The Master's New Governess Read online

  Her new position

  As mistress of Pendragon Hall?

  Unfairly dismissed from her previous position, her reputation ruined, governess Maud Wilmot is forced to take on a new identity. When she feels an ever-growing attraction to her new employer, Cornish railway entrepreneur Dominic Jago, Maud longs to reveal the truth. But doing so could end their fledgling romance before it’s truly begun...

  She pulled out the letter that she had tucked inside the book of fairy tales.

  The strange address was printed at the top: Pendragon Hall, Land’s End, Cornwall. A crest, a shield of three black crosses on gold and a band of black in an upward arrow, lay below.

  Dear Miss Wilmot,

  Your acceptance of the situation as governess has been received. Train tickets are enclosed. I will expect you at Pendragon Hall at your earliest convenience.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dominic Jago

  The handwriting was strong and large, the words in black ink across the paper, the message curt.

  Jago. It was an unusual name. She had never heard it before.

  All she had to hope now was that he had never heard her real name.

  Author Note

  Meet the new governess...

  The role of the governess was not always an easy one in Victorian England. Like Maud Wilmot, the heroine of this tale, many governesses existed “between stairs,” accepted neither by the servants nor by the family, and some were at the mercy of their more unscrupulous employers. Governesses were expected to provide both academic and moral education, and to be of high moral character themselves. Any slur on their character, whether true or not, could mean ruin.

  But during the nineteenth century, governesses began to stand up for their profession. Some were “bluestockings,” passionately committed to the education of women. Like Maud, many governesses used fables and fairy tales for the moral education of their young charges. Such stories were full of wonder, wisdom and, often, warning to women. A well-known governess, Madame Leprince de Beaumont, published educational guides for young ladies in the 1800s. Her Moral Tales became famous handbooks and included the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast.

  I hope you enjoy this romance of a storytelling governess who learns never to give up on a happy ending.

  ELIZA REDGOLD

  The Master’s New Governess

  Eliza Redgold is an author, academic and unashamed romantic. She was born in Scotland, is married to an Englishman and currently lives in Australia. She loves to share stories with readers! Get in touch with Eliza via Twitter, @elizaredgold; on Facebook, Facebook.com/elizaredgoldauthor; and Pinterest, Pinterest.com/elizaredgold. Or visit her at Goodreads.com and elizaredgold.com.

  Books by Eliza Redgold

  Harlequin Historical

  Enticing Benedict Cole

  Playing the Duke's Mistress

  The Scandalous Suffragette

  The Master's New Governess

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Maud’s World

  Saffron Revel Buns

  Acknowledgements

  Excerpt from His Runaway Lady by Joanna Johnson

  Chapter One

  ‘She is near, she is near;’

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  Cornwall, 1855—

  ‘Once upon a time...’

  The words blurred in front of Maud Wilmot’s eyes. Before she could stop it, a tear trembled at the edge of her lashes, but she blinked it away.

  With shaking fingers, she closed the book of fairy tales and laid the worn blue leather volume with its faded gilt lettering on her lap. She traced her gloved finger over the title: Fairy Tales for Children.

  Even the familiar stories couldn’t comfort her.

  Another tear splashed on to the blue leather.

  Leaning her bonnet against the back of the leather carriage seat, she pressed her eyes shut, her shaking fingers still clutched around the book.

  ‘This will never do,’ she told herself, in her firmest governess voice.

  One deep breath.

  Then another.

  She wouldn’t cry. She mustn’t. She hadn’t let herself so far, and if she started now, seated in the train carriage bearing her nearer and nearer an unknown situation—her last, desperate chance—she might never stop. She hauled a third breath from deep inside her corset as the tears threatened to overcome her.

  No matter how anxious she felt, she wouldn’t let it get the better of her.

  Another breath. She let the motion of the locomotive lull her. She’d always loved travelling by train, not that she did it often, but it didn’t ease her agitation. She hadn’t managed to sleep the night before, tossing and turning, worrying about what lay ahead.

  What else could she do? It went against every fibre of her being, but she had no choice.

  Lord Melville’s voice jeered inside her head.

  No one will believe your story.

  As the train rolled along the tracks, her thoughts went back to the last few dreadful weeks.

  ‘Oh, Maud.’ Her sister, Martha, had hugged her. ‘How is it possible you have been dismissed? You’re the best governess I know.’

  ‘Thank you, Martha,’ Maud choked out. ‘But I have been dismissed without pay and without references, too.’

  She had applied for funds from the Governesses’ Benevolent Institution and was in lodgings; but the money wouldn’t last long.

  Martha hugged her again. ‘Perhaps I can talk to Albert—you can come and live with us.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Maud had replied, even as her heart was sinking. She was running out of time. Soon she would be on the street. ‘You’re newlyweds, Martha. I have no intention of making myself a nuisance.’

