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Wanted,

Nanny for a girl of two years. A kind female of good education for a situation in Monmouthshire. Discretion is of the utmost importance.

All applicants are to apply to Mister Ludlow at the address given below for further details and interviews.

―Excerpt of an advert in the London Evening Bugle.

7 th December 1844, Sefton House, The Mall, London.

“I will not marry that vile man!”

The words rang in the air, so defiant and angry that Genevieve could hardly credit they had come from her own mouth.

She had spent so many years doing her best to avoid gaining the attention of her grandfather, and yet here she was railing at him for all she was worth.

Yet it was anger that fuelled the words, and that emotion quickly drained away as fear took hold.

She wrapped her arms about her middle, feeling horridly vulnerable, for who was she to fight this powerful man who held her future in his hands?

Her parents had been too busy with their own lives to bother with their only daughter, content to leave her in the duke’s household, in the care of an endless line of nannies and governesses.

When they had died together in an accident, she had barely noticed the difference to her life.

The Duke of Sefton stared back at her. He was a large man who might once have been handsome but whose face and figure showed the proof of a dissipated lifestyle.

His grace loved everything fine in life, food and wine and he dressed his corpulent frame in lavish fabrics with jewelled rings flashing on his fingers.

Now, his blue eyes held not an iota of warmth as he regarded her with little interest. She knew then that it didn’t matter.

No matter what she said, no matter whether she shouted and threw things, or pleaded and cried, he did not care enough to be even mildly annoyed by her.

She held no more interest to him than one of the purebred pups he sold for small fortunes.

He did not care if the owner was kind or cruel, so long as they paid.

Her pedigree was all that mattered, and how much money or influence the match would gain him.

“You’ll do as you’re bid, child. Now go away.

I’ve done you the courtesy of explaining the excellent match I have made for you.

All you need do is go through the ceremony and provide Wendover with an heir and a spare.

His second wife only left him with a sickly boy who will probably turn up his toes ere long so he needs a fine, sturdy son, which you will give him.

You’ll be a countess, remember, which is no small thing. ”

“I don’t want to be a countess!” Genevieve replied, though her voice quavered. “Wendover is a brute. He killed his first wife and ruined the second.”

“Scandal mongering, nothing more,” Sefton said dismissively, though the entire world knew it to be true. “His first wife took her own life, it had nothing to do with him.”

“To escape his beatings!” Genevieve said, trembling so hard now she had to cling to the back of the chair before her.

“Nonsense, she was unhinged, the poor soul, and as for that harlot he wed next… well, she cheated on him and so he divorced her. His only fault was in making a poor choice of wife.”

It was common knowledge that Wendover’s second wife had been innocent, the shaming scene she had been found in arranged with the help of a Drury Lane actor paid well to perjure himself in court and swear they were lovers.

But the Duke of Sefton cared not for the truth, only for what suited him.

Genevieve was an asset, and he would dispose of her as best suited him.

If only he had not arranged that ghastly dinner party and invited Lord Wendover, for it was during that evening the earl had taken a fancy to Genevieve.

His wife had been with him that night, though that had not stopped him from staring at Genevieve.

A bare three months later, and he had arranged for Lady Wendover to be discovered with her lover and won the crimcon that had delighted the ton.

Suddenly, he was free to marry again. She did not doubt for a moment that he had arranged the entire thing to discredit his wife, just so he might marry her.

Not that she thought herself worthy of such infamy, only that he was quite mad.

That he was nearing sixty, and she was only seventeen, did not trouble him a whit.

Indeed, it was what made him so eager to wed her, the disgusting satyr.

“Please, Grandfather,” Genevieve said, though she knew it was pointless. Any idea that he had a grain of decency in his heart had died long ago, but hope sprang eternal, it seemed.

“Enough of this,” he said, lowering his bulky form down into the chair by the fire. “You’ll be presented at court before Christmas and married in the New Year. Away with you now. I’m tired of discussing it.”

The interview was at an end as he picked up his newspaper and dismissed her with a wave of his bejewelled hand.

Numbly, Genevieve left the room, walking blindly out into the hallway and up the stairs.

She had known it would come to this, and yet she still felt a jolt of shock.

It had been foolish of her to even consider that fate would be kind.

Still, never one to admit defeat, she had made a plan, one she had been working on for weeks, and she clung to the knowledge.

It was imperative now that she act swiftly and without hesitation, or all would be lost.

Genevieve closed her bedroom door behind her and ran to the stack of that week's newspapers. She had bribed one of her grandfather’s footmen to save them for her, and had been scanning the adverts for a suitable position, circling those for nursery maids, nannies, and governesses.

Though she knew she was too young to be taken seriously as a governess, she thought she might pass as a nanny to begin with, especially once she had taken certain measures to alter her appearance.

She had become adept with make-up and costumes during their family theatricals.

The great blessing of having been abandoned by her parents at her grandfather’s home was that he had also remarried to gain an heir, and his children from his second wife were of an age with her.

His eldest son and heir, Wrexham, was a wonderful man despite his father’s bullying and had done much to shelter both her and his little sister, Cordelia, from the worst of his father’s attention.

Delia was an absolute darling, and they were as close as sisters.

But Wrexham had since lost his sight, and was as much a prisoner now as any of them, but when they were younger, they had all been firm friends and delighted in putting on amateur dramatics.

If she said so herself, Genevieve had excelled at this, throwing herself into it with her whole heart.

She had also discovered she had a deft hand for makeup, and had often marvelled at how cleverly she could change herself or Delia to look like a boy, or a woman far older than their true ages.

It was this skill that she was counting on now, but first she must find a position.

Three possibilities had presented themselves by the time she was done.

The first seemed more like a plea for help from the mother of five boys requesting a nanny.

Genevieve thought this sounded like rather more than she could handle and put it to one side as a last resort.

The second, asking for a nursery maid, was interesting, but the interviews were being held the next morning in Epsom.

There was no way she could get there in time, but there was always the chance that they wouldn’t find a suitable applicant on the first try.

The last, however, was promising. The address on Snow Hill was not one she knew well, but it was in the city, and she had a feeling was close to Hatton Garden.

If so, she could walk the distance easily, as it was less than an hour away.

This was certainly for the best and safer than hiring a cab, as a hackney cab driver could be interviewed to discover which direction she’d taken.

More importantly, this advert demanded discretion.

This could only mean one thing: the child was illegitimate.

The notion did not shock her. It was common knowledge that her grandfather had sired a dozen or more bastards, not that he troubled himself about their upkeep.

At least this father was taking care of his progeny, that was something, though behaving like a gentleman and not siring the unfortunate child in the first place would have been a good deal better, for it was his little daughter that would bear the shame of his actions, not him.

Oh, no, it was never the man who felt the sting of society’s contempt.

No doubt the wicked father would want the poor little mite to disappear and not trouble him again.

As Genevieve was all too eager to disappear too, this seemed utterly perfect.

She cut the three adverts out and put them safely away in her reticule before hurrying to her wardrobe.

Pushing aside all the beautiful gowns that hung in the front, she burrowed to the very back and hauled out a dingy grey gown of severe cut.

Delia’s last governess had not deigned to take it with her when she had left to get married.

Genevieve could hardly blame her. Though the cloth was of good quality, it was hardly a flattering outfit.

Holding it up against herself, she smiled.

It was a touch too big, but that was all to the good.

She did not want to catch the eye of the kind of libertine who would sire a bastard.

Though, if all went to plan, by the time she was done, her own grandfather would not recognise her.