Dorothy Clark - Family of the Heart

Sarah lifted her chin and met Clayton Bainbridge’s gaze with her own. “Your words… yes. But—”

“There is no but, Miss Randolph. Those are the special conditions of your employment. I realize you will require some personal time. The maid Lucy will sit with the child while she naps in the afternoon. And your evenings will be free. Other than that, you will spend all of your time with the child. Do you wish to accept the position?”

Incredible! The man might as well be a marble statue. Had Clayton Bainbridge no feelings? An image of the sweet toddler sleeping upstairs flashed into her head. “Yes, Mr. Bainbridge, I accept the position. I must, sir. Because your daughter is a little girl, not an it.”

Sarah squared her shoulders, whirled away from the look of astonishment on Clayton Bainbridge’s face and swept from the room.

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Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark is a creative person. She lives in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. She also designs and helps her husband build furniture. When she is not thus engaged, she can be found cheering her grandchildren on at various sports events, or furiously taking notes about possible settings for future novels as she and her husband travel throughout the United States and Canada. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing her stories for Steeple Hill. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers, and may be contacted at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For thou wilt light my candle: the Lord my God

will enlighten my darkness.

—Psalms 18:28

This book is dedicated with boundless gratitude

to my extremely talented writer friend and critique

partner, Sam Pakan, who read every chapter

(though there is not a fistfight or dead body in any

of them), encouraged me and prayed for me when

“life” happened and interfered with my writing

time, and stuck with me through the last two weeks

of my writing marathon though he was racing to

meet his own book deadline. You sure know how to

go the “second mile,” cowboy. Thank you.

“Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts

shall be established.”

Your word is truth. Thank You, Jesus.

To You be the glory.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Cincinnati

April, 1838

The hired carriage climbed over the break of the hill and rolled to a stop. Sarah Randolph grabbed for the hold strap as the rig leaned to one side then quickly righted itself when the driver stepped off onto the ground. A moment later the door opened and the driver peered inside. “This is it, miss. This is Stony Point.”

Every nerve in her stomach fluttered to life. For one panicked moment Sarah wished she were back at the hotel with Ellen to tend her, but only for a moment. She needed something to do. Something to help her through the pain of Aaron’s death. Somewhere to get away from the tormenting memories of him that haunted the streets of Philadelphia. And this position as a nanny answered those needs.

Sarah lifted her chin in renewed determination and climbed from the carriage. A worm of worry wriggled through her as she watched the driver walk around to the back and unbuckle the straps holding her trunk in place. She’d brought only the plainest, most serviceable of her day dresses, but none of her gowns were really appropriate for a nanny. If only there had been time to obtain more suitable attire.

Sarah let out a sigh and closed her mind to the concern. It was of no matter now—her gowns would simply have to do. She glanced down, shook out her long bottle-green velvet skirt, smoothed down the tab-cut leaves at the waist edge of her matching spencer, then lifted her head and appraised the house in front of her. It was well named. The rectangular stone house, with its set-back kitchen ell, sat square in the middle of the point of land that forced the road to curve.

It was an attractive house. Not large, compared to the homes of the elite of Philadelphia, but two stories of generous and pleasing proportion. And, though there was nothing ornate or fancy about the place, it had charm. Shutters, painted the dark green of the pines on the hillside, embraced the home’s symmetrically placed multipaned windows and framed its solid wood-plank front door. Ivy spread clinging arms in profuse abandon on the front and climbed the gable end, stretching a few tentacles toward the wood shingles of the roof.

“Ready, miss.” The driver, holding her large trunk balanced on one beefy shoulder, appeared beside her.

Sarah stepped back, giving him room to open the gate sandwiched between the two lamp-topped stone pillars that anchored the low stone walls enclosing the home’s front yard. She ignored the maaaa of one of the sheep grazing on the lawn and followed him up the slate walk. Hope quickened her pulse. Her new life was starting. Surely tending a toddler would keep her too busy to dwell on the past, to remember the loss of her dream of being Aaron’s wife. Surely it would fill the emptiness and make the pain ease. Oh, if only the pain would ease.

The driver banged the brass knocker against the plate on the front door, and Sarah straightened her back and curved her lips into a smile. Everything would be better now. Soon, everything would be better.

The solid wood door opened. A stout woman stepped forward and stood centered in the frame. She looked at the driver, noted the trunk he carried and dipped her head toward the left. “Take that o’er t’ the side door. Quincy’ll let you in.” She shifted her gaze. Surprise, then doubt swept over her face. “You are the new nanny?”

Sarah felt her smile slip away at the woman’s tone. She pasted it firmly back in place and nodded. “Yes. I am—”

“Late! We expected you this morning.” The woman stepped aside and waved a pudgy arm toward the interior of the house. “Don’t stand there, come in, come in!”

Sarah hesitated a moment, debating the wisdom in pursuing her decision to accept the position. But the challenge was exactly what she needed. And she’d never had a problem getting along with her family’s servants. Perhaps the housekeeper was simply feeling the need to establish her authority. She squared her shoulders, climbed the three stone steps and crossed the small stoop. A child’s unhappy wails fell on her ears as she entered the small entry.