A Governess of Discretion (The Governess Bureau Book 2) Read online

  Welcome to the Governess Bureau

  You are most welcome, sir or madam.

  When the nobility and gentility of England are at their wits end, they send a discrete note to Miss Vivienne Clarke’s Governess Bureau. Only accepting the very best clients, their governesses are coveted by minor royalty, with every governess following three rules:

  You must have an impeccable record.

  You must bring a special skill to the table.

  You must never fall in love…

  Chapter One

  October 30, 1812

  It was almost certainly her. Miss Anne Gilbert had only had the pleasure of her acquaintance for a few days, that was true, but there was no mistaking that look, something more than smug, more than happy. It was almost…incandescent joy.

  “Hallo, Meredith––I thought you were up north with some duke?”

  Anne grinned at the woman dressed in far finer furs than she had ever seen her in before. She turned––it was Meredith. Miss Meredith Hubert, fellow governess of the Governess Bureau. But if the rumors were to be believed, then the gentleman beside her, all dark brooding and serious, was the man she had been posted to.

  The man she had broken all rules for…and married.

  Anne could not help herself. “Goodness, are you it?”

  She stepped forward to get a better look, no self-consciousness at all. It was what her mother had always scolded her for, but at almost five and twenty, Anne was past caring what her mother said.

  Most of the time.

  In any case, the gentleman did not appear to mind. A smile broke out on his face as he looked at Meredith. The sunlight poured down into the alley which housed the governess’ entrance to the Bureau, which Anne had been making for, and a chilly wind ruffled his hair.

  “Why yes,” he laughed ruefully. “I am it.”

  “The gossip is true then!” Anne launched herself at Meredith, pulling her into an embrace. “You really did marry him?”

  “She really did,” said what must be the Duke of Rochdale. “Goodness, don’t strangle my wife, Miss.”

  Anne released her with an apologetic grin. She was always wont to allow her emotions get the better of her; it was the red hair. At least, that was what she blamed, which was easier than actually admitting that one’s emotions, unlike what they should be in a refined young lady, were always just below the surface.

  “Well, I don’t mind saying how pleased I am, Meredith, I really don’t,” Anne said, meaning every word. There were plenty of opportunities for ladies in 1812, she thought, as long as they were brave enough to take them. “I’m heading in now to find out my next charge, apparently the master’s just arrived!”

  “Ah, you’ll be for the Earl of Clarcton, then,” said Meredith with a knowing smile.

  How did she know whom she was to be placed with next? It was a matter of prestige; the grander the title of your master, the more impressed the proprietress was with you.

  Anne swallowed. She had just completed her assignment at the Earl of Allun; not an easy job, and it was a slight relief to be rid of him and his brood. But no one knew about that, she reminded herself. The secret had stayed with her, and always would.

  Meredith was watching her, and Anne realized she had not responded.

  “Oh, another earl!” She nodded. “Well, you know more than I do, then. Better dash, Miss Clarke is a stickler for punctuality, as you know. Good luck!”

  Her heart was thumping as she bid the new duchess adieu and stepped through the governess door into the side passage.

  Another earl. Well, she had certainly earned it, Anne thought wryly [there are 33 “wry” or “wryly”s in the book. Five of them are in the first 10 pages.] as she walked lightly along the corridor she knew so well. First a baronet, then another, then an earl which had quite taken all her resources to manage.

  The corridor was quiet. It always was; the idea a governess would make noise was repellent to Miss Clarke, the owner of the Governess Bureau. Anne could well remember a few applicants to the place being rejected merely for the heaviness of their steps.

  And now an earl. If Meredith was correct, of course, though Anne saw no reason why she would offer the information if merely guessing.

  “Being a member of the Governess Bureau is an honor.”

  That was what Miss Clarke had said the day of her first assignment, Anne remembered with a wry smile as she took the staircase that spiraled down to the waiting room. She was right. There was no other place a nobleman would dare consider sourcing a governess from. They were the best.

