The Nanny Arrangement

“No, indeed.” Becky gave a defiant toss of her head. “I shall be an independent woman from now on.” And she would, too. She must prove—if to no one but herself—that she was of some value in this world. She was done with passion, tenderness and romance. No more walks on the moor for her. No more windswept moments with her long curls streaming behind her. There must be a reason for all of this. Perhaps this was God’s way of telling her that she needed a firmer foundation.

If that were so, then from now on, she would be as practical as...as...as that willow basket in the corner. She seized the letter, unfolded it, and tore it across three times.

Susannah watched her destruction of the missive, disapproval written plain across her pretty face. “If that’s what you wish.”

Becky continued her massacre of the missive, tearing it into little bits, heaping the pieces into a pile on her lap. Each rip brought both pain and relief, like removing a bandage from a wound. “This is precisely what I want. I cannot wait to start my life anew.”

* * *

Paul walked to the library window and flicked the curtains aside for the fifteenth time, peering out onto the lawn as rain streamed down from the sky. He’d sent the carriage for Becky over a quarter of an hour ago. Even with this spring shower causing a slight delay, she should be here by now. If only she’d hurry and get here, he could get her settled.

Then he could indulge in his baser habit, that of drink. He drank alone now that Daniel had disavowed liquor. Drinking helped dull the pain of an engagement that never came to fruition, of a marriage that never was, and of a partnership that was abruptly broken off, never to continue. And now, a drink would dull the pain of his failures as a brother, his complete inability to save Juliana from her willful, harmful path. But even when imbibing alone, he had a strict ritual. First, he must attend to business. Then, when his duties as master had been attended to, he could give himself some leeway.

This interminable waiting strained his nerves. If only he could be done and shut the door on this particular responsibility.

His brother, George, had helped arrange Juliet’s safe passage home, and now that Juliet’s itinerary was well planned, he needed to get Becky set up as governess. Then and only then, he could take himself off to London for a few months of self-indulgence.

At last his carriage flashed into view, tracing an undulating path over the sodden gravel and drawing to a halt before the front steps. Paul bounded out of the library and down the hall. His butler was wrenching the front door open when Paul hastened into the vestibule.

In fact, Wadsworth had already retrieved an umbrella and was preparing to shelter Miss Siddons with it. Perfect, just like clockwork. If he continued rushing about breathlessly, he’d seem ridiculously out of place in such a well-run household. He grabbed hold of his dignity and assumed the mask of cynical good humor that had served him so well for the past decade or so.

“Miss Siddons.” He bowed as she scurried inside. “Where are your sisters? I had thought Susannah would be with you.”

“No.” She gave him a brisk smile and allowed Wadsworth to take her wrap. “I come on my own, as you see.”

Interesting. Was this his first glimpse of Becky’s independence? Yet, he couldn’t make too much of it, not with his butler standing right there. “Wadsworth, see to it that the library is set for tea. I shall show Miss Siddons her quarters and then we will meet in the library to discuss my niece’s schedule.”

“Very good, sir.” His butler gave a respectful bow and headed off for the kitchen.

“I thought your housekeeper would show me about,” Becky interjected as he led her toward the stairs. “This seems rather unusual.”

“Mrs. Clairbourne will of course meet you later, but I always show my new help over the house. I like things to be well under my control, and I find it is communicated more easily by myself, at least the first time.” He looked down at her as they climbed the last step. Her brow was furrowed as though his words confused her. Bother. He had to explain it better, so he didn’t sound such a tyrant. “You see, Kellridge has been under my care for at least six years. More, if you count the decisions I made when I was a lad. It runs with precision and timing. This is how I keep the pendulum swaying, if that makes sense.”

She nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

He motioned for her to follow him to the east wing. It really was a nice part of the house. Mrs. Clairbourne had done amazing things with it since Juliet’s arrival was announced. The walls were painted a pretty shade of pale yellow, and the dour family portraits had been removed. Now a few gilded mirrors reflected their profiles as he took Becky to her new quarters.

