Lily George - The Nanny Arrangement

“Excellent idea.” The housekeeper put her teacup aside with a brisk gesture. “In the attics, I am certain of it. We put trunks of Miss Juliana’s things away after she left for Italy.” She rose. “In fact, I believe you’ll find several things up there you can use,” she continued, punctuating each word with a wag of her forefinger. “Let me get the keys for you.” She rummaged through the string of keys about her waist, procuring a skeleton key with a filigree handle. “Here it is. Now, I could spare a footman...”

“No, indeed.” She could hunt for treasure all afternoon. A house as vast and rambling as Kellridge, with what had to be a storied past, would have all sorts of interesting things tucked away beneath its eaves. ’Twas the perfect scenario. She could enjoy looking through all the articles of Kellridge’s past, imagining the stories behind each item. She would be out of everyone’s way, and most importantly, she would be doing something nice for her charge. “I couldn’t ask you to add to anyone’s duties, and I have nothing with which to occupy myself as it is.”

“Well...” The housekeeper trailed off, as though considering the matter. “I hate for you to do all that lifting alone, without help.”

“If I need assistance, I promise I shall come down and ask for it.” Sudden gladness rushed through Becky. Mrs. Clairbourne was such a dear. If she could but cultivate her friendship with the housekeeper, Kellridge could be livable. The prospect of having something to do for the next few days was heartening. “How do I find the attic?”

“You’ll want to take the back staircase all the way to the third floor.” The housekeeper opened the door and ushered Becky into the hallway. “When you reach the top of the stairs, the attic door will be to your left. Are you quite certain you will be all right? I do feel guilty about asking you to grub around among those dusty trunks.”

“You didn’t ask—I volunteered.” Becky gave the housekeeper a bright smile and accepted the key. “I am very glad to do my part to make Juliet welcome here.”

She began the long trek up the back staircase. Each step was as though she were marking her new path, starting out on her journey, and she prayed silently for strength and wisdom as she ascended. At the top of the stairs, she might find toys for Juliet. In some small way, she was also going to find a place for herself at Kellridge.

* * *

Paul cast his quill aside and stretched as Wadsworth bustled into his study with the afternoon tea. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Wadsworth, instead of in two days’ time.” Though he laced the words with masterful nonchalance, each syllable grated on his nerves. His plan had always been to leave two days hence. Changing that plan now went against the grain.

The butler stiffened as he laid out the tea tray. He, too, hated change and the disorder it brought. “Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. I’ve decided there’s no use lolling about. I’ll strike out on the morrow. Business is waiting. Everything’s been packed, hasn’t it?”

“Well, yes, all is ready for your journey.” Wadsworth tucked a serviette under one of the saucers with his usual efficiency, and handed it across the desk to Paul. “Except for your carriage. Jim is seeing to the wheels, making sure they are in prime condition for traversing all the roads. He was planning on being ready in two days’ time, not tomorrow.”

Paul clenched his jaw and shook his head slowly. This was what came of changing the established order of things. “Hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I could take the landau instead.”

“I had rather thought the landau was for Miss Siddons’s use, when she was called to fetch Miss Juliet.” The butler gave a courteous little cough. “Opening it up and allowing fresh air might be very nice indeed for traveling from the coast, especially since Miss Juliet will have been cooped up for so long.”

“Yes, yes. You are right.” Paul raked his hands through his hair. What an irritating problem. “I can’t use the other carriages—the gig and the curricle are far too light and unsuitable. You’ll just have to tell Jim to hurry up and have as much done on the town coach as can be done before tomorrow. I am certain it will be fine.”

“I’ll go at once.” The butler prepared to take his leave but paused on the threshold. “There is one other matter I think you should be aware of. Mrs. Clairbourne gave Miss Siddons the key to the attic. She is up there now, and has been for some hours.”

Paul pushed his chair away from the desk and rose. “Attic? Whatever for?” No one ever went up into the attics. There was never any need. The attic held nothing more than the relics of the past—there was no use for them now.

“I believe she wanted to find some toys and playthings for Miss Juliet. I told Mrs. Clairbourne that she should have asked permission of you first, sir, but she did insist that it was all perfectly harmless.” The slight edge to his tone spoke volumes of his feelings on the matter. Wadsworth and Mrs. Clairbourne had long ago declared an uneasy peace when it came to the running and management of Kellridge, yet every now and again, that competitive spirit showed through once more. Paul suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It did no good to stoke the fire.

“I’ll go and have a look. Do hurry and tell Jim about the town coach. I want to leave at dawn.” Paul followed the butler out of his study and hastened—without breaking into a run, which might give more weight to the situation and thus more fuel for Wadsworth’s tiff with Mrs. Clairbourne. What sort of things did they have tucked away in the attic? There was no telling. He climbed the back staircase with a growing feeling of unease. The last time they had done any great shifting up there was after Juliana left for Italy.

The door to the left of the stairs stood open, so he ducked inside. Daylight streamed in from the dormer windows, and dust motes danced in the sparkling sunlight. Paul drew his forefinger along one of the trunks and noted the gray smear of dust. For an attic, it was rather clean. All the boxes and trunks lined the walls with military precision. He glanced across the room.

“Miss Siddons?” He spoke in a regular, measured tone of voice. No use in sounding belligerent or ruffled. That would only get Becky’s hackles up again. “Where are you?”

“I am over here.” A scuffling sound caught his ear, and he followed it over to the left rear corner of the attic. Becky was hunched over a trunk, her pretty white dress smudged with dust, and a long trail of dirt marking her cheek. Beside her rested a pile of ancient playthings—dolls, jumping jacks and blocks. His mouth quirked in ruthful recognition—even a puzzle he’d spent hours assembling when he was a boy.

She clicked the lid of the trunk shut and faced him squarely. “Please don’t be angry. Mrs. Clairbourne gave me her permission.”

She seemed almost afraid, and yet her eyebrows held that same defiant arch. His heart dropped a little as he took in her bedraggled dress and widened eyes. He didn’t want Becky to fear him or to think ill of him. If only they could recapture those brief, fleeting moments on the moor when they were comfortable with each other. For some reason, which he did not care to examine, he found himself drawn toward Becky. Of course, he must always maintain his mastery of his household—but couldn’t he do so while befriending Becky? Couldn’t they reach a truce, as Wadsworth and Mrs. Clairbourne had?

“I’m not upset.” He sank onto the floor beside her, heedless of the dirt. “Just...surprised.” He picked up the puzzle and began rearranging the pieces. “You’re in the right, you know. I had no thought in my mind of playthings. I made her room up as I would for an adult guest. ’Twas a sore mistake.”