The Nanny Arrangement (4 page)

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

T
he 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?”

“Of course.” He rose. Better to make one last stab at peace. “Anything you need from London, for yourself or for the child, please do let me know. Send a runner, if you wish.”