The Nanny

By the time Annie returned to the cookhouse, the children were gone, and Mrs. Royce, the cook, was busy cleaning up the mess they’d left.

“I’m truly sorry about this,” Annie said, motioning to the table.

The white-haired woman shrugged, as if she’d seen worse. “Not to worry.”

Annie found a broom and swept the floor beneath the table while Mrs. Royce wiped everything down. Annie felt the cook’s helpers staring at her from across the room. Surely they considered her a failure at her new job already; really, she couldn’t blame them.

“Do the children eat all their meals in here?” she asked.

“That they do,” Mrs. Royce said wearily.

“Have they always? I mean, before…?”

“Before their mother died, do you mean? Of course.” Mrs. Royce shook her head. “That’s the way it’s done, don’t you see?”

“And that was all right with Mr. Ingalls? Even after his wife died?”

“Not my place to ask,” Mrs. Royce told her.

Josh didn’t want to eat with his children? How odd.

“The children went upstairs,” Mrs. Royce said, saving Annie the embarrassment of having to ask where her charges were. She smiled her thanks and took the back stairway to the second floor.

A number of bedrooms opened off the wide, central hallway. The main staircase stood in the middle, and double doors opened at each end of the hall to large balconies on the front and rear of the house. Light spilled into the hallway from a room at the end.

Stepping into the doorway, Annie saw the three Ingalls children dressed in white nightshirts. Ginny and Cassie sat together on one bed, and Drew bounced on his knees on the other.

Three formidable enemies? The thought skittered through Annie’s mind. Or three little means to get the money she needed?

Annie took a breath. No. Neither. They were just children. Children whom she wasn’t going to let get the best of her. Certainly not on her very first day as their nanny.

“Ready for bed, I see,” Annie said briskly, coming inside their room.

The children quieted, sharing glances with each other.

Annie tucked them under their covers. They’d gotten themselves ready for bed, but hadn’t washed. Dirty little feet and hands disappeared under the quilts.

She sighed to herself. Something to work on tomorrow.

“I’ll let your father know you’re in bed,” she said. “He’ll be in shortly.”

“We didn’t do nothing wrong,” Drew declared.

“He’s coming to tell you good-night, of course,” Annie said.

Cassie’s eyes rounded as she sprang up. “Papa’s coming? He is?”

“No, he’s not.” Ginny pushed her sister down on the pillow and threw Annie a contemptuous look. “He’s not coming, Cassie. Go to sleep.”

A little ache throbbed in Annie’s chest as Ginny pulled the covers over her sister. Josh didn’t see his children at bedtime, or at meals?

Suddenly, she wanted to take all three children in her arms, hold them tightly against her. She wanted to march downstairs and demand to know why Josh paid so little attention to his children.

But it wasn’t any of her business. Not really.

Not if she wanted to keep her job.

Ginny gathered Cassie close. Drew stuck out his tongue at Annie and rolled away.

“Well, good night,” Annie murmured.

“Hannah,” Ginny said, pointing to an open doorway at the rear of the room.

“Hannah?” Annie asked.

Ginny huffed irritably. “The baby.”

“Oh. The baby. Yes, of course.” Annie blew out the lanterns and backed away.

The adjoining room was small, just big enough for a crib, bureau, washstand and rocker. There Annie found a young woman probably ten years older than herself, rocking a sleeping baby.

“I reckon you’re the new one, huh?” she asked, her Southern accent evident, though she spoke barely above a whisper. Her dark hair was pinned up and she wore the same gray dress and white apron as the cooks.

“Yes, I’m the new nanny,” Annie said.

The woman hoisted herself out of the chair, cradling the baby against her shoulder. “My name’s Georgia.”

Annie introduced herself. “Are you the one who looks after Hannah?”

“Doing the best I can since the last nanny left,” Georgia said. “That Mrs. Flanders—you met Mrs. Flanders yet?”

“Yes. Briefly.”

Georgia rolled her eyes, and Annie got the distinct feeling the two of them shared the same opinion of the woman who ran the Ingalls house.

