Chapter 1

‘Your Grace, it pains me greatly to resort to this…I fear I lack the capabilities and patience particularly required in training your sisters, Lady Penelope and Lady Constance, in accordance with conventional standards for women…Thus, I must resign.’

Edward Cavendish’s eyebrows drew together in a tight frown as his eyes skimmed over the words of the letter in his hand. A long sigh slipped out from him, his eyes closing for a dreaded moment as his fingers tightened around the edges of the paper. He stood by the window of his study, his gaze mirroring the grey clouds that gathered over the manor’s vast grounds.

Carendale Manor, tucked within the Yorkshire countryside—which was surrounded by moors in outstretched glory, stood tall beneath stormy clouds. Large green expanses of familiar lands spread out as far as Edward could see.

From his position by the window, he could see the southern wing of his home, the edge of it softened by the climbing ivy over the warm beige walls. Imposing windows stretched across the front of it, below sharp gabled angles.

He glanced down at the letter in his hand once again. It had arrived with the morning post and he had absolutely dreaded opening it. His reservations proved to be true when he, in fact, opened it to read Miss Dawson’s resignation. Her words, written in shaky handwriting, told of the unfortunate events she experienced during her time as the governess to Edward’s younger twin sisters.

His fingers came to rub his forehead as he read the parts of some of these ‘events’ again. Miss Dawson explicitly detailed disasters he had become accustomed to hearing of over the years. Chemical experiments in the morning room, where they should instead be practising their needlework, mathematical equations scribbled and carved into priceless furniture in several rooms across the manor, and overall, a complete and utter distaste and rejection of feminine accomplishments.

Edward’s lips pursed, his jaw tightening as he painfully read each word. When he reached the end where Miss Dawson had signed, he was downright embarrassed at the thought of what the woman had endured in caring for his wards.

“Oh, Heavens, have mercy,” he muttered to himself, folding the piece of paper back. She had lasted all but three weeks, he reasoned. “That’s the eighth governess in two years.”

He could only hope that his twin sisters’ reputations were not being reduced to naught by the women he had hired to educate and guide them. Certainly, he couldn’t exempt his sisters from their unruly conduct, but whatever was he to do, should the women flee to London with loose lips about the impossible young Cavendish sisters? The thought unnerved him.

It had been two years since he’d become their sole guardian, after the unfortunate passing of his father due to a heart attack. With the responsibility of managing the dukedom he had inherited, he had not anticipated the stress that would come with looking after his sisters.

At only fourteen summers old, Penelope and Constance were already subject to the speculative whispers about their marriageability.

Edward knew he was to prepare them for society and that it was his duty to find a governess suitable enough to work alongside him to do so but he faced a challenge. One he could not entirely label to be truly negative.

His sisters, even at their young age, bore minds with such brilliance it surpassed most gentlemen of his acquaintance. In the society they lived in; one which required wives to be agreeable and as decorative as possible, it was almost a sin for ladies of such a nobility as his sisters to demonstrate intellectual prowess that could rival masculine superiority and oppose professors in Oxford and Cambridge.

How am I to prepare them adequately? He wondered silently. His hands gripped the windowsill as the question roamed freely in his mind, haunting him, taunting every responsible fibre in him.

Their father had done his best raising them without their mother who died once they were born, but clearly, his sisters still had a long way to go if they were to be ready by their debut.

Suddenly, a loud blast jolted his senses. It had come from the east wing of the manor, piercing through his thoughts. A moment later, another sound came…louder this time. It was accompanied with what he could faintly tell to be cheering.

The duke let out a small grunt, tossing the paper in his hand to his desk. His feet moved at once, carrying him out of his study and through the long corridors. Each step quickened the last, his boots echoing on the floors of his country home.

“Your Grace.”

He halted at the familiar voice, intercepted by his housekeeper, Mrs. Cooper. The older woman, whom he’d known since he was a boy, wore a strained expression on her face, as opposed to the usually calm demeanour she possessed.

