by Allison West
"Do you have a name?" the gentleman asked as she stared blankly at him, wrapped up in her thoughts.
She remained silent as his eyes studied her from head to toe. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was doing so.
"I am not going to hurt you." He crossed his arms and one eyebrow rose, giving him a very stern expression. "Or turn you in for your theft against the merchant. In fact, I went ahead and paid the man so your conscience may now rest easy."
Swallowing hard and casting her eyes shamefully toward the ground, she whispered, "Thank you, that was very kind."
"Do you have a name?" he asked again.
"Yes, sir. Giana."
"That is quite an unusual name," he said as he removed his black hat and gave a slight bow. "My name is Philip Hartley."
He spoke with such conviction that she wondered if she was supposed to know of him. She did not have the slightest notion of who he was or what he did, other than he dressed like a distinguished man.
"My parents gave me the name Georgiana, but I much prefer Giana for short." Her name had been too long for her own liking, so she had abbreviated it at a much younger age.
"Giana it is," Mr. Hartley said. "Please, let me buy you a cuppa and a nice hot meal. We shall sit down somewhere out of the cold."
She hesitated, afraid that she might be tossed back onto the streets the moment she set foot in an establishment of business. Everyone could see from one glance at her that she was a street urchin. Invisible to most on the street, but those who owned shops chased girls like her out with brooms, screaming that they would drive away customers.
"I will not take no for an answer," Mr. Hartley added.
Giving a little nod, she made eye contact. "All right, Mr. Hartley. I thank you." She appreciated his stubbornness, and that he would not let her own fear get the best of her.
"Please, call me Philip," he said as he extended the crook of his arm for her to take.
Giana was escorted by Philip out of the alleyway and across the road. A light snow began to fall, dusting her cloak as she brushed the wet flakes from the fabric before it had a chance to soak through the thin material.
"I know the perfect place for a good meal, and it is not far from here," Philip said. The brim of his hat shielded his face from the impending flurries that coated his jacket and colored the black of his hat white; neither of which seemed to bother him in the slightest. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he would soon be out of the cold, or that his clothes were thicker and warmer which made him seem far less agitated by the weather than Giana felt.
Opening the door to a small restaurant, he escorted Giana to a table.
"We do not have to wait to be seated?" she asked.
"A colleague of mine owns this place," Philip said. He removed his hat and placed it on the empty chair beside him, along with his coat, wet from the snow. Pulling out a chair for her, he silently motioned for her to be seated.
Getting a better look at him, she noticed his hair was thick, and dark like the night. His eyes were the color of the sea, warm and inviting as he smiled, undoubtedly trying to ease her fears. He was handsome and quite a bit older than her, he seemed well off, established, and up to something that she could not yet fathom.
Giana would have followed his lead and removed her cloak—if the lace on her gown had not been torn. Too embarrassed to be seen in the ripped garment, she chose to leave the cloak secured around her neck.
Her eyes darted around the quaint restaurant, with dim lighting from lanterns hanging above the tables, and small candle lights offering a clearer view of the menu. Dark red and yellow wallpaper, with zebra stripes that stretched from floor to ceiling, blanketed the entire room. The scent of homey Italian food permeated the restaurant. Her mouth watered and stomach grumbled. She did not wish to be rude, but her stomach spoke louder than her mouth seemed to.
"Right, let us order at once," Philip said, gesturing over one of the waitresses.
The waitress did not look much older than Giana herself, but she appeared far more clean, with perfectly combed, straight, black hair. Her brown eyes darted from a small pad, to take her order, back to Philip. The dress the girl wore was plain and brown but perfectly stitched, and well made, though worn. Compared to Giana's rags, the waitress's clothing looked brand new. She kept her face down, her fringe nearly in her eyes as she studied the pad of paper in her hand. "Mr. Hartley, may I take your order?"
Apparently, she knew him by name. It seemed he frequented the restaurant often enough to have his own table and to know the staff. Even if he was a friend of the owner, it still appeared a little otherworldly to Giana.
"We shall both have your special for this evening. I am certain whatever the cook is preparing will be heavenly. Oh, and would you be so kind as to bring out some bread and hot tea," Philip said to the waitress.
"Yes, of course." The young lady gave a quick curtsey and then rushed back into the kitchen.
Within a minute, she had returned with a bowl of bread and a small plate of butter.
"I will have the tea out shortly. We are just preparing the water," the waitress said.
Giana's stomach gurgled and she ignored the sound, reaching across the table for the largest slice of bread. The smell of warm dough permeated through the restaurant and wafted into her nose, forcing her tummy to continue embarrassing her with its loud, obnoxious sounds. She did not take the time to apologize, as it would only interrupt her from shoving the first real piece of tasty food into her mouth. She moaned at the first bite as the bread grazed past her lips and melted onto her tongue, the thick butter sweet, salty, and succulent as her stomach grumbled in protest at its first heavy food in days. Plunging the bread piece by piece into her mouth, Giana chewed promptly, her lips closed, trying to maintain the decorum she had learned in her home. Even though she had become a street urchin and was forced to look so awful, she still tried to mind the manners she had grown up with, and which had been instilled in her.
