Daisy stared at the floor, unable to meet her employer’s angry gaze. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.’

‘It never is.’ Agnes Carrington lowered her voice. ‘When you find another position, keep yourself to yourself. Nothing but ill can come of any relationship you enter into with members of the household. And beware of male servants, too. That’s the best advice that I can give you. Now pack your bags and leave. Don’t upset Master Timothy by saying goodbye. I’ll tell him you wish him well at school.’ She whisked back into the drawing room and closed the door in Daisy’s face.

The hansom cab trundled through the city streets, weaving its way through the carts, carriages and brewers’ drays. Snow was falling steadily from a leaden sky and it was bitterly cold. Workers hurried homeward, mufflers flying out behind them and their hats pulled down over their brows so that the only parts of their faces visible were the reddened tips of their noses. Less hurried were those out shopping for last-minute presents. The pavements were crowded with men and women laden with packages wrapped in brown paper, or baskets overflowing with festive food. Costermongers’ barrows illuminated by naphtha flares offered a tempting selection of oranges, lemons, rosy-cheeked apples and mountains of walnuts, together with bunches of red-berried holly and waxy white and green mistletoe. It was almost Christmas, a time for rejoicing, but all the way home Daisy could think of nothing other than the letter that Julian had written, ending their brief relationship. The rumbling of the cab’s wheels and the drumming of the horse’s hoofs sounded to her ears like a repetition of his name, over and over again, until she could think of nothing else. The ache in her heart intensified with every turn of the wheels and the further they drove from Queen Square, the deeper her despair. The last time she had seen Julian they had been deeply in love and filled with excitement for the future, but now he had severed the delicate thread that had bound them. She had left the house with a shadow over her name, and she had not even been allowed to say goodbye to Master Timothy, who would imagine that she had deserted him. He was too little to be sent away from home, too sensitive a child to face the rigours of public school life, and it was almost Christmas. She had planned to fill his stocking with oranges, nuts and small toys she had purchased from the bazaar in Soho Square. She had left the packages in the nursery, but she doubted if he would receive any of them; Mrs Carrington would make sure that nothing was left to remind her younger son of the governess who had loved him like a mother.

Daisy stared blindly at the crowded pavements, seeing nothing but a blur of shapes and colours, misted by the thickly falling snow. It had promised to be the best Christmas she had ever had, and now it was going to be the worst. She had told her aunt about her romance with Julian, and now she would have to face the consequences. Questions would be asked to which Daisy had no answer. Aunt Eleanora had drummed the importance of a good marriage into Daisy from an early age. Now she had to face her aunt’s disappointment as well as her own heartbreak.