Victorian Spring: The Matchmaking Governess, #1

By Ruth Axtell

Widowed governess Constance Whitaker has just taken charge of two young children in a comfortable middle-class household in a London square and already she is frazzled by their spoiled behavior. But with a young son and widowed mother to support, she has little choice but to brave it out. When an encounter during an April shower with her neighbor, widower Angus Sherwood, stirs hopes and longings, she tells herself not to create pipe dreams like a schoolgirl.
Mabel Atwood has more than friendship in mind when she introduces herself to Constance. As governess to Angus's 13-year-old daughter, she thinks Constance is the perfect match for her widowed employer. So does his daughter, Natalie.
But what does Constance's heart say?
From Redcliffe Square in Kensington to the seaside town of Margate, Book One of the Matchmaking Governess series takes the reader into the late Victorian era, a time of tradition and great change. Pour yourself a cup of tea and meet Mabel Atwood, the matchmaking governess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Axtell
• Release date: May 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781507050194

Book preview

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books by Ruth Axtell

Prologue

London, England

1886

Mabel Atwood looked around Redcliffe Square and gave a satisfied nod of her head. It would do. It would do nicely indeed.

The square was lined with sturdy terraced houses in a light-tan shade of brick. Bay windows edged in thick, white trim alternated with white arched entryways all along the ground floor.

She looked across the street, where the best feature lay. A garden, a little more rectangular than square, enclosed by a black, wrought-iron fence. Leafy trees encompassed its perimeters, leaving a spacious center for paths and benches amidst the short-cropped grass.

The neighborhood appeared tranquil and stable as if little changed from season to season, year to year. She knew from her interview a few weeks back that it was filled with comfortable and well-to-do middleclass families.

A nanny pushed a stroller along one of the garden paths. A well-dressed elderly woman walked her Pekingese along another.

Mabel hefted the valise in her hand before proceeding to number 13, where she would take up residence for the next few years as governess to a girl who had lost her mother.

Poor dear. Mabel hoped to help fill the void left by the little girl’s departed mother, until she reached womanhood.

Sending a prayer upward for the good Lord’s guidance and favor, Mabel walked up the stone steps and through the portico to ring the bell.

Chapter One

Redcliffe Square, London

March 1893

A gust of wind filled Constance Whitaker’s umbrella, flinging it inside out. She gripped the curved handle, fighting the wind as she struggled with the umbrella. Icy rain pelted her face and garments. She’d be drenched in a moment if she didn’t get the umbrella righted.

The next instant a pair of tweed-clad arms reached around her and gripped the unruly umbrella. It was put to rights with a deft push into the wind and held out to her.

Constance grasped the ebony handle as she stared into a pair of concerned gray eyes beneath brown eyebrows and a narrow-brimmed bowler hat. Th—thank you, she managed, taking the umbrella back and keeping it low over her head to prevent the wind from catching it again.

Her rescuer stood under his own wide black umbrella, making it impossible for the two to stand too closely. You are most welcome.

I—I just went to the end of the street to put a letter in the box. I didn’t realize how windy it was.

The man smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. What started out as a mild spring rain has turned into a blustery storm. March doesn’t know that spring is here.

I suppose it isn’t yet. She couldn’t help smiling back at his apt description of the season.

As she stood there, recognizing the gentleman as her neighbor, she was unsure whether to acknowledge the fact, since they’d never been introduced. She’d been residing at her present address for little over a week as governess and had not ventured out much beyond the garden square with her charges.

The gentleman solved the problem for her. I would have preferred less dreary, damp circumstances but am glad for an opportunity to say hello. I live at number thirteen, right beside your residence. He gestured down the street with a leather-gloved hand to the houses along one side of Redcliffe Square, a quiet neighborhood in Kensington.

Y—yes, I—I have seen you. Her cheeks flushed at the admittance. Would he think her forward that she’d noticed him, too? It had only been in passing, she wanted to assure him.

But he continued as if that were not out of the ordinary. You can see my daughter there in the window. She waits for me around this time, knowing I shall be returning from work.

Forgetting her embarrassment, Constance peered through the gray sheets of rain at the house he pointed to. There behind the bay window with its parted lace curtains sat a girl in a light-colored pinafore and frock, a big bow in her hair. Noticing their attention, she raised an arm and waved.

Her father waved back to her. Constance lifted a hand, unsure what the girl would think of her father talking to a strange woman.

She is lonely since her mother—my wife—passed away.

I am sorry. He was a widower. She should have known, having seen no lady enter or leave the house but a plump, middle-aged woman who looked like a governess. The woman had smiled at her but had not yet stopped long enough for an introduction.

Goodness, I didn’t mean to keep you standing in the rain. Come. The gentleman took her gently by the elbow and helped her onto the curb.

T—thank you. What a dolt she sounded, she who prided herself on being calm and collected in even the most trying situations—which of late seemed to be ever increasing. As she spoke, she propelled her feet onward, determined not to linger.

He guided her along the pavement, walking