"Again please, Elizabeth, this time from bar thirty," I said, tucking my hands behind my back as I stood by Elizabeth who sat at the piano bench. Sunshine cast a golden glow through the twice-washed crystal windows and it made the lacquered polished wood glimmer.

Elizabeth huffed, pushing a rebellious dark curl back into its delicate plaited wreath which had been styled with periwinkle blue ribbons. "Why do have to practise this piece again?" she moaned, shoving her hands behind her and hunching her shoulders back. Her irritated face made a small grin stretch across my lips. The slow dry classical waltz was pretty when it had been heard only a few times. Now it weighed over the room like a swinging load from a crane ready to drop, crushing any unexacting passerby with its heady monotony.

"Okay Elizabeth, go and pick out something else" I relented in a whisper. She beamed up at me and rushed to the wooden box of music, leafing through the find the perfect score.

I distanced myself from her excited rustling and cast my eyes towards the window. I watched as fine carriages as well as fashionable ladies and gentlemen walked past the window as if I was staring into a moving modiste display. Everyone was so well polished, with no dirt or mud to be seen. No small street children were hiding in alleyways or lipping beggars with broken limbs. They had probably all been chased into the worker's houses or found refuge in dirty opium dens or ramshackle housing. If not for Jaskier and his mysterious employer I would be out there too. It did not matter that I was educated, I was poor and a woman, that made me vermin enough. I would be grateful, a hand that feeds you is more than most get. Even if I wanted to, I could not un carve my name from his contract, I was merely waiting for the inevitable.

"Here, Miss Taylor, please let us play this one" came Elizabeth's high childlike voice. My contemplation of the horrors of poverty shattered. I slowly turned to Elizabeth and gently beckoned her towards me with an open hand. She skipped up to me and my heart shuddered. I thought of Elizabeth in my situation, alone and poor and forced to wed a stranger. No, I thought, she is wealthy and well protected, she will be safe when I am gone.

I ran my fingers over the thin paper of the music, it was an aria taken from a famous opera called "La Trivesta". It was a beautiful piece, and the memory of the music swirled in my head. I pushed down the memories of my mother holding my squirming body in her lap as I tried to look over the balcony of the box to watch the gilded performers.

"Excellent choice," I said to a beaming Elizabeth, keeping my melancholy close to my chest as if we were playing a game of cards. However, it was a game of stakes which only I was playing, if I lost I would lose everything and she nothing. I stood behind her watching her delicate dark bronze hands ghosting over the notes to find the correct chords.

"Thank you for letting me play something other than that dreary waltz Miss Taylor, I swear I would go mad" she beamed as she began to play.

The tender softness of the music punched me in the gut and I dug my fingers into my palm. I breathed in the phantom of my father's cologne, peppermint and leather. I could almost feel the warm creamy silk of my mother's gloves ghosting over my cheek. When the aria climaxed I felt a tear wriggle its way out of my eye and run down my cheek like the fat raindrops on the windows of carriages.

"That was beautiful Elizabeth," I said my voice hoarse as my charge swivelled in her seat. Her eyes suddenly softened from bright expectations of applause to confusion.

I rubbed the traitorous tear from my eye but the damage was already done. She looked up at me with big, confused, young doe brown eyes like a fawn caught in a hunter's trap.

"I am sorry Elizabeth, you just play very beautifully" I said trying to brush off my tears but she continued to silently stare at me, wide-eyed. This was the primary downside of looking after children who you have cared for and taught for so long, they can see you. I am used to being ignored, left in the corner of the drawing room or my attic or reading a book in the small pantry. The virtue of being a governess was I was ignored. I was neither a servant nor a guest nor a member of the family. The food on my plate might as well have disappeared when I ate and my room might as well be occupied by a ghost which everyone just accepted but did not acknowledge or encourage.

"What's wrong Miss Taylor? Did I do something wrong?" her little voice wavered. Of course, she would blame herself, she probably thought that she had played poorly or that I was angry.

I sat next to her on the wide piano bench, my fingernails still digging into my palm to keep myself from shedding any more tears. I watched my little charge purse her lips together and look down, fiddling with the hem of her soft blue sleeve which was cuffed with starched ivory Belgium lace.

I knew I would have to tell them of my marriage soon but the idea of leaving them felt like a stone on my chest. I took Elizabeth's lithe brown hand in my own pale one and forced my face to become stern, I had to be strong, I had no other choice.

"Elizabeth, I would rather have told you and your siblings all together at dinner tonight," I said slowly. I ran my hand along hers feeling for her pulse and rubbing the point with my thumb. It was a calming technique when I first moved here, barely sixteen, terrified and grieving. Elizabeth hung on to my every syllable as I slowly continued. "As you have formally entered society this year, I am no longer needed as a governess".

I froze as Elizabeth's features screwed up and she buried her head into my chest. I could feel the wetness of her tears soak the high collar of my dress. Her back heaved and I ran my fingers hesitantly up and down her spine.

"But where will you go" Elizabeth spluttered. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot and her normally shining bronze skin was dull. I stroked her cheek and she leaned into my touch, my heart felt like it was being squeezed of all its life. It hit me how attached to the children I had become, they were not just charges or pupils. We were somehow attached by years and years of fear, grief, happiness and education. I returned Elizabeth's embrace and we stayed like that, clutched in each other's arms, each trying to find some comfort or solace in the other.

