The Nanny's Little Matchmakers (Love Inspired Historical) (23 page)
Read The Nanny's Little Matchmakers (Love Inspired Historical) Online
Authors: Danica Favorite
Clara groaned again. “Kissing is just the second step. The third step is you asking Polly to marry you, and her saying yes. So get on with it, because Maddie thinks we’re out getting berries, and pretty soon, she’s going to realize we’re gone and then we’re going to get in trouble.”
“Again,” Rory muttered.
“I think Maddie will let this one slide,” Ma said from the doorway. “But Polly does need her rest, and the rest of us would like to know that things are finally settled between you two, so we can all stop our worrying.”
Polly fought the urge to giggle as Mitch looked down on her. “Are we ever going to be able to live our own lives?”
“Probably not,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Neither would I.”
“Would you get on with it?” The voices in the doorway all seemed to be in unison, and Polly turned to see that Uncle Frank, Maddie, Mary and Will were all also standing there.
“Should I wait for Annabelle and Joseph?” Polly said, looking around.
“You could, but they’re going to be a while. In fact, that’s why we’re so eager for you two to hurry up. The baby’s coming, and Gertie is supposed to be there to deliver it. Annabelle is never going to forgive you if your ma misses it because you’re too busy dithering over a marriage proposal.” Mary gave her a mock glare, but then Will elbowed her in the ribs.
“But do take your time,” Mary said with a smile. “After all, a woman only gets proposed to once.”
Mitch grinned. “This woman, anyway.” He planted another kiss on her forehead. “And this woman deserves a little privacy for her special moment. So you’re all going to close the door, walk back to the kitchen and when I open the door again, you’ll be able to congratulate the future Mrs. Taylor.”
“Wonderful,” Maddie said. “With as stubborn as those two are, we might get such a pleasure after Mary’s baby is born.”
“I’m sure they’ll be hungry before then,” Uncle Frank reassured her.
Everyone laughed as they shut the door.
This time, when Mitch’s eyes sparkled as he looked at her, Polly knew exactly what they meant.
“I meant what I said about accepting their meddling as part of being in a loving family.” He grinned. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not entitled to our privacy from time to time.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Polly MacDonald, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife and the mother of my children?”
“Yes!” She tried to bring her arms around him to embrace him, but the effort hurt more than it had last time.
Mitch seemed to understand as he bent to kiss her. “We have the rest of our lives for that. For now, just let me handle it.”
And so she did.
Epilogue
“H
urry! You’re going to miss it! Polly’s going to throw the bouquet!” Clara tugged at Mitch’s pants as he accepted congratulations from Joseph.
“I don’t think you want me to catch it,” Mitch said, ruffling his daughter’s hair.
“No, but we rigged it so Laura would.” Clara grinned as she ran out to the garden.
Mitch just shook his head as he pointed to the baby girl in Joseph’s arms. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Joseph gave the baby a squeeze as he kissed her. “I wouldn’t trade Catherine for anything in the world, and I’m pretty sure no one could convince you to give up Clara.”
“True.”
He heard shouts from the garden and knew the deed had been done. “Shall we go see what the damage is?”
“At least we don’t smell smoke.” Joseph grinned.
Mitch patted the other man on the back. “True, true.”
He thought it best not to mention that his children had many other ways of creating mayhem. Fortunately, they’d mostly reformed their ways.
Unless they wanted something really, really badly.
Which was why Mitch kept finding baby everything everywhere.
He shook his head. Why the children were set on another sibling, he had no idea. He blamed Annabelle for that one, bringing over her baby every day and making Polly and the children gush over it.
As they entered the garden, Will greeted them with a grin. “That’s another one for the Taylors.”
“She caught the bouquet?” Mitch asked, knowing he didn’t need to.
“Of course she did. I don’t know how they do it, but they’re good. I’m looking forward to what they try to accomplish next,” Will said.
Mitch sighed. “They want a baby.”
Will clapped him on the shoulder. “Mine isn’t here yet, and I already don’t think I’d have the strength.”