  ‘You’d never be a nuisance,’ said Martha. ‘That’s why this is all so unfair!’

  ‘Unfair or not, I must find a way out of it.’ Maud knew she sounded braver than she felt, but she wasn’t going to burden Martha, not when her sister had just found happiness with Albert. And she hadn’t told Martha the full story.

  She could not.

  It was unspeakable.

  ‘What will you do now?’ Martha asked, her soft brown eyes wide and worried.

  Maud bit her lip. ‘I must find another position as a governess. It will be difficult, without references. Perhaps impossible. But I have no other means of supporting myself and I love teaching children. But after what happened—’ she clenched her hands ‘—no one will employ Miss Maud Wilmot.’

  It was then the idea had struck her. ‘Martha. Didn’t you tell me you had been offered a situation in Cornwall?’

  Martha nodded.
‘Yes, it was before Albert proposed. I applied and it took ever so long for them to get back to me. But then I got a letter, saying that they would be pleased to employ me at Pendragon Hall.’

  ‘Have you written back to them?’ Maud asked, hardly daring to voice the other question that came to mind. Of course, Martha would say no and that would be that. It was an absurd idea anyway.

  Martha shook the blonde ringlets on either side of her head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So they are still expecting a Miss Wilmot,’ Maud said slowly.

  She and Martha were around the same age, Martha two years older than Maud’s six and twenty. They had both spent quite a few years in service as governesses. They were both experienced.

  It could be done. It was foolhardy. Why, it was positively scandalous. But she had nothing left to lose. It must be done.

  ‘That’s right,’ Martha said, her eyes even wider. ‘Oh, Maud, you’ve got that look on your face, the one you get when you are telling a story...’

  * * *

  Maud opened her eyes. Now here she was, in Cornwall, the wheels of the train turning on the track beneath her.

  To lift her spirits, she forced herself to register the beauties passing by. From the moment she’d left London, there had been plenty to see.

  Setting forth on the journey had been an intense relief. As the train moved further west, she’d even begun to experience a sense of freedom. The train moved so much faster than a horse and carriage, it was almost dizzying. There was so much to see, the landscape becoming wilder, more foreign, the deeper they moved into Cornwall. They had left the outskirts of London and the view of the backs of the houses, with their gardens and washing lines, then into the countryside of rolling hills and green fields dotted with sheep and cows. They had made a stop overnight in Exeter, where she had stayed at an inn near the train station, in surprisingly comfortable accommodation provided by her new employer, before continuing further south-west, where the clusters of villages and isolated country houses became sparser as they moved towards the remote, rugged coast.

  A tiny thrill of excitement ran through her.

  She pulled out the letter that she had tucked inside the book of fairy tales.

  The strange address was printed at the top: Pendragon Hall, West Cornwall. A crest, a shield of three black crosses on gold and a band of black in an upward arrow lay below.

  Dear Miss Wilmot

  That was correct, at least.

  She laid the paper down momentarily in her lap. Her hands were trembling. At least it didn’t say Dear Miss Martha Wilmot. She could take some comfort in that. A Miss Wilmot they wanted, and a Miss Wilmot they would get.

  Swallowing hard, she read on.

  Your acceptance of the situation as the new governess has been received. Train tickets are enclosed.

  I will expect you at Pendragon Hall at your earliest convenience.

  Yours sincerely,

  Sir Dominic Jago

  She traced the name with her gloved finger. The handwriting was strong and large, the words in black ink across the paper. The message curt.

  Jago. It was an unusual name. She had never encountered it before.

  All she had to hope now was that he had never heard her real name.

  No one will believe your story.

  Her fingers were still shaking as she folded up the letter. From the other information that Martha had passed on to her, she knew that the terms for her new employment were handsome, much better than she had expected, especially for a post in the country. It was not uncommon for a governess to be offered a home and no salary at all, but the post at Pendragon Hall paid a good wage, enough for her to save a little. She’d never had that opportunity before. Her last post had left her with nothing.

  She would only be teaching one child: a girl, Rosabel, aged seven, who was recovering from illness. The application made no mention of any other children and, Martha had also informed her, Sir Dominic Jago was a widower.

  To her surprise, the letter from Sir Dominic had also been accompanied by a first-class ticket on the West Cornish Railway for the final leg of her journey. On the previous trains, for she had changed twice, she had travelled in a second-class carriage, as governesses, footmen, ladies’ maids and other servants usually did. First-class travel was for gentry, not governesses.

  She laid her head back against the leather seat. It was astonishing to be travelling first class. She must waste no more time on tears. The West Cornish Railway first-class carriage was so clean and new, she could smell the polish. The brass fittings and handles gleamed and a handsome brass lamp stayed lit so that she could read even as they went through woods and tunnels. There were three private compartments within the carriage, separated by a wooden screen, each with a pair of leather seats that faced each other.

