The Marker (27 page)
“Miss Markland!” Claire O’Connor exclaimed when she came to the door.
“Mrs. O’Connor,” Lexie responded. She hadn’t had any second thoughts about approaching Claire until the moment when she stepped up to the black double doors with the big brass knockers. She had figured Claire had money, given the quality of her clothing and the fact she offered to pay Lexie’s debt to Nicholas. She had had no idea.
The O’Connor household was in one of the most fashionable neighborhoods in San Francisco, high atop Knob Hill, and from the front step, when Lexie turned around, she had a view of the bay. The large, white house with a steep roof, scalloped gables, intricately carved niches, was wider than Nicholas’s house, and taller too, at least three stories. Large bay windows graced either side of the door, the diamond-paned glass gleaming brightly in the late summer sun. The house itself spoke of grand, understated wealth.
Mrs. O’Connor ushered her inside. “Miss Markland, I must say I am surprised you’ve come. Happy, to be sure, but surprised you would call on me.”
Lexie cast her gaze down to the gleaming parquet floors, in a dark wood—mahogany, perhaps—and intricately designed, and it gave her something to look at while her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders and said, “This is not a social call, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“Call me Claire,” she said. “I gathered that from the fact you brought your bags.”
Lexie’s eyes met Claire’s, and she found no judgment in Claire’s dark eyes. Pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, she said, “I’ve come to accept your offer of employment.”
Claire’s brows drew together. “Indeed?”
Lexie sucked in her breath, already regretting her decision to come to Claire. In another life, she and Claire could have been friends. In this one, she had no other options but to beg her for aid. She pulled the letter from her skirt pocket and said, “Yes. You offered employment in your letter, and I...well, I would like to accept, if the offer still stands.”
Claire gave Lexie a small, sad smile, as if she understood exactly the price Lexie paid in coming to her. “Of course the offer still stands, Miss Markland. However, I was given to understand you had made...other arrangements.”
She swallowed against the shame rising at the back of her throat. “Those arrangements have fallen through,” she mumbled.
Claire regarded her carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
No
, Lexie thought furiously,
I want to go home
, knowing
home
meant back to Nicholas. Instead, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Claire sighed and put her arm around Lexie. She gave Lexie’s shoulders a gentle squeeze and said, “Miss Markland, my offer still stands, and I would be honored if you would work for me. I shall contact Mr. Wetherby immediately to settle the terms of our agreement.” She glanced over Lexie’s shoulder and smiled. “But I want you to be absolutely certain.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and began to fall before Lexie could even think to stop them. “I’m sure, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“All right, then.” Over Lexie’s shoulder, she said, “Michael, I would like to introduce you to our new nanny, Alexandra Markland. Miss Markland, my husband, Michael O’Connor.”
Lexie turned to face the largest man she had ever met in her life, well over six feet tall, with a barrel chest and broad arms. Despite the well-tailored clothes, there was wildness in his strong, masculine features. He had wavy dark hair just starting to gray at the temples, and fine lines creased the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth, as if he laughed loudly and often.
“Miss Markland,” O’Connor said in an Irish brogue reminiscent of Mrs. Ferguson’s. He studied Lexie with intelligent gray-green eyes for a time, and when he finally spoke, he turned those eyes to his wife and said, “A word, wife.”
“Of course,” she answered. “I’ll just show Miss Markland upstairs, and then we’ll talk.”
“Nay, wife. Now. She can wait in the parlor.”
Claire let out a loud, exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes at Lexie. Behind her, O’Connor clenched his jaw, working the muscle in the side of his face, and Lexie shrank back from his anger. O’Connor was, quite obviously, a man who got anything he wanted. Given his size and his temper, to deny him would be either foolhardy or an exercise in futility.
But Claire seemed unconcerned about her husband’s disposition when she said, “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Markland,” and she followed her husband from the room.
They were gone a long time. They could have stayed in the foyer or joined her in the parlor, given that O’Connor spoke to Claire at full volume, and it soon became clear the O’Connors were well aware of her relationship with Nicholas. O’Connor was concerned that taking Lexie in would harm a partnership they had formed with Nicholas and James, and would be bad for business. Claire argued just as forcefully that she had made an offer to Lexie and she intended to keep it. Lexie didn’t think it was wise of Claire to take on a man like O’Connor. She was pretty certain it was foolish when the voices died and all Lexie heard was silence. In Lexie’s father’s house, after her mother’s death, silence following angry words only meant one thing.
When Claire entered the parlor sometime later, looking as beautiful and perfect as always, she glowed with contentment. Lexie rose to greet her. Her eyes lighting on Lexie, she said, a little breathlessly, “Lexie! I am so sorry to keep you waiting.”
Lexie cast her eyes to the floor, “Mrs. O’Connor, I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused. I’ll just be leaving.” She had nowhere to go, but she had no intention to staying someplace she wasn’t wanted, and she didn’t want to be the cause of discord between Claire and her husband. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his black temper, and she didn’t want Claire to be, either.
Claire smoothed her hair, tucking a loose strand back into a crimson net, and gave her a radiant smile. “Nonsense. I’ll show you to your room.” She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who stood framed in the doorway. “Right, husband?”
O’Connor’s lips curved into a smile as he gazed at his wife, love burning in his unusual eyes. If only Nicholas would look at her like that.
