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Once upon a time...
Joanna Radcliff has always dreamed of the day when she’d become a governess and finally be part of a proper family. Except, instead of a warm welcome, she’s given a frosty reception by her employers—and her charges! The only person who pays her any attention is the dashing Major Preston...
Despite their stolen conversations and tantalizing glances in the ballroom, Luke and Joanna know that their stations in life are just too different. But when this Cinderella governess’s life is transformed and their roles are reversed, will they risk everything to be together?
The Governess Tales
Sweeping romances with fairy-tale endings!
Meet Joanna Radcliff, Rachel Talbot, Isabel Morton and Grace Bertram.
These four friends grew up together in Madame Dubois’s school for young ladies, where
they indulged in midnight feasts, broke the rules and shared their innermost secrets!
But now they are thrust into the real world, and each must adapt to her new life as a governess.
One will rise, one will travel, one will run and one will find her real home...
And each will meet her soulmate, who’ll give her the happy-ever-after she’s always dreamed of!
Read Joanna’s story in The Cinderella Governess
Available now
And look for:
Rachel’s story in Governess to the Sheikh
Isabel’s story in The Runaway Governess
And Grace’s story in The Governess’s Secret Baby
Coming soon!
Author Note
The Cinderella Governess was a treat for me to write and a unique experience. It was the first time I’d worked with so many talented people to craft a story and characters. It was a pleasure and an honour to collaborate with the other authors, to learn from them and to exchange ideas on character traits, locations and history. Together we developed the physical world of Madame Dubois’s school, deciding where it would be located and what it would look like. In the end we based it on the Mompesson House in Salisbury. Co-ordinating other locations throughout England between the four stories was also fun, and a good reason to do some interesting research—especially on the little-known beach resort of Sandhills.
In regards to the characters, the creation of Madame Dubois’s backstory was the most surprising part of the process for me. Her story was inspired by a line in the prologue that I’d added for a touch of humour. It caught people’s interest and was developed by the authors into a subplot which weaves its way throughout the four novels. This type of discovery arises from working with such creative authors and editors, and it’s what made writing The Cinderella Governess an exciting process that I will never forget.
The Cinderella Governess
Georgie Lee
A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then she fulfils her dreams of lords, ladies and a Season in London through her stories. When not writing, she can be found reading non-fiction history or watching any film with a costume and an accent. Please visit georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.
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To the authors of The Governess Tales for all your creativity, collaboration and hard work.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Author Note
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Extract
Copyright
Prologue
August 1811
‘Joanna, what are you doing in the library?’ Rachel gasped from the doorway.
‘I’m wondering if Madame Dubois would notice if I took this book with me.’ Joanna Radcliff clutched the thin volume of fairy tales between her hands and threw her friend a mischievous smile. ‘In case I have to thump the son of my soon-to-be employer should he make any untoward advances at me.’
Rachel rolled her brown eyes. ‘Sir Rodger’s sons are still boys and away at school. You won’t even be teaching them.’
‘Then I’ll use it to make his daughters behave.’ She laughed and Rachel joined in.
Joanna’s cheer faded as she slid the book in the gap on the shelf. This had been her favourite one as a child. It was as difficult to leave behind as her friends, but she couldn’t steal it. It would be a poor way to thank Madame Dubois for all her years of kindness.
‘Come on, the carriage will be here soon.’ Rachel took her by the hand and pulled her to the door. ‘We don’t have much time.’
They hurried out of the dark library and into the brightly lit entrance hall. Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies was a stately house on Cathedral Close facing Salisbury Cathedral. At one time it had been the home of a squire. Echoes of its history remained in the classical cornices above the doorways and the endless lengths of chair rails. The furnishings were less regal, but sturdy to accommodate the many young ladies who’d passed through its rooms over the years. The old rumour whispered to the new students stated it was one of Madame Dubois’s lovers who’d deeded her the house. To see the woman in her stern black, her dark hair shot with silver and pulled into a bun as severe as her stance, no one could believe she’d ever been swept away by a passion worthy of property.
At the far end of the entrance hall stood a wide staircase. Rachel pulled Joanna towards it and past a sitting room filled with little girls sitting on benches.
‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ Madame La Roche said, pacing in front of her pupils.
‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ the girls repeated in high voices.
It wasn’t so very long ago when Joanna, Rachel, Isabel and Grace had sat in the same room repeating those phrases. Their time as students was over. They were at last taking up positions as governesses. Today, Joanna would be the first to leave.
‘Hurry.’ Rachel rushed up the stairs.
‘Any faster and I’ll fly.’ It wasn’t possible, not with the many memories weighing Joanna down. Madame Dubois’s school was the only home she’d ever known. She wasn’t ready to leave it, but she must. This was what she’d been trained for by Madame Dubois and the other teachers who’d raised her. It was a parting, but also an opportunity. Perhaps as the governess to the Huntfords, she might finally experience what it was like to be part of a real family.
At the top, Isabel came around the corner, stopping so fast the hem of her skirt fluttered out before falling back over her ankles.
‘What’s taking so long? I’ll die if we can’t give Joanna a proper farewell before we’re all sent into exile.’ Isabel pressed the back of her hand to her head with all the flair of the actress they’d seen performing in the seaside resort of Sandhills last year.
Rachel crossed her arms, not amused. ‘It isn’t so bad.’
‘Says the lady going to the country of Huria and not Hertfordshire.’ She waved one hand at Joanna, then pointed at herself. ‘Or Sussex. Although I don’t intend to stay there for long.’
‘What are you plotting, Isabel?’ Joanna focused suspicious eyes on her friend.
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Come along, Grace is waiting.’ Isabel tugged Joanna down the hall and Rachel followed.
‘You’ll be sure to write me when your nothing turns into something,’ Joanna insisted, knowing her friend too well to be put off so fast. ‘I’d hate to find out about it in the papers.’
‘I told you, there’s nothing,’ Isabel insisted, adjusting a pin in her copper-coloured hair.
‘Too bad, I might need some savoury story to enliven my days in the country.’
‘Me, too.’ Isabel nudged Joanna in the ribs and they laughed together before Rachel placed her hands on their shoulders and pushed them forward.
‘Keep going, before we run out of time.’
They hurried to the last room at the end of the hall and stopped at the door to the bedroom they’d shared since they were all nine years old.
‘Close your eyes,’ Rachel insisted.
‘Why?’ Joanna didn’t like surprises.
‘You’ll see. Now do it.’ Isabel raised Joanna’s hands to her eyes.
The two girls giggled as they led Joanna inside. The faint dank of the chilly room warmed by the morning sun combined with the lavender used to freshen the sheets, the sweet smell of Rachel’s favourite biscuits, and Grace’s Lily of the Valley perfume to surround Joanna. It reminded her of the coming winter, their Christmas together last year and how far away from one another they’d be this December. Sadness dulled the thrill of the surprise.
‘All right, open your eyes,’ Isabel instructed.
Joanna lowered her hands. Isabel, Rachel and Grace stood around a little table draped with linen. Rachel had baked Joanna’s favourite lemon cake and it sat on a small stand surrounded by three wrapped presents.
‘Congratulations!’ the girls chorused.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Joanna exclaimed, amazed at what they’d done and their having kept it a secret. There wasn’t much they’d been able to keep from each other over the last nine years.
‘Since you’re the first to take up your new post, we couldn’t let you go with only a goodbye,’ Grace insisted with the seriousness which still haunted her after her unfortunate incident. ‘We don’t know when we’ll see each other again.’
Joanna threw her arms around Grace. ‘Stop, or you’ll make me cry.’
‘Don’t be silly, you never cry.’ Grace hugged her tightly, then released her. ‘Let’s have our cake.’
They ate their treat while Joanna unwrapped the pen from Rachel, the stationery from Isabel and the ink from Grace.
‘It’s so you can write to us,’ Rachel explained through a mouthful of cake.
‘Thank you all, so much.’ She clutched the items to her chest, deeply grateful. These three women had been the closest she’d ever had to sisters. She didn’t want to lose touch with them, or the deep bonds they’d forged.
Their happy celebration was interrupted by a knock.