  And it was true, the higher the rank of appointment, the more prestige one gained. Anne took a deep breath as she reached the waiting room door and paused.

  The moment she walked in, she would be scrutinized, judged, and measured––and that was by the other governesses. She respected Miss Clarke, naturally, but she was rather a gorgon.

  Besides, it was coming up to Christmas. Anne had never been one for ceremony, but Christmas had always been a time for family––though she knew precisely what would happen.

  A wry smile crept over her face. As the governess, her mother would swiftly enlist her to care for her many nieces and nephews. Anne had nothing against children; most governesses did not. But with four siblings, each of whom who had at least three children…

  Anne grasped the door of the waiting room firmly. No. She was ready for her next assignment. This Christmas would be spent with a family, not hers.

  The waiting room was half full as she stepped inside and looked for a seat. A few governesses of more advanced years, their gowns in yesteryear’s fashions and their hair streaked with silver, sat in a corner muttering. There was a girl who looked half in need of a governess herself, a nervous look on her face. Two ladies Anne recognized as Miss Helena Patrick and Miss Rachel White [I’m assuming no one assigned them these seats, thus the dele] sat together but in silence, each reading a book.

  Anne smiled at those who glanced at her, and took a seat opposite Miss Clarke’s office.

  Curiosity was a virtue––or a failure––she had been born with, and she looked around with curiosity now. Yes, it would be December in just over four weeks, and that was always a busy time for the Governess Bureau.

  It had surprised her when she had first joined the ranks. Christmas was a time for family; that was what her father had always said. Why would a nobleman wish to introduce a stranger into the home at such a time?

  “Because,” Miss Clarke had informed her when she had unwisely asked such an unguarded question, “a nobleman will wish to enjoy the season, and that is simply impossible without a governess.”

  Anne had not quite believed her, until her first posting. Sir Moses of Wandorne had been a pleasant enough gentleman; that was, he was kind to his wife and children, and Anne had seen no ill of him.

  But when December appeared, she had not seen him for almost six weeks. Every evening, an engagement in town, a ball, a house party, a dinner at the Hall…

  It was a wonder, Anne had thought at the time, he remembered he had any children.

  “Good…good morning,” said a young lady nervously.

  Anne smiled. Poor thing. First time being given a posting, if she was any judge, and with that sort of reticence, Miss Clarke may not be impressed. There were many a lady who joined the Governess Bureau only to be disappointed and never receive an assignment.

  The families that came to the Governess Bureau, after all, were looking for something…well, a little different.

  “Good morning,” she replied with a smile, receiving a glare from one of the reading
ladies, as though she had interrupted the sacred silence of a library.

  Anne caught the nervous-looking girl’s eye and grinned. “I am Anne Gilbert.”

  “Elizabeth Fletcher,” came the shy reply. “Beth.”

  Anne smiled, but said no more. Miss Fletcher’s cheeks had flamed, and her gaze become downcast. The memory of Miss Fletcher was returning now, a sweet thing, rather scarred by a boisterous set of twins in France, wasn’t it? She would be back for her second assignment then, still relatively green.

  Sighing and leaning back in the chair, Anne mused over what Meredith had said.

  “Ah, you’ll be for the Earl of Clarcton, then.”

  The Earl of Clarcton. It rang a bell, though Anne could not precisely remember why. Most titles were mentioned in the great drawing rooms of society, and it was entirely possible she had heard him mentioned while serving the Earl of Allun––or Sir Moses, for that matter.

  Clarcton. It was north of here. But the gentleman himself, his family…no, Anne could recall nothing.

  Except––wasn’t there some sort of scandal? Not scandal exactly, but intrigue? Anne could recall seeing the name in newsprint, though what the story was had quite disappeared from her mind––and if what had been written about the Earl of Allun’s daughter was anything to go by, newspapers rarely had the whole truth anyway.

