Seduced By My Mafia Bodyguard

The vicarage lay hushed all around her and Clarissa paused, her ears tuned for the quiet footfall that would signal her pale and stern father was approaching.

But of course, he wouldn’t be approaching, not now or ever again. He’d died and he’d left her both penniless and orphaned, and entirely without prospects as well.

The vicarage would have to be turned over soon, and Clarissa was terrified. She’d spent her entire life in the gloomy parish, perched neatly between the coal mines and the rolling, but entirely barren hills. She too had been perched neatly between two things. Her position as the vicar’s daughter meant she could not befriend those in town as they were beneath her socially, and it also meant she was too lowly for those who lived beyond the last stark hill in their tall mansions set neatly on long rolling lawns.

She was neither a laborer nor one who had a life of ease. She fit in nowhere and her father’s sudden death had taken her wholly by surprise and jolted her out of the safe, if dreary, day-today of her existence.

She’d spent the last two weeks trying to find a position somewhere nearby. At first, she’d tried for a governess position. She was well-educated after all. But nobody knew anyone in need of a governess. She’d inquired at the houses of the lord who loved beyond the hills and in the houses of the overseers of the mines as well because she had known that they alone would or could afford a governess.

When that had failed she’d tried for a house position. She knew how to keep the house; certainly, she’d been responsible for the entire vicarage since her mother had died six years before.

Only nobody needed her for that either.

Clarissa, who was known to be sassy and pert, unwelcome qualities in any woman, knew that it was likely not her qualifications that kept her from a position but that reputation. She wished, fervently, that she could simply go back in time and be far more sedate and polite but that too was impossible.

She’d been desperate and crushed, and things had gotten even worse when she had received a note from the Lord, whose wealth depended on those mines, stating that a new vicar and his family would be coming to take up residence within a fortnight.

Out of a sense of duty to the new arrivals, she’d set out to clean the place thoroughly to allow them to have it in good condition. She also hoped the hard work would help her to keep herself occupied as she tried to think of what to do next.

After she was done cleaning and had taken inventory of everything that did not stay with the vicarage she sold every bit of furniture that her father and mother had accumulated, even the stove although its loss left her shivering with a cold during the chilly nights and forced her to cook on the open hearth. She counted every penny and scraped together all the money left from the last month of her father’s wages and then she’d sold every bit of butter she could churn and cheese she could form before she finally sold the cow as well.

The money was not enough, and she knew that because while her father had been a brilliant orator he’d been utterly unable to manage a single bookkeeping or housekeeping task. He would order more candles than anyone could use and forget they needed groceries. He’d neglect to pay the butcher and order a new altar cloth from a woman known for her shoddy stitches.

Clarissa had done all of that after it became apparent he would send them into a misery of too many napkins and no bread, and so she knew exactly how far the money would stretch.

Not very far at all.

She had a letter of recommendation from the lord and a kindly parishioner. She had a scant amount of money and two valises filled with her plain and somber clothing.

And nowhere to go.

She’d considered going to London to try to find a position, and she was certain that that was her only hope. There nobody would know she was known for being sassy and proud. She could change her ways, mute her natural pertness, and find a position that would give her a roof over her head and food, and wages. She could think of a better plan later after those things were taken care of and she was no longer so harried or frightened.

There was a loud and imperious rap at the front door. Clarissa clutched her collar together at her slender throat, her whole body shaking. The new vicar then, came earlier than planned.

Her heart knocking in her chest she went to the door and opened it to see

the postman standing there, his cap pulled down to protect his face from the rain spitting from the sullen sky.

She swallowed hard. “Yes?”

Her voice echoed through the mostly emptied rooms, making her shiver.

He thrust a letter at her, “Here, this be yours. Came early yesterday but the rain kept me from making my rounds.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Very much.”

Her hands shook as she took the missive. It was encased in a crisp and thick envelope. Very good quality. The writing was crisp and concise, and the ink black and heavy. She closed the door and stared down at it. She knew nobody in the corner of the country it had come from and she frowned as she broke the red wax seal in the back of the envelope and pulled out a single and equally thick and fine sheet of paper.