The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

Chapter 1

Concerning the Nanny’s Plight; Spilled Tea, Dickens on Toast, Cucumber Sandwiches, and Jelly; A Teleportation Cock-Up of Magnificent Proportions; And an Unexpected Encounter with a Raven…

The Parasol Academy, Sloane Square, London

At the age of five-and-twenty, Mrs. Emmeline Chase had come to the realization that, much like her unruly red hair—which seemed to do whatever it liked unless ruthlessly pinned into submission—she would never be quite the right amount of prim and proper to satisfy Polite Society.

Indeed, even though Emmeline had just graduated from the Parasol Academy for Exceptional Nannies and Governesses, it was common knowledge within its ranks that she sometimes struggled to comply with the Academy’s exacting standards of etiquette, despite her best efforts.

So when Emmeline spilled her half-finished cup of tea down her snow-white nanny’s pinafore and, without thinking, exclaimed, “Blast and drat and dickens on toast,” in the middle of the Academy’s refectory, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone.

Nevertheless, there were more than a few censorious glares from teaching staff sent her way, along with a flurry of horrified gasps from fellow Academy graduates and the latest cohort of up-and-coming students. There was definitely a titter or two.

Her cheeks flaming, Emmeline blew out a frustrated sigh and blotted ineffectually at the unsightly brown splotch with a linen napkin.

“It’s just because you’re nervous,” murmured her bookish, fiercely intelligent friend, Hermina “Mina” Davenport, who was seated beside her. “Everyone knows you’re not your usual bright self. No one would blame you for spilling a bit of tea given the circumstances.”

Of course, Mina’s thick chestnut hair never misbehaved regardless of the circumstances, thought Emmeline.

It was always as smooth and glossy as the polished surface of the elegant oak dining table at which they sat.

A hurricane could hurtle through the Parasol Academy and Mina would still look completely unruffled.

But Mina was so sweet and supportive, Emmeline couldn’t begrudge how perfectly poised she was.

Or how clever. She would always be grateful she had such a steadfast friend.

Emmeline drew a breath and offered Mina a smile. “I suppose you’re right. Although, when it’s time for me to leave, I fear my knees won’t support me. They’re already quivering like a barely set jelly.”

In less than an hour she would be attending an interview for a nannying position—her first ever since she graduated from the Academy a fortnight ago.

And Emmeline needed the job more than she needed a spotless pinafore, or hair that behaved, or knees that didn’t knock together.

Because if she didn’t secure a permanent position with decent wages, she had no idea how she would be able to continue to pay off the turnkey at Newgate Prison where her father was currently incarcerated. This week’s payment was already late…

Emmeline’s situation might not have been so dire if her ne’er-do-well late husband, Jeremy, hadn’t frittered away everything they had, leaving her nothing.

She also couldn’t rely on her brother, Freddy, to come up with the money.

After all, it was his fault that their father’s antique clock store had fallen into bankruptcy in the first place.

The fact that Emmeline’s father was in prison for unpaid debts was the only thing that Mina didn’t know about Emmeline.

No one at the Academy knew either. And Emmeline’s secret had to remain exactly that.

Secret. Because who would employ a nanny whose father was locked away in one of England’s most notorious prisons?

“You didn’t even touch your luncheon,” said Mina, her clear hazel eyes soft with understanding.

Emmeline grimaced at the neat row of cucumber sandwiches on her porcelain plate. The Academy’s cook obviously used a set square to cut each one into a perfect equilateral triangle. “I hate being so wasteful, but my stomach’s full of rampaging butterflies at present.”

Mina touched Emmeline’s forearm. “You’ll be fine. You’re one of the bravest, smartest people I know, and I’m certain you will get this job.”

Emmeline smiled back at her friend. “Thank you. I wish I had your confidence—”

“Mrs. Chase?”

Emmeline looked up to find the relatively new headmistress of the Parasol Academy, Mrs. Felicity Temple, standing right in front of their table.

Oh, double blast and drat and a bucketload of botheration as well.

At least Emmeline remembered to swear in her head this time.

Although, according to the Parasol Academy Handbook’ s guidelines in Chapter 2, which pertained to nanny and governess etiquette, “botheration” and any of its variations were permitted, along with: oh my; oh dear; my goodness; good gracious; good heavens; heavens above; for mercy’s sake; and on the odd occasion, by Jove, or by Jupiter.

