The Governess's Convenient Marriage

Chapter One

Miss Grantley’s School for Young Ladies—spring 1888

‘Alex! Alex, are you awake? Let us in, quickly, before we’re caught.’

Lady Alexandra Mannerly wasn’t asleep, despite the fact that it was hours past the decreed lights out. She was huddled under her blankets, reading—no, devouring—The Ghosts of Wakefield Forest, a forbidden novel loaned to her by her friend Emily Fortescue, who had smuggled it back from London. Em, whose father was distinctly unstrict, quite unlike Alex’s father, the Duke of Waverton. He insisted Alex be the perfect ducal daughter at all times, which didn’t include reading scandalous romantic novels.

But her parents couldn’t spy on her at Miss Grantley’s at every moment. And Alex had friends who knew how to get around almost every rule without getting into trouble. She herself could never have been so brave before coming to school. She hated trouble, because trouble brought attention and attention made her heart race, her mind freeze, her tongue tie. Made her want to run away.

So being a duke’s daughter was rarely fun at all. And it would surely get worse next year, when she made her debut at a grand ball at Waverton House on Green Park and began the search for a high-ranking husband. But not yet. Not quite yet.

‘Alex! Are you there? We see your light!’

Alex tossed back the bedclothes and hurried to the door, her bare feet cold on the wooden floor. Her best friends, Emily Fortescue and Diana Martin, were waiting there, wrapped in their dressing gowns, dragging an enormous hamper between them. Giggling, they raced inside before Miss Merrill, the hall governess, could catch them. If they were found sneaking out together again, they would be in real trouble.

Yet Alex didn’t seem to mind trouble so much when it was brought by Diana and Em.

‘What are you two doing here?’ she whispered, locking the door behind them.

‘What do you think?’ Diana answered. ‘Midnight picnic!’

‘Father sent a lovely hamper today. I couldn’t possibly eat all this myself,’ Emily said as she spread a blanket on the polished floor. Her father, who had started in business as a wine merchant and branched out to open one of London’s first department stores, was always sending Emily lovely things. Hampers, fashionable hats, books.

‘Isn’t Mr F. lovely?’ Diana sighed. ‘My parents only seem to send foot warmers and peppermints.’ Di’s father had been a high-ranking diplomat in India, but it was true he never sent anything exotic like Punjab muslins.

‘There’s Brie cheese and some wonderful pâté. Tea sandwiches, petit fours,’ Emily said, laying it all out on their blanket. ‘And Lindt chocolates! Your favourites, Alex.’

‘Oh, it is! How blissful,’ Alex said. She couldn’t resist taking one immediately, popping it into her mouth.

‘What are you doing up so late?’ Diana asked as she opened a bottle of ginger beer.

‘Reading, of course,’ Alex said. ‘Did you think I had a boy in here? Jimmy Wilkins, maybe?’ Jimmy Wilkins was the son of the local squire, handsome if a bit spotty, and, as the only male under sixty and over thirteen for miles near the school, the object of many pashes.

‘If you did such a wildly naughty thing, Lady Alexandra, I would know you had come down with a terrible fever,’ Emily said.

Alex took another chocolate. ‘Oh, I don’t know. If I married Jimmy now, there would be no need for a Season. I could live near here at his nice, quiet manor house, and read all the time and ride out with the local hunt in the autumn. Heaven.’

‘Oh, Alex, a Season will be fun!’ Emily said. ‘Think of the gowns, the dances, the tea parties, the theatre. The strange people we can laugh at in corners.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Diana declared. ‘Your father actually wants you to go into business with him, he doesn’t care if you marry. It can all be a lark to you.’

Alex gave her a sympathetic nod. They all knew Di wanted to be a writer, but her parents were much more conventional than Mr F. and wanted Diana to marry suitably. As did Alex’s parents, of course. But to the Duke and Duchess, suitable meant another duke, if an eligible one could be found, or an earl at the least. Maybe even a German prince, as all the English ones were taken.

