Love on Assignment (3 page)

The pair trooped out, dragging their feet against the shiny floor, but they disappeared without an argument. A good sign. They knew how to behave in front of adults.

Professor Wilmont motioned Charlotte to a seat across from his desk as he settled into his sturdy chair that easily accommodated his extra size. On the desktop a coffee cup competed for space with stacks of files and enough office supplies to last a lifetime. Charlotte slipped into the broken-down easy chair that a cat must have shredded with a set of very sharp claws. A spring poked her bottom and she shifted positions, trying not to wince.

“Sorry about the chair. As soon as I find the time, I'm going to order a new one with better springs.” He smiled boyishly and then moved an asparagus fern off of a stack of magazines.

Charlotte laughed. “It's really quite all right if I sit to the side.”

His cheer faded. “Let me tell you about why I need to hire a governess. After my wife died five years ago, my mother came to live with us. She assumed care of the children and dismissed their governess. Unfortunately, my mother recently developed serious heart problems. She's in the hospital right now and isn't likely to regain her health for at least eight weeks. I need someone to watch over the children while she's recuperating.”

“I get along quite well with children. In fact, I find young people very interesting. They're full of fun and mischief.” A glimmer of confidence relaxed the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders.

He nodded. “Since you'll only be here for the summer, you need not know French or German. But are you able to teach arithmetic, English grammar, geography, and history? Do you play an instrument?”

Charlotte grinned. “I was a good student at Rogers High School, but a poor musician—though I took years of piano lessons. If the children have a music teacher, I promise they'll practice faithfully.”

He returned her smile. “That's all right with me. Can you tell me a little bit about your past employment?”

Charlotte paused. This was the part she'd gloss over, though Mr. Phifer had carefully briefed her just before she'd left the newspaper. “I live at home with my aunt and sister, and I often care for neighbor children.” She did occasionally watch the two little boys next door. And she'd been like a mother to her thirteen-year-old sister, Becky, ever since their mama died years before . . .

“Were you ever employed on a full-time basis?” As he leaned closer, she caught a whiff of woodsy aftershave mixed with the clean smell of starch.

She resisted the urge to tilt forward and inhale more deeply. “I worked for the gas company typing correspondence for several months.” No need to mention she quit to accept a better job at the
Rhode Island Reporter
. He certainly wouldn't want to hire someone connected to his adversary, Arnie Phifer, even a lowly secretary.

“And now you're searching for a job as a governess?” he asked, hiking an eyebrow as if he didn't quite believe her story was credible. Even secretarial work at the gas company paid a higher wage than watching youngsters. Though a governess was a step above the other servants, she would be neither part of the family nor part of the staff.

“Yes. I enjoy children, so a temporary position as governess is ideal until I decide what I wish to do permanently.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “I'll pray that the Holy Ghost will guide you.”

What was that about the Holy Ghost?

He stared at her and gently tapped his fingers on the desktop.

“Is something wrong?” Her neck and shoulder muscles tensed.

“No. It's just that you look rather familiar. But I can't place where I've seen you before.”

She swallowed hard. “I've lived on the Point all my life, so you might have spotted me in town,” Charlotte suggested, struggling to keep her voice light.

She could almost hear Mr. Phifer whisper in her ear.
“Distract him before he figures out who you are and why you're there
.”

Professor Wilmont gave an easy shrug. “Well, no matter. It will come to me eventually.”

She shivered at the thought.

For the next ten minutes she answered routine questions about her background, filled in a short informational sheet, and handed him references concocted by Mr. Phifer. The professor scanned them before putting them aside. He smiled and Charlotte relaxed.

“I think you might be a good fit for my children's needs, Miss Hale. There's just one more thing.” Professor Wilmont leaned forward and folded his hands on the ink-stained blotter. “I should have asked you before—are you a Christian?”

Anxiety rushed through her. Where had that question come from? For a moment her mind went blank. “Yes, of course I am.” She didn't attend church or obey all the petty rules of religion, but she believed in God. Definitely. That should qualify her as a religious woman, shouldn't it?

Their eyes met and his sparkled.

“When did you become a Christian, or have you always believed?”

This was getting trickier. Beads of sweat bubbled across her forehead and moistened her upper lip. The July afternoon grew hotter, more humid. “I guess I've believed in God for my entire life.” A reasonable answer to a question she didn't quite understand.

“I'd love to hear about your spiritual journey.”

Charlotte looked down at her hands folded in her lap, unable to meet his intense gaze. “Um, of course. Anytime.”

A “spiritual journey”? Should she admit she didn't have a clue what that meant? Was it something every Christian had or at least knew about?

“We can talk about this later.” He grinned and flashed even white teeth.

“I'd be delighted.” Charlotte smiled weakly, her hands perspiring.

They settled on a salary and reasonable working hours. “If you want the job, Miss Hale, it's yours.”

Relief surged through her. “Yes, thank you so much, Professor. I accept your offer.”

“When can you begin work?” he asked.

“I can start today, sir.” Even as she said it, she wished she could rise and flee the house. She forced a smile and allowed him to take her hand again, shaking it in friendly agreement, even as her heart screamed at her to stop.

She'd expected something objectionable in the man, something on which she could focus and build into a report for Mr. Phifer. Professor Wilmont's charm and amicability were . . . unsettling.

