Love on Assignment (10 page)

He glanced toward Jack's tall, slender wife who vaguely resembled her brother, George, another college classmate. But apparently Lilly received the best of the family's good looks. “I understand your wife is the authoress Fannie Cole.”

Through Mrs. Finnegan's connections with other Newport servants, he'd learned the new Mrs. Grail had created a tempest-in-a-teapot among their social circle by penning romance dime novels some mistakenly considered scandalous. Actually, her books extolled the highest Christian virtues and encouraged readers to avoid the temptations of the world. During the past year his mother had read a few Fannie Cole novels and she'd come to appreciate them. From the happy appearance of the couple, they'd weathered the publicity well.

“She is indeed Fannie Cole.” Pride shone in Jack's dark eyes.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Jack. I'm very happy for you.”

Jack nodded contentedly. “I'm truly blessed.”

“I believe I shall purchase one of her novels for my mother. She and my housekeeper both enjoy Fannie Cole books. They speak highly of her writing.” So a novel, along with gloves and roses from the garden might warm his mother's heart. And maybe a small sapphire pin.

“I'm sure Lilly would be happy to sign it for her.”

“Wonderful. How long are you here in Newport?”

“We just arrived yesterday for a short vacation,” Jack said. “We're staying at the Coastal Inn for two weeks, then it's back to New York. I can't neglect my businesses for long.”

Daniel nodded. “I understand.” They moved away from the crowd.

“Did you know I visited Lilly's family at Summerhill last July? That's where we became engaged and married.” Jack's grin

spread from one corner of his face to the other. “As she mentioned, we both have fond memories of the cottage.”

Daniel had rented Summerhill to the Westbrooks the previous summer when he'd traveled to Europe with his mother and children. “It's a wonderful place to spend the summer.” Though expensive to maintain for a professor with only a small salary and an even smaller inheritance.

Jack's voice softened. “I was so sorry to hear your wife passed away, Daniel.”

Daniel nodded. “Yes, Sarah's death was a terrible blow to my whole family, but we're muddling through, thanks to my mother and now a new governess.”

Jack's glance strayed toward Miss Hale who was pointing out a hat displayed in the shop window to Ruthie and Lilly Grail. Daniel grinned. The hat boasted more feathers than a peacock and was just as colorful. He thought it suited Miss Hale's cheerful personality to a
T
. But even if she could afford it, he doubted she'd wear something so gaudy.

“Your governess seems to enjoy the children.” Jack lifted an eyebrow. Curiosity shined in his eyes.

Daniel wondered why, though he felt his face flush. “She's a very agreeable young woman. I was fortunate to hire her.”

Jack's gaze returned to Daniel. His old friend didn't pry, though from his quizzical look, he clearly wanted to. Daniel sighed inwardly. Why was Jack reading something into mere—interest? He found Miss Hale easy to talk to about the children, nothing more.

“Let me congratulate you on your religion column, Daniel. I subscribe to the
Newport Gazette
and look forward to reading your views each week. Your opponents are buzzing like a hive of hornets. They're a greedy bunch more interested in profits than their workers.” Jack chuckled. “Keep up the good work.” He lightly slapped Daniel on the back.

“Thank you. I intend to continue my ministry.”

“Good for you.” Jack cocked his head. “Perhaps you'd like to write for the
Manhattan Sentinel
as well. Would you consider it?”

Taken by surprise, Daniel hesitated. “Thank you for the offer. I'll certainly keep it in mind, though at the moment I'm doing as much as I can handle.”

Promising to spend more time with Ruthie and Tim precluded adding another newspaper column to his work schedule. But writing was his favorite ministry, even more than teaching students, many of whom were disinterested in learning more than the minimum necessary for a passing grade. Still, the Lord called him to write and instruct, so he'd do both. Maybe accepting Jack's offer was part of God's plan. He'd give it serious thought.

“Perhaps you can join us for dinner at Summerhill and we can talk it over,” Jack suggested. “Can you come sometime next week?”

“We'd be delighted.”

They set a date. “I'll look forward to it,” Daniel said.

SIX

O
n the trip back to Summerhill, a stiff breeze gusted across the rocks and whipped around Charlotte's shoulders. She pulled her shawl tighter.

A crash of thunder drowned out the low whistle of the wind. Sheets of rain pelted down from a blackened sky in large, cold drops. The surrey's roof offered little protection from the streaming torrents. Charlotte angled her hat to keep the water out of her eyes and face. She glanced back at Tim and Ruthie. The girl's yellow pique dress was too light to keep her warm. Charlotte whipped off her knitted shawl and handed it to Ruthie who rewarded her with a big grin and a thank-you. The children huddled inside the shawl's soft folds. Professor Wilmont shed his navy blue jacket and flung it around Charlotte shoulders.

“Wear it,” he insisted.

Too wet and miserable to object to his chivalry, Charlotte slid into the coat. He handed her his umbrella, and she popped it open and raised it above both their heads, forcing them terribly near. Charlotte inadvertently shivered. As they rounded a curve in the road, he leaned into her. When his shirt brushed against her arm, Charlotte felt a small jolt of pleasure.

It reminded her of what she'd once felt for Paul Seaton— before he left her for a woman without encumbrances. She never wanted to feel that way again, especially about a man she had to discredit. She'd taken great care to never let her heart weaken again—not that there was any real danger of her succumbing to the frivolities of romance. She tilted her head toward the edge of the umbrella, as far from the professor as she could possibly get. The idea that a scion of a rich family would ever fall for her, a lowly secretary and townie, made her smile at herself.
Perhaps I should be a fiction writer like Fannie Cole rather than an aspiring journalist
.