The thought filled her with terror. She recalled, just for an instant, that boy she had known so long ago, a poor crofter’s son who’d looked like an ancient king, who’d smiled at her with the warmth of the sun. Until their painful parting. How long ago that seemed now. How impossible.

‘Alex’s Season will be the loveliest of all!’ Emily said. ‘You’re the goddaughter of the Princess of Wales, her own namesake. Just think of all the grand people who will come to your parties.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ Alex muttered. It was true the Princess was a good godmother, always sending splendid presents for birthdays and writing sweet letters, and Princess Alexandra would want to help make Alex’s debut a success. But it only made Alex want to run away even more.

Diana squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t think of it now, Alex darling, it’s all so terribly far away. You might marry Jimmy Wilkins in the meantime! But here, have another chocolate and tell us what you’re reading.’

‘The Ghosts of Wakefield Forest, of course,’ Alex said, happily obeying the order to have another treat. ‘It’s so thrilling!’

‘Have you got to the scene where Arabella meets the Count?’ Emily asked.

‘Not yet and don’t tell me!’ Alex said with a laugh. Em did tend to get carried away by her enthusiasm for stories and give away endings. ‘Did your father send more books this week?’

‘No, but he did send these.’ Emily pulled a pile of fashion papers from the bottom of the hamper.

‘Oh, this one’s from Paris!’ Diana cried happily. She grabbed one to pore over the sketches. She loved fashion and was always knowledgeable about the latest trends. ‘Are these the new sleeves for summer? How cunning. Look at this ribbon trim.’

‘Yes, and the hats are enormous compared to last year. Father is quite worried the costs will be ridiculous, with all these feathers and flowers. Alex, you must tell the Princess to start wearing small, plain bonnets immediately.’

Alex laughed. ‘I’ll write to her tomorrow.’ She scanned one of the papers, caught by a sketch of a grand building. All of five storeys, with classical statues of goddesses at every corner and as many windows as Hardwicke Hall gleaming. ‘Gordston’s Department Store is opening a new branch in Paris?’

Emily made a face. ‘Yes, and Father is furious! Mr Gordston seems to beat him at every post lately. The man seems unstoppable.’

‘Even my mother loves Gordston’s hat counter and she always said she would never buy ready-made,’ Alex said. She tried not to sigh when she recalled she had once known a Gordston, too, in those golden days in Scotland. Memories were always so sad now.

She read over the breathless descriptions of the new Paris store, its marble floors from Italy, its gilded lifts operated by young ladies in red-velvet suits, its shocking new cosmetics counter. It was just as giddy in writing about the store’s owner and his ‘godlike face’ and ‘intoxicating laugh’, hinting about his romances with actresses and countesses and American heiresses.

‘Is he really as handsome as all that, Em?’ Diana asked. Emily was the only girl at school who had ever met the notorious Mr Gordston.

Emily’s head tilted as if she contemplated this question carefully. ‘He is—interesting.’

‘I think he sounds like a character in a novel,’ Diana said. ‘So dashing! So rich. Maybe I’ll meet him in London and marry him instead of some dull diplomat or clergyman or army officer like my parents hope.’

‘You would be much happier with the officer,’ Emily said firmly. ‘Now, here, girls! Eat up before we have to sneak out again.’

Alex turned the page on the paper and froze in shock. There, staring up at her in a grainy black-and-white image, was Malcolm. Her Malcolm, from Scotland, the one young man she could never quite forget, despite the terrible way they’d parted. Gordston’s was not owned by some unknown Scotsman after all. He was at a racetrack, standing near the railing with a lady in trailing lace and one of those enormous feathered hats. She gazed up at him adoringly, while he gave a half-smile into the distance. So tall, so gorgeous, so utterly unapproachable.

She read the headline.

The delight of every lady’s eye!

She read on.

