LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

       The Carrington House, Queen Square, London, December 1867

      Daisy Marshall put aside the garment she had been mending for Master Timothy.

      ‘What is it, Franklin?’ she asked, gazing warily at the butler, who had entered the morning parlour without bothering to knock. Such small infringements of etiquette from the upper servants were not unusual, and obviously designed to put her in her place.

      ‘For you, miss.’ With disapproval written all over his face, Franklin proffered a silver salver on which lay a sealed envelope.

      Daisy’s breath caught in her throat as she recognised the writing, and she snatched it up, hoping that Franklin was not familiar with the bold cursive script belonging to Julian Carrington, the elder son and heir to the family fortune.

      ‘Thank you, Franklin.’ She made an effort to sound casual and unconcerned, but Franklin had a way of reducing her to the lowly status of a scullery maid.

      He looked down his long nose. ‘Mrs Carrington wishes to see you in the drawing room, miss.’

      ‘I’ll be there directly.’ Daisy waited until he had left the room. The Carringtons’ butler had never approved of her – he had made that plain from the outset – and neither had Mrs Thompson, the housekeeper. The lot of a governess was not a happy one, as Daisy had discovered to her cost. She had found herself occupying a nebulous position where she belonged neither upstairs nor below stairs, but all that would change very soon. Daisy raised her hand to touch the gold ring set with a sparkling diamond that Julian had placed on her finger, although it now hung round her neck on a silk ribbon, hidden from view. The Carringtons’ money had come originally from coal mining in Yorkshire, and it was no secret that they hoped their son would marry into the landed gentry, but Julian would be twenty-one on Christmas Eve, and he planned to announce their betrothal at his birthday party.

      Daisy opened the envelope carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive hand-made writing paper, and she inhaled the scent of Julian’s favourite cologne. It was almost as if he were sitting beside her, and she closed her eyes, revelling in the exotic blend of aromatic essences and spice. She sighed happily: in two days’ time it would be official. When he returned home Julian would place the ring on her finger in front of his whole family. Daisy Marshall from Whitechapel, the orphaned daughter of a leather merchant, would be raised from her humble status of governess to that of fiancée to the elder son of a well-to-do family. Quite how it had happened was still something of a surprise. The dashing twenty-year-old Oxford undergraduate, who had hopes of a career in the diplomatic service, was much in demand during the London season. Daisy was well aware that his domineering mother and

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