"Try not to eat too fast, Miss Giana. There is plenty more where that came from. I do not wish to see you violently ill later," Philip suggested, watching her curiously as he took a small bite of his bread and nodded, seeming quite pleased. "It is very good bread."
"When was the last time you ate here?" Giana asked. She tried to be polite, to remember how to make small talk. She had not been out on the streets so long as to forget how to remain civilized.
"Last week, with a gentleman who was interested in my profession." He caught her gaze, and it seemed he was content to let her do the asking of questions.
"What type of business are you involved in, Mr. Hartley—I mean, Philip?" Giana asked. She could not imagine coming here for work. It seemed more of a pleasure than a way to conduct business.
He reached across the table for his water and took a sip, clearing his throat. "I am the headmaster for an elite finishing school for young ladies."
"That sounds quite lovely." She had never attended a finishing school, but she had had a governess who had taught her all she needed to know about being a wife. "How was it that you had business here with a gentleman?" Perhaps her questions were rude as she probed for information, but she always found it easier to have others talk about themselves rather than have to speak of her own past.
"Prior to the enrollment of any individual, I do a thorough background investigation to ensure that the proper candidates are brought in to the chateau."
Giana said nothing, unsure how to respond. Instead, she reached for a second slice of bread, her hands shaking far less and her fingers warmer than they had been for quite some time. The heat of the fireplace in the restaurant offered both ambience and a warmth that made her more comfortable. She no longer shivered in her seat.
The waitress returned to the table and brought a small kettle, along with two cups and several options for tea.
Giana did not care about what flavor she drank. All that interested her was the heat from the mug as she absorbed the warmth upon her hands a
nd swallowed the piping hot liquid as it coursed down her throat.
"I will have whatever Mr. Hartley is having to drink," she said, assuming it was a safe option, considering he frequented the establishment far more than she ever would. That she would ever come back to such a nice place, cozy and warm, with good food, seemed unlikely. She did well to hide her disappointment, not wanting to upset Philip. He had been kind and princely to her, and so far had asked nothing of her in return. Whatever he wanted, she was certain he would come out with it soon. Men did not invite street urchins for dinner unless they had a motive behind their generosity.
"Very well," the waitress said, procuring two metal balls containing dried leaves and, from the smell of it, spices. She dipped them into the water, leaving the chains sticking out to retrieve. "Your food will be out shortly."
"Thank you," Philip said, giving her a polite nod.
Giana lifted the warm ceramic cup and felt as though any last remnant of cold had vanished from her body. Toasty and comfortable, she sipped the liquid and let her eyes close, reveling in the feeling this fine gentleman had given her. She did not dare think of him as anything else until he opened his mouth to ask her a favor. Giana suspected he would request her comfort in bed, or perhaps beg her to bend down onto her knees while he loosened his trousers. She tried to quell such atrocious ideas. Perhaps Philip was merely a kind man, who had seen a lady down on her luck and thought it would be nice to feed her. Why her, though? There had to be plenty of young women on the streets, begging for food and pickpocketing to survive.
"Why did you bring me here, Mr. Hartley?" Giana could no longer wait to hear what he wanted.
He brought the teacup to his lips and took a slow sip. Carefully placing the china back down on the table, he released a soft sigh. "I intended to have this conversation after we had eaten dinner, Giana."
She did not relent, or apologize for asking what he wanted from her.
Silence swept over them, and with another sigh, this one much more resigned, as if she had won, he placed both his hands, clasped together, upon the table. "I am looking for a nanny for the young ladies at my finishing school. The Ashby Chateau, perhaps you have heard of it?"
Giana shook her head. "I am sorry, Mr. Hartley. I am unfamiliar with any finishing schools." She herself had never been, so she had no reason to know of their names, locations, or reputations.
"I had not expected you to know of it. We are especially known for the submission of naughty young women who need a strict hand and a proper upbringing. There are two divisions within Ashby: our elite finishing school, and the gem of the chateau, where young women are regressed back to their childhood and trained to submit to their betrotheds. I am in need of a nanny for my school of littles, and seeing as how you could obviously use a place to sleep and three hot meals a day, I think it would be wise for you to thoroughly consider my suggestion before turning me down."
Had a lot of women whom he had asked to be a nanny turned him down? "You are offering me a position as a nanny? I know nothing of children, Mr. Hartley." Giana needed to get out of the cold, and the warmth of the restaurant was nice, but it would not last. After her meal, she would go back out into the biting chill and suffer, with her worn shoes and torn gown that offered nowhere near enough protection from the winter air.