“Strength for what?” Polly asked, giving her pa a squeeze as she let go of his arm to give Mitch a kiss as she joined them.
Mitch quickly kissed his wife back, mindful of everyone’s eyes on them. Especially Polly’s father’s. Polly had been spending more time with him lately, repairing the bond that had been broken between them. And while Mitch knew Collin MacDonald approved of the match, it still felt awkward to kiss his daughter in front of him.
“The children want a baby,” Mitch told Polly, shaking his head.
“But we’ve just gotten married.”
As if they knew they were being talked about, the children came running up to them, followed by Andrew and Iris, who’d agreed to watch them so Mitch and Polly could have a proper honeymoon. At first, Mitch was surprised they’d offered, but then Iris admitted that her own little darling might have played her own role in not getting along with his children. Now that Mitch had decided to relocate to Leadville and leave management of the Denver store to his staff, the two Taylor families were spending more time together.
“Mama,” the children all said in unison.
They’d decided that the children could choose what to call Polly after the wedding, but as soon as they announced their engagement, the children had started calling her Mama. Mitch had to say, the name fit her well.
Polly wrapped her arms around them, and if one didn’t know better, they’d never guess that Polly hadn’t given birth to them.
“What’s this I hear about a baby?” she asked, looking directly at Clara.
“I was too little to enjoy Isabella when she was a baby, and I think I’m rather good with them. Annabelle’s baby is lovely, but we have to give her back. But if you had a baby, we could keep her forever. And I do love babies.” Clara let out a long sigh.
Joseph held up the baby in question. “Well, I don’t love changing her, and she needs one. Why don’t you take her inside and get some practice in for when your baby comes.”
Clara took the baby and did as he asked, the other children following, chattering about what a wonderful baby Catherine was.
Mitch shot him a glare. “Really?”
“I’m not sure how your children will manage having a role in it, but I do know Clara. And when she’s determined about something, well, you may as well save yourself a whole lot of trouble and give in right away.”
Polly groaned. “We have got to work on getting that girl to accept the word
no
as a final answer rather than a challenge.”
Andrew nodded. “Please do. She’s starting to rub off on our daughter.”
They laughed, and Mitch couldn’t help but again be grateful for his renewed closeness with his brother. Polly, though, still wore a concerned expression on her face.
Taking her into his arms, Mitch asked, “So you’re saying you don’t want a baby?”
If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her, the look in her eyes would have sent him over the edge. “Oh, I want all the babies you’re willing to give me. And maybe a few we find along the way.”
She turned in the direction of Emma Jane, who was bouncing her son, Moses, on her lap.
“I do like how you think,” Mitch said, bending down and kissing her. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to focus on one at a time.”
Polly kissed him back, filling him with so much love, he hadn’t known it was possible. How he’d ever survived without her, he didn’t know, but he would always be grateful having her by his side.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed Polly’s book, pick up the stories of Polly’s friends, also set in Leadville, Colorado:
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Keep reading for an excerpt from
A MOTHER IN THE MAKING
by Gabrielle Meyer.
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Dear Reader,
Originally, I intended to write Polly’s story right after
Rocky Mountain Dreams
. But finding the right hero for her proved to be more elusive than I thought. When I finally found the man I thought was the perfect hero for Polly, my editor wasn’t sure he’d be a good fit. And, as much as I hated to admit it, she was right. She and I had a great conversation about the kind of man Polly needed, and I finally realized why none of them worked. Polly’s perfect match had to be someone who, at least in Polly’s estimation, was the absolute worst marriage prospect on the planet. Otherwise, she was never going to let her guard down enough to fall in love. I remember blurting to my editor, “He’s got FIVE kids!” The gleam in her eyes told me that I had finally found Polly’s hero.
Polly needed a man who would challenge her and make her question a lot of her preconceived ideas, but also someone would could love and appreciate her indomitable spirit—and not break it. What Polly needed was something we all need—someone who will challenge us, push us and make us stronger without breaking all the marvelous qualities that make us who we are.