“This is your room.” He opened the door, freshly painted with a glossy coat of white. “You can see the connecting door there. That will lead you to Juliet’s room.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Becky stepped into the room and looked about her, her hands clasped over her chest. What was different about her today? She seemed...tamer. Perhaps it was her hair. Instead of streaming down her back in bouncy curls, it was tucked up high on her head. Shame that pretty hair wasn’t being shown in its full glory, but she did have a graceful neck all the same.

He abruptly switched off his thoughts. He might be a connoisseur of female beauty, but it was hardly appropriate to think of Becky as anything but his help in his time of need. In fact, he would leave her alone now, for if he continued to show her about the house, he might continue to dwell upon her loveliness, and that simply would not do.

“Well, I shall leave you to explore for a few moments. The bellpull is here—” he waved at a cord by the door “—and in the mornings, you can ring for your breakfast to be brought to your room. You can poke about in Juliet’s room, too. If there’s anything you require, make a list. I shall try to see to it before I go to London.”

“When are you leaving for town?” Becky turned to him, her firmly compressed lips registering frank disapproval.

“In the next day or so.” Surely she wasn’t going to start that nonsense about meeting the boat again.

“Paul, I really do feel most strongly that you should stay. Juliet will be so confused and so frightened. You must let her know that she is welcome in your home and that you will take care of her.” Becky removed her bonnet and her gloves, casting them onto her dressing table. “How far is the ship docking from Kellridge?”

“The ship should be arriving in Cleethorpes, a mere half day from here. Not that it matters.” He was torn. Should he try to tease her out of this ridiculous notion? Or should he simply play his role as lord of the manor? “I need to be in London, and so I shall go. You’ll be on hand to welcome her. That should be enough.”

“But Paul—you must want to see her. She’s your niece, after all. As her uncle, surely you owe her something more. She is your responsibility.”

Her words broke a dam within his soul. He could not let those feelings out. Feeling anything—rage, grief, pain—was a terrifying experience. He felt that dam burst once six years ago when Ruth had died. She was going to be his helpmeet. She was someone on whom he could depend. When she died, a black hole of despair had swallowed him, and he had cried. No more. Never again.

“While you are in my house and while you are in my employ, I must make a few things quite clear to you, Miss Siddons. Though I am a friend of your family, I am still in control. My word here at Kellridge is final.” He cleared his throat. “I have great respect for my responsibilities, and I take care of them as a man should. I am doing what I can to make Juliet’s life comfortable and pleasant. I don’t need any reminders from you about what I should and should not do. Do I make myself quite clear?”

She took a step back, her delicate features hardening. “Perfectly clear, Mr. Holmes.” She bobbed a brief curtsy. “As your newly employed governess, I feel it my responsibility to do what is best for Juliet’s care. As such, with all the dreadful traveling the child has endured, only to arrive in a foreign land where she may not even know the language, I simply cannot allow her to arrive unwelcomed. Someone must be there to embrace her and assure her everything will be fine. Therefore,” Becky folded her hands before her and gave him a frank stare, “I will require a carriage to take me to Cleethorpes on the appointed day of Juliet’s arrival.” Becky folded her hands before her and gave him a frank stare.

His sardonic humor began to creep back, triggered by her calmly defiant manner. “Is that an order, Miss Siddons?”

“It is a reasonable request, Mr. Holmes.” Her voice had lost all its sweet charm, and her lovely eyes burned—with anger or with disappointment? No matter. He had his plan all laid out, no matter what she said.

“When word arrives, I shall make sure that Wadsworth knows you are to have a carriage at your disposal, and a servant to ride along.” Her gaze was making him distinctly uneasy. Somehow, it was as though she had the upper hand. The only way to win back control was to return to his sarcastically amused self. “So. Now that’s been decided. Join me for tea in a few moments in the library.”

“I must refuse your invitation, Mr. Holmes. I shall retire to my room and ring for tea when I am ready for it.” She gave another brief curtsy that signaled—more clearly than speech—that he was being summarily dismissed.

