The Nanny Arrangement (17 page)

She fumbled with the tinderbox on her bedside table until she struck a light and lit her candle. The guttering flame drove all the panic from her mind. She was just tired, that was all. A quick check on Juliet, and she would calm down enough to sleep.

She tiptoed across the floor and eased her door open. No telling if anyone was still awake. It was well past midnight according to the long-case clock at the end of the hall.

Outside Juliet’s door, she paused. A flickering light shone underneath. Surely one of the other servants hadn’t left a candle lit inside her room? That was dangerous—a sure way to start a fire. She wrenched the door open and gasped. A man—a large man—hovered over Juliet’s bed.

A scream caught in Becky’s throat and her heart pounded in her breast. Surely this man was trying to kidnap her darling girl! She put her candle aside and crossed the room in two large strides, casting her glance about for anything that she might hurl at the scoundrel.

The hovering figure straightened, and in his flickering candlelight she caught a glimpse of his face as he raised his finger to his lips. Her sudden strength dissipated, leaving her knees wobbly.

’Twas Paul, and not some footpad.

Paul quirked an eyebrow at her and motioned her out into the hallway. Becky followed, grasping her candle as she quit the room. The heady combination of relief and mortification at being caught in her wrapper made her head spin.

“I thought...I thought you were a footpad, bent on kidnapping Juliet,” she gasped as he closed the door behind them with a quiet click. “I am so sorry.”

“Nay, I am the one who should apologize. I never meant to frighten you. When I got home, I decided I would check on Juliet and make certain she was sleeping well.” He patted her shoulder. “Are you quite all right? You look rather pale.”

Was she all right? Well, she was embarrassed beyond measure, and weak as a kitten as her potent intensity fled. She nodded. Words were not even possible at the moment, not the way her teeth chattered.

“I’ve never really checked on Juliet before, so I can well understand your worry. ’Tis my fault, and I cannot apologize enough. It’s just—when I got home from the club, I needed to reassure myself she was all right.” He shrugged, shaking his head with a rueful gesture. “I know that sounds strange.”

“Not at all.” His concern was heartening. In fact, his entire manner toward his niece had changed so dramatically over the past few weeks that it warmed her heart. He treated her as a father should—concerned for her safety, involved in her upbringing, enjoying her company. That was as it should be. “I was worried about her, too. I don’t like being this far from her. I am used to having her so close by at Kellridge. So I came to check on her.”

“Everything is better at Kellridge, isn’t it?” He cast a reassuring grin her way. “Not to disparage my mother’s taste in houses, but this townhome simply isn’t as comfortable as home. It’s no matter. We will leave in a matter of months anyway.”

Months in London? Perish the thought. At Kellridge they had their own wing of the house, and she could come and go as she pleased. She could see her sisters again. Back in Tansley, Susannah could talk some plain sense to her—Nan most certainly would—and help her to overcome her runaway emotions.

“I am planning to take Juliet to church on the morrow,” she ventured. Might as well make her intentions known. Perhaps Paul could direct her to the closest place of worship.

“Excellent idea. May I join you? It’s been far too long since I darkened the doorstep of St. George’s.”

Of course his newfound faith would lead him to a desire to attend services. She had hoped for an escape for just a few moments—a place of quiet contemplation in which to ask her Father for strength—but it was not to be. The very man she was running from wanted to join them.

Of course, she must welcome him, for what he was asking was both good and honorable.

“Yes, certainly you may. In fact, I should need your help in finding St. George’s, since I am wholly unfamiliar with town.” Her head gave another painful throb. “Shall we walk together in the morning?”

“That sounds capital.” Paul took her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her to her doorway. “Until then. And I do apologize for scaring you so much.” He gave her a courtly bow.

“Not at all. I am sorry I was looking for something with which to strike you,” she rejoined.

Paul laughed quietly and, with a small wave, walked down the corridor. As she let herself into her room, she leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath.

Headache, sore throat, sleeplessness and terror. Really, she was acting more and more like a Gothic heroine.

She must grab hold of herself if she were to persevere through the next few months—not to mention the rest of her life in her chosen profession.