When they arrived at Summerhill, the professor said, “Let's all change into dry clothes and meet in the library for a story and perhaps some hot chocolate.”

“Yes, Papa!” Tim called as he dashed up the stairs two at a time.

Ten minutes later all four crowded on the soft leather sofa near the fireplace and watched the flames blaze and the wood crackle. In a dramatic voice the professor read
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
until the children's piano teacher arrived half an hour later. The two finished the last sips of their hot chocolate and left the library, dragging their feet across the Oriental carpet.

From the doorway, Tim asked, “Must we go, Papa?”

“Yes. Please don't keep your teacher waiting.”

“Tim doesn't seem to enjoy playing the piano,” Charlotte said, after the children were out of earshot.

The professor's eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps not. Yet music lessons are worthwhile.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I'm sure they are for some. But I remember my mother and then my aunt forcing me to practice the piano. I detested every moment I had to pound those keys. It was a waste of their hard-earned money. And I never learned to keep time to the music—or even carry a tune. Some of us are hopeless and don't enjoy looking like incompetents.”

“So you believe I ought to allow Tim to quit his lessons?”

“Maybe he'd prefer some other instrument. Or perhaps he'd rather listen to music than make it.”

“I shall mull it over, Miss Hale. Thank you for your advice.” His blue-green eyes sparkled. But he looked more amused than grateful.

Eager to change the subject, Charlotte said, “The children were so engrossed in
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
. Do you read to them often?”

Professor Wilmont shook his head. “Not often enough, I'm afraid. I'm normally too busy, but I suppose that's an excuse, not a reason.”

“My parents read to my brother and sister and me every night before bedtime. We couldn't afford many books, but we treasured the ones we had. I miss those happy times. They ended all too soon.”

“I'm so sorry. May I ask, did your parents pass away when you were young?” He folded his long, slender hands on his lap.

“Yes, they did. I was only twelve. My brother too. Influenza.”

“That must have been very hard.”

“It was and it still is. The pain doesn't quite go away, even after ten years.”

“How are you and your sister doing now?”

She smiled. “Becky and I live with our dear Aunt Amelia. We have food and clothes and a roof over our heads, although it's not paid for yet. Aside from that problem, I have no reason to complain. What more could I want?”

“Nothing, I suppose.” He glanced around the enormous library with richly paneled walls, floor to ceiling books, and alabaster busts on marble tables.

Charlotte grinned. “Well, of course I could wish for more. I live in a tiny house with the bare necessities. But it's sufficient. Sometimes I'd like a few luxuries, but they're not necessary for my happiness. I always search for the positive in every situation.” Though the entire length of the sofa separated them, their gazes drew them close. A jolt of fear ran through her. “Sir, I—I'm not minimizing the beauty of Summerhill. It's the most impressive house I've ever been in. But I'm content to live without the elegance and wealth I shall never have.”

“I see,” was all he said, maddeningly brief. His long face, with a wave of light hair flopping over his forehead, was without pretense or guile. And she could stare, mesmerized, into the depths of those eyes forever.

Charlotte pulled herself back to reality. “If you'll excuse me, sir, I should tidy up the playroom.”

“Very well,” he said. Was there a tinge of reluctance in his voice?
What an unusual gentleman,
she thought as she picked up wooden soldiers from the playroom floor and placed them back on the shelf. He actually seemed to care about what she thought and felt.

Charlotte shook her head. This assignment was most definitely softening her brain. The professor seemed to be such a good man, but he had no idea how difficult grubbing out a living could be for a woman with a family. If she had a real choice, she wouldn't be here now pretending to be a governess. He'd never understand how sheer survival influenced all her decisions.

Later that night she ate supper with the children in the playroom, and at eight thirty Charlotte tucked them in bed. She retreated to her bedroom, eager to read Sarah Wilmont's prayer journal. Dropping into her easy chair by the screened window, her hand shook as she opened to the first page. A fresh breeze blew in from the sea, curling around her skin and sending shivers up and down her spine.

Throughout the day she'd resisted the urge to run upstairs and skim through the pages during her short breaks. But her good judgment prevailed and she waited until evening.

She hesitated for only a moment before delving in; once again curiosity muffled the hushed voice of her conscience. She inhaled a deep breath, and by the dim lamplight she deciphered the tiny handwriting.

After several paragraphs she grew accustomed to the ink blots and abbreviations, but the narrative confused her. She laid the book in her lap, a cold sweat coating her skin like a sodden garment. Would Mr. Phifer really care about the musings of Daniel's departed wife? Without a doubt. She squirmed to find a comfortable position on the chair, but it was more an internal than external discomfort she felt. Did she have any right to read Sarah's personal thoughts? Of course, if she followed that line of reasoning, should she investigate Professor Wilmont at all? Fighting down unpleasant pangs of guilt, Charlotte read more. She'd wrestle her conscience later.

Without any mention of God, the misnamed
Prayer Journal
sounded more like a diary filled with the intimate details of a restless wife suffering from acute loneliness. On page after page, Sarah's rant about her dull, tedious life grew more strident. And desperate. Her mind and spirit screamed for help—and deteriorated day by day as her marriage disintegrated.

A few paragraphs later a sentence grabbed Charlotte by the throat.

My dear friend invited me for tea after our meeting today. I agreed without a second thought for anyone but myself. What a change that was! How freeing to do exactly as I pleased on a pure whim. He has flirted with me for weeks, but never once ventured beyond a sweet, beguiling smile. I've waited so long, wondering, hoping for more.

This explosive revelation far surpassed Charlotte's expectations. Professor Wilmont never once hinted at marital trouble or his wife's unhappiness. But then again, why would he confide in his children's governess whom he scarcely knew? And perhaps he hadn't even realized how distressed Sarah had become.