  “Who are you getting?”

  Anne started. Miss Fletcher had moved closer, smiling nervously.

  “The Earl of Clarcton,” said Anne softly, glancing quickly around, “I think, but I am not certain. I am sure Miss Clarke will inform me.”

  Miss Fletcher’s eyes widened. “An earl! You are most fortunate––or at least, I should say, you have evidently worked hard. Your previous master must have been impressed.”

  Anne worked hard not to smile. It was not ladylike, and it was certainly unbecoming of a governess to take pride in her work. She should not crow. Preening was not something to be praised, and she had worked hard for the dues she was hopefully to receive. Being arrogant was an unflattering look.

  “I did what I could for his lordship,” she said softly.

  Miss Fletcher looked amused. “I have found earls and dukes far more grateful, in my experience. Especially with those as many children as the Earl of Allun.”

  Anne blinked. Earls and dukes? She had taken the woman before her as more girl, assumed she had not yet taken the plunge and cared for children as a governess yet.

  But the way she spoke…

  “Do not worry, you are not the only one to assume I am younger than I am,” said Miss Fletcher with a shy smile. “’Tis something of an advantage, in truth. Specializing in twins means traveling and wherever I go, I am assumed not to have reached my majority.”

  “Twins!” said Anne, allowing her voice to rise and receiving a look from one of the older governesses. “Twins,” she repeated quietly. “I would not even know where to start!”

  “It is not for the fainthearted,” said Miss Fletcher with a soft laugh. “But then, nothing in the Governess Bureau is ever easy. And the Earl of Clarcton…well. After all the rumor.”

  Anne nodded, cheeks flushing at the hint which she did not understand. The rumor. There was evidently something interesting about the Earl of Clarcton, yet she would feel a fool asking, now she had already made herself a fool assuming Miss Fletcher was inexperienced.

  The rumor…what was it? Why was her memory failing her at this critical junction?

  “Yes, the rumor,” she said carefully. “Well, I suppose I am not even certain that the Clarctons will be my next posting. I will have to see whether Miss Clarke gives him to me.”

  A dark crimson covered her cheeks. What phrasing to utter aloud––and in public too!

  She could hear a mutter from one of the older governesses, and felt the flush deepen down her neck. Blast! She was usually so careful with her words, too! Trust her, when Miss Clarke was hopefully about to give her the next assignment, to speak so carelessly!

  “I know what you meant,” said Miss Fletcher kindly, only increasing Anne’s shame. “I must admit, I am hopeful for a duke, myself. What an honor to be given such a charge.”

  Anne smiled, despite herself, her temperature starting to cool now the moment had passed. What was it that made dukes, earls, all those other impressive sounding titles…well, impressive?

  The world had always been so, as Miss Clarke once said. But no earl was any more well-educated than her own father had been, and he had been a gentleman and no more.

  Even governesses at the Bureau were liable to fall into such thinking. Anne could remember their initial training, designed to inoculate the ladies against fear of grandeur.

  “You will always be respectful,” Miss Clarke had said, glaring as though daring them to consider otherwise, “but you’ll never be afraid. Governess Bureau ladies are afraid of nothing.”

  Anne had almost laughed at the time. Now she was three postings from that moment, she could see the truth in it. If she had been easily cowed, she would not have been so vital to the Earl of Allun. As it was…

  Well, Anne had never met someone with a title that she could not respect, but beyond that, what was there to crow about? Being a duchess or a countess, what difference did it really make to your life?

  “If you ask me, he did it.”

  Anne blinked. Miss Fletcher had a knowing look on her face, her voice low.

  “Did it?” Anne repeated.

  Miss Fletcher nodded. “I cannot imagine that she has truly––”

  “Miss Gilbert.”

  Anne rose, curtseying to Miss Clarke who had emerged from her office.

  The owner and founder of the Governess Bureau. Somewhat of a legend in the drawing rooms of London, the woman Mamas [some of these mamas are capitalized; some are lowercase. Have Author choose and change throughout] contact when truly at their wits’ end.

