by Alta Hensley
The Nanny
By
Alta Hensley & Allison West
©2016 by Blushing Books® and Alta Hensley & Allison West
All rights reserved.
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Hensley, Alta
West, Allison
The Nanny
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-138-5
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Epilogue
Also from Alta Hensley & Allison West
About Alta Hensley
About Allison West
Ebook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
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Chapter I
Georgiana Hayes' fingers were bitten with cold as she pulled the rag of a dark red cloak tighter around her small frame. Shivering, she realized that the weather was the least of her worries as her stomach grumbled. When had she last eaten? Two days ago?
If she closed her eyes and blocked out the nightmare of her current situation, she could still remember the taste of her last warm meal; the potatoes covered in butter, and the roast lamb that had been brined and well-prepared for the guests who were to attend dinner. Months had passed since she had eaten a full meal, or sat at a table with other guests. Lately, her food came snatched from the market, and she ate in the shadows to keep from getting caught. Giana's hands twitched, and whether it was from the cold or her nerves, she knew she had no choice if she wanted to survive. At twenty-three, her prospects for marriage had dwindled now she was living on the streets. She once had been betrothed to a handsome gentleman with a thick accent from Sheffield, but he had perished in an unexpected fire that had burned down his estate, with him locked up inside. Her parents had assured Giana that another man would take her hand; she just needed to give them time to secure her a proper marriage. The thought had not seemed so dire—until the scandal… the scandal that had forced her from her childhood home and out onto the street.
The cold assaulted her lungs and made her nose throb every time she crinkled her face just slightly to ensure that it had not been entirely numbed from frostbite. The winter was far more brutal this year than any other she could remember, or perhaps her lack of appropriate attire for the cold simply made it feel that way. Without a proper coat, galoshes, mittens, or a hat, Giana felt certain she would freeze to death. The dress she was wearing was appropriate for a brisk autumn afternoon, but not for the colder months of winter. The sleeves of the gown were thin and light, with white lace, which had torn weeks ago. The hem of the black and gold garment had been muddied, tattered, and soiled from her sleeping on the grass or a cobblestone alley. She had been using the cloak to shield herself from the elements and blanket herself from the chill of the night. The soles of her shoes had worn down to the leather underneath, the front separating as her toes poked through and the icy wind assaulted her extremities. Had she known… had she planned for a harsh life on the streets, her attire wouldn't have been so delicate and thin.
Giana desperately needed to escape the cold. Perhaps a hot cuppa would ease her suffering and warm her from the inside out, but she did not have the money to purchase a drink. Stealing piping hot liquid would not be advisable, so Giana did only what she had done for the past two months while homeless—she snatched a piece of fruit, vegetable, or bread from the market when no one was paying attention. Small items she found that she could reach out and hide under her cloak without being noticed. She felt invisible, as the dirt had caked her skin and matted her once beautiful brown curly hair.
With the hood of her cloak shielding her face and her head bent down, she walked alongside the market, reaching out to grab a bundle of carrots. It was the closest item to the edge of the table, and as someone walked past, she knocked slightly left into them before stealing the carrots with her other hand, swi
ping the vegetables and burying them deep within her cloak. Giana kept her head down and continued to walk faster as she rounded the corner in case anyone saw what she had done.
There were no shouts, no curses, or threats from the shop owner chasing her down. It had almost felt too easy, but she knew the risk was great if she got caught.
Giana had backed into an alleyway, peering out just slightly to see if anyone had followed her. A gentleman in a crisp, dark gray suit and top hat headed right for her. Perhaps he would pass the small alleyway and continue down the road without a second glance in her direction. She had felt invisible lately, and why would he care to see what she had done? Turning her back, she removed the carrots, pleased with the bounty she had procured. If she rationed the food, she could eat three meals a day and not have to steal again for a few days' time.
"You look cold," a male voice said from behind her.
Her heart stopped. Her body froze even though her mind screamed for her to flee.
"Would you allow me to buy you a warm drink and perhaps a proper meal?"
Giana quickly stuffed the carrots into her cloak, spun around on her worn shoes, and glanced the gentleman over. He was the same man she had seen heading toward the alley. She had been wrong in assuming he would continue past and ignore her as everyone else had. What did he want with her? Why was he being kind? It troubled her, but so did the frigid cold in the thin gown and shabby cloak that was becoming not more than a shawl. Soon the hood would be worn to shreds, and she would be forced to show her face to the men from whom she stole. Could she not perhaps steal a few pence from this man in front of her, to warm her toes and procure a coat that would keep her warm outside? Stealing was dangerous, not to mention morally wrong, and doing so from a man who was being nothing but generous would be downright mad, but Giana found herself out of options. She was a terrible pickpocket, trying it only once to discover a stern hand on her arm. Giana had fled and refused to look back, promising herself at that moment that she would never do so again. That had been her second day on the streets. She had hardened since that awful incident two months ago.
"Do you have a name?" the gentleman asked as she stared blankly at him, wrapped up in her thoughts.
She remained silent as his eyes studied her from head to toe. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was doing so.
"I am not going to hurt you." He crossed his arms and one eyebrow rose, giving him a very stern expression. "Or turn you in for your theft against the merchant. In fact, I went ahead and paid the man so your conscience may now rest easy."
Swallowing hard and casting her eyes shamefully toward the ground, she whispered, "Thank you, that was very kind."
"Do you have a name?" he asked again.
"Yes, sir. Giana."
"That is quite an unusual name," he said as he removed his black hat and gave a slight bow. "My name is Philip Hartley."
He spoke with such conviction that she wondered if she was supposed to know of him. She did not have the slightest notion of who he was or what he did, other than he dressed like a distinguished man.