“Well, that Mrs. Flanders, she don’t let me tend to little Hannah here, ’less it’s her feeding time. ’Cause, you see, I’m one of the maids and I’m not supposed to do nothing but my own chores.” Georgia tossed her head. “According to Mrs. Flanders, that is.”

“That’s why I heard the baby crying so much?” Annie asked. “Mrs. Flanders wouldn’t let you come in here and take care of her?”

“Yep. Like to broke my heart hearing her cry, I can tell you that. I’ve gotten right attached to this little thing.” Georgia laid the baby in the crib, then lingered for a moment, caressing her wisps of dark hair. “But, seeing as how I need this job, I didn’t have much of a choice other than to do like Mrs. Flanders said for me to do, even if it don’t set well with me.”

Annie nodded. “I can certainly understand that.”

Georgia reared back a bit, raising her brows and looking Annie up and down. “So you’re truly here just to take care of the children?”

“Of course. Why else?”

Georgia shrugged. “Well, it ain’t exactly some kind of a secret, but most of those other women who came here weren’t interested in doing nothing more than sniffing around after Mr. Ingalls.”

“They hoped to marry him?” Annie asked.

“Not that the man couldn’t use the benefit of a little female comfort, if you get my meaning. Especially after that wife of his. Lordy…” Georgia shook her head. “Well, Annie, it’s a pleasure to meet you and a pleasure to have you working here.”

“Thank you,” Annie said, glad to finally hear a kind word from someone in the Ingalls home.

“All I can say to you is good luck. You’re a-gonna be needing it.” Georgia stepped away from the crib. “I’d better get a-going. You’ve a room all to yourself, you know, right through that door. I tidied it up for you and unpacked your things. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Georgia.”

She gave Hannah a little pat on the back, then leaned closer to Annie. “You let me know if you’re needing any help with the baby here. Like I said, I’ve gotten right attached to her.”

After Georgia left the room, Annie watched the baby, thankful she was sleeping. She considered checking on the three older children, then changed her mind. They were quiet, and that was good enough. Tonight, at least.

She opened the adjoining door and found her bedroom. Annie fell back against the closed door, staring wide-eyed.

Soft light came from the lanterns beside the canopy bed and on the spacious bureau. There were two chests, a wardrobe, a writing desk and a washstand, all in rich mahogany. The coverlet was pale blue with tiny yellow-and-white flowers. Curtains were pristine white, and a floral rug of rich hues covered the floor.

Heavens, such a lovely bedroom. She’d never even had one of her own before—she’d always shared with her sisters. If she, the nanny, had so fine a room, what must the others be like?

A strange heat swelled inside Annie. Josh’s bedroom. What did it look like?

She gasped in the quiet room. Why had she even thought such a thing?

Quickly, she opened the wardrobe and found her three dresses hanging to one side, her one pair of good shoes resting at the bottom. Her apparel looked meager in the vast cupboard. The rest of her clothing took up only two drawers in the massive bureau.

Though her heart seemed to be beating faster than usual, Annie was tired. She’d have her hands full tomorrow with the children and—

The book. Annie gasped aloud in the silent room. She’d left the book Josh had given her in the study.

What if Josh found it there in the morning? He’d likely think she’d completely disregarded his instructions, blatantly defied him.

Would he fire her? He wasn’t all that happy with her already.

She had to retrieve that book.

Annie crept to the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was there; no cracks of light shone from under the other doors. Which room was Josh’s? she wondered.

And what was he doing in there? Annie’s thoughts meandered for a few seconds. Was he undressing? In bed already?

A little mewl slipped from Annie’s lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Goodness, such thoughts. She certainly had more pressing things to think about—such as keeping her job.

Annie listened, her ears straining. No sounds. It seemed everyone had retired for the night.

She hurried to the stairway and leaned over the railing. Faint light shone from below. Annie glanced around, then slipped down the steps.

At the landing, she paused, listened and hurried on.

Only the ticking of a clock sounded as she hurried through the house. Holding her breath, she peeked into the study. A lantern burned low on the desk. A book and some papers were spread out.

Josh was still up. He hadn’t retired for the evening as she’d thought.

He wasn’t at his desk at the moment, but surely he’d be back any second. Annie darted into the study. Where was the book? Where had she left it?

