The Governess's Guide to Spells and Managing Misfit Marquesses

Book 2: Parasol Academy

by Amy Rose Bennett

Genres: Fantasy Romance; Victorian Romance

Synopsis

Mary Poppins meets My Fair Lady in a feel-good blend of cozy fantasy magic, historical romance, humor, and Victorian era charm, as a recent graduate of the Parasol Academy for Exceptional Nannies and Governesses finds herself at sea on a ship commanded by a captivating Irishman.

For readers of India Holton, Heather Fawcett, Allison Saft, Katherine Arden, Freya Marske, and Olivia Atwater’s Regency Faerie Tales series.

Hermina Davenport can hardly believe the audacious exploit she is about to attempt. To protect an orphaned young viscount, the prim and proper governess feels she has no choice but to break the rules of the Parasol Academy Handbook! When the lad’s guardian, a ruthlessly ambitious explorer, ensorcelled by the evil Fae Queen, spirits him away on a dangerous North Pole expedition, Mina employs an invisibility spell to snatch him from the ship. But a magical misfire whisks Mina and her charge onto a different vessel, that of a ruggedly handsome Irishman—a strapping prizefighter from Dublin’s backstreets—and Mina finds she’s at sea in more ways than one . . .

Phineas O’Connell, Lord Kinsale, can no more explain the arrival of this English Rose than he can adapt to his newly-inherited title—though his disgruntled pet pug clearly has “thoughts” about the fair stowaway. But their enchanted encounter sparks an irresistible offer: Phinn enlists the polished Miss Davenport to transform this misfit marquess into a mannered gentleman ready for his seat in Parliament. No magic required, just enticingly intimate lessons in etiquette and elocution to smooth all his rough edges including a stammer. . .

But when enemies—both earthly and supernatural, past and present—threaten, a confrontation begins, where Mina’s nondescript umbrella is just one of her powerful weapons . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 432

Sample

In Which a Governess Takes Matters into Her Own Hands; A Ship is Slyly Boarded; Walruses, Polar Bears, and Sardines are Featured; And the Merits of Certain Expletives are Considered …

St Augustine’s Reach, Port of Bristol, England

August 1851

Miss Mina Davenport, a proudly prim and proper Parasol Academy governess, never set out to break the rules. But oh, when she did so, it was in a truly spectacular fashion.

Yes, this is definitely an I’m-never-ever-going-to-explain-this-away sort of incident if anyone ever finds out, thought Mina as she discreetly opened her capacious Parasol Academy–issued umbrella then whispered the magic incantation, “Cloakify” to make her entire person, and her umbrella, disappear from view. Though with any luck, now she was completely invisible to anyone bustling about on Bristol’s crowded quay, she might just get away with the felonious crime she was about to commit.

Of course, kidnapping a child was not customary for Mina by any means. And without a shadow of a doubt, it was strictly proscribed in the Parasol Academy Handbook, which governed all areas of a licensed graduate’s practice. It was a handbook that Mina had always adhered to, to the letter. To the very T. Indeed, she knew the handbook’s every regulation better than she knew the back of her own hand (or even the staunchly guarded secret yearnings of her heart). But when one’s former charge—a seven-year-old viscount—was being forced to embark on a perilous sea voyage by his glory-seeking guardian (a supposed “gentleman” explorer by the name of Sir Bedivere Ponsonby)—one must go above and beyond and do what one must.

After all, a mere month ago, Mina had made a deathbed promise to the Dowager Countess Grenfell, young Lord Fitzwilliam’s late godmother, that she would protect the boy’s life at all costs. No matter how. No matter what.

No matter how presently involved sneaking aboard Sir Bedivere’s newly acquired survey ship—a majestic, three-masted beast of a vessel, the Valiant—and rescuing the young viscount from an inherently dangerous situation. Lady Grenfell had been convinced that the prophetic dream she’d had in the week before her death—that her godson would meet an untimely end in a frozen Arctic wasteland—was indeed correct. Not only that, but she’d very much feared that the real reason behind Sir Bedivere’s callous disregard for his ward’s well-being, was that the baronet had been ensorcelled by a cursed family heirloom. A silver and obsidian ring that had once belonged to the ill-fated King of England—a rumored Fae changeling—Charles I.