But is the handsome millionaire ready to take the plunge with Lady Deanston? She looks ready, but our sources say he never will be. Although a titled lady at his side could only improve his standing in society…

Malcolm was the owner of Gordston’s? The famous man about town, with all the most beautiful ladies in love with him? Alex was surprised, but not really shocked. He had always been special indeed. The wonder was he had ever looked at her at all, with such sophisticated ladies just waiting for him out in the world.

Afraid she might start to cry, Alex carefully folded the paper and set it aside. She had never told even Emily and Diana about Malcolm. He was her own little secret, to be taken out and looked at like a precious jewel when everything got too overwhelming. And now he was the Malcolm Gordston, further away from her than ever. Maybe one day she would talk about him, but not soon. She didn’t even have the words.

Alex lay back on their picnic blanket and listened to her friends’ laughter, their chatter about new French fashions and the relative merits of different chocolates. There, with the night gathered close beyond the curtains and silence in the schools’ halls, they were tucked away in their own warm, safe little world. How she loved it here at Miss Grantley’s, where she was only another young lady among her friends, only Alex! If only they could stay right there. If only she could be just Alex for ever. Alex who remembered her very own Malcolm.

‘I wish this would never end,’ she said. ‘That we could go on this way always.’

Emily and Diana lay down beside her. ‘We can’t stay at Miss Grantley’s for ever,’ Em said, touching her hand. ‘But we will always, always be friends.’

‘Are you sure?’ Alex whispered, all too aware of how fast things changed in the world beyond the school gates.

‘Oh, yes,’ Diana declared. ‘No matter where we go, or what happens to us, we will always have each other.’

Chapter Two

London—spring 1889

Alex glanced over her shoulder as she tiptoed down the stairs of Waverton House. She held her hat and gloves, hoping she could stuff them behind a potted palm or one of the statues glaring down from their niches, if someone should see her. The enormous house was quiet—for the moment.

Her mother, the Duchess, was napping, her father was locked with his business managers in the library and her brother, Charles, was who knew where. He always left right after breakfast and returned in the dead of night, the lucky boy. Even the maids were quiet, their morning duties in the drawing room and music room finished and their evening tasks not yet begun.

Charlie could escape, but Alex was always there, practising at the piano, waiting for callers, having fittings, listening to her mother list eligible suitors. None of them was department-store owners, no matter how rich, of course. She was being slowly smothered by it all, by the velvet curtains puddling on the Aubusson rugs, the silk walls, the portraits of all the Wavertons alive and dead staring down at her.

Having a Season was even more exhausting than she had feared—and more lonely. She was surrounded by people almost all the time, but she hardly ever saw her old friends from Miss Grantley’s. That was why she was creeping down the stairs now.

Luckily, just as she was sure she would start screaming with it all, Emily’s note had arrived, asking her to meet them for a Blues and Royals concert in Hyde Park. She hadn’t seen Diana and Em except for balls and dinners, where they could only snatch a few whispers, in weeks. Surely a day with them, laughing in the fresh air, with no one around who knew or cared she was the Duke of Waverton’s daughter, was just the respite she needed.

Unfortunately, just as she was almost to the bottom of the stairs and nearly free, the library door opened and her father and his business managers emerged. It was far too late to flee back up the stairs. She followed her original plan of shoving her hat behind a vase of ivy and ostrich feathers and tried to look casual.

She peeked down over the carved and gilded balustrade at her father. The Duke was as tall and grandly moustachioed as always, a formidable presence she had always been frightened of, especially after Scotland. But in that moment, when he thought himself alone, he seemed rather grey-faced and distracted. As the businessmen shuffled out, a blur of black suits, silvery pomaded hair and leather valises, the Duke glanced up and saw Alex there. He smiled wearily, no curiosity or scolding glint in his eyes, and she was glad it was him and not Mama who had seen her. He wouldn’t notice she was wearing her new blue walking suit for a supposed afternoon at home.

‘Hullo, my Flower,’ he said. He used her old nickname, one he hadn’t said much since she came back from school, but still he looked tired. Distant. ‘What are you up to today?’