Should he press on? Make her come down to tea? After all, he had wanted to speak with her about Juliet’s upbringing. She was in his employ. He glanced at the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. No. Better to leave while he still had some modicum of authority.

He’d give her time to cool off, and then they would speak sensibly. Becky Siddons was supposed to solve his problems and make life easier for him. But already she was causing more trouble than he’d ever dreamed.

Chapter Four

The dress was hers, all right. Becky gave herself a brisk mental shake to clear her mind and held her arms up in the air as the servant—Kate, her name was Kate—draped the fabric over her shoulders and tied the tapes in place. But it was the only familiar thing in this room. Kellridge was not her home yet, not after just one night here.

How very odd that someone besides her sister was helping her dress. In the mornings, Nan would come to her aid and then she would help Nan turn about. She’d shiver from the early morning drafts blowing in from the opened window, and Nan would be scolding her for lollygagging. Then they’d rush downstairs to eat a hurried breakfast before opening the shop.

But in her new room at Kellridge, a fire crackled in the grate, warding off the morning chill. Kate, with deft fingers, worked quickly to help her dress without badgering her one bit. Soon she would be enjoying a delicious breakfast, brought up to her on a tray, no less.

She should be happy. What luxury this new position was bringing to her workaday life. What refinement.

And no nagging, scolding sisters.

Sudden tears stung her eyes and she bit back a sob. If only she could go home to Nan. Prosaic and practical as she was, at least she was familiar. There was quite a difference between dreaming up a new life for oneself and living it out. Paul had been so horrid, so high-handed and lord-of-the-manor-ish. Of course she’d only seen his carefree and joking side when he came to Goodwin. Now that she knew how stern he could be, she couldn’t escape it by simply ducking out of the room when he came to call. She was not only living in his home, she was his employee. If she was going to succeed in this new life, she had to become comfortable with the unfamiliar and learn to bear Paul’s domineering ways.

Kate fluffed out the skirt of her gown and took a step backward.

“You look very nice, miss. You wear white quite well. It’s such a good contrast to your dark hair and eyes.” Kate clasped her hands behind her back and beamed. “Did you do that embroidery yourself?”

“Yes.” Becky smiled. It was always so nice to have others appreciate her efforts with the needle. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Well, I did hear that you and your sisters have a millinery shop, so I figured you must design your own clothes.” Kate tilted her head to one side and surveyed the hem of Becky’s skirt with a critical eye. “My ma was a nimble hand at drawn thread work, and she taught me to appreciate it. Never could do it well myself, though.”

“Was your mother in service here at Kellridge?” Perhaps by reaching out to Kate, she could begin to navigate this new world she’d cast herself into.

“Yes, she worked for Mr. Holmes—not my master, but his father. And of course, Mrs. Holmes, who died three years after Miss Juliana was born. I grew up with Miss Juliana and worked as her maid, so my family has been part of Kellridge for many years. In fact, my sister works in his home in London.” Kate flicked a bit of dust off Becky’s sleeve and gave a brisk smile. “Shall I bring your breakfast up?”

“Certainly. Thank you for your help.” Becky watched as Kate quit the room, closing the door gently behind her. The frost had melted just a little when Kate spoke kindly and familiarly to her and all at once, this journey didn’t seem so insurmountable. In fact, she was charged with a renewed vigor to see this new adventure through to the end. A little kindness and compassion worked wonders in life.

Becky glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. She was a nursemaid now, and she had someone that she must care for. She tucked and coiled her hair up on top of her head and stabbed it into place with a dozen hairpins. If even a little touch of friendliness made this much of a difference in her outlook, how much of a change would it make in the life of a child? Why, it could mean the world to a scared little girl who’d just lost her mother.

That settled it. Whether he felt it necessary or no, she must convince Paul to come with her to meet Juliet at the docks. A personal plea, one from the heart. Surely if he heard how much it would mean to Juliet, he would relent. She must tell him, face-to-face, this morning. That meant tracking him down to tell him so, without delay.

How long would it take a servant to bring her breakfast? And where would the master of the house be at this hour of the morning?

She had no idea. But she was Juliet’s voice in this house, and hers was a voice that must be heard.

