Regina Scott - The Courting Campaign

It was sunny. He could see the house, the planted oak forests on either side, the sweep of fields that led down the dale toward the other houses that speckled the space. Odd. He was certain it had been pouring rain when he’d set out for the laboratory that morning, the mists obscuring the peaks behind the buildings. How long had he been working?

“Take a deep breath,” his rescuer said.

The advice seemed sound, so he did as she bid. The clean air sharpened his mind, cleared his senses. Somewhere nearby he thought he smelled lavender.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better,” he agreed. His gaze traveled over her, from her sturdy black boots to her muddy brown eyes. She appeared to be shorter than he was, perhaps a little less than five and a half feet. What he’d taken as a halo was her pale blond hair, wound in a coronet braid around a face symmetrical enough to be pleasing. Her brown wool dress with its long sleeves and high neck hardly looked like heavenly apparel.

But then how could he be certain? He’d been avoiding thoughts of heaven and its Master for several months now.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She dipped a curtsey, but her pink lips compressed as if she found the question vexing. “Emma Pyrmont.” When he continued to wait for clarification, she added, “Alice’s nanny.”

He eyed her and batted away a stray puff of smoke. “You’re the new nanny?”

She raised her chin. “I have that honor, yes. Is there a problem?”

“No,” he admitted, although he wondered at her tone. Was that a hint of belligerence? “I merely expected someone older.”

“Mrs. Dunworthy was satisfied with my credentials,” she said, chin a notch higher. Interesting—how high could a woman raise her chin without sustaining a neck injury? Not a topic he’d choose to pursue, but he might pass it on to one of his colleagues who specialized in anatomical studies.

“And I’m hardly new,” she informed him. “I’ve been here three months.”

Three months? He had lost touch. It felt more like three days since his sister-in-law had informed him that the previous nanny had quit. Nanny Wesling was one of many who had fled his employ after his reputation as a natural philosopher had been questioned, even though she’d initially moved to Derby with the family. He had never heard what she had found about the Grange to be so unsatisfactory.

Still, the young woman in front of him did not conform to his notion of a nanny. He would have thought the wisdom that came from age and the experience of raising children to be requirements. She looked too young, at least five years his junior. He also hypothesized that family connections or beauty would be lacking, as either could qualify a woman for an easier life as the wife of a well-situated man. While he could not know her family situation, that bright hair and smile would certainly allow her to make some claim to beauty. If she’d been dressed more like the young ladies of the ton, she would likely have found any number of young men eager to pursue her.

But she did not appear interested in pursuit. In fact, the way her foot was tapping at the grass, this lady already regretted looking in on him, as if she had far more important things to do than possibly save his life.

If she was Alice’s nanny, he had to agree.

Alice! He glanced about, seeking the dark-haired head of his daughter. “Tell me you didn’t bring Alice with you,” he ordered.

She frowned at him. “Certainly not. I thought a four-year-old should be spared the inhalation of carbonic fumes.” She shrugged. “Old-fashioned of me, I’m sure. Clearly you prefer it.”

He should take umbrage, but she said it all with such a pleasant tone he could not argue. That trait alone probably made her an exceptional nanny.

He should find out.

He immediately banished the thought. This was not an experiment requiring acute observation and documentation. This was a female in his employ. Besides, Charlotte had been clear in her requirements for managing his household. She had the responsibility for Alice and the staff. He had the responsibility of staying out of her way.

Still, questions poked at him, as they always did when he was confronted with something he didn’t immediately understand. A few moments’ investigation would not hinder his other work. The smoke would need a little time to dissipate in any event.

He tapped the fingers of his right hand against his wool trousers, gazed at her down his nose. “If you are not here with Alice, how did you know I required assistance? The nursery is on the opposite side of the Grange, if memory serves.”

She clapped her hands as if he’d said something particularly clever. “Excellent! At least the smoke hasn’t addled your wits.” Lowering her hands, she added, “I was in the kitchen preparing tea. And as you appear to have taken no immediate injury, I should return to my duties.” She curtsied again as if ready to escape.

But he wasn’t ready for her to go. He had too many questions, and he needed answers before forming a hypothesis. “You seem uncommonly outspoken for a nanny,” he said. “Why would that be?”

She straightened. “I suppose because other nannies fear for their positions too much to tell the master when he’s behaving like a fool.”

Nick stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

Her smile was commiserating. “I don’t believe the smoke has affected your hearing, sir. Let me see if I can put this in terms you would appreciate. You have miscalculated.”

He frowned. “In what way?”

“You have the sweetest, brightest, most wonderful daughter, yet in the three months I’ve worked here, you have never visited the nursery. You didn’t even know who had charge of her. You spend all your time out here—” she gestured to his still-smoking laboratory “—risking your life, risking leaving her an orphan. That, sir, I find foolish in the extreme.”

Nick raised his brows. “So you have no regard for your position to speak this way.”

Her smile broadened. “I have tremendous regard for my position. I would defend your daughter with my life. But I don’t think you’ll discharge me over strong opinions, Sir Nicholas. You need me. No one else would agree to serve in this house. Good day.”

Nick watched, bemused, as she gathered her dusky brown skirts and marched back to the Grange, her pale hair like a moonbeam cutting through the vanishing smoke.

Singular woman. He could not remember any member of his household speaking to him in such a bold manner. Of course, most members of his household avoided speaking with him entirely. Something about his work unnerved them as if he meant to test his concoctions on them rather than to use the chemicals to help develop a new lamp for mining.

Still, he could not argue with her assessment. He had been neglecting Alice. His skills were either insufficient in that area or unnecessary. His daughter had people who loved her, cared for her, made sure she was safe. The coal miners he was working to support had no such protection. They risked their lives daily in the mine on his property to the east of the Grange. Why shouldn’t he risk his health for them?

He’d already risked his reputation.

And, he feared, he was about to risk it again. Other noted philosophers were laboring like he was to find the secret to producing light under the extreme conditions underground. They enjoyed the challenge. He knew personally the deaths that would be prevented. What was needed was a lamp that would burn without exploding in the pockets of flammable air that appeared without warning.

Yet, as he returned to the laboratory and began to clean away the remains of his failed experiment, he found himself unable to focus. It seemed another study beckoned, one in which he had every right to investigate and every expectation of immediate success.