The Nanny Arrangement Read online

  “She throws a temper tantrum.” Yes, that was her mother showing through. “Juliana was the same way. It would throw the house in uproar, you know.”

  “So what did your mother do? How did she manage Juliana?” Becky sank into the nearby armchair with the air of one struggling against defeat.

  “Well, she let the servants handle it, mostly. And when she died, which was when Juliana was only about three years old, Father let the servants continue handling it. When I took over, she was willful and stubborn. I had a plan to iron things out—to bring her more to heel, you might say—but then that plan went out the window.” Actually, to own the precise truth, it was Ruth’s plan. Once they wed, she would come be mistress of Kellridge, and together they would handle Juliana.

  And then, when Ruth died, all thoughts of Kellridge having a mistress, or of creating a family, or of making Juliana behave, had died with her. In fact, no one had behaved well, least of all himself. Ruth’s death was an excuse to go on an extravagant binge. After which he was so ashamed, so filled with pain and remorse, that he split his life into two distinct halves—care of Kellridge, and then a life of debauchery.

  Becky looked at him in question. She must be wondering why he’d grown so silent.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “Bitter memories.”

  “Bitter memories? Oh, Paul, I am sorry.” She heaved a gusty sigh. “If I were doing my job well, then Kellridge would continue to run with clockwork precision. Here I was, railing against the particular way you manage things, hoping for a little disorder to break up the monotony of perfection, and I seem to have gotten more than my fair share.” She gave a weary laugh, showing the charming dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  What a relief to hear that sound. Becky was one of those women whose laughs, even when tired, were nothing short of enchanting. In fact, were she in a ballroom in London, crowded with all the most sought-after debutantes of the season, her laugh alone would bring the swains running. Too bad she hadn’t the advantages of money and good family connections, even if her parents had been well-off. She could have married quite well.

  He gave her a ruthful grin. “I don’t think you lack as a nursemaid. In truth, the fact that you care so much, and want to do so well, makes me certain I did the right thing in entrusting Juliet to your care. You must understand that we had an entire household of people who could not force Juliana to mind. So you, being alone, are at rather a disadvantage.”

  “I do like Juliet.” She gave him a shy smile, and those remarkable eyes of hers began to glow. “I like her spirit. I don’t want to crush that part of her. I must be able to manage her.”

  That sounded rather like what Ruth had told him, so many years ago. Manage her, but don’t try to rub out her spirit. Together, they had planned to send Juliana to a prestigious music school in London. She had such prodigious talent—her voice, and her skill at the pianoforte. She could have been an astonishingly good musician, had she any kind of method to her madness. The idea was to immerse her in her talent, give her routines and gently mold her into a fiercely gifted musician.

  Instead, he’d hired a music teacher to come to Kellridge after Ruth died. While he was in London on his bender...and that blackguard, here, under his own roof...

  Better not to walk down that road. After all, Juliana loved him. Signor Martinelli professed to love her. Perhaps Juliana found happiness and peace once she moved with him to Italy. ’Twas his own weakness, his own selfish indulgence in leaving Kellridge at a critical time, that was to blame.

  He pulled himself from the distant shores of memory. “Yes, you must be able to control her.”

  “You mentioned before that you had a plan for Juliana, but that it never came to fruition. Could we implement something like it for Juliet?”

  He glanced down at Becky. She was so young and so determined—softer and warmer than Ruth, for Ruth never lost her sense of aristocratic aloofness, even in their most intimate moments together. But Becky shared the same sense of drive and purpose. As Ruth had wanted for Juliana, Becky wanted to make a good life for Juliet.

  He shook his head. Why was he even comparing Becky to his former fiancée? She was his employee, a servant in his home. He had renounced any kind of lasting dalliance after Ruth died. There was no future to be had in thinking kindly upon Becky, or in cataloging her virtues. He had forsaken the marriage mart, and Becky, being a respectful girl from a family he called his friends, was certainly no candidate for a flirtation.

  Why was he even thinking of flirtations and dalliances at all? They were discussing Juliet and her upbringing, and nothing else.

  He gave his head a decisive shake. Time to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

  “We do need a plan for Juliet. It sounds as though she has trouble with making changes. No surprise, given how much she’s been through.” He sat in the chair opposite Becky and drew closer. “What kind of changes were you trying to make?”

  “Well, I tried putting her to bed on a timely schedule, and feeding her meals on time, too. I tried feeding her more wholesome foods—a nursery diet, you might say. And I tried getting her to go to Sunday school, though that was a total disaster.”

  “And you’ve been making new clothes for her,” Paul added.

  “I haven’t even tried making her wear them yet.” Becky sat back in her chair. “All of these changes are meant for the best. I haven’t meant to make things worse.”

  “No, of course not. And indeed, you are doing your job. Given that Juliet is a miniature of her mother, perhaps I can give a little advice. I had some experience dealing with Juliana, you know. And though I failed her miserably, perhaps we can learn from my mistakes.”

  Becky made a sudden movement in her chair, swiveling to face him. She regarded him frankly, honesty shining out of her eyes. “Why do you feel that way?”

