The Governess Gambit - Erica Ridley Page 0,1

small square hole she’d been peeking through and blinked around the attic.

Occasionally the wife of a Member of Parliament would come to watch part of the proceedings, or the housekeeper—whose private chamber was up here in the attic—might pass by with a broom and a dustpan.

Today, Chloe was alone.

Not that it mattered. No one would remember her presence anyway. Chloe’s relentlessly ordinary features were bland enough not to be describable in any identifiable way.

Over the years, she’d cultivated her forgettableness by never meeting eyes or making conversation unless absolutely necessary, and even then ensuring each encounter was as ordinary and unremarkable as possible. This skill had allowed her to slip past countless witnesses, without leaving any clear memory of the meeting behind.

Tat, rat-a-tat, tat.

“Yes, yes,” she muttered under her breath. “I heard you the first time.”

There must be an adventure afoot.

She strode to an open window and made the answering knock on the wooden frame so that her brother Graham would know his message had been received and heeded.

Her brother had never met a structure he couldn’t easily scale. Graham needn’t bother with anything so mundane as stairs. A flying buttress? No problem. He could sprint up it to the rooftop as nimbly as a squirrel.

Chloe, on the other hand, was obliged to take the stairs.

She hurried down, leather half-boots padding silently on the wooden steps, the handsome MP already forgotten. There were more important things than Parliament.

The Wynchester siblings didn’t just talk about doing good works.

The Wynchester siblings delivered.

Whenever there was a problem the system couldn’t—or wouldn’t—attend to, Chloe and her tight-knit family of fellow orphans turned their unique talents to finding justice.

It was time for another mission.

Chapter 2

Chloe leapt from her carriage the moment it paused at the Wynchester family’s large home in semi-fashionable Islington. She raced up the path to the entrance.

Their butler, Mr. Randall, had the door open long before Chloe reached it.

“Everyone is in the blue parlor,” Mr. Randall said as he took her bonnet. “The poor woman is in quite a state. She won’t speak to anyone but you.”

“Me?” Chloe repeated in surprise.

The only people who ever remembered her lived under this roof: the various Wynchester siblings, their foster father Baron Vanderbean, known familiarly as Bean, and a household of cherished servants.

For someone else to remember her—to ask for her—to need her!

Chloe thanked Mr. Randall over her shoulder as she rushed to the blue parlor.

Bean was in his usual armchair, a gorgeous cream-and-red bergère. As usual, his snow-white hair was impeccably styled, and his quick blue eyes were the first to notice Chloe. Very little got past Bean. He was the one who had taught her that any good strategy began with keen observation.

To his left sat handsome, brown-skinned Jacob Wynchester, with a golden puppy on his lap. Jacob was usually out in the barn training or rescuing one animal or another, but he always joined the family whenever a client was in trouble. His dark eyes were on their guests.

Tommy Wynchester sat on his other side, her frock coat gorgeously tailored and her cravat impeccable. Only her short brown hair was tousled, as though she’d recently dragged her fingers through it.

Behind them, standing against the silk-covered walls, was golden-skinned, black-haired Graham Wynchester. He must have flown home from the Palace of Westminster to beat Chloe here and yet somehow, he managed to look refreshed and presentable.

Elizabeth Wynchester sat on one of the sofas, her hands folded on the serpentine handle of her cane, which concealed a sharp blade. Her chin rested atop her folded hands and her sharp green eyes glittered.

Next to her was diminutive Marjorie Wynchester, her face and fingers flecked with colored paints. She spent most of her time in her third-floor studio, creating works of art or forging someone else’s.

On the opposite sofa was a distraught matron with a familiar face.

Mrs. Pine.

With apple cheeks and bright gray eyes framed with laugh lines, Mrs. Pine was usually a ray of sunshine in a dark place. She worked at the orphanage where Chloe had grown up. Mrs. Pine had been the one who discovered her basket on their front step and brought it in from the cold.

Mrs. Pine had known Tommy for just as long but could be forgiven for not recognizing her. The tall figure in trousers and a waistcoat did not resemble the little girl named Thomasina.

Tommy rarely left home as the same person twice, unless a mission required it. Some days she was a gentleman, others a lady. Sometimes