“Mrs. Cooper.” Edward’s tone was measured, but his feet itched to move again, especially seeing how her grey hair stood out of careful placement. His eyes caught the sight of stains on her apron, and he could easily predict that whatever sound he’d heard from the east wing moments prior was directly related to those stains.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

Mrs. Cooper pressed her lips together tightly, as if restraining herself from speaking out of turn. “I wish I could say I was, Your Grace. In all my years, I have never found myself repeatedly confronted with circumstances that threaten my sanity and safety.” She wrung her hands as if trying to rid herself of whatever they had touched previously. “Lady Penelope and Lady Constance have barricaded themselves in the library.”

Edward’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Pardon?”

“It is so, Your Grace. I found them with equipment…science, uh…some contraption of questionable sorts. Heaven only knows how they acquired it. Frankly, I do not wish to investigate the methods with which they did.” Mrs. Cooper sighed, and the sound was more pitiful than annoyed.

“And whatever state shall I find the library in now?” Edward asked.

Mrs. Cooper did not answer. Instead, her eyes moved down to the stains on her apron and Edward did not require any more words.

“They have declared their intentions to take on the task of educating themselves. Lady Penelope is stubbornly convinced that no governess in all of England has the capability of intelligence to tutor them. She is adamant that she shall not be subject to mediocre levels of learning.”

A fleeting hint of amusement flashed in Edward’s eyes. As much as he did not endorse his sisters’ behaviours, he couldn’t help but see reason with them. He had always thought it remarkable how brilliant they were. Some people might think they were too brilliant for their own good but he would disagree at every given opportunity.

Nonetheless, the reality was that if they hoped to secure husbands by the time they got into society, there would perhaps have to be some balance.

“Your Grace, do you not find this situation most unsatisfactory?” Mrs. Cooper inquired, a weary note in her voice. “Lady Penelope and Lady Constance seem to grow more rebellious by the day.”

“Surely, it is nothing we cannot handle,” he replied. Deep down, he worried that society demanded what was not as necessary as it was made to seem. Its rigid expectations were what made him seek to help his sisters manage their extraordinary gifts if they were ever to be married. It was a fundamental problem, he knew.

Mrs. Cooper was right, unfortunately. The twins did not appreciate their intelligence being ‘tamed’ and every attempt to do so had only resulted in higher forms of rebellion. Each one more creative and destructive than the last.

“I shall go see for myself what mischief my sisters have been up to,” he said, “I would ask you to accompany me but it seems you have dealt with enough already at their mercy.”

“I am grateful for your understanding, Your Grace.” Mrs. Cooper bowed her head in reverence.

Edward offered her a small smile. He waited until she had left and made a turn, before he proceeded towards his destination.

When his feet stopped in front of the large library doors, he held his breath. He had walked into a number of situations where his sisters had taken over and dominated a space for their curiosity’s sake, but at every given time, he didn’t know what to expect. And each time was more chaotic than the last.

Breath in his throat, he pushed the doors open. A shocked gasp instantly left his mouth once he beheld the organized chaos that was known to be his library. His brows furrowed the further he walked in, making sure his feet did not get caught by anything.

Books were scattered all over the floor, chemical apparatus lay around as well, suggesting experiments that would impress the most advanced professors and students in Cambridge.

Edward stopped by a desk, his eyes narrowing at the scribbling of mathematical equations on the side of it.

They’re in multiple languages, he noted silently, unable to decide if he was impressed by it, or appalled by the state of the library.

“Would that work?” Edward heard Constance ask their sister. Both girls had yet to notice him, as they were both engrossed in whatever it was that had them occupied.

Penelope inclined her head to answer when she caught sight of her brother.

“Brother! You’re here!” she squealed, pushing herself off the carpet. Constance followed suit and before Edward could utter another word, they rushed towards him and embraced him.

The duke was a man of many qualities but a hardness of heart was not one of them. For his sisters, his affections were boundless and so, even though he worried about them constantly, how could his heart not be moved when they had such fond admiration of him, regarding him with the utmost esteem?

“Brother!” Penelope cast her gaze up at him, a beaming smile on her face. “You must come see what Constance and I have discovered about crystalline structures. It is truly a marvel to behold.”