She gathered her skirts and quit the room. Kellridge was a puzzle to her still, even after Paul’s brief tour the day before. She couldn’t very well go knocking on every door looking for Paul, but she could at least rule out the east wing. He had made it quite clear that that part of the house was for the nursery only.

The best course of action would be to go downstairs and into the west wing of the house. She rushed down the stairs, brushing her hand against the satin-smooth walnut banister. Then she crossed through the vestibule, the thick Aubusson carpet muffling the sound of her slippers. Funny, for a home so thoroughly staffed, not one servant passed by as she made her way to the west wing. And the silence in the house was deafening. Not even the ticking of a clock marred the absolute quiet of the hallway.

The rooms—how perfect and still they were. Each one had its door flung open to the world, and admitted a view of balance and precision. The music room fairly glowed with instruments polished to a high gleam, yet those very instruments sat mute, crying out to be played. A billiard room, handsomely masculine yet vacant. A small sitting room, pretty and elegant but as blank as a canvas awaiting an artist’s touch.

She paused in the doorway of the library, a room redolent of aged leather and paper, and breathed deeply. Shelves lined the room from floor to ceiling, and on those shelves rested books. Books that marched up and down the shelves in perfectly ordered precision, grouped by binding color as well as by size. The overall effect, in contrast with the sweet and musty smell she breathed in, jarred her nerves. The contents of this room were surely well-loved, judging by the age of some of the volumes on the shelves. Order was an affront to its dignity. An old beloved library should be cozy, or at the very least, some disorder should mar its sterile perfection.

She stepped into the room and crossed over to a large, round mahogany table that commanded her attention. A massive arrangement of roses and chrysanthemums rested on its smooth, gleaming surface. She plucked a slightly wilted leaf from a rose stem and cast it onto the floor. She took a step backward and surveyed the result. Better, but not enough. She tugged another leaf from the arrangement and cast it onto the surface of the table.

There. A small act of defiance, but a necessary one. She wouldn’t openly rebel against Paul’s fastidious standards, but a few stabs at insubordination might do Kellridge a world of good.

She backed out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest at her temerity, and continued her progress down the hall. One door stood resolutely closed to the outside world, in direct contrast to the others that had been flung open.

Likely this was his study. Perhaps he was in there?

She couldn’t very well fling the door open. She wasn’t brazen enough for that. She knocked twice, rapping her knuckles against the glossy painted wood.

“Enter.”

Becky paused a moment. What should she say? She’d come here so certain of her purpose that she hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to how to communicate that purpose.

“Parker, is that you? I said enter.”

She gathered her skirts along with her courage and opened the door.

* * *

Paul didn’t bother to glance up as he perused his ledger book. “What took you so long, Parker? I must finish these accounts before I leave for London.”

“That is precisely what I wish to talk to you about. Your departure.” A soft feminine voice, utterly unlike his estate manager’s, spoke. Startled, he glanced up.

“I thought we had come to an agreement about this yesterday.” He tilted back in his chair and clasped his hands together, drawing them upward and cradling his head in them. If he affected an air of breezy unconcern, perhaps she would drop the matter entirely. Or at least, not become so overwrought about it. Her trembling, fluttering manner was forcing that uncomfortable sensation to the surface, like something crawling against his skin.

Too much emotion. With Becky, every sentiment bubbled right to her surface. How downright fatiguing it all was.

“Imagine how she must feel—a little girl journeying to a faraway land. How lonely she shall be! You should meet her at the docks and make her feel welcome.”

He forced himself to stare at the ceiling, avoiding any glance at Becky. Her voice was still soft, but she was commanding him. This was not a plea, but an edict. He must—for the sake of the child, of course—expose himself to the raw wounds of Juliana’s death, his own failings as her brother, his disgust at how poorly things had been managed, as well as all the chaos and upheaval of Juliana’s rushed marriage.

Becky Siddons definitely did not understand what she was asking. He brought his hands down upon the desk and looked her in the eyes.