Unfortunately, “drat” was too close to “damn” so its use was discouraged.

Even though Mrs. Temple was only thirty years old (and styled herself “missus” because she was a headmistress, not because she was or had ever been married), there was an unmistakable air of authority about her.

A marked steeliness in her bearing. In fact, up until six months ago, Mrs. Temple had been employed by none other than Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, in the Royal nursery, and everyone at the Academy was in complete awe of her.

Yet there was a soft gracefulness about Felicity Temple too.

Her pale blond ringlets perfectly framed her heart-shaped face, and her petite frame was always immaculately attired in a haute couture gown.

Indeed, there were occasional whispers in quiet corners of the Academy that Mrs. Temple might just be the teeniest bit vain given she always kept a rather ornate silver and crystal-encrusted hand mirror upon her office desk.

Emmeline didn’t believe such talk though.

In her mind, the headmistress was the epitome of everything the Academy stood for: prim and proper and prepared for anything.

Right now, Emmeline feared she might have to prepare herself for a public drubbing of the verbal kind. She swallowed to moisten her dry mouth. “Yes, Mrs. Temple?” she ventured in a suitably polite tone. The refectory had grown as hushed as a church hall as there was a collective holding of breath.

“May I see you outside?” the headmistress asked quietly.

But, to Emmeline’s relief, there was no hard edge of disapproval in her voice, and the expression in her gray eyes was thoughtful, perhaps even compassionate.

Perhaps she would simply express her disappointment and issue Emmeline with a stern reminder about the “rules.”

Emmeline could but hope. She inclined her head in acquiescence. “Yes of course, Mrs. Temple.”

As she put down her napkin, Mina gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and murmured, “Good luck.”

Emmeline nodded her thanks as she pushed unsteadily to her feet. Truth to tell, she was grateful her knees didn’t give out as she followed the headmistress into the deserted corridor outside the refectory.

When Mrs. Temple came to a halt by the door of the study hall, she gave Emmeline a smile. “I’m not going to reprimand you for using impolite language, if that’s what you’re concerned about, Mrs. Chase.”

“Oh…” Emmeline pressed a hand to her stomach to help still the rioting butterflies within. “Thank you, Mrs. Temple. I assure you that I do know which particular exclamations are permitted as per the Parasol Academy Handbook .”

“I know you do.” Mrs. Temple gave her another reassuring smile.

“Just like I know that you’re nervous about your upcoming interview with Mr. Culpepper Esquire.

I can practically see that you’re quivering in your half boots.

But you really shouldn’t be so anxious. I’m confident that you’ll do very well.

” Her smile widened. “As long as you remember not to say things like ‘blast’ and ‘drat’ and ‘dickens on toast.’ Especially in front of the Culpeppers’ two young children. ”

“I promise I won’t,” said Emmeline. “And thank you for your understanding.” She might not be perfect, but it seemed the Parasol Academy’s headmistress didn’t think she needed to be absolutely perfect all the time either.

“Now,” said Mrs. Temple as she examined Emmeline’s uniform, “let’s see what we can do to remedy your attire so that you won’t be late for your appointment.

” She withdrew a small feather duster from the pocket of her dove-gray silk skirts, then murmured, “ Unsmirchify ,” as she made a grand sweeping gesture down the front of Emmeline’s pinafore.

A soft incandescent glow enveloped Emmeline’s person for a brief moment, and a warm breeze, almost like a sigh, gently swirled around her, ruffling her clothes.

When she looked down at herself, she could see that the tea stain had magically vanished; the white linen of her pinafore was spotless once more.

She smiled at the headmistress. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Temple.

Although”—she glanced toward the arched window at the end of the hall that revealed a bleak leaden sky—“I do hope my uniform can survive the trip to Bedford Square.” She didn’t have any spare coin to afford a hansom cab or even an omnibus fare at present, but she couldn’t very well tell Mrs. Temple that.

“Of course, you have my permission to teleport to your interview,” said Mrs. Temple.

“It’s official Academy business after all.

There’s a Metropolitan Police box at the northern end of Bedford Square you can make use of to conceal your arrival.

Then it will be but a short walk to the Culpeppers’ residence. ”