Achewood Academy by Betty Blyton
Hot headed young aristocrat Jane Munsford is being sent away to famous finishing school Achewood Academy to learn how to be a proper lady and wife. There’s just one problem, she has no intention of ever marrying and is only agreeing to attend Achewood in order to fulfill a condition of her inheritance.
Master Crispin is tasked with the difficult prospect of ensuring that Jane behaves herself, but when he inevitably takes the miscreant over his lap to correct her, he discovers that you can spank an incorrigible young woman’s bottom as soundly as you like, but you can’t control where her heart leads her – or where it leads you.
A Governess Named Trouble by Loki Renard
“But now, now I have plenty of time to tend to my wayward revolutionary,” he said, his voice thick not with censure, but with desire. He wanted her, Frankie knew that much, it was in his every breath.
“You need me to tend to you, don’t you Francine?” he murmured in her ear as he led her over to the chaise that sat against the wall of his office and drew her over his lap. Frankie went peacefully, only squirming as he rose her skirts up over her back.
“You taught my sons about that bloody revolution simply to tease me, did you not? To see what I might do if you teach the sons of an aristocrat that all aristocrats are tyrannical, hmmm? Shall I show you tyranny, my pretty little citoyenne?”
Achewood Academy by Betty Blyton
My sister Jane is set to arrive at Achewood this term. She will be in Birch House as I was, so you shall be her House Master. We all have high hopes for Jane. She is not looking forward to attending the academy, but I hope that she comes to enjoy her time at Achewood as much as I did. Please watch over her, she is the youngest of the family and she can be difficult. She has a good heart however, and a rare mind. I am sure that with some firm guidance she will blossom into the woman we all know she can be.
Genevieve Whittaker (nee Munsford)
?I shan?t ever marry!?
All around the charming room eyes widened and jaws dropped. The speaker grinned at the consternation her little statement had caused amongst her peers, a group made up of the young women sitting about on the carved wooden beds in the bare dormitory, their suitcases at the end of their beds waiting to be unpacked.
Prior to the blasphemous statement, the women had been doing one another?s hair and discussing their hopes for matches amongst the aristocracy. They fell dumb when one young woman interrupted their conversation rather brashly with an opinion that was not just unexpected but quite disturbing to most of the room?s occupants.
They stared at her, trying to work out what kind of woman was not interested in marrying, but her appearance did not give much away in the form of clues. She was well dressed. In fact, her dress was one of the nicer ones worn in that room. It had been made of blue sateen edged with white lace. Her bodice fit well and there were pearl accents cresting the shoulders, following the neckline after the new fashions. It was a dress that could have taken its wearer anywhere.
As for the woman wearing the dress, she was perhaps not beautiful, but she was certainly interesting to look at. Her skin was clear, though there was a dashing of freckles across her nose, and her blue eyes were rimmed with dark lashes that made them quite intriguing. Her hair was not sleek and perfectly coiffed like that of the other women, it had been scraped back into a simple pony tail and it would have taken the very keenest of eyes to spot the smallest traces of mascara that she?d applied to satisfy the requirement that all Achewood ladies ?did their faces? each day.
It was the first evening on the first day of the new intake at Achewood Academy. It was not the first day of term as the term had started a month earlier when returning students began classes, but new entrants began a month later. The idea was that it was best to introduce the new ladies to their peers when school was in full swing. That way the new young women were integrated seamlessly into the day-to-day goings on instead of bumbling about the place getting underfoot whilst things were being put in motion.
A Governess Named Trouble By Loki Renard
Cyril Hardy sighed down at the empty classroom. At ten in the morning, it should have been filled with his four boys, however they were nowhere to be seen and neither was their Governess.
Faint screams in the distance alerted him to the probable location of his sons, even before the pounding footsteps of a lackey?s solid shoes announced the arrival of Jenkins, his gentleman?s gentleman.
?Sir, Mrs. Greenthorne has fallen into the old well,? the venerable chap informed him.
Cyril needed no further information. He dashed out of the house and down towards the old well, stripping off his jacket as he went. Bounding about the well like a pack of mud daubed savages, his sons whooped and cried with glee. Aged between five and ten, they had lost their mother five years ago and, left in the care of a father who knew only of explorations and expeditions, they had grown wild and unruly. Cyril had hoped that a stern governess might bring them to heel.
It appeared he had been wrong.
Ignoring his sons for the moment, Cyril clambered into the well. He had played in it often as a boy, and although it was deep, and filled with stagnant water, one could climb in and out of it if one knew where the footholds were.
Floundering about in the bottom of the well, clinging to a rocky ledge, her skirts logged with water and threatening to drag her down, the pale face of his children?s governess registered relief. Cyril was a big, tall, strong man, hardened from years of journeying in the African climes. He lowered his body into the water beside the frightened woman, flashed a charming wink, and offered his back to her.
?Care to come for a ride, Mrs. Greenthorne?? Cyril thought it best to try to lighten the situation as much as possible.
Whimpering pitifully, Mrs. Greenthorne, the middle-aged woman who had come recommended as a lady of principles, took hold of his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck.
?Hold tight,? Cyril ordered as he began to ascend from the well. When they arrived back at the surface, Jenkins was present with warm towels and blankets.
?How did you come to fall into the well, Mrs. Greenthorne?? Cyril inquired, wrapping a large blanket around the poor woman?s sodden shoulders.
?They tricked me. The children told me they had seen a baby deer out this way and they led me over the well, which they?d covered in leaves and sticks. I fell through.?
Cyril?s eyes narrowed with dark displeasure. His sons, carried away with their own sense of achievement at having bested their governess, had not yet seen sense and spirited themselves away.
?Get to your rooms,? Cyril ordered them, in the tone that told them with no uncertainty that they had gone too far this time.
As a pack, they turned and scampered back to the house.
?Master Hardy, by your leave, I think I shall resign my position here, I am not of sufficient youth to withstand such encounters,? Mrs. Greenthorne said with quivering politeness. Her teeth were chattering, and Cyril applied another blanket around her shoulders.
Cyril sighed inwardly, he could not refuse her, and he certainly did not welcome the prospect of paying off her family in case of her death at the hands of her sons. ?Of course Mrs. Greenthorne, let me first fetch a doctor to ensure that you have not sustained any serious injuries.?
As he helped the poor woman back to the relative safety of his home, Cyril was furious. His children were out of control. It was their late mother?s fault. The softhearted woman that she was, she had made him promise on her deathbed as the little baby Charlie lay in his cot not one day old, that he would never strike the children. He had given his word, but he had more than once regretted it. The boys took after him in spirit but he had grown up subjected to the firm hand of a governess and the stout cane of a tutor. They were benefiting from neither, and at the rate they were going, it was only a matter of time before he was bailing them out of jail.
Something had to be done.