“Crystalline structures?” Edward frowned slightly.

Penelope nodded with enthusiasm, her green eyes bright and unabashed. “Constance has documented our observations.” She took his hand and led him to the centre of the library, where their apparatus was set up.

Constance reached for her notebook and handed it to him. “I detailed all our observations and theories,” she said. “We are yet to reach a conclusion, but I imagine it is only a matter of time.”

Her voice was less animated than Penelope’s, but she still wore a look of pride and satisfaction in her eyes. Neither of them appeared to be ashamed about their intellectual discovery.

Upon taking a glance at the book, Edward realized the words and equations were in Latin, written with such fine penmanship that he almost felt jealous.

“I must admit that this is a rather interesting diversion,” he commented.

“Certainly better than needlework and floral arrangements,” Constance said, earning a giggle from her twin. A sly smile crossed the young girl’s face.

Edward couldn’t resist the amusement that threatened to betray his composure. It was indeed disturbing that they were without a governess to guide them but how horrible could it ever be to have sisters who were as intelligent as they were impossible?

He listened as they began to explain their studies to him, finding himself intrigued by how much they had learned on their own. A familiar heaviness settled in his chest, a complex mix of pride and a warring with the apprehension that plagued him frequently.

London’s society would hardly know what to do with such borderless, if somewhat ungovernable, brightness which my sisters possess, he mused. On occasion, the notion threatened to overset his composure completely.

There had to be a balance to it all, surely. He would make sure he found it. For their sakes.

Chapter 2

Harriet Sinclair stood stiffly in her employer’s gilded drawing room. Her hands, moist under tension, were clasped tightly as if she was trying to hold herself together. She knew what was coming. If she were honest, she had assumed it would come sooner.

Her eyes wandered about the room almost aimlessly. She had always been fascinated by her employer’s evident taste in interiors, but especially this room. And now, she felt as though she would be seeing it for the last time.

She admired the damask curtains that framed the tall glass windows, and the scent of fresh flowers stationed around the room that wafted into the air. Usually, the aroma of flowers was known to calm her nerves. Not this time, however. The very opulence of the room, how everything was pristine and orderly, seemed to be judging her.

The sound of throat clearing snapped her attention to the lady seated on a high-backed chair.

Lady Pemberton.

She was the wife of Viscount Pemberton and was fond of regaling anyone who cared to listen with tales about her extravagant taste in, well…everything. At every chance she got, she would talk about the furniture in her home being imported from Italy or France, and how her husband often gifted her with portraits and jewellery from Spain and Egypt.

Today, she had not once made a comment about any of that, and from the way her lips were tightened, Harriet could tell she wouldn’t.

“Miss Thornfield,” she said, her tone serious. She did not spare Harriet a glance, maintaining her fixed gaze on the correspondence she held. “I shall not mince words. My patience has run thin, I’m afraid, and having evaluated your time here with my daughter as your charge, I am left with no other choice but to relieve you of your duties. Your services in this household are no longer required.”

Harriet swallowed hard. For a moment, she couldn’t make out any words. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to say. It was how to say it that unnerved her. Life, as she knew, was fickle, and almost nothing was permanent. Still, the understanding of such a principle did nothing to soften the cold blow her employer had just jabbed her with. She was about to lose the one thing that offered her security.

Her hands clenched tighter, and the room suddenly seemed hotter.

“Lady Pemberton, I…”

“A governess ought to know her place. Do you not agree?” the viscountess questioned, finally looking up at her daughter’s soon-to-be-former governess. There had always been something about her, about her manner, that she couldn’t put her finger on but found to be prickling to her senses.

Harriet’s chest constricted. “Yes, madam. But I…”

“I will not have my daughter receive instructions or teachings that are unsuitable for her station. It is your responsibility to ensure that she only receives learning that is within the appropriate limits. A responsibility which you have failed to deliver your best at,” Lady Pemberton chided.

