Free The Carriagemaker's Daughter by Amy Lake

overheard in the library two nights before, was now almost cheerful. If she was fated to be a governess, there were surely worse places to be.
     But the hour or so out in the fresh air had flown by, and Alice and Peter would soon be ready for schoolwork. Helène kicked up flurries of snow with each footstep as she hurried along. She should have just enough time to return to her room and exchange the heavy cloak for a shawl before meeting the children in the nursery.
    * * * *
    Lady Pamela found her brother tucking into an enormous plate of cheese scones and bacon.
    “Good morning,” said Lady Pamela to the marquess. They were both early risers, and often had the breakfast table to themselves.
    “Mmph,” replied Jonathan, over a mouthful of bacon. Then–“I rather doubt it.”
    Pam laughed. “Don’t tell me Celia is still cross over Lord Quentin’s early departure. Too dreary even for her!”
    This comment on his wife’s petulant nature went unremarked by the marquess. “No, the latest crisis isn’t Charles, as a matter of fact. It’s the new governess.”
    “Miss Fitzpatrick?”
    “Celia sacked Miss Fitzpatrick weeks ago,” said her brother, reaching for another scone. “I insisted she be replaced before the holidays.”
    “And the new governess is even prettier?”  The entire household was aware of Celia’s jealousy of attractive young women.
    Jonathan laughed. “Not prettier. Dirtier.”
    “Dirtier!”
    “Yes. She showed up unexpectedly from London, standing on the front steps, practically in rags. Celia claimed she smelled like greasy chicken.”
    Lady Pamela stared at him.
    “Apparently, her attire has not improved in the meantime, and Celia has been complaining without interruption.”
    A new governess–employed from where?  Town?  It’s fortunate that I arrived no later, thought Pamela. Between Jonathan and Celia, the poor woman might have ended up back out in the snow. But what was this about dirty clothing?   She cupped her chin in her hands and thought for a moment.
    “Jonathan,” she said at last. Her brother looked up warily.
    “Mmm?”
    “Jonathan, what do you mean she showed up out of nowhere?  Didn’t you send the coach for her?”
    “Mmm. The coach?”
    “Yes, the coach. Where did she come from?  London?  Good heavens, Jonathan, don’t tell me she traveled on the mail coach .”
    “Oh. Yes. Well, no. Many people have their own coaches these days, you know–”  
    Pamela snorted. “I’m sure a governess has no such thing. Are you telling me this poor woman walked all the way to Luton from Cotter’s post?  In November?”
    The marquess appeared flustered. “I really don’t think–”
    “Oh, Jonathan.”  Pamela sighed. Her brother was a kind soul at heart, but sometimes incredibly obtuse. So accustomed was the marquess to a life of privilege that problems such as poverty and hunger simply failed to register. The steward and tenants of Luton Court had long since learned to broach any major requests for assistance through Lady Pamela. Although a generous landlord in his own, erratic way, Jonathan sometimes forgot that such creatures as tenants existed.
    Pam stood up suddenly. “Where is she?”
    “Where is who?”  asked Jonathan.
    “The governess!”
    “Ah. Well, you see, I’m not sure–”
    Closing her eyes, Lady Pamela blew out a long puff of breath. “Oh, bother it all. Never mind. I’ll talk to Mrs. Tiggs myself.”  She left the room in a flurry of skirts.
    * * * *
    The marquess watched Lady Pamela leave. ’Twas a shame he hadn’t thought to send a coach, he now realized. But the letter from Miss Phillips announcing the time of her arrival had been delivered almost a fortnight ago, and he never seemed able to remember such details for long.
    And it wouldn’t do for him to take a personal interest in the governess. Jonathan remained sitting at the table for some time, his ostensibly worried expression slowly replaced by a half smile. He had