all goes well, I will live here at Ashton Place, a strict

but kind-hearted governess with three clever pupils

who both fear and adore me.”

Penelope had read several novels about such gov-

ernesses in preparation for her interview and found

them chock-full of useful information, although she

had no intention of developing romantic feelings for

the charming, penniless tutor at a neighboring estate.

Or—heaven forbid!—for the darkly handsome, brood-

ing, and extravagantly wealthy master of her own

household. Lord Fredrick Ashton was newly married

in any case, and she had no inkling what his complex-

ion might be.

“Or perhaps I will mumble my way through my

interview like a dimwit and be sent home again in

shame,” she fretted. “Though, alas! There is no home

for me to return to!”

At which point the carriage hit a pothole and flew

thirteen-and-one-half inches into the air before crash-

ing down again. The driver took this opportunity to

break his silence with the brief and heartfelt outburst

mentioned earlier, but it is not necessary to reprint

his exact words. Fortunately, Penelope was unfamiliar

with the expression he used and was, therefore, none

the worse for hearing it.

However, she took the interruption as a reminder

that wallowing in self-pity, even in the privacy of her

own mind, was not the Swanburne way. Instead, she

cheered herself with the idea that she might soon have

three pupils of her own to teach, to mold, and to imbue

with the sterling values she felt so fortunate to have

acquired at school. If each child came equipped with a

pony, so much the better!

And then, abruptly, they were out of the trees and

coming over the crest of a hill, passing between great

stone pillars that framed a tall and forbidding black

iron gate.

Once through the gate, she could finally see before

her the house known as Ashton Place.

The coachman was right: Ashton Place was a very

grand house indeed. It was perfectly situated in the

sheltered lowland ahead and big as a palace, with the

lovely symmetrical proportions of the ancient Greek

architecture Penelope had so often admired in her his-

tory books at Swanburne.

From the hilltop vantage of the gate Penelope could

see that the surrounding property numbered not in the

hundreds, nor the thousands, but in the tens of thou-

sands of acres—in fact, the forest she had just passed