"I am not going to be Miss Taylor anymore," I said softly against Elizabeth's cheek and she tilted her head to the side. "I am going to be married.". Elizabeth let out a warm smile which was jarring with her wet brown eyes.

"Congratulations Miss Taylor," she said her voice bubbly and upbeat, quickly shifting from her childlike heart-shattering whimper. "What is he like? Is he handsome? Is he rich? Is he someone we know" she stated excitedly, bombarding me with questions. My heart seemed to sink even lower at her excitement, I shouldn't have expected anything less. Elizabeth and Maria had both been hand raised to believe that marriage was the ultimate goal of a lady's life. That was some romantic tale of dashing knights and roguish but gentle Dukes waiting to sweep them off their feet.

Word spread quickly through Number Fourteen Dellcott Close. By dinner time, Jeremy and Maria as well as Elizabeth were snapping at my heels for scraps of information about the bridegroom like a pack of hungry dogs. Though they were well-meaning their constant interrogation was futile and only made the steel weight in my stomach grow heavier. By the time I sat down in front of Mrs Cavendish for dinner, my feet felt like they were sinking through the dark oak floor.

"Miss Taylor" Mrs Cavendish's voice slithered and I looked up from my roast pork and potatoes. I knew to stay silent before she had finished her speech, she liked goading me and if tonight would be the last time I sat at this dinner table, I had to come out the victor. "I have heard whispers from my staff that you have a fiancé" she continued swilling the dark blood-coloured liquid which she was so fond of. Mr Cavendish looked up from feeding a morsel to one of the hounds under the table and looked to his wife intrigued.

"Yes, Madame, I am engaged" I replied stuffing down another slice of pork as the children watched the exchange silently. Though they were quiet, I could sense their anticipation for some new information about my mysterious husband-to-be.

"And what is the name of your beloved?" she pressed, pushing her carnelian lips into an innocent pout but all I saw were predatory green eyes. She looked so snake like I was surprised how over my seven-year employment she had turned me into stone.

"I do not know," I said softly and Mrs Cavendish raised her eyebrow in a dramatic exclamation of surprise.

"You don't know your husband's name?" she said, her voice was warm with false concern and the children's eyes widened. Mr Cavendish took no interest and returned to spearing his potatoes with a silver fork.

"I am to marry the Black Prince of Northumberland tomorrow and dusk and his manservant will be fetching me tonight," I said coldly. Even Mrs Cavendish's face grew a little white on hearing the name of the infamous masked inventor, businessman and magician.

The rest of the meal was silent and I made my familiar route up to my small attic room.

"I guess it's time to go," I said to myself as a stood in the doorway of the squat bedroom. I felt an odd wave of melancholy wash over me like the lapping of the dark murky water of the Thames. This room had been my place of refuge for so long. Previously I did not feel attached to it the small damp and dingy room had burrowed itself a place inside me. I knew that where ever my new husband was going to take me, everything around me would be his. I would not be able to hide away in some dark corner which I could manipulate to form some reflection of myself. Everything would be his, though he said he wouldn't, even my flesh would be his.

I quickly brushed off that thought and knelt beside the loose floorboard by a small cot. I pulled it up and took out the moth-eaten shoe box. I pulled out my father's show buckle and hugged it to my chest, I had not admitted how afraid I was until now. It was like trying to dam a violent and churning river with some flimsy driftwood.

"I miss you" I whispered to the buckle, cradled in my arms as if I was holding my father's hand or face. I ran my finger over their small wedding miniature, my mother looked so lovely, immortalised in paint and glass.

I pushed away my tears, they would not serve me any good now. I packed up my few things into a small leather bag which had been the old coachman's. I pulled on my outdoor coat, the resown cotton lining creasing my skin, the feeling did help to steady my thudding heart.

I closed the small attic door as if I had just left the room of a dying patient who would not survive the night. Maybe I won't survive the night, I thought as I descended the stairs. Maybe I will die in my sleep from fear and I won't have to wed. The idea was absurd but then so was his offer.

I made my way to the primary hallway, Mrs Cavendish, Elizabeth, Maria, Jeremy and Betsy stood by the door. I slowly descended the main staircase and made my way to my polished mistress and my charges.

"Goodbye, Miss Taylor we will miss you so so much" hollered little Jeremy. His bright honey eyes glowed against his ruddy brass face and I smiled down at him. I placed a hand on his shoulder and Elizabeth and Maria hugged me.

"Enough of that my little darlings" sniggered Mrs Cavendish, her jealousy was thinly veiled. It was a cold dark emotion which I had learnt to parry during my time as a governess.

"Mr Jaskier is waiting for you outside Miss" said Betsy, warmly bustling me out of the door.

"Thank you for the rescue," I said gratefully, pulling my coat to my skin. I tried to hide my fear from Besty but she gave me a warm knowing smile anyway.

"I know you are frightened Miss," she said gently, gesturing to the black carriage parked down the steps. "If he causes you pain and harm Miss, you can come right back here".

I know she was trying to assure me, even if I wanted to leave he was a powerful man and I would not subject anyone to his wrath.

"I'll be okay Betsy" I said forcing a brave smile onto my face. I gave her one final hug before I walked down the stairs of Number Fourteen Dellcot Close.

I flinched as the heavy door of the carriage slammed. I watched my home of seven years disappear into a haze of other white houses.