No doubt Lord Fitzwilliam—sweet boy that he was—was somewhere on board the Valiant, alone and afraid, shivering in his small kid boots.

Well, not for much longer, whispered Mina beneath her breath. She might not be Lord Fitzwilliam’s governess in an official capacity anymore—the high-handed Sir Bedivere had summarily dismissed her a fortnight ago for no discernible reason—but she must do what was morally right.

What she’d promised Lady Grenfell she would do.

“No matter what,” Mina whispered to herself. Even if the viscount’s godmother had been mistaken and Sir Bedivere’s ring wasn’t cursed and her dream had simply been a nightmare and not a genuine portent of impending doom, common sense dictated that the North Pole was no place for a child.

Ignoring the frantic tripping of her heart, and determinedly crushing down any second thoughts, Mina picked up the navy wool skirts of her Parasol Academy uniform, stepped out of the deep shadows of a quayside warehouse, then studied the steady stream of laden carts and passersby, looking for a clear path to Sir Bedivere Ponsonby’s ship. The Valiant’s gangplank was still down, but she was almost ready to launch. A waiting tugboat chugged away at the prow and there was a small crowd—including Sir Bedivere—gathered on the quarterdeck. Although, as far as Mina could tell, there was no sign of little Lord Fitzwilliam. His fair head was nowhere to be seen.

She needed to make haste, but carefully.

Although Mina was invisible, it was always best to be cautious when employing the Cloakify spell. Even an inadvertent collision might knock her umbrella and its protective shadow askew, exposing part of her person. The unexpected appearance of a disembodied body part, or even an untoward billow of her bell-like skirts, would be sure to draw attention; attention that she could ill afford to attract.

Subterfuge, just like an immaculate uniform and perfectly professional demeanor, was paramount.

When Mina at last spied a relatively unobstructed gap in the crowd, she marched smartly across the quay heading straight for the Valiant. She trusted that no one would detect the light tap of her heeled boots on the cobblestones. Or her gasp, then muttered curse, when a sailor lugging an enormous sack almost ran into her.

Just sneak aboard, find Lord Fitzwilliam, hide him beneath your umbrella, then disembark. Sir Bedivere will be so caught up in the hubbub of the Valiant’s launch, he won’t notice his ward is missing until it’s too late. At least, that’s what Mina told herself as she swiftly scaled the gangplank—thanks to her Parasol Academy training, she had excellent balance—and gained the main deck of the ship without incident.

As she began to creep along the portside railing toward the fair-headed Sir Bedivere—all the while hoping to catch sight of her former charge—an inopportune wind swept across the deck, and for a few fraught moments, Mina fought against the bullying breeze, struggling to keep her umbrella in place.

Drat and darn! She did not need this.

Then, thank goodness, the wind abated with a gusty sigh, and Mina couldn’t help but breathe her own huge sigh of relief.

Sir Bedivere—he was quite the braggadocio—suddenly released a hearty laugh, catching Mina’s attention. “Right-o, Captain,” he boomed, clapping the shoulder of a pewter-haired gentleman beside him. In the afternoon sunlight, the baronet’s silver and obsidian ring flashed, momentarily blinding Mina. “Let’s get this vessel underway! The Northwest Passage awaits!”

Oh, double drat. Mina huffed out an exasperated sigh. There was no time to lose.

She hurried toward the quarterdeck, frantically scanning everywhere for a small fair-headed boy—but Lord Fitzwilliam was definitely not on deck.

He must be below. Unless Mina’s source of intelligence—Napier, the steadfast butler at Fitzwilliam House in London, an upstanding character who’d been loyal to Lady Grenfell—had been wrong about his young master’s whereabouts. Though Napier had been right about the details of the Valiant’s imminent launch—her maiden expedition to the Arctic since Sir Bedivere had acquired her … with his ward’s money.