She spied it on a table near the fireplace, grabbed it and dashed to the door, reaching it just as Josh walked in.

He jerked to a stop not two steps away from her, splashing milk from the glass he carried. It spattered his shirt and chin.

He froze, letting the milk drip from his face, and drew in a big breath.

“Am I going to get doused with something every time I see you, Miss Martin?”

Annie cringed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” he insisted, swiping at his chin with his shirtsleeve. “What the devil are you doing down here?”

Remembering the book, Annie looped her arm behind her, hiding it.

“Well? I asked you a question,” Josh said, setting the glass aside and frowning at her.

Instead of cowering, apologizing and begging for her job, as she probably should have, Annie felt her spine stiffen. “Mr. Ingalls, in the future I’ll thank you not to speak to me in that manner.”

His hand stilled on his shirt. But the outrage she’d seen budding in his expression melted as his gaze dipped, taking in her trousers and shirt, her braid hanging over her shoulder.

Annie’s skin burned, even through the fabric of her clothing, as his gaze raked her in a long, hot sweep. Her heart banged in her chest. Heat tingled in her cheeks.

Annie wished desperately she could think of something to say, wished her feet would move so she could run out of the room. But she could only stand there gazing at Josh, who seemed equally paralyzed.

Finally he pulled his gaze from her and looked around the room, wall to ceiling, floor to desk.

Annie lifted her hand to his face. “You have a little drop of milk on your…”

With her thumb, she wiped the droplet from his jaw. But, somehow, she couldn’t pull away. His flesh was hot, his beard rough. Heat spread up her hand, through her arm, warming her.

Their gazes met and held for an instant before Josh stepped back. “This is my private study,” he said softly. “No one comes in here without good reason.”

His words jarred Annie, reminding her why she’d come here in the first place. She knew she looked guilty because Josh’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s that behind you?” he asked, leaning sideways to see.

Caught dead to rights, she couldn’t claim, “nothing,” as her instincts screaming at her to do.

Annie pulled the book from behind her. Josh’s frown deepened.

“I was reading it, of course,” she told him.

He raised one eyebrow. “Of course.”

“And I wanted to look up a word in your dictionary,” Annie said, waving vaguely in the direction of the bookshelves.

His frown deepened as if he were judging whether or not her claim was believable. Finally, he stepped around her and went to his desk.

“The children are in bed,” Annie said. “Do you want to come up and tell them good-night?”

“No,” Josh said. He shuffled through the stacks of papers on his desk, not looking at her.

“You don’t tuck your children into bed at night?” Annie asked. “Why not?”

He looked up at her. “Because, Miss Martin, that is your job.”

Annie pondered his response while he continued to sort through his papers. “You don’t eat supper with them, or see them at bedtime. Why is that, Mr. Ingalls?”

Josh stopped fumbling with the papers and looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she’d ask such an odd thing. “Because that’s the way it’s done,” he explained simply. He turned back to his papers. “Good night, Miss Martin.”

He was dismissing her. Sending her on her way, telling her politely to mind her own business, reminding her of her place in his household. Annie wouldn’t let it go.

“But don’t you miss them?” she asked, taking a step closer.

Josh’s gaze came up quickly and landed on her with a force than shook her. Yet his expression wasn’t one of anger or irritation at her continued prying. Something else shone in his face.

Maybe it wasn’t his children he missed, Annie realized. Maybe it was his wife.

A knot jerked in Annie’s stomach. She should have kept her mouth shut. Should have minded her own business. Kept to her place.

He picked up a single sheet of paper, forcing his attention on it. “Good night, Miss Martin.”

Still Annie didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, to do something to make him feel better. The urge overwhelmed her.

But what could she possibly say?

“Good night,” she mumbled. At the door she looked back and saw Josh hunched over his desk; from the expression on his face she doubted he saw a single word written on the papers there.

As she climbed the stairs, Annie reminded herself that Josh’s feelings for his dead wife were none of her business. Yet, for some reason, her heart ached a little thinking he still grieved for her after all these months.

But what about his feelings for his children? Weren’t they her business?

Not if she wanted to keep her job.