Everyone froze as Miss Fanworth stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The short, brown-haired teacher with the soft plumpness of a mother hen tapped her foot in admonition. ‘What’s this? Food in your bedroom. Madame will have a fit if she finds out.’
‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Isabel pleaded with more drama than earnestness.
A smile spread across Miss Fanworth’s full lips. ‘Of course not. Now cut me a slice.’
This wasn’t the only secret their favourite teacher had kept for the girls. The other would see Grace ruined and all Madame Dubois’s faith in her best teacher and her favourite pupils destroyed.
‘I have a present for you, too.’ Miss Fanworth exchanged her gift for the slice of cake Joanna held out to her.
Joanna unwrapped it to reveal a small leather pouch half-full of coins.
‘It’s for the postage, so you can pay for the letters we send you,’ Miss Fanworth explained as she tasted her cake. ‘I expect to receive a few in return.’
‘Of course, how could I not write to everyone?’
Miss Fanworth set aside her plate, then rose. She laid her hands on Joanna’s shoulders. Tears made her round eyes glisten. ‘You were just a little babe when we first found you on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a torn slip of paper with your name on it. Now look at you, all grown up and ready to leave us.’
‘I hope I can do you, Madame Dubois and the school proud.’
‘As long as you remember everything we’ve taught you, you will.’ She laid one full arm across Joanna’s shoulders and turned them both to face the others. ‘In fact, you must all remember your lessons, especially those I told you of the gentlemen you might meet. Don’t be taken in by their kind words, it never ends well—why, look at poor Madame.’
She tutted in sympathy as she shook her head, making her brown curls dance at the sides of her face.
‘What do you mean?’ Isabel asked. All of them leaned in, eager for more. This wasn’t the first time Joanna or the other girls had heard Miss Fanworth allude to something in Madame’s past. Perhaps, with them leaving, Miss Fanworth would at last reveal the headmistress’s secret which had teased them since their first day at the school.
Miss Fanworth’s full cheeks turned a strange shade of red. She was as horrified by her slip as their interest. Then the clop of horses and the call of the coachman drifted up to them from the street below. Miss Fanworth blew out a long breath, as relieved by the distraction as she was saddened by what it meant. ‘Joanna, it’s time for you to go. Are you ready?’
No. Joanna laced her hands in front of her, determined to be brave. She’d stay here as a teacher if they’d let her, but Madame Dubois had insisted she seek a position. She hadn’t argued. She never did, but always went along, no matter what she wanted. ‘I am.’
‘I wish I was going with you.’ Rachel huffed as she took Joanna’s one arm.
Isabel took the other. ‘Me, too.’
‘I wish we could all go together,’ Grace echoed from behind them, at Miss Fanworth’s side as they left the room.
‘We wouldn’t get a stroke of work done if we were in the same house together.’ Joanna laughed through the tightness in her throat.
They walked much slower down the stairs than when they’d ascended, all but Joanna sniffling back tears between jokes and shared memories.
Madame Dubois waited beside the front door, watching the girls reach the bottom. Her black bombazine dress without one wrinkle fell regally from her shoulders. The woman was formidable and more than one small girl had burst into tears at the first sight of her, but they soon learned how deeply she regarded each of her charges. She wouldn’t hug or cry over them like Miss Fanworth, but it didn’t mean she didn’t care.
Though she didn’t care enough to keep me here. Joanna banished the thought as soon as it reared its head. The school was full of little girls who’d been sent away by their families. She shouldn’t expect to be treated any differently by Madame Dubois just because Madame Dubois had helped raise her.
In a flurry of hugs and promises to write, the girls said their goodbyes.
Reluctantly, Joanna left them to approach the headmistress while the others remained with Miss Fanworth. She stood straight and erect before the Frenchwoman. Outside, the coach driver tossed her small trunk containing all she owned up on to the top of the vehicle.
‘This is a proud and exciting day for you, Miss Radcliff. You’re leaving us at last to become a governess.’ Madame Dubois held her arms at angles in front of her, hands crossed, but the softness in her voice and the slight sparkle of moisture at the corners of her grey eyes betrayed her.
