Compromising Miss Milton. Michelle Styles
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I did tell the truth.’ Nella gave a mournful sniff. ‘And Mama always says that a man without a jacket, waistcoat and cravat is undressed. You agreed. I remembered that. And undressed is another way of saying naked. So I wasn’t lying despite what you say.’
Daisy twisted the black stuff of her gown around her fingers. Governesses never engaged in shouting matches with their students. Governesses always maintained rigid self-control. ‘I said might as well be undressed and we were speaking about formal dress at a ball.’
‘Oh.’ Nella’s eyes grew round. ‘I do beg your pardon.’
Daisy walked over to where the basin of water stood and splashed water on her wrists, restoring some equilibrium. How much damage had Nella done with her embellishment? ‘Lord Ravensworth, third Viscount Ravensworth, is the grandson of Lord Charles Ravensworth, the second Viscount Ravensworth.’
‘But why was he—?’ Nella stopped, raised herself up on her tiptoes and rocked back and forth. ‘I have heard of Viscount Ravensworth. He is worth a tremendous fortune and unmarried. I am certain he was mentioned in the scandal sheets recently. His name appears quite regularly. He goes to all the best parties. Women keep throwing themselves at him or something.’
‘How do you know this, Nella?’
‘I know where Mama keeps her secret store of newspapers, which she reads when she thinks no one is looking. One must be up to date on all of society’s news.’
‘Never mind who Lord Ravensworth is.’ Daisy wished she could sit down with a tisane to drink and a cold cloth over her eyes. Less than a minute with Nella and everything was beginning to spin out of control again. Her worst fear was confirmed. Lord Ravensworth was a notorious rake of the highest order.
‘I would like to meet a man who has made courtesans swoon.’
‘You have caused a bit of mischief, young lady.’ Daisy cleared her throat and gave Nella what she hoped was a suitably quelling look. ‘Hopefully you will have learnt a lesson. Luckily, the situation was resolved and I did not delay at the riverbank, waiting for help that never came. And ladies should not worry about what courtesans do.’
Nella gave a slight nod before sniffing loudly and scrubbing her eyes. ‘Mama wants to see you as soon as you appear. You know I did love you as a governess, Miss Milton. You have been much better than my seven other governesses. Even better than Mademoiselle Le Claire.’
Daisy closed her eyes and leant back against the wall. Nella’s word echoed round and round in her brain like some ghostly chant. Ice stabbed at her heart. She had done nothing wrong, but Nella’s quick tongue had put her position in danger. Her position and her reputation.
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.
Chapter Five
At the drawing-room door, Daisy smoothed the skirt of her grey gown and kept her head high. The brooch at her throat and the light shawl over her shoulders completed the outfit. The absolute picture of a sober hardworking governess, rather than the bedraggled waif she had glimpsed in the mirror earlier, and definitely not someone whom a man would ever embrace.
After entering the room in a dignified manner, Daisy made a brief curtsy to the assembled throng of women. Her curtsy was neither too deep nor perfunctory, but precisely at the correct height.
Mrs Blandish was enthroned at the other end of the room, a silver teapot at her side. The remains of two cakes littered her plate and several crumbs had spilt down her ample bosom. Her glance turned ice cold as Daisy rose from the curtsy.
Silently Daisy went over her savings once again. Whatever happened, she refused to crawl or beg. She would rather starve. If she could leave with dignity and a civil reference, another position would be relatively easy to secure. Five other families had been after her services. She had chosen the Blandishes because the salary was more than the others.
‘Ah, Miss Milton, I see you have returned.’ Mrs Blandish’s purple turban twitched. She set her tea cup down with a distinct clank. The naturally high colour became higher still. ‘How good of you to come and find me. I trust my daughter gave you the correct message.’
‘She passed it along, Mrs Blandish.’ Daisy inclined her head. Calm, collected, professional were the words she lived by. Mrs Blandish for all her airs and graces was the granddaughter of a fishmonger. ‘Without embellishment, or so Nella informs me. I believe you were at pains to explain the situation to her.’
‘Good. My daughter seems sadly prone to exaggeration since she has come under your care. Not a day goes by without some sort of incident. Today’s little episode was the worst by some way.’
Daisy’s neck muscles tightened, but she choked back a quick retort. Nothing would be solved by antagonising Mrs Blandish in front of the assembled crowd.
‘I am endeavouring to curb the tendency, Mrs Blandish. It would be helpful if she was not encouraged.’ Daisy kept her tones measured. Surely Mrs Blandish had to see the sheer nonsense of Nella’s allegation. ‘Her words are often the subject of much conjecture and gossip, rather than being treated as fantastical imaginings.’
‘Fantastical imaginings. Hmm, you do have a point.’ Mrs Blandish took an overly dainty sip from her tea cup. ‘I