Harriet kept her gaze even, despite the tumult that raged her mind. Her composure didn’t waver once, her countenance graceful as she continued to listen to Lady Pemberton go on and on about how she was responsible for her daughter’s growing, unabashed curiosity. A trait that should not be found in a young lady who was merely a couple of summers away from marriageable age.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” Lady Pemberton questioned, frowning.

Of course, it did not matter that she had not given Harriet a chance to speak all along.

“Well, I understood that Miss Pemberton’s education was to be comprehensive. I simply wished to give her a fair chance at learning knowledge that would prove useful…”

“In her husband’s home?” Lady Pemberton cut in swiftly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Comprehensive education for a young lady means within appropriate limits. She requires instruction in feminine accomplishments that would make any suitor find her attractive enough to make an agreeable wife. Gentlemen do not desire ladies with scholarly pursuits that make them unmarriageable and thereby, rendering them useless.”

Harriet pursed her lips together and if it was at all possible, tightened her grip on herself. It was not in her character to argue with her employers but some, like Lady Pemberton, made it twice as difficult. She disliked the notion that a woman’s station was only valued in consideration to how ‘agreeable’ they were and that ‘agreeability’ was in consideration to how proficient they were in solely feminine accomplishments. Was a woman’s mind only to be reduced to how well she could embroider?

A scoff died in her throat.

“And my wages?” she finally croaked out.

Lady Pemberton studied her, regarding her with such scrutiny that Harriet wondered if she was indeed relieving her of her duties or about to hire her.

“You shall collect your wages from Mrs. Humboldt. I expect you to leave at the latest by this evening,” Lady Pemberton said. “Quietly too. I shall not be pleased if my daughter finds out that you are to leave and begins to make trouble.”

“Am I not allowed to bid her farewell?” Harriet asked, feeling a pang in her chest. Lady Pemberton’s unfavourable response was more heartbreaking than being told she would have to be let go from her position.

In the months that she had worked with Miss Beatrice Pemberton as her charge, she had grown quite fond of the young girl. She was convinced that the girl had more potential than she was given credit for. There was so much more Harriet wanted to teach her. Beatrice’s curiosity was only the surface of the well of intelligence that she undoubtedly possessed.

And the girl loved her studies. While Harriet did manage to teach her a thing or two about the pianoforte, embroidery and all other ‘interests’ that her mother would consider worthy to be called accomplishments, it was clear to her that Beatrice seemed more active and enjoyed her studies when they were discussing history or classical languages.

Now, Lady Pemberton wasn’t even allowing her the privilege of a proper goodbye. That hurt more than being relieved from her job as Beatrice’s governess.

Later that evening, Harriet sat on her bed in her cramped boarding house room. The room was only lit by two candles, which did nothing for the chilly evening air. The narrow bed she sat on was pushed against the wall, and spread across it were the few possessions that were hers: two governess attires, nothing showy, just practical; documents which contained perfect references, the kind that aroused suspicion (and rightly so, seeing as they were forged); and her prayer book which held her father’s last letter to her and which was hidden beneath the false binding.

Holding her breath, she poured out the contents of the small pouch she held. Her expression fell as she looked at what was supposed to be her final wages. Was this all?

She began to carefully count the meagre coins, a dreaded realisation dawning increasingly as she counted the sum.

A long sigh left her lips when she finished. “This would only last three days before I am to be completely destitute!” she cried out, her shoulders slumping slightly. “And that is if luck is to be on my side.”

Another sigh followed.

In the last two years, she had reached so many low points. Each one lower than the last. It was as though she couldn’t hold on to a moment of respite for long. She was exhausted to say the least. The endless questioning of when it would all be over had made her weary.

The Pemberton household had offered her some level of security, at least within modest financial means, but a governess’s wages were hardly enough to live a life of freedom.

If anyone had told her two years ago that this would be her life at some point—her in the incommodious, poorly-lit quarters of a boarding house, with no promise of a means of sustenance, merely days away from destitution, and feeling more unsafe than ever, she would never have believed them.

Desiring a reminder of the old life of hers that had slipped too quickly from her grasp, she reached into her prayer book and pulled out one treasured fragment left of it. Slowly, she unfolded the piece of paper, her hands trembling as the memories began to surface.