Alex thought fast. ‘Just fetching my workbox from the morning room.’ She paused, studying her father’s strained expression. Had he heard she had sent money to her charities again and was unhappy about it? Her parents approved of benevolence on the part of a lady, but only to a point. A point not nearly far enough for her. Or maybe it really was business. Charlie had mentioned their father was thinking of selling his Scottish shooting box. ‘Is everything quite all right?’

‘Oh, yes, yes, just talking to my silly estate managers, nothing for you to think about.’ He stepped closer to the staircase, reaching up to pat her hand where it rested on the balustrade. ‘Tell me, Flower, how would you like to visit Paris?’

Alex felt a small leap of excitement in her stomach and smiled. ‘For the Exhibition? Oh, I should love it! Everyone has been talking about nothing else lately. All that beautiful art…’

‘Perhaps there will be a bit of art, of course, but mostly it would be an official visit. We have been asked by the Prince of Wales himself to be part of his visit to the city. And to loan the Eastern Star for an exhibition in the Indian Pavilion.’

Alex glanced at her mother’s portrait at the head of the stairs, the Duchess in her blue-and-white satin Worth gown, the Eastern Star sapphire in her upswept hair. It was her mother’s favourite jewel, a famous piece the Duke’s father had brought back from India, bought from a maharajah under mysterious circumstances. ‘Have you talked to Mama about that?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘Not yet. It was just presented to me as an idea. And I think it is quite a fine one, as I’m sure will your mother.’ He patted her hand again, staring up at her intently. ‘There are so many people flocking to Paris right now. It could be a marvellous opportunity for you, Flower.’

Alex felt suddenly cold and wanted to snatch back her hand. ‘Opportunity?’

‘Yes. So many royal personages are there right now. You are so pretty, Alexandra, you would grace any royal court in the world. It would be a good connection for our family, could see you secure for your life.’

‘I—I’m not sure I want to leave England, Papa.’

‘And I would miss you! But with so many railroads these days, a visit to any corner of Europe would take no time at all.’ His hand tightened on hers. ‘We are Wavertons, you know, my dear. Our first duty is always what is best for the family.’

Alex knew that. She had always known that, ever since she was in leading strings. It had been hammered into her when she’d been separated from Malcolm. The Mannerlys had been in England since the eleven hundreds, had been dukes for centuries. Every generation had to make the family name stronger, bring it glory. It was their purpose. ‘Of course.’

‘You are a good daughter, Alexandra. We only want the best, the very best, for you. Royal connections…’

‘Do we not have royal connections? The Princess…’

‘Your godmother has always been kind and her help will be invaluable to obtain the right introductions in Paris. I only want to ask you to make the very most of them. Seeing you well settled, and soon, would be the greatest comfort to your mother and me.’

Something in his voice, some edge of sharp desperation she had never heard there before, alarmed her. ‘Papa, is something amiss?’

His smile widened, but it did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Certainly not! I just wanted to tell you about Paris, Flower. It will be a splendid time.’ He patted her hand once more and retreated back into his library, closing the door behind him.

Alex grabbed her hat and dashed down the stairs, unsettled by what had just happened, though she couldn’t say why she would feel that way. It had been just a quick conversation with her father, him telling her what she had always known—she had to make a fine marriage. But it didn’t feel like that was all it was.

She paused for just an instant in front of a silver-framed mirror to pin on her hat. She made a face at herself in the glass. Surely if she was not a duke’s daughter, there would be no hope of her landing a prince and she wouldn’t have to worry! She was small, too slender to look quite right in fashionable gowns, and pale, with large eyes in a pointed face and blonde curls that wouldn’t stay in their pins. Not like Emily with her thick chestnut hair to her waist, or Diana and her auburn waves. With a sigh, she stabbed in her hat pins, drew the small net veil over her forehead and spun away from the glass.