"My parents gave me the name Georgiana, but I much prefer Giana for short." Her name had been too long for her own liking, so she had abbreviated it at a much younger age.
"Giana it is," Mr. Hartley said. "Please, let me buy you a cuppa and a nice hot meal. We shall sit down somewhere out of the cold."
She hesitated, afraid that she might be tossed back onto the streets the moment she set foot in an establishment of business. Everyone could see from one glance at her that she was a street urchin. Invisible to most on the street, but those who owned shops chased girls like her out with brooms, screaming that they would drive away customers.
"I will not take no for an answer," Mr. Hartley added.
Giving a little nod, she made eye contact. "All right, Mr. Hartley. I thank you." She appreciated his stubbornness, and that he would not let her own fear get the best of her.
"Please, call me Philip," he said as he extended the crook of his arm for her to take.
Giana was escorted by Philip out of the alleyway and across the road. A light snow began to fall, dusting her cloak as she brushed the wet flakes from the fabric before it had a chance to soak through the thin material.
"I know the perfect place for a good meal, and it is not far from here," Philip said. The brim of his hat shielded his face from the impending flurries that coated his jacket and colored the black of his hat white; neither of which seemed to bother him in the slightest. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he would soon be out of the cold, or that his clothes were thicker and warmer which made him seem far less agitated by the weather than Giana felt.
Opening the door to a small restaurant, he escorted Giana to a table.
"We do not have to wait to be seated?" she asked.
"A colleague of mine owns this place," Philip said. He removed his hat and placed it on the empty chair beside him, along with his coat, wet from the snow. Pulling out a chair for her, he silently motioned for her to be seated.
Getting a better look at him, she noticed his hair was thick, and dark like the night. His eyes were the color of the sea, warm and inviting as he smiled, undoubtedly trying to ease her fears. He was handsome and quite a bit older than her, he seemed well off, established, and up to something that she could not yet fathom.
Giana would have followed his lead and removed her cloak—if the lace on her gown had not been torn. Too embarrassed to be seen in the ripped garment, she chose to leave the cloak secured around her neck.
Her eyes darted around the quaint restaurant, with dim lighting from lanterns hanging above the tables, and small candle lights offering a clearer view of the menu. Dark red and yellow wallpaper, with zebra stripes that stretched from floor to ceiling, blanketed the entire room. The scent of homey Italian food permeated the restaurant. Her mouth watered and stomach grumbled. She did not wish to be rude, but her stomach spoke louder than her mouth seemed to.
"Right, let us order at once," Philip said, gesturing over one of the waitresses.
The waitress did not look much older than Giana herself, but she appeared far more clean, with perfectly combed, straight, black hair. Her brown eyes darted from a small pad, to take her order, back to Philip. The dress the girl wore was plain and brown but perfectly stitched, and well made, though worn. Compared to Giana's rags, the waitress's clothing looked brand new. She kept her face down, her fringe nearly in her eyes as she studied the pad of paper in her hand. "Mr. Hartley, may I take your order?"
Apparently, she knew him by name. It seemed he frequented the restaurant often enough to have his own table and to know the staff. Even if he was a friend of the owner, it still appeared a little otherworldly to Giana.
"We shall both have your special for this evening. I am certain whatever the cook is preparing will be heavenly. Oh, and would you be so kind as to bring out some bread and hot tea," Philip said to the waitress.
"Yes, of course." The young lady gave a quick curtsey and then rushed back into the kitchen.
Within a minute, she had returned with a bowl of bread and a small plate of butter.
"I will have the tea out shortly. We are just preparing the water," the waitress said.
Giana's stomach gurgled and she ignored the sound, reaching across the table for the largest slice of bread. The smell of warm dough permeated through the restaurant and wafted into her nose, forcing her tummy to continue embarrassing her with its loud, obnoxious sounds. She did not take the time to apologize, as it would only interrupt her from shoving the first real piece of tasty food into her mouth. She moaned at the first bite as the bread grazed past her lips and melted onto her tongue, the thick butter sweet, salty, and succulent as her stomach grumbled in protest at its first heavy food in days. Plunging the bread piece by piece into her mouth, Giana chewed promptly, her lips closed, trying to maintain the decorum she had learned in her home. Even though she had become a street urchin and was forced to look so awful, sh
e still tried to mind the manners she had grown up with, and which had been instilled in her.
"Try not to eat too fast, Miss Giana. There is plenty more where that came from. I do not wish to see you violently ill later," Philip suggested, watching her curiously as he took a small bite of his bread and nodded, seeming quite pleased. "It is very good bread."
"When was the last time you ate here?" Giana asked. She tried to be polite, to remember how to make small talk. She had not been out on the streets so long as to forget how to remain civilized.
"Last week, with a gentleman who was interested in my profession." He caught her gaze, and it seemed he was content to let her do the asking of questions.
"What type of business are you involved in, Mr. Hartley—I mean, Philip?" Giana asked. She could not imagine coming here for work. It seemed more of a pleasure than a way to conduct business.
He reached across the table for his water and took a sip, clearing his throat. "I am the headmaster for an elite finishing school for young ladies."
"That sounds quite lovely." She had never attended a finishing school, but she had had a governess who had taught her all she needed to know about being a wife. "How was it that you had business here with a gentleman?" Perhaps her questions were rude as she probed for information, but she always found it easier to have others talk about themselves rather than have to speak of her own past.
"Prior to the enrollment of any individual, I do a thorough background investigation to ensure that the proper candidates are brought in to the chateau."
Giana said nothing, unsure how to respond. Instead, she reached for a second slice of bread, her hands shaking far less and her fingers warmer than they had been for quite some time. The heat of the fireplace in the restaurant offered both ambience and a warmth that made her more comfortable. She no longer shivered in her seat.