They educate. Their greatest ambition should be the respect of their employers. Hoping for anything else is foolish. —Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses Edward sat in the back of a cab, waiting to be delivered to the doorstep of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Formby. The weight of obligation pressed down on him. He was dressed for dancing on that cold February evening, but there was nothing merry in his heart. For the past two weeks, he’d hand-delivered a letter every morning to Elizabeth. Every one of them had been returned in the afternoon’s post without a word. In his frustration that morning, he’d gone so far as to forgo Crane and wait by the servants’ entrance for the cook as she went out to the market early in the morning. She’d jumped at the sound of his boots on the pavement, her hand flying to her ample bosom. “Who are you?” He held his hands up, the letter dangling from his fingers. “I don’t wish to harm you.