  Paul hesitated. How much of the truth could he tell her? Not that he didn’t trust her. In fact, he had hired her because, knowing her family and the sterling character each member of it possessed, she would never gossip or violate his privacy. Would she think ill of him? He couldn’t bear to see disappointment reflected in her eyes.

  More to the point, would he be able to speak the truth without breaking down entirely? For that would be completely unacceptable.

  He cleared his throat. As Juliet’s nursemaid, she did deserve to know something of the truth.

  “Suffice it to say that Juliana loved as passionately as she lived. And the man whom she chose for her affections—Juliet’s father—was unworthy of her.” There. That should clear matters up without undue emotional tirades spewing forth.

  “I don’t understand. How did you fail her? Surely a woman has a right to fall in love with whomever she chooses. How was her choice of husband your mistake?” She was still looking at him—nay, looking through him—with that frank and uncanny glance of hers.

  “I allowed the blackguard into my home. You see, the plan was for Juliana to go to London to study music at a conservatory. After...my fiancée...died, I left Juliana here and went to London myself. I needed to get away, you see. I was gone for four years, only a few return trips to see to matters. When Juliana grew older, rather than send her away, I thought it would be better for her to stay at Kellridge. So I hired Signor Martinelli to come teach her while I indulged my grief.” He swallowed. This was growing to be more than he could bear. More than he had anticipated. She must stop asking questions, or he would lose face altogether.

  She shook her head. “I still don’t see why you hold yourself accountable, Paul. I think it’s lovely that she fell in love with her music teacher. They had so much in common. It’s really rather romantic—”

  He cut her short with a curt wave of his hand. “There’s nothing romantic about it. And there’s certainly everything to blame me for. I should have been here, supervising matters. Watching everything wit
h a closer eye.” The truth rushed from him, unchecked. “And thanks to my excellent guardianship, Juliet was born only four months after her parents’ wedding.”

  “Oh.” Color rushed into Becky’s cheeks and she gazed down at the floor.

  He fell silent, as well. He had said too much. Becky was likely horrified by his frankness. One wasn’t supposed to say things like that to young unmarried girls. What had come over him? This was what came of losing control, of failing to maintain his grip on the clockwork precision that governed his life. Had he simply stuck to the matter at hand, things would have been fine.

  “I still don’t think it’s your fault.”

  Startled, he glanced over at Becky. Though her cheeks were still rosy, she was looking at him with that same candid look—tempered, perhaps, with a sort of sympathy. As he stared, she continued.

  “Knowing Juliet as I do, she hates being told what to do. And that’s why we are working with her now, trying to mold her in such a fashion that she can be taught not just right from wrong, but how to govern her impulses and emotions. If that were never checked by anyone, why, Juliet would be a force to be reckoned with as a grown woman. This, I assume, is what happened to Juliana. So, no matter what you said, had she chosen Juliet’s father as her heart’s desire, nothing you would have done could have prevented their relationship. In fact, you would have made matters worse.”

  Paul considered her words. ’Twas the first time he’d ever spoken to anyone about it. No one, not even George or his many sisters, knew the depth and breadth of his guilt in the matter. Was there some truth to what Becky said?

  “So now, let us turn from whatever has gone by,” she added in a gentle tone. “We must decide what to do with Juliet’s future.”

  He was pulled from the past to Becky’s side in the present, her soothing voice keeping his worries and troubles and failures at bay. She was right, of course. They must set a course of action for Juliet. She must have some rules, and some regulations and some schedules. He would not allow the same mistakes to happen again.

  “We shall try to implement changes in her routine one at a time. Perhaps she gets overwhelmed if we try to change too much. Let’s start by giving her a regular bed and nap time. If she finally has enough sleep, she might cease in some of these tantrums.”

  “I think that is an excellent idea. And then, after two weeks of that, perhaps we could add another change? Like her diet—making her try new foods?” Becky gave a little half smile of encouragement.

  “Yes. Precisely. You won’t work on this alone any longer. Though you are her primary caretaker, we shall work together, as a team. We shall draw on my experience with Juliana, and you shall introduce the changes as you see fit. And we can meet once a day to discuss how things have gone and how they are progressing.”

  “Oh, Paul, that is brilliant.” Becky clapped her hands and grinned, showing the dimple in her cheek. “I know it will make all the difference in the world.”

  Paul smiled in return, his heart warming a little to her good cheer. She was back on first-name terms with him again—a relief indeed. And this was the first time since Ruth died that he had promised any kind of partnership—particularly in the running and management of Kellridge—with anyone besides his estate manager, Parker. It was strange and heartwarming and frightening, all at the same time.

  He wasn’t a praying man, of course. But for the first time in ages, he wished he could turn to a higher power for comfort and direction.

  Chapter Eleven

  Once Paul had shown confidence in Becky’s abilities, and had promised to help her make the necessary changes in Juliet’s life, ’twas amazing how much easier her position in the household became. She was now an equal partner in the supervision of one very wild child’s life, rather than the sole manager of her care. Funny how having someone else to turn to could make everything run so much smoother.

