march her across the square.

He came to a grinding halt and he released her arm.

“I’m sorry, miss.” He wiped a hand down his rain-damp face, then frowned at Emmeline from beneath the brim of his dripping helmet.

“I seem to have…” He shook his head, his expression slightly dazed.

“I can’t quite recall…” He then squinted at Emmeline. “Do I know you?”

Emmeline smiled at him. “No, I don’t believe so. I was asking you for directions to St Lawrence House. I have an appointment there shortly.”

“Ah, the duke’s residence.” The constable pointed to the opposite corner of the square. “It’s right over there, miss. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you, Constable.” Emmeline canted her head. “I bid you good day. I shall be sure to tell the duke how helpful you’ve been.”

The bobby bowed. “Thank you, miss. Thurstwhistle’s the name. Now you’d best get out of this rain so you don’t catch cold. I bid you a good day too.”

Emmeline didn’t waste any more time. The constable’s confusion would clear quickly if it hadn’t already.

He’d be all right. She hurried across the square and within a minute was standing outside the glossy black front door of St Lawrence House.

To think that only yesterday, she’d been standing right here with a soot-smudged face, impulsively handing the duke a Parasol Academy business card.

And he asked for me. Me! Mrs. Emmeline Chase of Cheapside.

But remember, you’re also a Parasol nanny.

Drawing a deep breath to quell a flurry of nerves and excitement, Emmeline grasped the door’s smart brass knocker with her gloved hand and rapped three times. She’d taken a chance and perhaps now, with a little bit of luck, her path in life was about to change.