Whether it’s a friend, relative or significant other, I pray you find that kind of relationship in your own life.
I love hearing from my readers! You can visit me online at the following places:
Website:
www.danicafavorite.com
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Sending abundant blessings and love to you and yours,
Danica Favorite
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We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
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by Gabrielle Meyer
Chapter One
Little Falls, Minnesota, November 1918
J
ohn Orton stared at Anna’s portrait, his grief nothing compared to his pulsing guilt. How could a physician let his own wife die?
“Papa?” Charlie entered the office, his heavy gaze lifting to John’s face.
John put the photo in his desk drawer, wanting to spare his son the reminder of his pain. “Yes?”
“The new governess has arrived—”
A young woman stepped over the threshold without an invitation, her blond hair in a mass of curls under a wide-brimmed hat. She glanced around the neat interior before she dropped her bag on the floor and proceeded to take off her gloves in quick succession. Her bright green eyes found John and a smile lit her pretty face. “Where shall I begin?”
John stood, grappling for a foothold of familiarity. This was not the sensible woman he had expected his mother to send from Chicago. Standing before him, in layers of lace, and a cloud of flowery perfume, was a woman far too attractive and impractical to raise his children.
“Are you—?”
“Marjorie Maren.” She grasped his limp fingers in her right hand and lifted her left hand above her head in a great flourish, her gloves flapping in the air. “A governess by day—and an actress by night.”
John glanced at Charlie, whose eyes grew wide with interest.
It would be impossible to replace Anna, but surely there was a more suitable governess to take care of his children—one with the same gentleness and competence Anna had demonstrated.
This lady would not do—would not do, at all.
“You must be Charles.” Miss Maren dropped John’s hand and turned to the ten-year-old boy. “My, but you look like your mother.”
“You knew my mama?” Charlie asked.
Miss Maren offered a kind smile, and dimples graced her cheeks. “Your grandmother showed me her picture.”
“You know my grandmother?” Charlie looked even more impressed with Miss Maren.
“I know your grandmother and your uncle Paul. They are my neighbors in Chicago.” Miss Maren removed the long hat pin from her hair, and slipped off her hat. Her curls looked like golden silk and for a fleeting second, John wondered how they could look so disheveled yet perfectly arranged. “
Were
my neighbors,” the young lady amended. “I don’t expect to return to Chicago—I’m going to California to become a film actress.”
“You’re going to be in the movies?” Charlie’s face filled with awe.
It was time for John to take control. He rounded the desk, finally finding his voice. “Miss Maren, I think there’s been a mistake.”
She turned her gaze on John, and he was startled again by her pretty face. If she wanted to be an actress, she would be a charming one—but what reasonable woman wanted to be an actress?
“A mistake?”
“I expected—” How could he tell her he had expected an older woman, who wasn’t quite so...fetching?
“You expected what?”
When she looked at him with those big green eyes, he couldn’t recall what it was he had expected—but certainly not her.
“Your room is connected to the night nursery, on the second floor, with Lilly and the baby,” Charlie said. “Petey and I sleep on the third floor, next to the day nursery.” He picked up Miss Maren’s bag. “You can follow me.”
“Charlie, would you please leave for a moment so I can speak with Miss Maren alone?” John usually appreciated his son’s hospitality—but at the moment he needed Charlie to put down the bag until he knew what he would do with the young woman.
Charlie was a perceptive boy and he studied John’s face now. His grip tightened around the handle of Miss Maren’s bag. “I’ll just bring this up to the day nursery.”
Miss Maren ran her hand over her blond curls and smiled at the boy. “Thank you, Charles.”
The boy’s cheeks filled with color and he dipped his head. “You can call me Charlie.”
John lifted his eyebrows. The boy rarely gave people permission to use his pet name—and never so soon.
Charlie left the room—with the bag in hand—and Miss Maren turned her charming smile on John. “He’s a lovely boy.”
“Would you please have a seat?”