It took only one look at her late father’s familiar handwriting for salty waters to escape her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

Her father, Mr. Marcus Sinclair, had been a Fellow of Royal Society and an esteemed antiquarian. Her mother, Charlotte, was a minor gentry from Cornwall.

All her life, being raised by her father, Harriet had come to know about her mother through stories her father told her. Since they only had each other, they had grown incredibly close as Harriet came up in age. She had considered him to be the finest scholar ever known, not caring if there were others. Anyone who saw them together knew how much she looked up to him.

He had taught her nearly everything she knew. From the languages she learned, to the archaeological methods she studied and the ancient history she was so fond of.

Her Papa had always taught her to be a brilliant girl and when he was alive, she had the privilege of being his intellectual companion and serving as his research assistant. There was nothing more she looked forward to than the times they spent studying and researching. She was always fascinated by the antiques he collected. Hours would pass and countless dinners grew cold while discussing them.

Oh, how I miss him, Harriet thought, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

He had never thought education should only be restricted to the male gender and delighted in his daughter’s brilliance.

With him, she could simply be herself in her truest element.

A privilege she had not had for the past two years after witnessing his brutal murder in the study that had come to be their favourite place in their home.

Harriet felt her throat clog and her chest constricted. She could never forget that day, no matter how much she tried in the past years. She could never forget the horror that gripped her as she watched her father’s life being forcefully taken from him when she was only two and twenty years old.

The culprit’s face was etched in her memory as much as her father’s lifeless one was.

Captain Roderick Ashworth. That was his name.

She had hidden behind ancient tapestries in a hidden alcove of her father’s study when he and some other gruff-looking men had charged in demanding authentication of artifacts. It happened so quickly. One moment, her father had heard a disturbing noise from just outside his window and upon taking one curious glance to see the source of it, he’d gone into a frenzy about her needing to hide.

Harriet didn’t understand his reason for hastening her into the alcove at the time as they’d been reviewing a research report only moments before.

It only took a matter of minutes for Ashworth and his men, whom Harriet later realised to be smugglers, to reach the study. At first, they had tried to intimidate her father into doing their bidding. But when her father refused, stating that he did not wish to compromise his principles by authenticating artifacts which were no doubt stolen, Ashworth grew impatient and his temper unleashed.

Harriet had observed from where she was hidden, with silent tears furiously pouring out of her eyes and her hand clamped over her mouth, as the captain and his men tortured her father over and again.

The old scholar did not budge in his resolve to uphold his principles even while crying out in agony from the torture he endured. When Captain Roderick saw that neither his vile threats nor his torture would make his victim succumb, he ended his life without mercy.

Harriet had felt something die inside her as she witnessed life leave her papa. It was a most gruesome sight and one she wished she could unsee. But life wasn’t so kind.

She had come to understand that more and more as time passed. Her father had made sure to keep her safe that day but she had never imagined things would turn out that way.

To worsen her situation, she had not the chance to grieve for her father properly after his death. Life had been so unfair that she’d had to flee her home immediately and assume another identity to keep herself from being discovered by Captain Ashworth.

In the last two years, she had spent it looking over her shoulder every time she was out than she had in the two and twenty years she’d lived before that.

She had to drop the identity of Harriet Sinclair, daughter of the known Mr. Marcus Sinclair, and had assumed the identity of Miss Helen Thornfield. All just to avoid being discovered by Captain Ashworth. It was a terrible way to live one’s life but she had to survive.

She became a governess, spending the last two years moving between positions under her false identity, to be one step ahead of Ashworth always.

Harriet wondered when, if ever, it would end. She was tired of living on the edge of fear. She wanted to grieve her father and work at doing whatever she could to uphold his legacy.

If her papa knew she was a governess now, well, at least ‘had been’ until she was let from her duties, he would have laughed. Not because he didn’t consider it an honest position for one to hold, but because while he’d been alive, Harriet had always been open about her wariness in teaching others.

