having inherited an already thriving business on the death of his elder brother, Daisy’s father, in the cholera epidemic of 1849. Shortly afterwards Daisy’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving two-year-old Tobias and the infant Daisy to the care of her brother- and sister-in-law.
Daisy and Tobias had been brought up above the shop and had wanted for nothing as children. Toby had attended a good school and had gone on to study medicine at the London Hospital. Daisy herself had also benefited from a good education at Miss Lonsdale’s Academy for Young Ladies, but having left school with a prize in just about every subject Daisy had found herself with little purpose in life other than to sit at home and wait for a suitable husband to appear. That was what her aunt expected, but not what Daisy wanted, and, after a battle with both guardians, she had applied for the position of governess in the Carrington household. Now she was returning home, broken-hearted and struggling to believe that Julian could have treated her in such a way.
Daisy alighted from the hansom cab and hefted the valise containing all her worldly possessions to the pavement. It was now snowing so heavily that she did not see the man who was walking with his head bent against the storm, and he sidestepped in order to avoid tripping over her case, almost knocking her off her feet.
‘I’m so sorry.’ The stranger steadied her with both hands. ‘Are you all right?’
Daisy nodded. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I had to put my case down in order to pay the cabby.’
‘No harm done, but the pavements are very slippery.’ He picked up the valise. ‘Have you far to go?’
‘No, this is home.’ Daisy pointed to the name above the premises. ‘I live above the shop.’
‘Marshall’s, a well-known name in this area. So you must be Miss Marshall? Are you Toby’s sister, by any chance?’
His smile was irresistible and she noticed that his hazel eyes were fringed with impossibly long lashes. Aunt Eleanora would have said it was unfair for a man to have such an asset. Daisy dragged herself back to the present and managed a smile.
‘Yes, I’m Daisy. How do you know Toby?’
‘I’m Nicholas Neville, but my friends call me Nick. Toby and I studied at the London.’ He proffered his arm. ‘Allow me, Miss Marshall. We don’t want any accidents.’
She would normally have rejected such an offer, but there was something about Nicholas Neville that made it impossible for her to refuse, and she leaned on his arm. He picked up her valise and they made it to the shop door.
‘Thank you,’ Daisy said breathlessly.
‘I shan’t be seeing Toby for a while because I’m going home for Christmas, but I hope we meet again, Miss Marshall.’ Nick placed her valise on the floor.
‘I’m sure we will. Anyway, thank you for your help.’ Daisy turned her head at the sound of footsteps on the bare boards and her heart sank when she saw her uncle’s clerk scurrying towards them with his peculiar crab-like gait.
‘Miss Daisy, what are you doing here?’ Jonah Sawkins cast a hostile glance at Nick.
Daisy had disliked Sawkins from the moment they first met, but her generous uncle had rescued Jonah from the workhouse and trained him to be his clerk. Sidney Marshall believed that there was good in everyone, and he would not have a word said against Jonah. Daisy knew her uncle’s clerk to be sly and devious, and she was tempted to snub him now, but Jonah Sawkins had a way of getting his own back for any slight, real or imagined, and she held her tongue.
‘Would you be kind enough to take my valise upstairs, Jonah?’ Daisy turned to Nick. ‘Thank you once again for your help. I hope I didn’t delay you, too much?’
‘Not at all. I’ve just come off duty at the hospital, so no harm done. Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marshall.’ Nick gave Sawkins a sympathetic smile. ‘The bag is rather heavy. Perhaps you’d rather I took it upstairs?’
Daisy held her breath. She knew that Sawkins was sensitive about the abnormal curvature of his upper spine and his legs bowed by rickets in childhood. His deformity and his early years spent in the workhouse seemed to have twisted his personality, but although he had had a poor start in life Daisy had realised some time ago that Sawkins was ambitious, and she suspected that he could be ruthless if challenged.
He hefted the valise onto his bent shoulders, shooting a malicious glance at Nick. ‘I can manage on me own, ta very much.’ He hobbled behind the counter and opened a door leading to a flight of stairs. The red Turkey carpet glowed like a hot coal in the dim light, and Sawkins negotiated the stairs with surprising speed.
‘He’s been here for years,’ Daisy said by way of an excuse for his rudeness.
‘Yes, I believe Toby has mentioned him in the past. Anyway, I must be going.’
Nick let himself out into the street and Daisy raised her hand in farewell, but he had already disappeared into the swirling snow. She closed the door and was enveloped by the all-too-familiar smell of leather and dubbin, which she only noticed when she had been absent for a while. She was about to go upstairs when Sawkins appeared behind the counter, glaring at her beneath his shaggy eyebrows.
‘I told the mistress you was here,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘She weren’t expecting you. Got the sack, did you?’
‘It’s none of your business, Jonah.’ Daisy had not meant to snap at him but her nerves were frayed, and she was afraid that she might break down and cry if her aunt questioned her too deeply. She slipped past him and made her way upstairs where she was greeted by Hattie, the Marshalls’ cook-housekeeper, who had been with them for ever. Daisy could not remember a time when Hattie had not been there to tell her wonderful stories about mermaids and unicorns, or to bandage a cut knee.
‘Welcome home, Miss Daisy,’ Hattie said, wrapping her in a comforting hug. ‘We wasn’t expecting you, so this is a real treat.’
Daisy returned the embrace. ‘It’s good to be home.’
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’ Hattie gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Your aunt is in the parlour. She’ll be so pleased to see you, my duck.’ She waddled off along the landing, leaving Daisy to make her way to the parlour.
Eleanora Marshall was standing by the fire. In early middle-age she was a fine-looking woman with a good figure, glossy brown hair and an air of authority. She turned with a start at the sound of the door opening. ‘Daisy, my darling. Sawkins told me you were here. What a lovely surprise.’
‘I know you weren’t expecting me, Aunt.’
‘Why are you here? I thought you would be spending Christmas with your fiancé and his family.’
Daisy clenched her gloved hands in an attempt to stem the tears that suddenly threatened to overcome her. ‘Julian doesn’t want to marry me,’ she said softly.
‘You mean he’s jilted you?’
‘He’s been offered a position in the French Embassy. It was too good to turn down, and our engagement was never official.’
‘I don’t see what that has got to do with anything,’ Eleanora paced the floor, her high-heeled boots tip-tapping on the polished boards. ‘There’s more in this than meets the eye. Has his mother interfered? Has he met someone with more money and better connections?’
‘I don’t know, Aunt. He wrote a letter—’
‘You mean that the coward didn’t even have the decency to tell you face to face that he’s reneged on his promise?’
‘He was in Oxford when he sent the letter, and I’ve lost my job because Master Timothy is being sent to boarding school in the New Year.’
‘A likely story. I think that woman has got wind of the romance and it’s her way of putting a stop to it. I know what it’s like, Daisy. I saw the way your parents suffered at the hands of your mother’s family, and they