At that moment, the Valiant’s captain barked an order and the crew leapt into action—seamen unfurled the mainmast’s sails, unhitched the mooring ropes tethering the ship to the quay, then hauled up the gangplank. When the tugboat sounded its horn, the Valiant creaked and shuddered and lurched and began moving ponderously along the River Avon, on its way to the river mouth and the Bristol Channel.

Well, now you’re definitely too late to beat a hasty retreat on foot. Mina curled her gloved fingers around the railing to help maintain her balance. All was not lost, though. She had other magical means, courtesy of her Parasol Academy training, at her disposal to effect an escape.

As long as she could find Lord Fitzwilliam and avoid detection. That was her priority.

But where could the boy be? Locked in the captain’s cabin or below deck in a cabin of his own or Sir Bedivere’s?

There was only one way to find out.

As the City of Bristol slid past, Mina turned her attention to the “lay of the land”—or perhaps she should say, the “shape of the ship”? Unfortunately, her knowledge of all things nautical was rudimentary at best. A doorway bracketed by two sets of stairs leading up to the quarterdeck was directly ahead. The captain’s cabin was usually at the stern of the ship not too far below deck—or so Mina thought—and the quarters for passengers and higher-ranking crew members wouldn’t be too far from that, surely.

Mina started forward, making a beeline for the door … only to discover that there was no way on earth her umbrella was going to fit through such a narrow space, let alone the passageway—really a chute—with its ladder in lieu of stairs that led below. It would be akin to stuffing a whole Victoria sponge into a mouse-sized mouth—physically impossible.

Why, her skirts would barely fit.

Glancing about the deck, Mina made sure no one was looking her way, and of course, that no one was lurking below the ladder, before she drew a deep breath and in one smooth maneuver, turned neatly and balanced on the topmost rung. Then, she swiftly closed her umbrella, tucked it firmly beneath her arm, and gently drew the door closed.

Upon descending the ladder, she found herself in a low-ceilinged, shadowy passageway—deserted, thank goodness—that opened onto a relatively spacious cabin with a fine mahogany dining table, matching dresser, and several large chests. The officers’ and gentlemen’s mess perhaps?

So far, so good.

All she could hear—apart from the rapid tattoo of her own heart—was the creak of timbers, the susurration of waves, the muted calls of the crew above, and the occasional thud or clank or scrape. Dare she try her luck and call out to Lord Fitzwilliam? Surely most hands would “be on deck”—apart from those on duty in the galley.

What she couldn’t afford to do was dither, flapping about like a faint-hearted flibbertigibbet. According to Chapter 3, Section 2, Subsection 4 of the Parasol Academy Handbook, a nanny or governess “must always act precisely and with assuredness. Dillydallying, or any form of shilly-shallying, can waste precious minutes, especially in a precarious situation where a child’s safety is at stake. Assess, decide, take action. Above all, carry on.”

No matter what.

And then Mina heard another sound beneath everything else like a soft, heartbreaking undercurrent.

The sobs of a child.

Mina’s heart clenched. It was Lord Fitzwilliam. She’d know the sound of his weeping anywhere. Hadn’t she provided comfort to the boy on numerous occasions over the past six months? Like the time he’d scraped his knee in Hyde Park. And when he’d badly cut his finger with a pen knife in the schoolroom of Fitzwilliam House. The occasion when he’d suffered from a stomachache.

And then of course, when his beloved godmother, Lady Grenfell, passed away but a month ago, and she, Mina, had been the one who’d had to break the terrible news to her charge.

She hastened through the mess, following the sound into another narrow passage. There, to the right—or should she say, on the starboard side?—were three wooden doors, perhaps leading to cabins; the weeping seemed to be emanating from the middle one.

Oh, my poor little lord.

Mina rushed over. “Lord Fitzwilliam?” she called in a hushed voice as she tried the polished brass handle—of course, it was locked, but she’d been expecting that. “It’s me, Miss Davenport. Can you open the door, my lord?”

The crying ceased and the young viscount whispered through the keyhole. “Miss D-Davenport?” There was a sniffle then a hiccupped breath. “Is-is that really you?”

