Page 6 of Twisted Kings

“Early childhood education for two years, with an experience abroad as an Au Pair for three,” Mrs. Charlotte Harris says, looking at my resume. I know I’m under-qualified for this job if the pinching way her brows pull together is any indication.

My fingers clench around the purse in my lap, and I try not to let my breathing speed up.

I. Need. This. Job.

“And what of your family? That’s an awful lot of time away from home. Are you sure they’re comfortable with you being gone again? The duke travels frequently, and you would be amongst the household to go with them,” she continues, glancing from the paper in front of her outlining my meager experience, and back up to me.

I swallow.

“I don’t have any,” I explain. Well, I don’t have any that I’d ever want to talk to again. “So I’m free as a bird, really.” That’s not a lie. Sometimes when a door shuts behind you, it’s no use in banging on it to be let back in. It’s better to walk away with your head held high.

“And you have no experience with a high net-worth family,” she tuts, almost to herself, and I swallow.

“I’m good at adapting,” I say, and that’s also not a lie. I’ve had to be flexible. “I’m good at being invisible; you won’t even know I’m here.”

She gives me a patient smile.

“You don’t need to beg,” she says, “my only consideration is that I think you would do well with some etiquette classes to learn more of how this household is run before I throw you into the fire.”

That sounds like…

But I don’tdarehope. But she’s smiling again, folding her hands, one over top of the other, across my resume.

“I do think you’ll suit the position, even though you lack some of the experience I’d like to see. It’s not a hard and fast requirement. And there’s something to be said about training you up the way we need you to be.”

My heart soars, lifting on invisible wings. My mouth is dry.

“I accept,” I say immediately, not allowing her to double-think it or backtrack.

“Let me go over the particulars,” she says, slowing my rush. The cool air of this first-floor room brushes over my skin, and I forcemyself to settle, demanding my leaping stomach to calm down. “It’s a live-in, of course,” she explains, which was the whole attraction. I can disappear into this place, this grand mansion on the top of a sweeping hill, and nobody has to know where I’ve gone or how to look for me. “And the pay reflects that. Extra bonuses for staying on through to the end of the year, and of course, if anything should happen that endangers you, there will be a pay raise to reflect that.”

Danger?

My ears perk up a little bit at that, and I blink at her.

She gives me another, more pained smile this time.

“The duke is a high profile target for the anti-Royalists, as many of them that are left in this day and age.”

“Oh,” I say, because ofcourse. I’m stupid to have forgotten that. Of course it’s a risk. But no bigger one than staying where I am, with no job prospects. I’m lucky to have even gotten in through the side door here. And now I have a genuine job offer. My stomach clenches at the thought.

“When can I start,” I say, giving her a bright smile. I’m not worried about AR terrorists or even protestors. I can’t imagine that this place, with its guarded gates and cameras over every inch of the property, sees much if any, action. That sort of thing is centered around D.C., New York, and even the duchy of Chicago. Not here in Los Angeles, where life is filled with oranges and good weather.

She doesn’t look surprised, but then she knows that my last post as an Au Pair finished up a month ago, and I must be hungry for work and a paycheck.

“Immediately, if you have a mind to,” she says and gets to her feet. Her hands go to smooth down her woolen suit skirt. “There’s a uniform as well, although for outings, you’ll dress to the occasion to better fit in and not make a mark of yourself as the nanny. For security purposes.” She gives me an up-and-down look. “It’s a good thing you’re young, but not too young. Old enough to be sensible but young enough not to stand out as the help. And plain. Their eyes will pass right on over you.”

Her words are sharply assessing and for a moment I’m hurt at being calledplainof all things, who even uses words like that any more? But I guess in a noble house, the language is more formal.

And to the point.

I clear my throat.

“Who’s eyes?” I ask. Her lips press into a thin line.

“His grace has many friends and acquaintances that you will be in the presence of. It’s best if you do not attract their attention. For which I think you’ll do quite nicely, as you are now.” She walks around the desk and moves to the door, opening it without looking back at me.

I should be offended. But if not being a great beauty means I’ve got the job, I don’t even care. You turn into a shadow next to a glittering public figure like the duke. And nobody would think to look for me ghosting his footsteps.

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