PROLOGUE

If the Carlton estate could be described in one word, that word would be perfection. The driveway is lined with perfectly manicured hedges and planters filled with flawless rows of orchids, primroses, and foxgloves. In the center of the courtyard is a pristine marble fountain featuring the Virgin holding the infant Savior surrounded by cherubs. Surrounding that fountain is another planter filled with exquisitely trimmed rosebushes, their flowers a bright scarlet. The house itself is just as orderly, the brick siding and shingled roof polished to near smoothness. Not a single blade of grass is out of place. Not a single stain mars the perfection of its fa?ade.

One might think that after my time at the bleak Ashford estate I would be relieved to see its polar opposite, but my experience with the wealthy tells me that the more perfect the exterior, the more rotten the interior. So it's with some trepidation that I climb the steps to the house and prepare to greet my new employers.

The door opens before I reach it, and I am surprised when I'm greeted not by a butler but by Veronica Carlton herself. She appears to be around my age, so fifty, give or take a few years, but she has the polished beauty that the wealthy seem to value more than any other class, not so much an attempt to look attractive as to look cultured. Her elegant silk dress complements her form perfectly, and her makeup is tasteful and gives her an almost ageless appearance.

Not that she isn't attractive. On the contrary, she is blessed with the perfect figure and noble features that most of us can only dream of. The fact that her blonde hair is as natural as her bright blue eyes is icing on the cake.

"Welcome!" she cries. "Oh, we're so delighted to see you, Mary! Lucas has been so excited!"

I return her smile and—somewhat awkwardly—her embrace. "I'm delighted to hear that, Mrs. Carlton."

"Oh, please," she says, flipping her hand. "Call me Veronica."

"Thank you, Veronica."

Lucas is Veronica's youngest child. I've been hired to tutor him for his final year of sixth form. It's a quite different situation than I'm used to. My teaching experience is with elementary school students—primary school, as it's called in England—so tutoring a young man in his final year before university will stretch my faculties to their limit. However, since he's older, I'll be required to do less of the other work of a governess, so that should allow me more time to plan lessons and ensure he's prepared for his examinations at the end of the year.

"Come in! Come in!" she says. "You must meet the others! Don't worry about your bags. Horace will take them in. Oh, we're just delighted! Delighted! "

I manage to keep my smile and avoid letting my unease show as she leads me inside. And it's foolish anyway. There's nothing to worry about. I'm probably still upset from my experience with the Ashfords and assuming danger where none exists.

"Children!" Veronica calls. "Come meet Mary!"

Children is a relative term. The oldest, Eliza, is twenty-three, and the middle, Oliver, is twenty. Only Lucas is still a child and at seventeen, he only barely qualifies.

Eliza descends the stairs. I can't help but notice that her posture is perfect. She traces the fingers of her left hand lightly on the banister and looks over her shoulder at me with the perfect balance of regality and grace. In her shimmering white silk dress with her golden locks cascading in gentle waves over her shoulder, she could easily be mistaken for a princess.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mary," she says, extending a hand as she reaches the bottom step.

I take it and reply, "Likewise. You are every bit as beautiful as your mother described."

She laughs and flips her hand in an astonishingly exact imitation of Veronica. "Mother likes to talk. You mustn't believe a word of what she says."

"She's right," a bright tenor concurs.

I turn to see a tall, handsome young man with a devilish smile approach from the right. His hands are in the pockets of very well-tailored slacks worn above polished oxfords and below a white shirt and blazer that he wears thrown open lazily but that somehow looks perfectly suited to his personality.

Again, I am struck by unease. Nothing should be this flawless.

And again, I tell myself I'm being foolish. For heaven's sake, complaining about the young man's clothes? How paranoid can I be?

The young man in question extends his own hand. "Oliver Carlton, at your service." He lifts my hand to his lips, and I remind myself that I'm being ridiculous when my skin crawls at the contact. "I must say, Mother didn't warn me you'd be so beautiful."

The compliment is clumsy and immature. That makes it the most beautiful thing I've experienced since arriving here. I smile gratefully and say, "It's wonderful to meet you, Oliver."

I look around for the youngest of the Carlton brood, the one I will be tutoring for the next ten months. Veronica laughs nervously and asks Oliver, "Have you seen your brother?"

A slight irritation crosses Oliver's face. "Not recently, no. I assumed he was on the grounds with his camera as usual."

"That's all right," I say. "I should get settled anyway. I'll have a chance to—"

"Ah!" Veronica cries. "There he is! Lucas, you kept Mary waiting."

I follow her eyes to the top of the landing and see a young man staring down at me with wide, dark eyes. He is tall, taller even than Oliver, but far more slender. His pale skin and gentle features bear a far closer resemblance to his sister, in fact, than to his brother. He wears a suit of a similar cut to his brother's but keeps his jacket buttoned. The outfit is too large and appears almost to swallow him whole. Another imperfection, but this one does nothing to quell my unease.

He alone of the three doesn't smile. He inclines his head and says in a soft, lilting voice, "Welcome, Mary."

I remember to smile and say, "It's wonderful to meet you, Lucas. I look forward to our time together."

Lucas doesn't reply, only continues to stare at me with those dark, serious eyes.

When the silence continues long enough to be awkward, Veronica says, "Well, I'm sure you'd like to rest after your long journey. Horace will show you to your room. I would love it if you joined us for dinner tonight at seven. If you're rested enough, of course."

I smile at her. "That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Veronica."

I turn back to the landing to see that Lucas has gone. My smile fades a little, and I keep my eyes trained to the spot where he stood a moment ago.

"Right this way, ma'am," Horace says. He's quite a bit older than me, and, while he doesn't look unfriendly, he seems like a man who likes to keep his distance.

I nod and allow him to lead me up the stairs to my room. I don't see Lucas again, but I feel as though his eyes continue to bore into me as though he stares at me from the walls.