“Yes,” Mina whispered back in the most reassuring voice she could muster. “’Tis I, my lord.” She glanced about. The coast was still clear. “I’ve come to fetch you. Is there a key in the lock? On your side?”

Another hiccup. “No …” Another small whimper ensued. “Sir Bedivere locked me in. He-he said I had to stay down here where … where it’s safe.”

Mina’s lips tightened as she scoffed inwardly. Safe? Who in their right mind wanted to take a child on a rough-sea voyage to such a far-flung and inhospitable place as the Northwest Passage? A notoriously treacherous, essentially uncharted sea route that had claimed the lives of many intrepid sailors. As Lady Grenfell had once put it, “Sir Bedivere suddenly fancies himself as a modern-day Sir Walter Raleigh. He’s got it in his head that he wants to blaze a trail across the Arctic Ocean where no man has blazed a trail before. Come what may.”

More than ever, Mina was convinced she was doing the right thing in fulfilling her promise to Lord Fitzwilliam’s godmother. She must whisk Lord Fitzwilliam away to safety.

“Don’t worry, my lord,” Mina murmured through the door’s panels. Reaching into the pocket of her governess’s uniform, she found her Academy-issued pewter leyport key, which could serve as a “skeleton” key if required. Even through the fabric of her gloves, she could feel a light tingling, buzzing sensation in her fingers as the magic sparked. “I can open the door.”

Which she did, at once. Inserting the key, she tumbled the lock as she whispered the incantation, “Opendium,” and then she was entering Lord Fitzwilliam’s cabin.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, the little boy threw himself at her, his arms catching her about the waist like she was a lifebuoy in a stormy sea. “Oh, Miss Davenport, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t want to go to the North Pole to see the-the walruses with their big pointy tusks, or the polar bears with their sharp pointy teeth. I want to go home.”

“There, there, my lord. Everything will be all right,” said Mina in her most soothing tone. Beneath the tumble of the boy’s overly long blond curls, she gently patted his narrow back. “I’m here now. And I will get us both off this ship. I don’t particularly wish to meet a walrus or polar bear either.”

“Really?” Lord Fitzwilliam lifted his watery blue gaze to Mina’s. The hope in his eyes sent a sharp pang through Mina’s heart.

“Yes, really,” she said firmly, then worried at her lower lip as another thought occurred to her. It would take at least an hour for the Valiant to reach the mouth of the River Avon and thence the notoriously rough Bristol Channel. While her initial plan had been to sneak Lord Fitzwilliam away as soon as she boarded the ship, perhaps it would be better if she stayed a while longer. If Sir Bedivere believed his ward had been “lost at sea” rather than snatched from the vessel while it was docked—especially by a “lowly” and apparently demure, play-by-the-rules governess—he probably wouldn’t bother to mount a search for his ward on the mainland … which would suit Mina.

On the other hand, if he did suspect that his ward had been kidnapped, he would mount a search. Lady Grenfell had made it clear that the terms of the guardianship were such that the young viscount had to reside with one of his appointed guardians in order for them to access the family trust. Sir Bedivere, now Lord Fitzwilliam’s sole guardian since the passing of Lady Grenfell, would certainly not want to give up that sort of carte blanche access, not if it meant he had to curtail extravagant expeditions like this one.

But of course, the longer Mina stayed on board, the greater the chances were that she would be discovered. And she couldn’t have that. Because not only would Lord Fitzwilliam still be stuck in a highly dangerous situation, but her name and reputation, and that of the Parasol Academy, would be muddier than a mud lark grubbing along the mudflats of the River Avon.

She’d lose her Parasol Academy license and her means to earn a living, not to mention the fact that she’d likely be sentenced to a life in prison.

It was rather a pity that she didn’t have permission from the Parasol Academy’s headmistress to conduct this rescue mission. Indeed, Mrs. Felicity Temple knew nothing about any of this … But whether or not she should confide in Mrs. Temple was a matter Mina would contend with later.

Right now, it was essential to teleport—or te-ley-port—both herself and Lord Fitzwilliam off this ship.