At the top of the stairs, Annie peeked into the children’s room again. Three little bulges under the covers slept soundly. She checked on the baby, as well, and found Hannah sleeping.

In her room, Annie undressed, washed at the basin, and slipped into her pink nightgown. The cotton fabric seemed coarse, not nearly fancy enough for the room she’d been given. She sat in front of the mirror, unraveled her braid and combed out her hair.

As she climbed into bed, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Annie froze, pulling the quilt over her. Josh. The heavy, measured steps could only be his.

For an instant, Annie thought he stopped outside her door. She shook her head, sure it was her imagination. The footsteps faded and she heard a door down the hallway close softly.

With a sigh she leaned back on her pillows, relaxing on the feather mattress. The book on child rearing rested on her bedside table, and Annie considered reading it. Surely she’d need all the help she could get taming the Ingalls brood.

For her first day as nanny, things hadn’t gone so well, Annie was forced to admit. The children had rebelled at the sight of her. A food fight had erupted. She’d forgotten the book her employer had given her, invaded his private sanctum and splashed milk on him—not once but twice.

Annie settled deeper against the pillow, sure tomorrow would be a better day. After all, they were only children.

And tomorrow she’d do a better job of minding her own business. Somehow.

Chapter Six

Dressing like a girl took forever.

Annie lamented her decision as she closed the last fastener on her dress and turned to the mirror.

The green gown—her second favorite—looked nice, she decided, even if climbing into hoops, corset and petticoats took three times as long as dressing in her trousers. She’d coiled her hair atop her head, adding to the ordeal.

But she looked like a nanny, or at least what she guessed a nanny should look like. Mrs. Flanders certainly couldn’t peer down her nose at her when she got downstairs this morning.

Annie heard a voice in the room next door and found Georgia tending to little Hannah.

“Slept all night, did she?” Georgia asked as Annie walked in.

“Not a peep out of her.”

Georgia lifted Hannah into her arms; the baby yawned and stretched her chubby arms.

“I brought up her bottle for you,” Georgia said, nodding toward the table beside the rocker. “Mrs. Royce gets it ready first thing.”

“I’ll feed Hannah, then wake the other children,” Annie said. It seemed a reasonable, organized way to start her day, even if she hadn’t read it in a book.

Georgia shook her head. “They’re not in their room. I was just there.”

Annie was mildly surprised. “Oh. Well, then they’re having their breakfast already.”

Georgia uttered a short laugh. “I was just down there, and there’s not hide nor hair of those children anywhere in this house.”

Mild surprise edged toward panic. Her first full day as nanny and Annie didn’t even know where the children were.

She resisted the urge to utter a curse. “Could you start feeding Hannah while I check on the others? I don’t want to get you into trouble with Mrs. Flanders, but if you could just—”

“Oh, never mind about that Mrs. Flanders.” Georgia gave the baby a hug. “Me and little Miss Hannah know a few places to hide out where that cranky ol’ woman won’t never find us.”

“Thank you, Georgia. Thanks so much.” Annie hiked up her dress and rattled down the stairway.

“Miss Martin!”

Annie jerked to a stop in the downstairs hallway as Mrs. Flanders barked her name. Hands folded in front of her, the older woman stood in the center of the parlor, glaring at her.

Annie’s first instinct was to tell Mrs. Flanders she had no time for her, and to hurry on about her business. But Mrs. Flanders ran the house. Being rude to her wouldn’t improve her employment longevity.

“Yes?” Annie asked politely, forcing a smile, feigning interest.

“I want to make it clear to you, Miss Martin, that you are to take charge of the children. Georgia is no longer available to assist with them in any way.”

Annie pressed her lips together, sure Mrs. Flanders couldn’t possibly know that Georgia was taking care of the baby at this very moment.

“A proper nanny would know that,” Mrs. Flanders told her, indicating by her tone that Annie was just the opposite. Her lips turned down even more sharply. “I understand a girl of your…background…isn’t accustomed to living in a fine home such as this.”

Annie’s cheeks flushed in the face of yet another insult.

“Mrs. Ingalls devoted countless hours to decorating her home.” Mrs. Flanders waved her hand about the elegantly furnished parlor. “Do you recognize the workmanship of that cabinet, Miss Martin?”