  Anne found her heart beating uncomfortably fast underneath her ribcage. If Miss Clarke had heard the last few exchanges between herself and Miss Fletcher––it was well known she had no tolerance for gossip…

  “Come on in, then,” said Miss Clarke sharply. “We do not have all day.”

  “Good luck,” whispered Miss Fletcher as Anne strode forward.

  It had been a little while since she had been within Miss Clarke’s study; her assignment with the Earl of Allun had been, after all, of two years’ duration. It had not changed much in that time; the paintings were the same, gorgeous landscapes of mountains and lakes which made her think of Lady Maria’s descriptions of Switzerland.

  There was the small harpsichord; Anne had never seen one so delicate, with sheet music scattered across the top, as though Miss Clarke had been searching for a particular piece.

  And there––there was a new painting. At least, Anne had not noticed it before. It was a portrait, a delicate one of a lady with a somber look on her face. The gown she wore was at least twenty years out of date, and her eyes…

  Her eyes were sad. Anne could just make out Miss Evangeline Jones inscribed on the bottom.

  One’s décor, she had always thought, told one much about a person’s character. Whoever Miss Evangeline Jones was, she had evidently been important to Miss Clarke. A cousin? A friend?

  “You are quiet, Miss Gilbert.”

  Anne did not jump, precisely, but she was startled. It was easy, in the quiet comfort of the study, to forget why she was here. Turning to look at Miss Clarke, if Anne did not know better, she would have said the proprietress of the Governess Bureau was…rattled.

  A smile crept over her face but Anne quickly quashed it. What was it the Duke of Rochdale had said, not fifteen minutes ago?

  “The gossip is true then! You really did marry him?”

  “She really did.”

  A great betrayal, at least in Miss Clarke’s books. No wonder she looked unsettled, as though a part of her steady and organized life had been utterly upended.

  A governess had married her master.
Anne had never heard of such a thing occurring, and it was of course directly against rule three of the Governess Bureau.

  You must never fall in love…

  Anne had not battled an eyelid when she had been asked to agree to them when she had first joined. The idea that she would marry at all was ridiculous; her siblings had, and she had to work. That was that.

  Yet there was something rather wonderful and joyful about the whole thing. Meredith Hubert––or the Duchess of Rochdale, as she was now––had certainly looked happy. Happier than Anne had ever seen her.

  When they had trained together, Anne had seen no ill of her. She was not the sort of hussy to go after a duke, so the entire thing must have happened most spectacularly.

  “Miss Gilbert?”

  “Yes?” Anne recollected herself and smiled wanly at her employer. “Yes, I am quiet, Miss Clarke. Is anything the matter?”

  Her innocent question was not answered. “Sit down.”

  Anne obeyed, an action more likely to keep the peace than if she answered back. However, her teasing nature could not quite help itself. “Are you well, Miss Clarke?”

  Miss Clarke, a woman in the prime of her life, as she would probably consider it, thought Anne wryly, glared.

  There was no other response. Anne swallowed, and found her warm demeanor that it was quelled rather quickly in the presence of Miss Clarke. She was formidable, all governesses thought so. Any woman who could create a business like this, against all the odds, against all those gentlemen in society who had laughed at the idea…

  Well, she had shown them. But by grit, not warmth.

  Miss Clarke took her seat on the other side of the impressive mahogany desk and her gaze slipped past Anne, over her shoulder and towards the door. It remained there for almost a minute, until Anne coughed gently.

  Well, really. It was a little rude, Miss Clarke showing quite clearly that her mind was already on another appointment.

  “Ah, yes. Miss Gilbert,” said Miss Clarke, her gaze finally focusing on the woman before her. “Yes. Tell me about your previous assignment.”

  This was a rather strange question, considering Anne could see a letter on the desk between them with the seal of the house of Allun.