TWO

T
he warmth of the afternoon beckoned Daniel to the front veranda for a quiet time with the Lord. He opened his Bible, but as much as he tried to concentrate on Paul's epistle to the Romans, his mind wandered back to his new employee. A burden had lifted with the appearance of Charlotte Hale, the only applicant with a brain as bright as her smile. Attracted by her warmth, he looked forward to getting to know this young woman with intelligent brown eyes, a turned-up nose, and masses of dark brown hair piled loosely on her head. Her infectious smile made him grin even now as he relaxed on the rocker and gently pushed back and forth in the fresh sea air.

Certainly Miss Hale promised to bring cheer to his household. She exuded an optimistic attitude and the hint of playfulness— qualities, he hated to admit, his mother sorely lacked. His mother dispensed discipline and a heavy dose of criticism toward the children, just as she had when he and his brother, Edgar, were young. Granted, she kept the house and family organized and running efficiently but with an iron hand and a chilly heart. He hoped Miss Hale might add a dose of laughter to Summerhill during the next several weeks. And with her help, he'd soon have ample time to write his newspaper column. He checked himself. He would have more time if the household help would cease running to him with every trifle.

Daniel sighed as he looked up from his Bible, removed his spectacles, and rubbed his tired eyes. He would've been satisfied with a smaller home run by a housekeeper and a few maids. Instead, his mother insisted they retain a complete staff that squabbled more often than they got along.

At the sound of a carriage crunching down the drive, Daniel glanced up and recognized the driver. “Ah, Melissa LeBeau,” he muttered. Her uniformed maid sat beside her. What was one of his summer students doing here at Summerhill? Miss LeBeau waved and then flashed a broad smile that looked more practiced than genuine. Garbed in a frilly blue dress, she halted the gig, descended gracefully, and approached the veranda. Peering up at him through the longest fringe of eyelashes he'd ever seen, she adjusted her big straw hat covered with fruit and flowers and tucked a stray piece of blond hair behind her ear. Daniel dragged his feet down the shallow steps to meet his uninvited guest before she had a chance to plant herself in the wicker chair beside him. His polite smile probably came across more like a grimace, but he couldn't pretend.

“Good afternoon, Miss LeBeau. What can I do for you? Or are you merely out for a drive?”

“Hello, Professor. Lovely day, isn't it?” Before he could answer, she plowed ahead. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Her whispery voice assaulted his ears. She sounded breathless as if she'd just played a strenuous game of lawn tennis or run a mile in her high-heeled boots.

He suppressed a groan and the impulse to disappear inside his home without a word of explanation. “Yes, Miss LeBeau. Ask away.” He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward. He hoped his reserve would persuade the problematic student to get to the point.

She paused and then drew out a dramatic sigh. “I need to talk to you about my term paper. I'm having a dreadful time understanding St. Paul. Maybe you can assist me—”

“Of course. My office hours are between two and four Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“I'm afraid I can't come then. I have club get-togethers every afternoon.”

“In that case, why don't you meet me at the Student Center on Wednesday evening? I'm usually free on weekday evenings. Please ask Miss Brownington to come along too. She might be helpful.”

He didn't know if the prim and proper Agnes Brownington, Miss LeBeau's classmate, could really offer any insight, but two young women were better than one. He liked to avoid any appearance of impropriety, especially since women were fairly new to campus and, like many other professors, he was still figuring it out. “Treat them with kid gloves,” Mrs. Finnegan, the housekeeper, had once advised with a sage nod. She didn't approve of women studying on the same campus with men, but Aquidneck College, a nominally Christian institution, took pride in its progressive stance.

Miss LeBeau pouted. “I'd rather speak to you today, but I suppose I can make that time next week. I'll ask Miss Brownington if she wishes to come.”

Daniel noticed the seductive look she leveled between half closed eyes and his chest constricted. The young lady, called Missy by the other students, looked like a lioness on the prowl.

“Normally my schedule is quite booked,” she said with a sniff, letting her eyelashes slowly lift as she looked up at him, “but I don't have a suitor anymore.”

Daniel stifled a chuckle behind a cough. His male students made fools of themselves vying to catch Missy's eye. But despite the attention they showered on her, she seldom gave any of them a second glance. Who had maneuvered close enough to be deemed a “suitor”?

He startled, shocked at his train of thought. “Good day, Miss LeBeau. I'll see you in class.”

Lifting her chin, she turned and casually sashayed back to her buggy while Daniel retreated to the seclusion of the front veranda.

CHARLOTTE STOPPED AT the offices of the
Rhode Island Reporter,
anxious to announce she'd secured the position at Summerhill.

Mr. Phifer ushered her into his office and paid close attention to her every word. When she'd finished, he allowed a jubilant smile to turn up the corners of his mouth. “Good work. I expect you'll succeed without a hitch.”

“I shall try my best, sir.”

“I'll arrange for another carriage to pick you up at your home in about an hour. Would you like a ride there now?” he asked.

Receiving the royal treatment certainly came as a pleasant surprise, but she shook her head. “An hour will give me plenty of time to pack, but right now I'd enjoy a walk. Thank you all the same.”

Mr. Phifer nodded. “Suit yourself.”

Charlotte strode toward her small clapboard home on Bridge Street, part of Newport's old colonial neighborhood by the waterfront and only blocks away from the newspaper office. The two-story gray house, sadly in need of a good scraping and a coat of paint, sat directly on the sidewalk and cheek-by-jowl with its neighbors. She waved to friends as she strode but didn't stop to chat. Entering the saltbox house, she found her aunt and sister in the kitchen at the end of the unlit hallway.

Aunt Amelia stopped sweeping the wide pine floor. “Why on earth are you home so early? Are you feeling poorly?” A frown darkened her long, sallow face.