Chapter Seventeen

W
alking to church with Becky and his niece—why, this was a natural and good feeling. For someone who had only recently found his way to Christ, this was an event that could best be described as exhilarating. Both of them had, in their different ways, brought him closer to God. He was prepared to give thanks for that, to begin his life anew as one who knew he could do nothing without Him. He desired to ask for guidance, as well—some sort of direction in his feelings for Becky Siddons. His conversation with John had awakened his sensibilities. Was he, in fact, developing some sort of
tendresse
for her?

His regard for her had certainly deepened over time. Last night, when she’d burst into Juliet’s room, determined to strike anyone who dared to lay a finger on his niece—well, ’twas a terrifying moment, to be sure, but a heartening one. No one had ever cared for Juliet as fiercely as Becky did, save perhaps Juliana. Even so, ’twas unlikely that Juliana would burst into her daughter’s room and threaten someone with bodily harm. No—his sister would have screamed and gone into hysterics. He loved his sister, but her foibles were always all too apparent.

Becky cared for Juliet the way a mother should. She was concerned about his niece’s safety and the quality of her sleep. She dressed Juliet in simple frocks made by her own hand—a style of dress that gave Juliet freedom of movement. She ensured Juliet ate a proper diet. She had cared for Juliet’s spiritual development. All of this, coupled with her determination to slay a robber last night, cast her in an entirely new light. Becky Siddons was no longer a pretty, vexing little thing that he enjoyed teasing. No—she was more. A young woman, beautiful in face and in her person, but also beautiful in soul and in spirit.

But what to make of all this? The answer must come to him. Perhaps the church service would speak to him, or at the least, open his mind to more possibilities.

An early morning shower had left streaks of mud in their path. As they neared a particularly large puddle, Juliet cooed in glee. Paul quirked his mouth with ruthful delight. Juliet would still be Juliet, even though they might endeavor to iron out her more rambunctious tendencies. He swung Juliet up in the air with a quick flex of his arm, and Becky, on Juliet’s opposite side, did the same. Juliet flew through the air, crowing in delight, and Paul glanced over at Becky. She, too, was smiling—a thoughtful, absorbed smile. But she did not meet his eyes, even though their movements were in perfect harmony.

“What are you thinking of, Becky-girl?” He kept his tone light. If only she would speak to him squarely, as she had done in times past. With a Siddons gal who spoke her mind, a fellow knew where he stood. This new Becky was withdrawn and silent, and frequently absent. He missed her sweetness and impulsive nature. He missed seeing the dimple in the left corner of her cheek. What had effected this transformation?

“Oh, nothing. Just this awful headache. It persists no matter what I do.” She gave him a wan smile, and then focused her attention on the church as they drew closer. “What a lovely place it is! I confess I have never seen a church this fine.”

Paul turned his attention back to the matter at hand. St. George’s was an impressive place, with its six imposing columns marching along its facade. “Wait until you see inside. The galleries are particularly nice.”

Carriages of all shapes and descriptions pulled up to the front steps, and fashionable ladies and gentlemen milled about outside, greeting each other with languid waves, or bows and curtsies. St. George’s was the most popular place of worship in Mayfair and attracted the more spiritually inclined of the
haut ton
. The excitement and wide-eyed wonder he’d felt at his conversion was completely lacking in this congregation.

Becky halted, her brows drawn together. “Is it quite all right to bring children in? I don’t see many here.”

“Oh, Juliet can come along. I am certain the smaller children are already inside. The early morning rain, you know. Staying outdoors too long is an invitation to muddy their fine clothes.” He eased her forward again by tugging at Juliet.

“Perhaps I should sit in back.” Becky halted once more. “This place...’tis finer than any church I’ve attended.”

“Nay, we shall all sit together in the family pew.” Paul gave her a reassuring smile. “No need to fret, Becky. You look as pretty as a picture today. Indeed, none of these women can hold a candle to you.”

What he said was true and not mere flattery. Even as silent and withdrawn as she was, Becky still cut an elegant figure. Her dress was plainer than the other gowns on opulent display this morning. Her bonnet was trimmed with a ribbon in a dark purple shade that highlighted the shadows of her eyes. Yet, for all her simplicity, she had more style about her than any other lady. Some women just possessed that gift of refinement. Others couldn’t buy it, not with all the gold in their coffers.