She doesn’t want to let me go. Joanna swallowed hard, the request to stay sitting like a marble in her throat. She swallowed it down. There was no point asking for something she wouldn’t receive. Madame wouldn’t give in to her wants any more than she would allow Joanna to give in to hers.
‘Yes, Madame.’ Joanna wished she could wrap her arms around Madame and hug her like the other girls did their mothers when they bid them goodbye on their first day, but she couldn’t. Madame might be as saddened by the parting as Joanna, but there would be no hugging or tears. It wasn’t her way.
‘You’re a bright, intelligent, accomplished young lady who’ll aptly represent the quality of pupils at our school in your first position.’
‘I will, Madame. You’ve prepared me well.’
Chapter One
One month later
Madame Dubois didn’t prepare me for this!
Joanna clutched the book to her chest as she stood in the dark corner of the Huntford Place library. Frances, the eldest Huntford daughter, and Lieutenant Foreman had burst into the room aware of nothing but each other. Lieutenant Foreman pressed Frances up against the wall and pawed at her breasts and hips through her dress. Instead of fighting off his advances, Frances embraced the lanky Lieutenant, raising one slender and stocking-clad leg to rest against his hip.
Joanna glanced at the door. The sighs and moans of the couple filled the room as she debated how best to slip away without being noticed.
No, I can’t. I’m the governess. She couldn’t allow Frances to ruin herself, but she didn’t have the faintest idea how to separate them. Beyond what Grace had told her, lovemaking was outside her range of experience. Despite understanding the more technical aspects of the act, it was the desire part she failed to grasp, the one which had led to Grace’s predicament and was about to ruin Frances, too.
She’d learn more about the physical particulars if she didn’t stop this. Lieutenant Foreman’s hand was already beneath Frances’s dress.
‘Ahem...’ Joanna cleared her throat, her urgency increasing with their passion when it failed to interrupt the amorous pair. ‘Ahem!’
Lieutenant Foreman whirled around to face Joanna while Frances straightened the bodice of her expensive yellow-silk dress behind him. He adjusted his red coat, his sword not the only prominent weapon near his belt. Joanna tried not to notice, but it was difficult for his white breeches obscured very little.
‘Excuse me, Miss Radcliff.’ He bowed to Joanna, then bolted out of the room, leaving Frances to face her fate alone.
Joanna opened and closed her sweaty fingers over the cover of the book. She hoped this taught Frances something about the man and made her realise her mistake. She was about to say so when Frances, cheeks red with anger instead of shame, fixed on Joanna.
‘How dare you barge in on me?’
‘I didn’t barge, I was already in the room when you and Lieutenant Foreman—’
‘Don’t you dare speak of it, not to me or anyone, do you understand?’ She flew upon Joanna and slapped the book out of her hands. It landed with a thud on the floor between them.
‘No, of course not,’ Joanna stammered, startled by the command. She was supposed to be the one in charge. She remained silent, afraid to point out this fact and make things worse.
‘Good, because if you do, I’ll see to it you’re dismissed without a reference.’ Frances threw back her head of light blonde curls and strode from the room as if it was she and not her father, Sir Rodger, who owned the house. Like all four Huntford girls, Frances was spoiled by her parents. All of them had treated Joanna with nothing but contempt since her arrival.
Joanna found the arm of the chair behind her and gripped it tightly as she sank into the dusty cushions. This wasn’t how being a governess was supposed to be. The girls were supposed to look to her for education and guidance, and keeping Frances’s secret should’ve brought her and Frances closer, like it had with her, Rachel, Isabel and Grace. It shouldn’t have garnered spite from a young lady clearly in the wrong. She should tell Sir Rodger and Lady Huntford about their daughter’s compromising behaviour, but if she did, they might blame her.
I wish Rachel were here. She had a gift for dealing with the young children and even some of the older girls at the school. She’d know what to do, but she wasn’t here, none of her friends or Madame Dubois or Miss Fanworth could help her. She was on her own, just as she’d been until she was nine and Grace, Rachel and Isabel had first arrived at the school. She wished she had a copy of the drawing of the four of them Grace had done last Christmas. It would lessen her loneliness to remember how happy they’d been together and make them seem closer instead of hundreds of miles away.