Looking around her bed again, her eyes now dried from their tears, Harriet willed strength to her resolve. Her papa had died protecting scholarly integrity and even though she could not yet do what she truly desired to preserve his legacy, she would continue to honour his memory as she had. She did not wish to compromise her principles, but it was imperative that she secured employment soon if she wanted to survive.

“I shall find employment soon enough,” she promised herself, picking up the pouch in her lap and returning the coins into it. She gathered her documents and folded her clothes into her small suitcase.

Lady Pemberton might not require her services any longer, but surely there was some wealthy family in London that did. She would not lose hope. She simply couldn’t.

Chapter 3

‘Perhaps, Your Grace, it might interest you to seek alternative arrangements regarding their studies.’

Edward scoffed at the suggestion, his fingers not working as fast as he’d like to fold up the morning correspondence. It had come from the one of the governess agencies he had contacted to secure a governess for his sisters, and they weren’t the first ones to offer their regrets and sympathetic expressions.

This one, however, was the only one bold enough to suggest, albeit, very carefully, that the duke considered an unconventional means to provide his sisters with their required guidance.

“Alternative arrangements.” He scoffed again. He found it offensive that the twins were being seen as some unfortunate problem to be managed at best, rather than brilliant minds that simply required adequate nurturing to blossom.

It had been three days since he found Penelope and Constance in the library fussing over their discovery about crystalline structures.

He strode about his London town house, clenching his jaw and forcing his mind to conjure up solutions to this stubborn dilemma. He had been trying not to think of the situation as impossible but it was harder with each day that passed. Still, his determination had not wavered.

The sound of the doors opening drew his attention to it. A footman stepped inside.

“Your Grace.” He bowed smoothly. “Your carriage for the coffee house is ready.”

Edward replied with only a curt nod. He contemplated writing another correspondence in response to the ones he’d received before heading out but decided against it. He resolved to revisit the matter once he returned.

“I shall take my leave now,” he said to the footman, crossing the room in quick strides and exiting the study.

Soon after he had left, his carriage rolled to a stop at the usual coffee house where he and his dear friend, Mr. Benjamin Hartwell, often met. He alighted from the carriage and made his way in, scanning the area for his close companion as soon as he walked in.

“Cavendish!” a familiar voice called out to him.

Edward’s eyes instantly travelled to the origin of the sound, spotting his friend seated at one of the tables in the far back. For the first time that day, a hint of a smile teased the duke’s lips. He navigated his way through until he reached where Benjamin sat.

Benjamin stood to give his friend a brief, but welcoming embrace.

“Scotland must have been good to you, Hartwell,” Edward commented with a grin, as they sat down across from each other.

Benjamin shrugged one shoulder. “I am not entirely convinced about that. While I do possess a partiality for the countryside due to its tranquillity, a household like that of my Aunt Francesca’s is not one I like to visit often. If not for my mother’s insistence, I would not have visited until later in the year.”

“I am rather convinced that is why your mother insisted you go.” Edward chuckled. “Perhaps, on your next visit, I shall accompany you if I have some time to spare. My company shall serve as a buffer between your wonderful aunt and you who constantly demands a wife from you.”

Both men chuckled heartily.

“You must forgive my unavailability since my return. I had some matters that required my attention, as my brother was indisposed at the time,” Benjamin said, just as their coffee arrived.

Edward gave a nod to him that Benjamin had come to know was an appreciative one in the years they’d been friends since their days in Cambridge.

“It is not a matter of consequence.” The duke waved a hand of dismissal, bringing his cup to his lips to take a generous sip. He needed the boost to wake his senses up since he had been unable to have breakfast due to his worrying thoughts about his sisters’ education. “I have been quite preoccupied with my own affairs.”

“Trouble in the dukedom?” Benjamin lifted a brow. He leaned back in his seat and waited for his friend’s response.

“Trouble in the schoolroom, I’m afraid.”

That was all it took for Benjamin to bark a laugh, drawing a few eyes towards them.

“Pray tell, friend, whatever amuses you so?” the duke asked, frowning.

“Oh, it is nothing you do not already know. Trouble in the schoolroom seems to be the main problem you’ve had in the past two years.”