Mina knelt down so she could look Lord Fitzwilliam in the eye to explain what they were about to do next. “My lord—” she began, then broke off as a male voice she didn’t recognize drifted in from the corridor.

“My Lord Fitzwilliam …”

Mina’s pulse leapt as the thud of heavy, masculine footsteps approached. Ack.

“It’s my new tutor, Mr. Meecham,” whispered the young lord, his bottom lip protruding in a doleful pout. “I don’t like him. He’s always cross and raps me on the knuckles with his cane if I spell a word wrong. Or make a mistake with my sums.”

Mina fought to keep her expression neutral while inside she was ablaze with anger and righteous indignation. How dare a teacher do such a terrible thing? It was unconscionable. No child should be treated in such a cruel way.

But moral outrage would do her no good if she were caught. Her gaze darted about the cabin. She couldn’t hide under the small single bed—the space beneath contained built-in drawers. There was a narrow closet in one corner, but she feared she wouldn’t quite fit. And while she could put up her umbrella and cast the Cloakify spell, if this Mr. Meecham entered the cabin, he would be sure to bump into her.

There was only one thing for it: She’d have to use her Parasol Academy umbrella in another way.

At that moment, the door opened. “Mr. Meecham?” Even though she was inwardly seething, Mina somehow managed to greet the astonished-looking tutor—a bespectacled man of middle-age with a balding pate—with her most winsome smile. As she slid her umbrella from beneath her arm, she added in an approximation of amiable, “How do you do? Lord Fitzwilliam was just telling me all about you.”

The tutor’s mouth, which had dropped open, slammed shut, then opened again, reminding Mina of a snapping turtle. “What …? Who …? How …?” he sputtered. Then he rallied and his expression shifted into the territory of cantankerous with a good dash of suspicion thrown in. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?” he demanded, tapping his cane against his thigh. “You have no right—”

Mina affected a sigh. “I know. I know, it’s all rather confusing, finding a strange woman in his lordship’s cabin, isn’t it, Mr. Meecham? But I think you’ll find that this will help.”

And then she gave the bristling tutor a short, sharp jab in the middle with the end of her umbrella—the magical Point-of-Confusion, to be exact—at the same time she uttered beneath her breath, “Perplexio.”

Almost at once, the tutor’s furious demeanor melted into pleasantly puzzled. He blinked a few times and then rubbed a hand across his rumpled brow. “I … Excuse me, miss … There was something … I seem to have forgotten …” His bewildered gaze drifted to Lord Fitzwilliam. “My lord … I came to …” The tutor looked at Mina again as if asking for help.

She smiled. Thank goodness the confusion spell had taken. Although, it would only work for a few minutes. “You came to check on Lord Fitzwilliam,” she said, affecting a politeness she in no way felt, “and now you’re going to find Sir Bedivere and tell him that everything is perfectly fine. That his ward is alone in his cabin and is diligently completing the mathematical problems you set. Best you make haste and get back on deck.”

Mr. Meecham gave an eager nod. “Ah yes. Quite. That’s it. Jolly good.” He bowed to Lord Fitzwilliam. “I shall see you anon, my lord.” And then he turned on his heel and quit the cabin with nary a backward glance.

Mina permitted herself a small sigh of relief as she shut the cabin door. Even though Mr. Meecham had been responsive to her suggestion—and with any luck, would forget the whole encounter entirely—there was no time to lose. Bending down, she caught Lord Fitzwilliam’s gaze. “Right. It’s time for us to go, my lord. Is there anything you would like to bring with you? Mr. Hopwell, your velvet rabbit perhaps?”

Lord Fitzwilliam nodded. “Yes, but …” His expression grew fearful. “I-I can’t swim, Miss Davenport.”

Mina smiled reassuringly. “Oh, we’re not going to swim. We’re going to …” She trailed off. How best to explain the concept of teleporting to a child? “We’re going to step inside a magic cupboard, and when we exit the other side, we’ll have arrived somewhere safe.”

“Highwood Hall?” Lord Fitzwilliam asked hopefully.