Before anyone could stop her, she ran out to the lane just beyond the park and hailed a hansom cab. Maybe it was finally having the chance to see her friends again, but she felt a bit of a rebellious streak coming on, a restlessness. She dared not take a deep breath until the carriage door shut behind her and they rolled into traffic, leaving Waverton House behind.

She laughed, feeling free, though she knew she had to make the very most of it. If her parents had their way, she would be packed off to some German duchy forthwith.

Alex shuddered at the thought. She stared out the grimy window at the streets flashing past, the crowds, the carriages, the bright gleam of shop windows. It wasn’t that she would mind seeing the world beyond London; in fact, it would be fascinating. She was excited to be going to Paris, whatever the reason. In between official engagements, there would surely be time to see some museums, shops, the wonders of the Exhibition, like the Eiffel Tower and Mr Edison’s electric lights. Maybe even the Wild West Show!

Yet she had met princes and duchesses from Germany and Austria. If she felt smothered by life as the daughter of an English duke, that was ten times worse. The etiquette that ruled every movement in a German court, oversaw every moment, would never go away. How would it feel to be trapped in such a world for the rest of her life?

Neither, though, could she bear to think about letting her family down. Since the nursery, she had been taught that the good of the family was paramount. They had been dukes since the time of Queen Anne, devoted to royal service and rewarded for that devotion in turn. The Wavertons had one of the most respected titles in the kingdom.

But also ever since the nursery she had been plagued with a shyness, an overpowering desire to disappear into the background, that made that duty a blasted hard one! She had always known she would have to marry one day, but why did it have to be to some German prince?

‘Ugh!’ she groaned aloud. The very thought made her want to run away immediately to live alone in a hut on some snowy mountainside, if such a place could be found.

But she had no more time to think about her limited options as the hansom stopped at the gates of the park and she glimpsed her friends waiting. Diana had her sketchbook out, no doubt studying the ladies’ hats, and Emily and Christopher Blakely, Alex’s cousin and their not-very-strict-at-all chaperon, were arguing about something, as they usually did when they met. Chris was Alex’s favourite relative, always so light-hearted, so quick with a laugh, so handsome with his blond hair so like her own, but somehow much smoother and lovelier. She couldn’t understand why he and Em always seemed to be at odds.

‘Alexandra, there you are!’ Emily called as Alex stepped down from the carriage. ‘We’d almost given up on you.’

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Alex said. ‘I’m afraid my father caught me as I was trying to sneak out and insisted on talking to me.’

‘I am sorry, old bean,’ Chris said as he kissed her cheek. ‘A ducal lecture must be tiresome indeed. My own fa’s are bad enough.’

‘It wasn’t a lecture, exactly,’ Alex said. She considered sharing her concerns, but then decided not to. She didn’t want to spoil the sunny afternoon. ‘In fact, it was rather nice—we’re going to Paris, it seems.’

‘Oh, Paris!’ Diana sighed as she tucked away her sketchbook. ‘How heavenly. You are so lucky, Alex.’

‘Maybe I’ll see you there,’ Emily said. ‘Father wants to expand the business to Paris and I’ve been trying to persuade him to let me go there. We have to compete with Gordston’s!’

Chris offered Alex his arm and they followed Diana and Emily as they joined the flow of people headed towards the bandstand. It was indeed a glorious spring day, the trees bursting into pale green, the flowerbeds bright with yellow-and-red blossoms, the crowds in their finest as they flocked to listen to the merry band music. How different it was from the people she saw at the round of parties and in her parents’ drawing room! It was all so fascinating, so full of wonderful, vivid life.

‘How is William?’ she asked Chris. His brother, William—now Sir William—Blakely, had been working with the Foreign Office in India and was due home any day. Will, unlike Chris, had always frightened her just a bit. He was always kind to her, but so very darkly handsome, so solemn and businesslike and strong, he intimidated her.

‘He’s home now and promised to be at your grand ball next week,’ Chris said. ‘But they already have him working all hours and, really, who can blame him for wanting to escape our parents as much as possible.’