She lowered herself into the leather chair facing John’s desk. Though she had just spent a few days on a train, she looked as fresh as a bed of flowers after a summer rainstorm. “I’m eager to meet the other children,” she said. “Your mother and brother spoke of them so often, I feel as if I already know each one. How old is Laura now? Six months old?”
“Yes—six months.” He dropped to his chair and tried to pull himself together. He was a physician and he prided himself on staying calm in every situation. Surely he could manage something like this. He would have to be direct and honest—two attributes he appreciated in business dealings. “Miss Maren, do you have any experience with children?”
She tucked a curl into her bun with a great deal of nonchalance. “I’m afraid not—but your mother said the children are so well behaved I won’t have any troubles.”
“My children are well behaved, but they are still children—and my mother is a bit biased.”
Miss Maren laughed.
If he had been in a different frame of mind, he would have enjoyed the sound. It had been absent from his home for far too long. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I had expected someone with experience—and maturity.”
She shrugged. “How do you gain experience if you aren’t given your first job?”
That was fair enough. “What types of skills do you have?”
She waved the question away with her hand. “Oh, this and that... Who has been caring for the children since your wife’s passing?”
“My wife’s mother and sister.”
“Do they live close?”
“Too close...” He paused, embarrassed at the hasty words. “They live across the street.”
Miss Maren frowned. “Why do you need a governess if you have their help?”
“I...” He paused again. He was the one interviewing her, wasn’t he? “What led you here to be our governess?”
She blinked several times. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“This is a stopping point for me on my way to California. I need the money, and you need a governess, so your mother thought it the perfect solution.”
John steepled his hands on his desk. What had his mother been thinking? Normally she used better judgment, and he had no reason to question her advice—but now he could see he should have asked her more questions. Had she sent Miss Maren in the hopes of matchmaking? If she had, Mother would be sorely disappointed. “I’m afraid I’m in need of someone with experience raising children. My work is very demanding and I must have complete confidence in—”
“You can be completely confident in me.” Miss Maren’s face and voice became very serious.
She would make a convincing actress. He almost believed her.
“I have some questions for you, too,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair. “Oh?”
“How long will you need my services? I won’t be able to stay permanently—but I don’t want to leave until the job is done.”
He wasn’t sure he would need her past this conversation. “I had intended to employ a governess until—” He hated to admit his plans, but what did it matter what this young woman thought of him? “Until I find a wife.”
She leaned forward, her voice lowered as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “You’d marry again so soon?”
Irritation flashed warm under his collar. Who was she to question his decision to remarry? It had been a month since Anna died. Not nearly enough time to think of a second marriage in the traditional sense—but more than enough time to realize his children needed a mother. “My concern is for my children.”
“But surely it will take some time for you to grieve—and then fall in love again.”
He stood abruptly. Fall in love again? He could never love another woman the way he had loved Anna. “I would never dishonor my wife’s memory by marrying for love. This is purely a practical decision on my part.”
She rose, as well. “Practical?” Her voice was filled with passion. “Marriage should be everything but practical! It would be dreadful to be married for practicality’s sake.”
Her response was unnerving. He leaned forward, his hands on his desk, and couldn’t help asking, “What is marriage, if it isn’t practical?”
She put her hand over her heart. “It should be whimsical and utterly romantic. It should be entered into for love, and no other reason.”
“You are young and naive, so I will forgive you.”
“Forgive
me
?” Ire rose in her countenance for the first time since entering the room, and he had a glimpse of the spark beneath all the fluff. “I know something about practicality, and it is overrated.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him—and he suddenly felt like a schoolboy being reprimanded. “You need a bit of whimsy in your life. I could tell the moment I entered this room that you’re much too serious for your own good.”
He crossed his arms and offered her the stern look he gave the children when they were being impertinent. “You may have time for whimsy, Miss Maren, but I do not.” He was a widower, as well as a doctor with a pandemic on his hands. He had no time for anything resembling whimsy—and Miss Maren was at the top of his list.
He dropped into his chair and pulled a piece of paper out of his top drawer. The picture he had studied earlier peeked out at him. Anna had been as pragmatic as they had come—and he had admired her. Never once had she demanded anything else but practicality from him.