Mina’s chest cramped. Highwood Hall was the young viscount’s ancestral home in Hertfordshire. The house where he’d been born and where he’d lived with his parents before they’d tragically passed away a year ago in a carriage accident. Lady Grenfell had lived with her godson there too. As had Mina when she’d taken up her post as the viscount’s governess in March. “I’m afraid not,” she said gently. “At least not for the moment. We’re going to visit my own mama and sister instead. They live in the country too. In a pretty little cottage by the woods. Sir Bedivere will not think to look for you there. I also think it would be best if I introduce you to everyone we meet as Master Christopher, rather than by your title, or ‘my lord.’ Keeping your true identity a secret will make it almost impossible for your guardian to find you. If that’s all right with you.”

Lord Fitzwilliam nodded. “All right. I agree. That all sounds eminently sensible.”

While Mina hastily packed a small valise for the boy—she threw in a few changes of clothes that she found in his traveling trunk—he pulled his velvet rabbit from beneath the pillow on the narrow bed. “I’m ready, Miss Davenport,” the young viscount said gravely. “But where is this magic cupboard?” He nodded at the one in the corner. “This one is rather ordinary.”

Mina smiled. “Ah, but I have a special key that will wake up the magic. Would you like to see how it works?”

The young viscount nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Firmly tamping down any last-minute conniptions, Mina again retrieved her leyport key from her magical governess’s pocket. In theory, she could use her leyport key in any door to open a leyline portal, but she preferred using cupboards and wardrobes rather than regular doors between rooms. Aside from the fact it was a relatively discreet way to te-ley-port, there was something about the whole act of unlocking the door and discovering the tiny white leylight in the shadowy depths of a cupboard that helped Mina to focus her energy when casting the teleportation incantation.

Once she’d unlocked the cupboard door (it wasn’t really locked, but she needed to use the key to awaken the Fae leyline magic), she beckoned Lord Fitzwilliam over. “See that small white light, flickering like a candle flame? In the back corner?”

The boy crinkled his nose as he squinted into the dimly lit recess. “I think so?”

“Well,” continued Mina, “after we climb in the cupboard, I’m going to make the light bigger, so it surrounds us. For a moment or two, it will feel like we’re caught in a big gust of wind, but then we’ll find ourselves at my mama’s house, Rose Cottage. The trip will feel a little strange—you might want to close your eyes to shield them from the bright light. You might even feel a bit dizzy because the wind is quite strong. But I promise you”—she gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring pat—“everything will be all right. You have nothing to fear.”

Lord Fitzwilliam nodded as he hugged his velvet rabbit to his thin chest. “I trust you, Miss Davenport. My godmama told me that you are a good person and will always look after me.”

Mina smiled. “I will. Now, let us away.”

As she took one of Lord Fitzwilliam’s small hands, she trained all her attention on the leylight. In her mind, she pictured where she and Lord Fitzwilliam needed to be—the ancient oak wardrobe in her bedroom in Rose Cottage in Ablington, the tiny village in Gloucestershire where she’d grown up. Her bedchamber was the safest place she could imagine.

It was a much-needed haven in a storm.

With her umbrella tucked beneath one arm, she picked up Lord Fitzwilliam’s valise then drew the boy into the cupboard, holding him close for reassurance (and of course, the cupboard was so tiny, one had to pack into it like sardines in a tin can to fit at all). As soon as she whispered the required magical incantation, “Vortexio,” they were both engulfed in a brilliant white light. An overwhelming rushing and swirling sensation, akin to being swept up in a giant whirlpool, washed over Mina, stealing her breath … and then just as suddenly the whooshing stopped.

Even though she was a tad dazzled by the fading leylight, she was aware Lord Fitzwilliam was still with her and that they were in another cramped and dimly lit space. Her wardrobe at Rose Cottage?

“Are we there yet?” whispered the young viscount. He was tightly clutching Mr. Hopwell and Mina’s arm. “Can I open my eyes?”