She stood and plucked the book from the floor, refusing to wallow in self-pity. Her friends weren’t here and, despite Frances’s threats, it was Joanna’s duty to guide and chaperon the young lady. She’d have to find a more subtle way to go about it. There was little else she could do.
* * *
Luke strode up the steps of the Mayfair town house. The must and damp of the ship which had brought him back from France permeated the wool of his red coat. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. He should have stopped at the Army Service Club to bathe and shave, but the moment he’d landed in Greenwich, all he’d wanted to do was see Diana Tomalin, his fiancée.
He’d been brought home with instructions to marry and produce an heir for the family. The faster he made things final with Diana, the sooner he might achieve this goal and return to his regiment in Spain. It had hurt like hell to sell his commission four months after he’d risked his life to earn it and he’d be damned if he let it go for good.
Collins, the Tomalin family’s butler, pulled open the front door. His small eyes in his soft face widened at the sight of Luke. ‘Major Preston.’
‘Morning, Collins. Is Miss Tomalin here?’ Luke removed his shako and handed it to the man as he strode into the Tomalin family entrance hall.
‘She is, sir, but—’ He fumbled the army headdress, making the feather in the front waver like his voice.
‘Collins, who is it?’ Diana called from the sitting room.
‘It’s me.’ Luke strode into the sunlit room and jerked to a halt. His excitement drifted out of him like smoke out of a cannon.
Diana stood in the middle of the rug, her eyes not meeting his as she ran her hand over her round belly. The gold band on her ring finger clicked over the small buttons along the front of her voluminous morning dress. ‘Welcome home, Major Preston.’
The pendulum on the clock beside him swung back and forth with an irritatingly precise click.
‘When did you intend to tell me we were no longer engaged?’ Luke demanded. ‘Or were you hoping Napoleon would solve the matter for you?’
She twisted the wedding band, the large stone set in the gold too big for her delicate fingers. ‘Mother said I shouldn’t trouble you, not when you had so many other things to worry about. She also said I shouldn’t wait any longer for you, that five years was enough, and you might die in battle and then my youth and all my chances to marry would be lost.’
‘Yes, your mother was always very practical in the matter of our betrothal.’ It’s why he’d agreed to keep their engagement a secret until he could return from Spain with a fuller purse and a higher rank. Heaven forbid Mrs Tomalin endure the horror of a lowly lieutenant, an earl’s mere second son, for a son-in-law. ‘Who’s the lucky gentleman?’
‘Lord Follett,’ she whispered, more ashamed than enamoured by her choice of mate.
‘I see.’ Like nearly all the women he’d encountered before he’d enlisted, and whenever he’d come home on leave, she’d run after a man with more title and land than him. He watched the pendulum swing back and forth in the clock case, wanting to knock the grand thing over and silence it. ‘So it’s Lady Follett now. Where is your distinguished husband? In Bath, taking the waters for his rheumatism?’
‘With Father’s mounting bills and you possibly never coming back, I didn’t have a choice but to accept him,’ she cried out against his sarcasm. ‘So much has changed in England since you’ve been gone. The cold winters have taken their toll and, with crops failing year after year, Father began to fall into debt like so many others.’
No doubt his gambling habit helped increase it, Luke bit back, holding more sympathy for her than he should have. Her family wasn’t the only one facing ruin and struggling to hide it. His father and grandfather had spent years rebuilding Pensum Manor after his feckless great-grandfather had nearly gambled it away. The continued crop failures were threatening to send it spiralling back into insolvency. Like Diana, Luke needed to marry and well. He hated to be so mercenary in his choice of bride, but it was a reality he couldn’t ignore. However, it didn’t mean he had to wed the first merchant’s daughter with five thousand a year who threw herself at him in an effort to be the mother of the next Earl of Ingham. ‘Surely you could’ve chosen someone better suited to you than that old man.’
