Compromising Miss Milton

She could not afford to be without a reference. Not with a score of other women vying for each place. She had worked hard to achieve her success and the salary it commanded. She might not earn the same as a top-drawer finishing governess, but she did well enough to allow Felicity and Kammie some small measure of freedom. And after her stint with the Blandishes was complete, finally she would perhaps have enough in savings to open a proper school in the little village of Hinckley, one which could take a charity pupil or two. Felicity knew of a house that they could rent.

Silently, Daisy counted up her current savings. Meagre, although it should see her through until she could secure another position, but the dream of being with Felicity and Kammie would have to be postponed yet again. Panicking never solved anything and there was a slim chance that Nella was wrong. Her cases had not greeted her at the door as Louisa Sibson’s had when her affair with Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe had been discovered. She might yet keep the job.

Yes. Nella was up to her attention-seeking tricks. The tension eased out of Daisy’s neck and shoulders. She would be the mistress of the situation. Mrs Blandish would have to take action about Nella.

Daisy grabbed a cloth, went over to the basin and wet it. ‘Scrub your face and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Nella. You were the one who was caught out.’

‘But…’

‘Prunella Blandish, telling tales can get you in trouble. I trust you will remember this lesson and there will be no need to repeat it.’ Daisy shook out the folds of her gown. The mud splatters and rents made it impossible for her to wear the gown in public. She would have to take the time to change. And she would wear her grey gown and her Indian brooch, the one her brother had sent her just before he had died. It would set the right tone for a sober and responsible governess, one who could not possibly have shared a kiss with a rake of the first order.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see your mother and inform her of the truth. You will have to write out a hundred lines for me.’

Nella screwed up her nose and made a gagging sound.

‘In your best handwriting, Nella.’

‘And what do I have to write?’ Nella gave a winning smile. ‘How much I love my governess?’

‘Telling tales leads to mischief. It will give you something to do rather than sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself. Remember I am still your governess.’

Nella’s lips curved upwards. ‘I will do that.’

Daisy resisted the urge to smile back or show any sign of softening. Without discipline, Nella would not learn. And that was what she was here for—to be a governess and not to be anything else at all.

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