Mina gave one of the boy’s shoulders a light squeeze. “Yes, we are. And it’s safe to look.” But then a frisson of apprehension slid down Mina’s spine when she realized that something was wrong. Very wrong …

The enclosed space they were squashed into—another wardrobe, given the presence of massive cloaks and coats hanging from hooks—was moving. The floor beneath Mina’s feet was pitching and rolling, and the sound of creaking wood and surging water—waves perhaps—filled her ears.

Oh no! Mina pushed a decidedly masculine coat sleeve that smelled of sandalwood and pine needles away from her cheek. They were clearly not in her bedroom at Rose Cottage, but still on a ship.

Sir Bedivere’s ship? Were they in his cabin on the Valiant or in some other gentleman’s quarters?

Oh no, no, no. What a disaster!

She’d obviously been so nervous and distracted, she’d made a monumental teleportation blunder. Mina had never made one before, but they did happen on the odd occasion. Her good friend Emmeline Chase (actually now Emmeline Mason, the Duchess of St Lawrence) a former Parasol Academy nanny, had once ended up in the Thames during her training.

At least they hadn’t landed in the sea!

Lord Fitzwilliam reached for the wardrobe’s handle. “Can we hop out?” he whispered. “It’s awfully squishy in here.”

“I … um …” Mina swallowed. She was so rattled by the whole business of being teleported, and of course, her terrible error, she was momentarily lost in indecision. The sensible thing to do would be to step out of the wardrobe to ascertain where they’d actually ended up. She could try again to teleport them to her bedroom in Ablington. But what if they ended up somewhere odd a second time? Someplace worse than a ship? Like in the rough waters of the Bristol Channel or the Irish Sea or the North Pole itself?

At moments like these, Mina really wished she could let fly a whole host of expletives to release her frustration. “Darn” and “drat” and “my goodness me,” while socially acceptable for ladies to use—and permitted by the Parasol Academy when in the presence of a child—suddenly seemed completely inadequate right now.

“Miss Davenport?” prompted Lord Fitzwilliam.

Mina rallied. “Yes, of course we should hop—”

She got no further as the wardrobe door suddenly flew open and a tall, dark-haired man with mountainous shoulders, a sharply hewn jaw, and eyes as green as the sea, gaped at her. Tucked beneath the man’s muscle-bound arm was a stout, snub-nosed dog—a pug.

“Wh-what the feck?” exclaimed the stranger in the lilting accent of an Irishman. And then the pug gave a short sharp bark and a low growl.

What the feck indeed.

Involving a Discussion on Manners; the Lack of Bones, Sausages, Digestive Biscuits, and Extra Arms (Either Human or Octopoid) Is Lamented; Medicine Is Taken and a Stern Rebuke Is Administered; Followed by an Offer of Cake.

Wh-what the feck?

Mina gaped back at the hulk of a man, in pure horror. Aside from his extraordinary size and breath-stealing physique (his shoulders were seriously, impossibly wide) she couldn’t help but notice he had a slightly crooked nose and one of his thick dark eyebrows was bisected by a scar. Apart from the fact he was very well dressed—his coat, waistcoat, and form-fitting breeches were superbly tailored—he was quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. How could a man appear to be both a gentleman and a ruffian at the same time?

She opened her mouth to speak—to at least utter a greeting (according to the Academy handbook, manners never go astray, especially when trying to smooth over an awkward situation)—but the pug let out another short bark, cutting her off.

“Now, now, B-Brutus,” admonished the stranger in that graveled but softly accented voice of his that brought to mind appealing, masculine things like whisky and leather and shaving soap, “that is n-no way to greet … to greet a young lady and her-her child.” His wide mouth quirked with the hint of a smile. “Even though they appear to be stow-stowaways.”

Stowaways?

Her child?

Heat flooded Mina’s cheeks. “Oh no. He’s not—” she began, then bit her lip, swallowing her words. This man clearly didn’t recognize Lord Fitzwilliam, so they mustn’t be on the Valiant. Not only that, but the Valiant would still be navigating the River Avon, whereas it was evident that this vessel was riding a rough sea.

But what was she to tell this man, who was looking at her and Lord Fitzwilliam with such keen interest? Or