‘My first duty is to my father and my family, not to you, not to even myself.’ She settled back into her chair, her brown eyes at last meeting his and filled with a silent plea for understanding. He couldn’t withhold it. He’d abandoned his men and his military career to come home and do his duty for his family. He couldn’t blame her for doing the same.
‘It seems we’re both obliged to make sacrifices. You with Lord Follett, me as the heir.’
‘But your brother and his wife?’
‘After ten years, there’s been no child. If things stay as they are—’
‘You’ll inherit.’ She pressed her palm to her forehead, realising what she’d given up by following her parents’ demands. However, Luke knew the way of the world. A possible title at some future date was not the same as an old, wealthy baron on a woman’s doorstep with a special licence.
Not wanting to torture her further with his presence or his ire, he took the shako from Collins and tucked it under his arm. ‘I wish you all the best and future happiness. Good day.’
He left the house and climbed into the hack waiting at the kerb. He knocked Captain Reginald Crowther’s feet off the seat where he’d rested them to nap.
His friend jerked upright and tilted his shako off his eyes. He was about to crack a joke when a warning glare from Luke turned him slightly more serious. ‘I take it all didn’t go well with your fair damsel?’
Luke rapped on the roof to set the vehicle in motion. As it lumbered out of Mayfair towards the Bull in Bishops Street, he told him what had happened inside the Tomalins’. ‘This isn’t how I imaged this would go.’
‘And I can see you’re utterly heartbroken over losing her. More like inconvenienced.’ Captain Crowther threw his arms up over the back of the squabs. ‘You thought you’d marry a tidy little sum, produce an heir with the least amount of bother and be back in Spain with the regiment inside of two years.’
Luke fingered the regimental badge of a curved bugle horn hung from a ribbon affixed to the front of his shako, unsettled by Captain Crowther’s frank assessment of his plans and secretly relieved. If he and Diana had entered into marriage negotiations, the Inghams’ debts would have been revealed. Diana’s family would probably have made her cry off and all England might have learned of his family’s financial straits. His rapture for her had faded too much during their time apart for him to go through so much on her behalf. ‘Her refusing to marry me before I left and insisting we keep the engagement a secret always did rankle.’
‘Now you must give up the hell of battle for the hell of the marriage mart.’ His friend chuckled. ‘Wish I could be here to see you dancing like some London dandy.’
‘When I agreed to come home, I didn’t think I’d have to face it.’ Or the ugliness he’d glimpsed in Diana’s situation. He set the shako on the seat beside him. Worse waited for him in the country. With the future of the earldom hovering over him, all the tittering darlings and their mamas who’d ignored him as a youth because he wouldn’t inherit would rush Pensum Manor faster than Napoleon’s troops did a battlefield.
‘You don’t have to do this. Write and tell your brother to pay more attention to his wife and come back to Spain,’ Captain Crowther urged.
‘I’m sure their lack of a child isn’t from a lack of trying and it isn’t only an heir they need, but money.’ Luke stared out the hackney window at the crowd crossing London Bridge in the distance. He couldn’t have refused the request to come home even if he’d wanted to. His father had called on his old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Lord Henry Beckwith, using the connection he’d employed to begin Luke’s Army career to end it. Luke might have ignored one or two orders in battle, achieving both victory and forgiveness for his transgressions, but he couldn’t dismiss a direct command from Lord Beckwith to return home.
The carriage lumbered to a stop in front of the arch of the bustling Bull Inn. Luke tucked the shako under his arm and stepped out, as did his friend. Behind them the driver unloaded Luke’s things while Captain Crowther’s stayed fixed on top. After he visited his sister, Reginald was going back to Spain, his mission of delivering dispatches complete.
Luke flicked the dull edge of the bugle-horn badge with his fingernail. He would catch a coach to Pensum Manor, his family’s estate in Hertfordshire and take up the position of second in line to the earldom and groom-to-be to some willing, and as of yet unnamed, wife. ‘I wish you’d accepted my offer to buy my commission.’
‘You know I don’t want it, or the debt to secure it. Don’t look so glum.’ Reginald cuffed Luke on the arm. ‘We aren’t all meant to be leaders like you. Your intelligence, wit and daring will be missed.’
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