Lily George - The Nanny Arrangement

“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.”

Becky nodded, her head held high. “I am sure we will want for nothing, but you are good to think of us. I wish you a safe journey.” She bobbed a slight curtsy, and with a swish of creamy skirts, she was gone.

Paul sat back at his desk, rubbing his thumb meditatively over the smooth pages of his ledger book. He might have the running of things at Kellridge for now. However, this little milliner with her charming dimple was likely to sorely challenge his long-held and unopposed reign.

Chapter Five

Anger surged through Becky as she marched back down the hallway with as much dignity as she could muster. She couldn’t even think of strong enough terms to adequately express her outrage. Her hands shook and she grasped them together to still their trembling.

Paul Holmes and his autocratic, domineering ways.

His lack of concern for others.

The clockwork precision and cold, emotionless way he lived his life and ran Kellridge.

Thinking that a few trinkets would make everything better.

’Twas rather like applying a mustard plaster to a broken heart.

Becky paused in the doorway of the library. Her leaves—the leaves she had scattered not moments ago—were already gone. Picked up by some silent servant, no doubt.

For a brief moment, she simply stared. How could they already have vanished? The mechanical preciseness with which Kellridge was run was truly astonishing. She hadn’t seen the servants cleaning as she passed by before. No, someone must routinely make the rounds to ensure that every room was exactly as it should be, not a speck of dust marring a polished surface, not a single leaf disgracing a thick, plush carpet.

She might fling back her head and howl at the absurdity of it. Why was Paul so afraid—aye, that’s what it was, genuine fear—of disorder, of disarray, of basic human emotion? In the brief moments before he shut her out completely, she had glimpsed the stark terror in his dark eyes.

Well, it didn’t signify why Paul was afraid. Not really. He wouldn’t change in that, not while he was lord of the manor. He was too used to everyone obeying his every command and anticipating his needs. She must either accept it, or leave.

Becky leaned her head against the satin wood of the doorframe and closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. God must have sent her here for a reason, and for His sake, she could not waver. She could not leave. Leaving meant failure. Leaving meant forsaking His purpose for her life. Or at the very least, what she thought His purpose might be. By giving up now, she would be admitting she wasn’t good at anything. She wasn’t a milliner, and she wasn’t a nursemaid. She certainly wasn’t any man’s bride. For the rest of her life, she would be a failure at everything, and that would be intolerable.

Besides, she must be here for Juliet. No child should grow up in a home devoid of all feeling and emotion. She must remain as long as she could for Juliet’s sake. She would make their corner of Kellridge a pleasant and cheerful place. What if God had called her here just for this reason? Did He promise it would be easy or effortless?