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