  It was so roomy. She stretched out her legs beneath her petticoats, resisting the urge to kick at them a little. How constricting they were! She still wore layers of them, in cambric, flannel, wool and cotton, rather than the new hooped skirt.

  She stifled her sigh of yearning. Oh, how she longed for hoops. She could never afford to have her dresses made over in the new style. Hoops would probably be out of date before she could manage it.

  To lift her spirits, she forced her attention back to the view. She would not miss a moment of the journey pining for things that could not be. In the large carriage window she could see her reflection, ghostly against the scenery of hedgerows, meadows and cottages. Underneath her green eyes were dark shadows and lines around her mouth that hadn’t been there mere weeks before. Wisps of brown hair escaped from her dove-grey bonnet, resting on the white collar of her grey dress.

  Opposite her own reflection, Maud could see the only other occupant of the carriage, a sweet old lady, who had slept for most of the journey, Maud was pleased to note.

  Earlier, Maud had helped her to settle into the window seat and find her smelling salts.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ the lady had whispered. ‘How kind you are. I find travel by locomotive very trying. It makes me quite ill.’

  The train slowed and the whistle shrieked as they drew into a station.

  Now the old lady awoke with a start. ‘Have we arrived already?’

  ‘Not yet. We still have a way to go to Penponds Station,’ Maud reassured her with a smile. They had discovered they shared the same destination. ‘We’re just making a stop.’

  She peered through the glass.

  A puff of steam obscured the platform, then swirled away, to reveal a man staring straight at her.

  He was the kind of man it was impossible to miss. Tall, dark-haired, long-legged, he wore a long dark grey coat, with a scarlet cravat tied carelessly around his neck. His hands were gloveless and she saw the flash of a gold signet ring on his right hand. Yet it was the energy that emanated from him that she noticed most of all. Even standing still, he seemed to convey a restlessness, a sense of contained speed, as though, like the train in front of him, he wanted to move fast in a determined direction.

  His dark gaze was intent as he stared through the train window into her eyes, before another puff of steam obscured him once again from view.

  Maud drew back. The man’s gaze had been magnetic, powerful, as though there was not a glass window between them, but nothing at all.

  The cloud of steam cleared once again, but the dark-haired man had vanished.

  ‘I say!’

  Maud spun around on her seat.

  Another passenger had entered the carriage, a portly young man in a checked overcoat, red-faced beneath his top hat.

  ‘Excuse me, madam,’ he said to the old lady in braying tones. ‘You are in my seat.’

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear,’ the old lady quavered. ‘What did you say?’

  The young man scowled. ‘I tell you, that’s my seat! I especially wanted a window.’ br />
  The old lady’s mouth trembled.

  Maud looked around for the train conductor. He was nowhere to be seen.

  She leaned forward. ‘Excuse me, sir. Might I see your ticket?’

  The young man turned. ‘What?’ he demanded, in an imperious tone, looking down on her, his blue eyes bulbous.

  Maud lifted her chin. She hadn’t been a governess for five years to be intimidated by this overgrown boy.

  ‘Might I see your ticket?’ she repeated, in a tone that no child had ever refused.

  The young man puffed out his breath and looked about to argue. Muttering under his breath, he handed it over.

  ‘Thank you.’ Maud scrutinised it, then glanced at the seat number. She bit her lip, vexed. When she had helped the old lady settle into her seat, she hadn’t thought to check her ticket.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the old lady. ‘It seems there has been some mistake. You do appear to be in the wrong seat.’

  The old lady clutched her lace handkerchief. ‘Oh, how dreadful!’

  ‘I told you so!’ said the young man, triumphantly.

  Maud returned the ticket to him.

  ‘I’m sure this lady would like to remain in her seat,’ she said quietly. ‘She is suffering from travel sickness. Will you do her the kindness?’

  Maud caught a whiff of claret as the young man puffed out his cheeks. ‘Certainly not! That’s my seat and I want it.’

  ‘That is the height of discourtesy!’ Maud couldn’t hold back the reprimand. ‘This lady is old enough to be your grandmother!’

  The man turned even redder. ‘Who are you to try to teach me manners?’

  ‘It’s a pity no one else has taught you,’ Maud retorted. ‘Please, let this lady stay where she is.’

  The old lady began to struggle up. ‘I don’t want to cause any inconvenience.’

  Maud jumped to her feet, the book of fairy tales tumbling from her lap. ‘Please take my seat, if it is a window seat you’re after.’

  ‘I don’t want your seat,’ the young man said stubbornly. ‘I want the seat I paid for!’