The Governess Gambit - Erica Ridley Page 0,7

told Tommy. “Miss Spranklin may run her school by herself now, but when she expands, she will find herself in want of good help.”

Chloe settled back in her chair. “Jane Brown is an experienced governess who has tired of her lot. She’s considering teaching in a private school like the Spranklin Seminary for Girls, or failing that, providing administrative or secretarial assistance.”

“Or failing that?” Graham asked. “No plan without a contingency.”

“Failing that,” Chloe said, “Jane Brown intends to open her own school. And who better to emulate than the enterprising businesswoman she most admires in all the world?”

“Ooh,” Tommy said. “An appeal to Miss Spranklin’s obviously considerable sense of superiority. She won’t be able to brag about turning children into unpaid laborers under false pretenses, but she’ll want to show off how clever she is.”

“Since Miss Spranklin is looking to expand her school, she’ll dislike the thought of competition,” Bean said. “It would be better to have Jane Brown under her thumb than working against her.”

Chloe nodded. “If she wishes to employ me, I’ll begin at once. Perhaps imply with double the instructors, she could even raise prices.”

“I wonder what she charges now,” Elizabeth mused.

Graham pulled one of his handwritten albums from the low bookcase spanning the wall behind him and flipped through the pages.

“On 13 January of this year,” he read aloud, “twenty private boarding schools published advertisements in the Oxford Journal. The Prospect House Boarding School run by the Misses Temple is listed at thirty-five guineas. The Spranklin Seminary for Girls is a comparatively affordable twenty-five.”

“Nothing happens without Graham knowing about it,” Elizabeth said with awe.

“And writing it down,” Tommy added. “Or pasting it in.”

Graham closed his album. “The most expensive and exclusive schools don’t list their prices in the newspaper, because they’ve no need to advertise.”

“Perhaps that is what she aspires to.” Bean stirred sugar into his tea. “She must be an excellent saleswoman to charge as much as she does. She may see ‘Jane Brown’ as a wish come true.”

“I’ll do my best,” Chloe said. “The role will put me in the perfect position for interior reconnaissance. If I see anything that can be used as evidence, I’ll either make a note of it, or nick it outright.”

“Good as done,” Tommy said with a grin. “With Chloe’s nimble fingers, she could smuggle children out using sleight-of-hand alone.”

“We’re not stealing them yet,” Elizabeth said. “A house full of abducted children would be a complication. Their parents paid for them to be with Miss Spranklin.”

“It’s Plan Two,” Bean agreed. “Shutting down her school is Plan Number One. All of the children will be much safer if the Spranklin Seminary for Girls no longer exists.”

Tommy nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll see you all at dinner.”

“It is not like Jacob to miss tea.” Marjorie shook her head. “I wonder what animal he’s training now.”

“Shall we go and see?” Elizabeth suggested.

Graham looked horrified. “Absolutely not!”

“It might not be weasels,” she protested. “It could be toads or cockerels.”

“He has a Highland tiger,” Graham reminded her as they exited the parlor. “Whatever the beast is, it’s bound to be dangerous.”

The footmen returned to clear the table, and then only Chloe and Bean remained.

She retrieved their respective novels from the bookcase and they settled into neighboring armchairs before the fireplace, as was their custom. Being summertime, there was no fire dancing in the grate, but that did not dampen the bliss she felt during the many calm hours she spent reading side-by-side with Bean.

Often, they traded novels after they finished, and then argued passionately over whether this character should have done that, or if this plot element would have been better served like that.

There was nothing Chloe cherished more.

“I wish I were your real daughter,” she murmured without looking at him.

It was not the first time she’d voiced such a sentiment. Ever since she first met Bean eighteen years ago, she’d wished they’d always been together from the beginning.

“You are my real daughter,” Bean said gruffly. “Whenever you worry, just look at our portrait. See that?” He pointed at the painting above the mantel. “It’s all of us. We are a real family. Never let anyone suggest otherwise.”

Chloe gazed up at Puck & Family and a familiar sense of happiness and warmth settled over her.

“You’re right,” she said. “Family isn’t blood, but rather our hearts. And no one’s hearts are bigger than the Wynchesters.’”

Bean’s smile was strained as he rubbed his temples.

She frowned and touched his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a megrim,” he