He began to scribble a note to his mother, informing her that sending Miss Maren was a mistake, no matter what her intentions. “I’m sorry, Miss Maren, but I will have to send you back to Chicago.”
The lady lowered herself into the chair, wilting like a plucked rose. “I can’t go back.”
He didn’t bother to look at her. “I need a steady, levelheaded woman to care for my children until I find a wife.” He would put her on the next train back to Chicago—and tell his mother exactly what he thought of Miss Maren.
* * *
Marjorie stared at the doctor, never imagining her day would end like this. “I’ve cut all ties to my life in Chicago—I can’t possibly return.”
Dr. Orton didn’t look up as he continued to scribble on the paper. A lock of brown hair fell out of place and brushed his forehead. “That’s not my concern.”
“But it is.”
He lifted his head, his brown eyes filled with frustration. “How is it my concern?”
“You asked me to come.”
“My mother sent you.”
“At your request.”
“At her suggestion.”
“Your mother told me I would be welcome.” Mrs. Orton had said that Dr. Orton’s family needed someone like Marjorie to bring joy back into their lives.
Dr. Orton paused and he looked as if he had to concede. “Everyone is welcome in my home.”
Marjorie toyed with a silk flower on her hat. “I don’t feel welcome at the moment.”
He sighed, put down his pen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I can’t make you return home tonight. You’ll need to rest.”
Home
. What a strange and lonely word at the moment. After Marjorie had left Preston Chamberlain at the altar, her parents had turned her out of their house and withheld her allowance, unless she marry him. But Preston did not love her. To him, she was an advantageous match—a business deal. Out of fear, she had almost caved to her parents’ demands, but then she was reminded of their own loveless union. They had married to strengthen social and financial ties, and they had been miserable.
Marjorie could never marry a man who didn’t love her.
If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Orton’s suggestion, and Dr. Orton’s need, Marjorie would have nowhere else to go. “I have no home to return to.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. “My mother told me you are a neighbor, from a good family.”
“Yes, they are good people.”
“Then surely you have a home.”
She needed to change the subject. She stood and ran her hand over the walnut mantel on the large fireplace. “You have a beautiful home. Your mother told me all about it. Actually she told me a great deal about you and the children.”
“That’s interesting,” Dr. Orton said as he crossed his arms. “She told me very little about you.”
Marjorie lifted her shoulder, trying to sound blasé. “What’s there to tell?”
She wished to say she had led a boring life, but the past few weeks had proven otherwise. Hopefully he hadn’t read the Chicago newspapers recently. They had covered the jilting and Marjorie’s subsequent departure from her parents’ home. But why wouldn’t they? Who would deign to reject Preston Chamberlain?
Marjorie, that was who.
Dr. Orton stood and motioned for her to follow him out of his office. He was a tall man, exuding confidence and authority as he strode to the door. “I will see that our cook sets a plate for you to join us for supper, and then you’re welcome to sleep in the governess’s room, but I will put you on a train to Chicago in the morning.”
“I beg you to reconsider your decision.” Marjorie wanted to put her hand on his arm and stop him from making plans to send her back—but she refrained. “I’ll show you I’m the right person for this job.”
“I doubt you could convince me to change my mind.”
Marjorie clutched her hat in her hands. “Give me until the end of the year—and if you’re unhappy with my work, I’ll leave.” In those two months, she might raise enough money to go to California.
“The end of the year?”
She nodded and offered him an innocent look. “What harm could I do in two months?”
He lifted an eyebrow, his face filling with skepticism. He stepped out of his office and Marjorie followed him into the front hall.
The home was stunning, inside and out. Three stories tall, with deep gables and large windows, it stood like a stately queen on the tree-lined street. Redbrick covered most of the house, with white bric-a-brac and trim gracing the windows and eaves. Inside the dark wooden trim and wainscoting gave it a warm feeling, while oak flooring and expensive—yet practical—furnishings reflected the status of the owner. It wasn’t quite as elaborate as Marjorie’s childhood home—but it was comfortable.