His graceful compliment merely deepened Becky’s frown. “If you’re sure,” she replied distantly, and then turned her attention to Juliet, fussing over her bonnet and dress before they entered the sanctuary.

He fell silent and gave himself over to the task of finding their family pew and settling Becky and Juliet beside him. In a moment he would give all his attention to the service—to singing hymns, to listening to scripture, to paying heed to the sermon. As he gazed at the altar, one thought grew fixed in his mind. He needed guidance. Now that he had opened his life to Him, he needed to know his next steps. As a man of business, his path was sure and set, but as a guardian—as a man—he needed more.

* * *

St. George’s was quite beautiful, Becky reflected as they left the church. Not at all like the cozy Bible study she’d grown used to at home. The sermon was good enough, but never touched a deep chord within her, as discussing the scripture was wont to do. All the same, she had given it a go, and Juliet had behaved passably well. Her little charge had swung her booted feet, and curled up on the pew as though to sleep, but finally settled down when Becky tugged her into her lap.

Now, as they strolled home, Paul gathered Juliet into his arms and drew closer to Becky’s side. This physical proximity to him was wreaking havoc on her sensibilities. She resisted the urge to reach up and touch the scar on his cheek with her gloved finger. She must be running a fever—no decent nursemaid would ever entertain such thoughts about her employer.

Becky switched her thoughts to practical matters. Lunch would be served soon, and she could put her charge down for a nap afterward. Perhaps she might take one as well. Her head still ached, and despite her best, most unobtrusive efforts with her handkerchief, her nose still had a tendency to run. If only she could shake free of this physical malaise, perhaps everything would fall into place. She would stop making such a fuss about Paul and shoulder her duties as Juliet’s caretaker with good cheer, and cease any and all foolishness.

Foolishness? Aye, that was what it was. So many women, elegant, well-bred and beautifully gowned, had been sending discreet looks at her employer while they were supposed to be paying attention to the sermon. Becky wasn’t so naive as to misunderstand their glances. Her employer was a most eligible bachelor. He was wealthy, handsome and charming. The wonder of it was that he hadn’t chosen a wife yet. Perhaps that was his design in returning to London with his charge? To find her a proper mother?

That certainly made more sense than bringing Becky to London for a change of scene and a chance to broaden her horizons.

“You know, I was invited to an event and I think it would be beneficial for you to come along.” He leaned toward her with a confidential air. “Lady Cheswick is having a musicale tomorrow afternoon and, while I will be going, I think you should come as well.”

“A musicale?” Becky shot him an uncertain glance. A musicale was likely more sedate than a ball, but could she afford to place herself at any kind of risk? If the musicale were being hosted by a member of the
ton,
wouldn’t her presence be cause for some question among Paul’s friends and acquaintances?

“Yes. As Juliet’s nursemaid, I want you to see how young women present themselves and their musical talents in society. As the daughter of two musicians, I suspect my little niece will, in time, show some aptitude for music as well. I’d like for you to help me shape her gift at an early age, and Lady Cheswick is providing the perfect opportunity for an introduction. What do you say?” He looked down at her, an intent glance in his brown eyes that made her heart give a strange leap in her chest.

“Well...” If this were to be a part of her responsibilities as she raised Juliet, she could not well cry off. But would she invite comment by appearing? “Are you certain it would be all right? I do not want to provoke any kind of interest among the
ton
. Since I am merely a nursemaid in your household, I worry that people would think it untoward if I came along with you.” There. She was being forthright, explaining her hesitation. Perhaps now he would see her side of the matter.

“I appreciate your concern.” He ducked as Juliet grasped an outstretched twig on a low-hanging branch, popping the brim of his hat as she let go. “But Lady Cheswick has known my family for years. She and my mother were old friends. She’ll think nothing of it if you come along. And if she doesn’t, then no one will—for all of society follows her lead. At least as far as matters of protocol are concerned.”

If that were indeed the case, there was nothing to stop her from going. In fact, if she continued to object, she might attract more attention from him than if she simply went along with it. After all, ’twas her duty to bring Juliet up as a proper English lady. Moreover, Paul was right. As the daughter of musicians, Juliet would likely have prodigious musical talent. And as Juliet’s earliest influence, it would be Becky’s responsibility to guide and shape that talent.

