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 ambitious father had their sights set on someone from a good family for their future daughter-in-law, but Julian had other ideas. He had convinced Daisy that for him it was love at first sight, and she had been similarly smitten. Now all that remained was to break the news of their engagement to the family.
Daisy broke the seal and opened the letter carefully, a smile curving her lips, but as she read the contents her hands began to tremble and the words blurred, running together until they made no sense.
Oxford
December 1867
My darling Daisy,
You can’t imagine how difficult it is for me to find the words that will inevitably break your heart, as it is breaking mine when I put pen to paper. The truth is that I cannot marry you. There, I’ve said it and it cannot be undone. I still love you dearly, but I realise that for us to wed would be a dreadful mistake. My parents will never accept you as one of the family and I will be cut off without a penny. I cannot hope to earn enough to make a proper home for you and any children we might have, and to marry you under such circumstances would be irresponsible, if not downright cruel. I love you too much to see you brought down by poverty and disgrace, therefore I am breaking our engagement, even though it has remained a secret and was never an official obligation on my part.
I will return home for my birthday party, but afterwards I will be leaving for Paris, where I have been fortunate enough to obtain a very junior position in the British Embassy.
Please keep the ring as a token of my undying affection and esteem, and I pray that you will find someone more worthy of you than myself.
Your loving friend,
Julian Carrington
Daisy crumpled the letter in her hands and clasped them to her bosom. She was trembling from head to foot with shock, but tears would not come. Pain, sadness, despair and finally anger flooded her with emotion, but still she was dry-eyed. Jilted – the word would be engraved on her heart for ever.
A timid knock on the door preceded the appearance of a housemaid. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, miss, but the master is getting impatient. He sent me to fetch you.’
Daisy tucked the crumpled sheet of paper into the pocket of her plain grey woollen dress and she rose to her feet. ‘I’m coming.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded strained and edgy, but she had her feelings under control. Whatever it was that the master had to say could not be as earth-shattering as the contents of Julian’s letter.
The drawing room on the first floor was furnished in the height of fashion with heavy mahogany furniture upholstered in crimson velvet, matching velvet curtains and a carpet with such thick pile it felt like walking on a croquet lawn. The former Adam-style mantel had been ripped out on Mrs Carrington’s instructions and replaced by a huge, black marble fireplace that dominated the whole room, and a fire blazed up the chimney. An enormous Christmas tree took up one corner of the room, and was lavishly decorated with tinsel and glass baubles imported from Germany at enormous expense. At any other time Daisy would have been delighted, if only for Master Timothy’s sake. He was what her aunt Eleanora would have called ‘an afterthought’, being eleven years younger than Julian, and his parents were invariably too busy to spend much time with him. It was Daisy who read him a story each evening when he was tucked up in bed, and Daisy who took him for outings to the park or the Zoological Gardens.
‘I sent for you ten minutes ago. What kept you?’ Albert Carrington stood with his back to the fire, glaring at Daisy through the thick lenses of his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Well, what have you to say for yourself?’
Daisy had never felt comfortable in Mr Carrington’s company. He was said to have trebled the family fortune by investing heavily in the stock market, and it was rumoured below stairs that the master would receive a knighthood for his services to industry and his generous gifts to charity. Even so, his manner was cold and calculating, and all the servants were in awe of him.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I was mending a garment for Master Timothy.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
Mrs Carrington held up her hand. ‘Let me handle this, Albert.’ She fixed Daisy with a hard stare. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Miss Marshall. As you know, Master Timothy will be starting school in January, and therefore we will no longer be in need of your services.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Albert said, frowning. ‘This is the end of the quarter and you will receive your wages from Mrs Thompson, together with a character, which should assure you of a position elsewhere.’
‘I’m to lose my job?’ Daisy looked from one to the other. ‘But who will look after Master Timothy during the school holidays?’
‘That is not your problem,’ Mrs Carrington said icily. She rose majestically from the sofa and ushered Daisy from the room. She lowered her voice. ‘Don’t imagine that we haven’t noticed what’s been going on between you and our elder son. I’ve seen the way you flirt with him, and it is just as well your time with us had ended naturally, otherwise I’m afraid I would have had to terminate your employment.’
Daisy stared at the floor, unable to meet her employer’s angry gaze. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.’
‘It never is.’ Agnes Carrington lowered her voice. ‘When you find another position, keep yourself to yourself. Nothing but ill can come of any relationship you enter into with members of the household. And beware of male servants, too. That’s the best advice that I can give you. Now pack your bags and leave. Don’t upset Master Timothy by saying goodbye. I’ll tell him you wish him well at school.’ She whisked back into the drawing room and closed the door in Daisy’s face.
The hansom cab trundled through the city streets, weaving its way through the carts, carriages and brewers’ drays. Snow was falling steadily from a leaden sky and it was bitterly cold. Workers hurried homeward, mufflers flying out behind them and their hats pulled down over their brows so that the only parts of their faces visible were the reddened tips of their noses. Less hurried were those out shopping for last-minute presents. The pavements were crowded with men and women laden with packages wrapped in brown paper, or baskets overflowing with festive food. Costermongers’ barrows illuminated by naphtha flares offered a tempting selection of oranges,