Annie reined in her impatience to find the children, and eyed the mahogany cabinet with its slender tapering legs, carved feathers and oval, brass drawer handles. “Well…”

“Hepplewhite, the renowned cabinetmaker in London. Many of the tables in this house are Sheraton’s, also from London. The wallpaper? Imported from France. The finest crystal, china, silver and linens from Europe.” Mrs. Flanders drew herself up and looked pointedly at Annie’s dress. “Mrs. Ingalls’s clothing was made for her by the finest dressmakers in the East and abroad.”

Annie kept her chin up, fighting the instinct to explain her circumstances and shield her simple dress with her hands. Fighting, too, the instinct she hadn’t experienced since she was ten years old—to make a fist and pop Mrs. Flanders in her arrogant nose.

Instead, she plastered on the closest thing to a smile she could manage. “I’m sure Mrs. Ingalls had exquisite taste. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

“One more thing, Miss Martin. The children aren’t to play in the house. You are to confine them to their room upstairs.”

Annie frowned. “But this is their home.”

Mrs. Flanders raised a haughty brow. “That’s the way it’s done, Miss Martin.”

“I understand,” Annie said, though really, she didn’t.

She left, forbidding herself to hurry away, but unable to shake off the sting of Mrs. Flanders’s words. Had she heard the gossip about Annie’s family? Or did the older woman simply not like her?

Either way, Annie intended to show Mrs. Flanders—and everyone else in the Ingalls household—that she was, indeed, worthy of the job entrusted to her.

In the cookhouse, Mrs. Royce and her helpers were busy at the worktables. Steam rose from boiling pots on the cookstove.

There was no sign of the three little Ingalls.

“Did the children have their breakfast already?” Annie asked, trying to sound casual.

The three cooks all looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Down early, they were, before I got up,” Mrs. Royce muttered. “Fixed themselves a meal of jam and cookies, and a few other things, from the looks of the place.”

A vision of the mess the cooks must have walked in on this morning sprang into Annie’s mind. She threaded her fingers together. “Do you know where they went?”

“I’ve no clue,” Mrs. Royce said, and seemed relieved that she didn’t.

“Well, thank you,” Annie said, trying to smile.

It was only her first full day on the job and not only had she lost the children, she discovered they’d invaded the cookhouse and left it in a shambles.

A shudder passed through Annie. What else might the children be up to at this very moment?

Annie hurried out the back door. Shading her eyes against the morning sun, she gazed at the barns and outbuildings, the meadows and fields stretching into the distance. She circled the house twice. No sign of the children.

Sighing, she considered the probability that they would come back home once they got hungry. Sooner or later, her charges would reappear. She could simply wait them out.

Annie wasn’t willing to do that.

Muttering under her breath, she trudged back into the house and up the stairs. Mrs. Flanders might look down her nose at her. The cooks might wonder about her competence. Josh Ingalls could resent her nosy questions.

But those children—those three little children—were not going to get the best of her.

“What the…?”

Josh pulled his horse to a stop at the edge of the field, squinting his eyes against the sharp rays of the sun. Green rolling hills spread out as far as he could see, dotted by trees and an occasional rabbit and squirrel.

And here, amid this vast emptiness, he saw Annie.

Annie. Josh pressed his lips together as he watched her hiking up the hill toward a spreading elm tree. She had on the same straw hat he’d seen her in yesterday.

And she was wearing those trousers.

Annoying. Yes, annoying, finding her out here, he decided. Yet he wasn’t clear on just why he felt that way.

It couldn’t possibly be the trousers. Could it?

No. Of course not, he decided, shifting in the saddle. Probably it was because he needed the solitude of his farm this morning. He didn’t want to be reminded of problems. He didn’t want to make decisions at the moment.

Or was it because he’d found her creeping into his thoughts since daybreak? Without trousers?

Josh snorted, then nudged his stallion’s sides and headed toward her.

Good gracious, Annie thought as she saw Josh approach. The man owned hundreds of acres—hundreds. How could he possibly be in the same place as she?

And why had he showed up at this particular moment, on this particular spot when she didn’t have the foggiest idea where his children were? Just how was she going to explain that?