"Well, to begin with, the littles' school at Ashby does not accept anyone under the age of eighteen, so you would not need any knowledge of how to deal with children. You will, however, be responsible for the care of the young ladies in your charge. They will require being bathed, fed, supervised, disciplined, and put to bed. I have no doubt that you will find it a rewarding experience."
"I am not sure what you mean. Did you not just say that the pupils were not children?"
"They are not children at all, and yet, in many ways, they are to be treated as such. They are littles—women who allow their minds, their bodies, and their souls to find their inner child. They are trained to find the purest of submission that any woman could offer to her betrothed. Being a little is a gift that they choose to offer to a husband who requires such a gem. They will need your care, your attention, your guidance, and even your firm hand and discipline. It is what is required of a nanny should you choose to accept this position."
Giana swallowed the lump in her throat. Would she really be able to discipline a woman who was practically her own age? Why would a woman agree to attend such a school?
The door to the restaurant opened as a patron stepped inside, along with the cold air and rush of wind that followed. The chimes on the door swung, tinkling with the icy gust.
"As a nanny of the chateau, you would also receive new clothes, shoes, and access to warm water to draw yourself a bath. I am sure those are all luxuries for you right now," Philip went on.
He was taunting her with what she could have if she accepted the strange position. Was she insane for even considering it? What else would she do with her life? She had lost her status and home, and been forced onto the streets as nothing more than a beggar. The likelihood of her getting a second chance was small, and this had seemed to find her. If she did not decide swiftly, the opportunity may no longer present itself.
Giana had so many questions but she feared that if she began an inquisition, Philip would rescind his offer and, as odd as it all seemed, it was still a job and a way off the freezing streets. "May I ask you one final question, Mr. Hartley? And I do not intend to cause you any disrespect with such an inquiry."
He raised an eyebrow, seeming quite amused already. "Go on."
"Do you select all your nannies from the street? What would make you assume I have any qualifications to be a nanny at your establishment?" There was something to be said for choosing a girl whom no one would notice had gone missing. Her family had disowned her, and if she did disappear from the streets, whether from freezing and dying in her sleep, or being swept away by a wealthy man looking for a nanny for his school, she doubted anyone would realize she had vanished.
Philip seemed to be caught off guard, and breathed a sigh of what she suspected to be relief as their meals were brought to the table. He waited until the waitress had stepped away before continuing the conversation. "I do require a certain amount of secrecy for my school of littles. You must understand how it would look to most who do not understand the desires of wealthy men. I have been watching you over the past couple of days in passing. I did choose you because you seem down on your luck," he said, "but I can also tell that you come from a well-to-do family. You are not simply an urchin, this much I can tell. You know which fork to use, and how to sit like a lady, even in the tattered rags you wear. I do not wish to insult you any more than you wish to do the same to me, Miss Giana." Philip took a long drink of his tea, giving her time to absorb what he had just revealed, before asking, "What will it be? Do you desire the opportunity of a lifetime? It is not the most conventional job, but a job nonetheless. As long as you remain a nanny at Ashby, I assure you that everything you need will be paid for."
Giana felt her heart twitch and her fingers tremble. She reached for her tea, hoping the tremor was solely from the cold and not her nerves. Her voice, however, betrayed her as she spoke. "Yes. I shall accompany you to your finishing school. What was it called again?"
"The Ashby Chateau."
Chapter 2
Theodore Elliott climbed out from his carriage, the sun forcing him to squint. The snow had let up, and though it had been a brutal winter, he had been lucky to spend most of his time inside, aside from his trips to and from work.
Fit and ready for marriage, Theo had not the time to travel and find a lady who could please him in the way he most desired. Through his dealings as a businessman, he had met an assortment of ladies, all intent on marrying him if only he would propose. Perhaps they were influenced by his wealth and status, which was what brought them to his doorstep. Most were of a fine caliber, polite, with a proper upbringing, but they all bored him. Each was pretty in her own way, but not pr
etty enough by his standards. It was not the way a woman looked that interested him, so much as the beauty in what she craved from a man. The women he inquired about were too timid to speak of their desires, or perhaps put off by such an idea. It may have been bordering on scandalous, but he was looking for a wife, one who would allow and embrace his dominance while also understanding her true submissive nature, and the sexual strength that came from that. That was not to say the ladies he had met were not docile, many were, but they barely had the courage to meet his intense, steely gaze.
Theo, thus far, had not met a woman whom he wanted to claim as Mrs. Elliott.
He exited the carriage and walked briskly to the door; the sun did not steal the bite from the cold. Knocking, he waited for Mr. Marlowe to answer it.
The lock clicked, and the door slowly pulled back to reveal a young woman dressed in a powder blue gown, with her hair in two ribbons holding brown, tamed curls. White stockings graced her legs, below a dress that was far shorter than Theo had ever seen. Her eyes sparkled with the light of the sun behind him. She did not move to let the stranger in, just as a child would have been instructed.
