Library

Chapter One

“And above all else, ladies, you must remember that your virtue is by far your most precious commodity.”

Ophelia sent a severe look about the room, determined to catch any sign of her girls disagreeing with her.

But they all sat perfectly still, listening, perfectly attentive.

She gave herself an internal pat on the back then dismissed the girls to their music lessons.

More than one young, impressionable mind had been saved by her teachings, she was sure.

In point of fact, her teachings were so effective that Miss Fisher’s had climbed to the top of the list of schools that parents of Quality wanted their daughters attending.

Fathers paid handsomely for their girls to attend, and mothers could be assured that their daughters would be turned out perfectly respectful innocents without cause for concern.

The more wilful the girl, the more her parents were willing to pay in fees to the school.

Though lessons in grace and decorum were au fait in all finishing schools of repute, Ophelia’s weekly meetings with the students had become somewhat legendary and, therefore, in high demand.

When Ophelia had come of age and been visited for only the second time in her life by the Earl of Batten, he had declared himself pleased with what he saw and ready to give her a Season so that she could find a husband with a good name but with pockets to let.

“Your money will ensure that he be discreet about your legitimacy,” Lord Batten explained. “And his name will give you the life of respectability that my father wanted for you.”

“He was my father, too,” Ophelia said with dignity.

He ignored her.

“You will stay in our townhouse in Mayfair for a Season. My wife will sponsor you, and I will enter into marriage negotiations. Your dowry will –“

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. I will not come to your home. I will not enter the marriage mart. And I will not take your money.”

Ophelia had known she was going against Mama’s plans by refusing her father’s wishes, refusing her brother’s demands.

But the idea of being dragged around London like a burden, then essentially blackmailing a man so unscrupulous as to be paid to keep the details of her birth a secret was anathema to her.

She had grown up under a shroud of shame. Her mother and father’s torrid affair blackening her own reputation before she’d been old enough to form one herself.

Ophelia had no desire to become a man’s chattel, in any case. To have the knowledge of her beginnings held over her head – something to clobber her with should he ever decide to do so.

No.

Far better to remain single and forge her own path.

She had told her brother so, and he had been so uncaring of what happened to her that he’d merely shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Ophelia had thought that perhaps he would be so committed to the lie of her being his orphaned cousin that he’d insist on dragging her into a Season so he could play at being the doting, caring relative.

But no. He’d simply left, and left Ophelia with very few options available to her.

She knew that she couldn’t have gone back to Mama’s. The sum of money that the current earl had grudgingly bestowed was enough to feed Mama and Mrs. Jeffords but was certainly not enough to support another adult woman.

Deciding that becoming a governess was the only course of action available to her, Ophelia had been set to send out enquiries when Mrs. Fisher had offered her a position here in the school.

That had been seven years ago, and Ophelia had never looked back.

Miss Fisher’s had become a home ever since she’d left her own fifteen years ago. And when Mama had passed away from a brief illness last year, Miss Fisher had been a shoulder to cry on.

Ophelia still hadn’t decided what to do with the cottage.

She hadn’t been able to face going back there since burying Mama. Mrs. Jeffords had left to live with her sister in Scotland. Ophelia still wrote to the dear old woman. She was the closest thing to real family that Ophelia had, aside from Miss Fisher.

But the cottage remained closed up and unused.

A brief knock on her classroom door interrupted Ophelia’s musings.

“Miss Delacourt, Miss Fisher sent me to remind you that it is time for tea.”

Ophelia glanced at the longcase clock, surprised that she’d been wool-gathering for so long.

“Of course, thank you, Maisy.” She smiled at the young maid then hurried to the modest dining room the teachers shared.

“Ah, Ophelia, there you are.”

Ophelia quickly took a seat across from Miss Fisher and began to pour their tea.

They usually took tea together in the afternoons. Ophelia had become a sort of second-in-command and though they hadn’t yet discussed it fully, there was an expectation that Ophelia would take over the running of the school when the older lady could no longer do so.