O’Connor turned to Lexie and the look hadn’t quite dissipated. Something hot and hungry lingered in his gaze, and Lexie realized how Claire had convinced her husband to allow her to stay. Apparently, silence didn’t mean the same thing here it had in her father’s house.
“My wife can be quite persuasive when she wants to be, Miss Markland,” he said, releasing a long, exasperated sigh. Begrudgingly, he said, “You are welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”
And so Lexie came to be in the employ of Michael and Claire O’Connor.
The O’Connors gave her access to their large library. Bibliophile that she was, Claire’s library was actually more extensive than Nicholas’s. They gave her a beautiful room near the nursery and facing the street with an excellent view of the bay. Their boys, though rambunctious, were eager to please and sweet, a joy to be around. Everyone in the house—the O’Connors and their servants, alike—treated her less like an employee and more like an exalted guest. In a short period of time, Lexie had come to think of Claire’s family as her family.
Yet she was more miserable than she had ever been in her life.
She thought she kept herself together well enough when she had the children with her. She would take them to the park and teach them small lessons, and she helped Claire keep track of her wandering boys while she ran her errands. Claire loved her boys, enjoyed spending time with them, and made Lexie’s job easy. She was far more Claire’s companion than she was the boys’ nurse.
But she wept at the smallest things. Daniel brought her a flower he had picked for her—a half wilted dandelion—and Lexie wept at the sweetness of the gesture. Thomas hugged her with grubby hands, and tears flowed. And if anything reminded her of Nicholas, however fleeting, she would begin to cry.
Unfortunately, everything reminded her of Nicholas. A cool breeze off the bay reminded her of the first night they’d spent together; a hot, muggy day reminded her of their last. She missed him with every breath in her body. The death of her mother had been far easier to bear.
It wasn’t the same for Nicholas.
He
seemed to be over her in record time.
He had come to the O’Connor household demanding an audience with her, but after Lexie refused him, he never returned. After that, on two separate occasions, when Claire had asked Lexie to accompany her into town, Lexie heard about Nicholas’s active social calendar. O’Connor and Nicholas associated with many of the same people, and the rumor mills were positively churning with gossip.
A scant three days after she had declined to see him, less than a week after she’d left him, he had been seen in the company of a wealthy silver baron’s very beautiful, very blond daughter. Both attractive and wealthy, they made the perfect pair—it would be a match to merge fortunes. A courtship and possible engagement had been the talk of the town by that evening. That night, Lexie had cried herself to sleep.
But the next time Claire took Lexie with her almost destroyed her.
They were returning from an outing when the hairs on Lexie’s arm stood up in awareness, and she had the sense someone watched her. Her heart dancing with unexpected excitement, Lexie cast a glance over her shoulder and saw her Nicholas. On his arm was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Lexie had ever seen. Her white-blond hair was twisted up on the sides, a hat artfully perched atop the mass of curls cascading down her back. Her bright blue eyes and golden skin would make angels jealous. As the earth tilted on its axis, Lexie’s hand flew to her throat, and she let out a sharp, strangled noise, somewhere between a mewl and yelp.
At her sound, Claire turned to her. “Lexie?” Looking over her shoulder, Claire said in understanding, “Ah.” Lexie heard heavy footfalls behind her, and Claire greeted jovially, “Mr. Wetherby. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Mrs. O’Connor,” came Nicholas’s response. “Miss Markland.”
Lexie kept her eyes focused on the ground in front of her to keep the world from spinning. Responding in a strangled voice not her own, she said, “Mr. Wetherby.”
Nicholas fell into step beside her. Lexie didn’t look at him, and she pretended not to notice how his companion’s hand rested on his arm, or how he placed his hand over hers in a familiar and amiable way, as if laying claim to her. Lexie had loved him with everything she had, and here he was, flaunting his latest paramour in front of her scant weeks after their relationship ended, seemingly content. Her heart lurched, and a wave of violent nausea overwhelmed her. She stopped, put a hand to her belly, and took a several deep breaths to calm her nerves, hoping to quell the desire to retch.
Claire stopped with her. “Lexie? Are you all right?”
Lexie’s eyes widened as she looked at Claire, hoping Claire would understand. “I don’t feel well,” she said in quiet desperation.
Claire glanced over Lexie’s shoulder to where Lexie knew Nicholas stood. Behind her, Nicholas asked hesitantly, “Miss Markland?”
She felt his hand on her shoulder, his touch devastating. Her heart skipped a beat and her knees went weak, her legs trembling so violently she was unsure they would be able to bear her weight. Waving her hand dismissively, she said, “Mr. Wetherby, I’m fine. Just a little under the weather. I’m certain it must be the heat. Please, go enjoy your evening with your companion. I assure you, I’m fine.” She was pleased her voice did not betray her.
“Are you sure? I would be happy to escort you anywhere you need to go.”
“Quite sure,” she replied, keeping her eyes focused on the ground in an attempt to keep the world from spinning beneath her feet. “Mrs. O’Connor and I can manage quite well on our own.”
He removed his hand. She refused to meet his gaze, and his voice was cold when he said, “Very well.”
Lexie didn’t turn until his footfalls faded into the distance. When she did, she watched his back, straight and stiff, as he walked away. She was doing all right until she saw his beautiful, perfect companion lean into him, as if
she
belonged with
him
. Then she did retch, right there on the street.
Claire put a comforting hand on her back. “Oh, Lexie,” she said, pity unmistakable in her tone. It made Lexie feel that much worse.