Edward sighed in defeat. “A problem that won’t go away no matter what I try to do to solve it.”

His friend’s expression grew sober. Edward studied him with a worrying look on his face.

“I shall not hold the truth from you, my friend,” Benjamin began. “We live in a society where news travels almost as fast as the wind.”

Edward tensed but he held his tongue, to refrain from demanding that Benjamin speak not in parables that would only confuse him more. As if sensing his impatience, Hartwell spoke again. The words that came from his mouth plummeted the duke’s heart down to his stomach. They confirmed his worst fears—the twins’ reputation had travelled faster than he’d anticipated through London and most of what was said about them was not appealing in the least.

According to Benjamin, a few gossip sheets had written about the ‘impossible’ Cavendish sisters who could hardly be trained by London’s most skilled governesses.

They are only four and ten, Edward thought grimly, displeased that his sisters were probably being discussed and subjected to public scrutiny before they’d even gotten the chance to debut into society.

“You must not worry too much, Cavendish,” Benjamin offered thoughtfully.

“However can I not? You said it yourself. Cambridge fellows surely discuss my sisters with a mix of fascination and terror. How shall they secure husbands if such a reputation already precedes them?” Edward blew out a breath in frustration.

“Well, you must admit that their intellectual abilities are gifts. Many are not so privileged. Those gifts surpass most students at universities,” his friend pointed out. “Perhaps,” Benjamin hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward. “You should acknowledge once and for all that such minds as your sisters’ cannot be contained within conventional feminine accomplishments. The truth shall pay off in such an instance as this. For it is only when you admit the truth, that you may find a much suitable solution.”

His voice urged Edward, but for some reason the duke couldn’t yet identify, he hesitated.

“You may speak freely, Hartwell. What exactly are you suggesting?”

Benjamin took a large sip of his coffee, carefully replacing the fine China cup in its saucer.

“That you must consider the obvious solution for your sisters,” Benjamin remarked. “It is evident that there is no point trying to force them into the conventional mould that is demanded. Instead, I suggest you hire someone with bona fide scholarly credentials, someone unlike the traditional governesses you always hired.”

It took Edward another full minute after Benjamin had spoken, to think about his friend’s suggestion. It felt revolutionary to do something so far away from what was considered normal or appropriate, even. And if it were not for the fact that he couldn’t think of any other solution to his family’s dire situation, he might not have considered it.

But it had been two years of unending, unexpected, yet spectacular failures. Hence why he was unsure how he’d go about his friend’s suggestion. Still, as the moments went by, he found himself letting the thought rummage through his mind. If the suggestion actually took a chance of succeeding, then perhaps it was in everyone’s best interest that he’d consider it.

“And where am I supposed to find a most unusual governess?” he asked Benjamin, who had patiently allowed him to reach a conclusion on his own. He wasn’t even sure if he’d fully decided yet.

“I could inquire around. We can visit some agencies as well.”

Edward mused in silence. Indeed, conventional approaches had not seemed favourable or the least bit beneficial to his sisters’ education. But if there’s anything he’d learned about his sisters, ‘conventional’ did not work for them.

“Hmm.” The duke tapped his thumb slowly on the table. “Perhaps it is time to abandon convention, I suppose.”

Benjamin grinned. “Entirely in favour of results.”

“Precisely.” Edward raised his cup in a salute.

That evening, Edward decided it would do his mind some good to take a walk rather than be driven about in his carriage. The evening wind blew harshly, the kind that sent most sensible Londoners into the warmth of their homes. But he had spent most of his day thinking about what Benjamin had said and now, physical exertion was the only way to clear his mind.

As he walked through familiar roads, the cold air reminding him of the approaching winter, he mentally sorted through the names of governess agencies he intended to contact once he had the opportunity to.

The more he thought about what Benjamin said, the more he found the sense in it. Surely, it would be able to solve this unfortunate crisis and restore the reputation of his sisters.

***

Meanwhile, on another side of the town, not too far from where the duke worried about his sisters’ fate, Harriet hurried along the narrow vein of London’s backstreets, clutching her worn reticule to her chest, as though the frayed fabric could shield her from hunger and the misfortune that seemed to nip at her heels. The November dusk had deepened into a damp, bone-cutting chill, and every breath rose in pale clouds of white.