That settled the matter. She would accept his invitation.

“As long as you think it beneficial for Juliet,” she conceded.

He grinned down at her, an expression so frank and joyful that she caught her breath and turned away. She was so awfully susceptible to romance. If she were a heroine in a novel, her romanticism would be her greatest flaw. Her head had been so turned by Lieutenant Walker’s brief attention that she’d fully expected a proposal by penny post. Frustration mounted within her, boiling in its intensity. She hadn’t changed as much as she wished to, for here she was, once more, finding herself entranced by a handsome man who merely desired her to do one thing. In fact, he wanted her to do one thing only—care for his niece as he paid her to do.

Her persistent desire to read flirtation into every friendly thing a man did was most ridiculous. She had overcome this before, and she would again. She must. Otherwise, she would become a desperately silly old maid, reading a romantic insinuation into every sideways glance.

“Come, Juliet,” she sang out as they neared the town house gate. “Let us see what the cook has prepared for your lunch. What do you think? Perhaps some eggs?”

Paul swung Juliet down from his shoulder and opened the gate. “Have you gotten her to try eggs yet?”

Juliet scurried over to the garden and picked up a stick. Becky gave an inward sigh. Not that she minded Juliet’s appreciation of nature, but the way the child picked up rocks and twigs, or splashed in mud, certainly made it more difficult to keep her tidy.

“Nasty.” Juliet enunciated the word clearly, punctuating it with a whack of her stick against the garden path.

“What? They’re delicious. And so good for a growing girl.” She bustled over to her charge and took her free hand. “Come on, now.”

“No.” All at once, Juliet grew as heavy as a sack of lead and as boneless as a jellyfish. She sank to the ground, still grasping Becky’s hand. “No, no, no!”

“Now, Juliet, be reasonable.” The child must be tired and in need of a nap. Her sleep schedule had been completely thrown off with travel. “You must eat. Otherwise the insides of your tum will stick together.” Sometimes silliness worked where reason failed. Becky bent down to scoop Juliet up, and her forehead gave a painful throb.

“No. I. WON’T!” Juliet was shrieking now, a piercing wail that cut through Becky’s headache like a knife. She tossed her stick aside and flopped back to the ground, kicking and flailing, her lovely lavender dress now thoroughly streaked with mud.

“Has she always been this awful?” Paul rumbled, glancing down at his niece with a quizzical air. “I thought she’d been improving.”

“She has.” Becky gave up the struggle. Perhaps, as she and Nan had discovered that one morning before Sunday school, Juliet would calm down without an audience. She moved a few paces away across the garden path and Paul followed. “I think that, given the rigors of travel, and adjusting to a new home, our methods of curbing her temper have frayed a bit. She’s not sleeping as well or as timely as she did at home, and she’s not eating as she should.”

Paul nodded. “The excitement of London is beginning to pall, is it not?”

Becky pressed her hand to her forehead. “I am afraid so.”

“What should we do?” Paul, usually so self-assured, so controlled, so exacting in his response to any emotional situation, looked all at sea. He regarded Juliet, still rolling about on the garden path, as one would look at a particularly rare and interesting specimen of plant or animal.

“Aren’t you the expert?” Becky retorted. “Is she not just like your little sister?” The moment she said the words, she wished them back. It wasn’t Paul’s fault Juliet was too tired and too hungry to behave. Or that Becky’s head was being pounded from the inside with a large mallet.

“I confess that she reminds me more of my sister in this moment than ever before.” A sheepish look stole over Paul’s face. “But when Juliana was in the throes of temper, my mother had the servants care for her. I never really had to intervene in a display like this.”

“Well, I am the servant now.” Becky paused. She was sounding shrewish and snappish, when really she was just overwhelmed. London was supposed to be such a lovely change of pace, such a thrilling voyage to a new world, but it had utterly failed her. She’d gone all mawkish and fancied herself developing a
tendresse
for Paul Holmes. She’d failed at making Juliet into a little lady. Here she was, barking at her employer like a Pekingese while her charge lay thrashing in the garden, refusing to eat a simple lunch of scrambled eggs.