“If you are accusing me of shirking my duty, Miss Siddons, let me remind you that I brought you on board here solely to act as Juliet’s caregiver.” He used the same clipped tone of voice he reserved for negotiating contracts and setting terms in his business dealings. “I’ve converted an entire wing of my home to serve as her nursery and your living quarters. Moreover, I am leaving a carriage at your full disposal so that you may personally meet her upon her arrival. Juliet is being very well cared for. I haven’t neglected my duty at all.”

“I am not saying that you are,” Becky argued. “But think of how nice it would be for her to see her uncle’s face.”

Did Juliet even comprehend she had family in England? No telling what his sister had said about her relatives. No doubt that blackguard she’d married had a thing or two to say about the Holmes family. Paul had never seen a portrait of Juliet. Did she look like her mother? Or perhaps she favored her father.

A sharp pain stabbed through his being at the thought of little Juliet’s face—probably so like her mother’s, with a dimple in her chin—and he winced, closing his eyes against the anguish. He breathed in deeply, allowing the icy frost of disinterest to creep over his soul. He must remove himself entirely from all passion and sensation.

He grew so cold that when he opened his eyes, ’twas strange indeed to see sunlight streaming in through the windowpane. Surely when one was chilled to the bone, there should be a storm raging outside.

“I have given you my answer about this matter.” He met Becky’s disapproving gaze. “Never ask me again, Miss Siddons.”

She recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “Very well. I shan’t.” Though she spoke little, her rigid pose and heightened color spoke volumes. Becky was quite offended, but she would soon get past it. As with everyone else at Kellridge, she would simply have to learn that in some matters, he was both right and unyielding.

He unclasped his hands and sat forward. At least she showed genuine concern for Juliet’s welfare. In that way, she was the perfect person to be his niece’s caregiver. She was willing to defy him and to press her point to make sure her charge’s needs were at the forefront of every discussion. ’Twas admirable, in a way. But she had overstepped a boundary, and she should never be allowed to cross that line again.

He cleared his throat. “So, now that we understand each other, I will let you know that I am leaving for London on the morrow and shan’t be back for some time.” Why had he said on the morrow? He had been planning it for two days’ time from now. That uncomfortable tension must be broken, and the only way to do so was to run away. He was just running sooner rather than later.

Becky nodded, her features frozen and impassive. “Very well, sir. When may we expect your return?”

“Not until after the season ends.” He had planned to come home sooner, but why not stay the length of summer? ’Twould give plenty of time for Juliet to become acclimated, and then he would be home—after that, he could leave to go hunting in Scotland during the autumn months.

She cast her glance down toward the floor. “I hope that you have a good stay.”

“I am sure I shall. And of course, if you should need anything, you may send a servant into town. I have runners that often traverse the distance between Kellridge and London. I like to be kept informed of matters here, and shall continue to attend to Juliet’s needs even when I am not in residence.” There. That showed that he was keeping his niece in his thoughts at all times. Not all men had such a system, but for his needs, having runners allowed him to keep the tight rein on his household that Kellridge required. It would work well for attending to his ward.

“You are most generous.” Her eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the floor, but that same spirited temper—the one that had flared when he’d met her out on the moor—was beginning to show. The quirk of her mouth alone spoke to her burgeoning sarcasm.

He wasn’t behaving in a monstrous fashion—not if she understood his side of the matter. He just couldn’t bear heightened emotions, or passion, or anything that reminded him of his own failings. What he felt before still held true—Becky must learn her place at Kellridge and in his life. Even so, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn’t bear for Becky to think ill of him.

Whenever the road got bumpy at Kellridge, he could always smooth the path with gifts. Perhaps she would think kindly on him if he offered something, anything.

“Is your room to your liking? You can change it around, you know. If the green doesn’t suit you, I could have the room redone.”

“No, it’s lovely.” She rose, her bearing reminding him of what Lady Jane Grey must have looked like on the way to the scaffold—an affronted, yet subdued, sovereign. “You are very kind, Mr. Holmes. My room here is a palace compared to my usual accommodations. May I have your permission to withdraw?”