They chatted for a while about the day and their students before Miss Fisher produced a letter she’d received that morning.

“Mrs. Trench has written again this morning.”

Ophelia paused in the act of bringing her cup to her lips.

“The lady is certainly persistent.” She frowned.

Mrs. Trench had been writing almost weekly for six months now, begging Miss Fisher to take her eldest daughter.

Eliza, she had written that first time, was sixteen. Considerably older than the girls usually started with them, which was why Miss Fisher had refused at first.

After all, the girl was on the cusp of making her debut.

She was educated to a high standard, was proficient in the pianoforte and water colours, and of excellent heritage.

Neither Miss Fisher nor Ophelia had been sure their teachings would do any good in such a short time.

“She writes that the Trench family would be honoured to donate a sum toward expanding the library if we were to find a space for Eliza before she makes her Come Out next year.”

Ophelia reached out and took the letter that Miss Fisher waved toward her.

She quickly scanned the missive, her eyes widening when she saw the sum offered.

“Good heavens,” she exclaimed softly. “They really want her at our school. Are you considering it?”

“It’s a tidy sum, Ophelia. Imagine the books you could buy for the girls.”

It was tempting, there was no doubt.

But Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was wrong with the girl for her parents to be handing out a small fortune to have her educated at Miss Fisher’s.

“I think I will accept their offer. If anyone can help the young lady, it is you.”

Ophelia nodded her agreement, though she still felt that niggle of trepidation.

“If the girl needs help, then I shall be happy to help her,” Ophelia said with a confidence she hoped wasn’t misplaced. “After all, how much harm can one sixteen-year-old do?”

***

Three weeks later, Ophelia had a good idea of how much harm a sixteen-year-old could do.

Quite a bit.

She was holding a private meeting with the young Miss Trench. A last effort to get through to the silly girl before they sent for her parents.

This afternoon’s sermon, as Eliza referred to it, was inspired by the girl’s recently discovered plans to attempt an assignation with a local merchant lad.

One of the students had come to Ophelia, concerned that Eliza was putting herself in harm’s way.

Ophelia eyed the young girl sitting across from her, hoping that she was getting through to the wilful creature.

Eliza was the very epitome of an English rose: peaches and cream complexion, soft, golden curls, wide blue eyes, of excellent lineage, and with a healthy dowry. She had every chance of making a successful match and living a happy, contented life with a husband who would care for and respect her.

That wouldn’t happen however, if she were to get herself into trouble with a young man who was well known among the tradesmen’s daughters for being an utter blackguard.

“The trouble with rogues, my dear, is that they’re very good at taking what they want and not at all good at giving anything of themselves in return.”

Eliza stared at Ophelia, unresponsive, her face devoid of emotion.

Ophelia couldn’t tell if she was getting through to the girl or not.

“I think it best that you remain behind next week when the girls attend Gunter’s Tea Shop.”

Every month the older girls were brought into Town and allowed to spend their pin money on ices, or perhaps on some small treats on Bond Street. Since the weather was starting to warm again, and since Town was beginning to fill up for the Season, they’d requested a trip to the fashionable tea shop, and Ophelia had agreed. She always enjoyed the place, too.

This got a response, and Eliza’s face twisted with anger.

“My father won’t be happy to hear that I’m being so maltreated, Miss Delacourt.”

Ophelia wasn’t deaf to the threat in Eliza’s tone, but she remained unfazed by it.

“Your father sent you here to be taught by us, and he is in full agreement with our methods, Miss Trench. You are not being mistreated, you are being taught that there are consequences to your decisions and choices. You chose to attempt to break the rules and therefore must live with the consequences of your choice.”

Eliza’s pretty blue eyes narrowed, but Ophelia kept her calm mask in place.

She awaited a tantrum or argument. Perhaps more empty threats.

But Eliza seemed to think better of whatever she was planning, for with a growl of frustration, she stomped from Ophelia’s schoolroom, the door slamming in her wake.

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