She had spent the day tramping from one governess agency to the next, and after three different attempts for the evening, she was plunged into dismay. She had been met with thin smiles, disdain, and a clerk who had shut the door in her face, with a sneer about her terrible luck.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Harriet said to herself, feeling her fingers grow taut from the cold.

Tomorrow.

The word sounded more like a threat than a promise.

Her boarding house lay a mile off, and the hackney coach’s fare might as well have been a fortune. So, she chose the alley, as every penny mattered. She moved through the alleys, and felt the silence press in, broken only by the scrape of her own steps.

Then, another sound. A rhythm that matched her pace too neatly. Harriet glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but shadows that stretched long and strange against the walls. Her breath caught, and she walked faster. Maybe the alleys were a bad idea, she thought to herself.

An echo followed, louder now, drawing closer. She gathered her skirts and quickened her stride until it was nearly a trot. Her heart hammered and the knot of dread in her stomach tightened with every step taken. She could almost see the wide of the thoroughfare ahead which made her hope that there would be people there, and that safety was within reach.

Two figures loomed out of the darkness, broad shouldered and ill-kept, blocking the narrow passage with the lazy confidence of men who knew she could not slip past. One of them grinned, his bad dentition visible even with just the moonlight.

“Well, well. A lady out so late, all by herself.”

Harriet stopped short, chest tight. The fog had closed around her, and the street behind her was empty but not quiet. She had been cornered. The taller of the two men took a step forward, boots scraping against the wet cobblestone.

Her throat tightened, and the sound of her pulse drummed against her ears, each louder than the last. She edged back a pace, skirts brushing the damp ground, fingers clutching her reticule so hard, they ached, partly from the cold too.

“Pray, let me pass,” she managed, her voice breaking, betraying the tremor she fought to contain.

The men chuckled low, the sound slithering through the fog. “Now, what sort of gentlemen would we be to turn away from a lady in need of company. On a chilly night like this?”

The other man said nothing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while his shadow was growing across the ground as he moved slowly toward her. Her mind screamed to run, but her body felt locked in place, feet as heavy as lead. She forced herself back another step, spine pressing cold against the walls to the sides of the alley.

“Please…” The word escaped in a whisper, more a plea to the night than to the men.

“No need for fright, miss. We’ll see that you are looked after.” The taller man leaned close, voice in a harsh rasp.

Every syllable struck like a threat, and Harriet’s hands trembled, though she tried desperately to still them. The world seemed to narrow to the sounds of their boots advancing, and she was shrinking ever so quickly, to the unyielding wall to her back.

“I beg you, sirs,” she stumbled over the words, “I carry but a little money. Nothing that would be of profit to you.”

Her plea drew a look from the shorter man who had been grinning. “Hear her?” he sneered, as though her fear were sport.

The taller one folded his arms across his chest, “Aye. Yet I fancy I’ll be the judge of that.”

He moved with sudden swiftness, stepping close enough that Harriet caught the reek of gin on his breath. His arm shot out and seized her reticule. She clutched at it desperately, the coarse fabric biting into her skin.

For an instant, no more than a desperate heartbeat, Harriet thought she perhaps might hold it fast.

But with merciless strength he tore it from her grasp, her futile resistance like a child tugging against a grown man. The seams, already worn from years of use, gave way with a ripping sound that seemed to echo cruelly through the alley.

The contents burst forth in a pitiful cascade, dispersing all over the ground. A few coins came clattering to the stones, ringing mockingly in the silence and her documents, which she hoped to submit to the more agencies the following day, fell out from under her arms, quickly soaking up the damp.

Harriet felt her heart stop as her prayer book dropped to the ground. She gasped, dropping to her knees in a desperate scramble to pick up her father’s letter which peeked out of it. The men turned to her, as though she had made an attempt for the coins which they had come to accept were rightfully theirs.

“Shouldn’t have done that ma’am,” said the taller one with a sneer.