  Of course, Becky mused as she tugged the cotton nightgown over Juliet’s head, it did no good to become overly optimistic. They still had a great deal of changes to bring about in her charge’s life. Tucking her into bed at a decent hour, and allowing for one nap at midday, had already—only three days in!—made some pleasant changes in Juliet’s behavior.

  “Time to say your prayers,” she reminded the child. Another astonishing development—Juliet was quickly picking up the English language. Perhaps her resistance to change had more to do with her inability to understand a word anyone said, rather than a patent refusal to accept a transition of any kind.

  Juliet nodded and slipped out of her little bed, kneeling beside Becky on the floor. Becky patted her back, and then began. “First, we thank God for the blessings in our lives. Thank You, Lord! And we pray for those we love—take care of them, Lord. And we pray to become a good little girl in God’s eyes. Amen.”

  “’Men.” Juliet gave a decisive nod of her head, her black braid swinging over one shoulder. The braid was yet another change Juliet was getting used to this week—bedtime and braids. Otherwise, Juliet’s hair was nigh on unmanageable.

  “Now, off to bed with you. If you behave yourself, we can try going to Sunday school again.” With a deft hand, Becky tucked the covers all around Juliet, swathing her in luxurious warmth. “Good night, little one.” She placed a gentle kiss on Juliet’s forehead.

  “Night,” Juliet murmured in return, staring up at Becky with her luminous brown eyes. Then her gaze shifted to a point directly behind and to the right. “Night,” she said again.

  Becky turned. Paul lounged against the doorframe, his expression unreadable by the single candle that lit the nursery. He must be here to discuss the day’s progress. Her heart gave a joyful leap in her breast. These visits with Paul were quickly becoming the best part of her day.

  “Night,” he replied laconically. “I hope you were good today.” He took a few steps into the bedroom and grasped the candle from the table.

  Becky blew a last kiss to her charge and followed the flickering candlelight out of the room to the little parlor where they held their nightly conference.

  Paul stooped and placed the candle on the table beside Becky’s chair. “How did things go?”

  Becky settled into her chair and took out her workbasket. “Oh, better than usual. Of course, she threw a bit of a tantrum when she was asked to put away her toys and wash her hands before dinner. She seems to hate making these transitions from one activity to another.” She withdrew the lavender gown she’d been working on and smoothed it out on her lap. “Truly, for three days we’ve had excellent progress. She no longer kicks and flails, and I find myself able to make it through the better part of the day without bursting into tears.”

  Paul chuckled. “Well, that is always good to hear.”

  His laughter brought a smile to her face. Paul was always such jolly company when he was like this—friendly and open, not jokey or distant. She picked up her needle and threaded it. “And how was your day?”

  “Oh, I worked with my estate manager, Parker. Making a few improvements to the tools and machinery we have on hand before autumn hits and we become so deeply involved in the harvest.” His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. “I really should bring something to work on when we have these discussions. You make me feel positively lazy.”

  “Oh, this is relaxing to me. You know that. A little sewing, especially on a pretty dress like this, is the most comforting thing at the close of the day.” She darted a quick glance up at him. Was he bored? Surely he had better things to do than sit around and talk to her about his charge. In time, when she gained better control of Juliet, would he cease these meetings with her? That would be horrid. If she kept entertaining him, perhaps he would stay. “Tell me, what do you talk with Parker about?”

  “Well, we discuss Kellridge, you know. What needs to be done, what improvements should be made. Today we spoke about some business that would take
me to London.” He sat in a nearby chair, stretching his booted feet out. “I suppose I should do it sooner rather than later.”

  Paul in London? She forced her disappointment back to a reasonable size. Of course Paul would go to London. He’d been threatening to do so ever since she started her position here. Only the carriage accident and her complete incompetence had forced him to stay. And already, the scars on his handsome face were fading, giving him a slightly rakish and even distinguished air. And of course, she was handling Juliet better than before, with his help. So there really would be little reason for him to stay if London beckoned.

  That was the way of it. Funny how her throat tightened at the mere prospect of it.

  Was this her romantic side creeping back out? Stuff and nonsense. She must gain better control over herself. She couldn’t simply fall all over herself every time a handsome man showed her the slightest bit of interest.

  “I am sorry that we were the cause of so many delays on your part.” Her voice sounded strained, even to her own ears. How absurd. She gave a little cough and continued. “I know you have a great many important things tying you to London.”

  “Ah, well. London can wait a bit longer. Kellridge is always my first priority. So it has been since I was a mere stripling.” He twitched his booted feet back and forth. “So no need for apologies.”

  He cast a warm smile her way once more and fell silent.

  Becky concentrated on a difficult stitch to hide her ruffled feelings, which surely must be writ plain across her face. She never was any good at hiding her emotions, and Susannah could always tell if they’d been up to mischief as children simply by staring into her eyes. So she must keep her head down for a moment. What did it matter to her if Kellridge, and not his niece, was his first priority? And was he implying that she had brought chaos to Kellridge? For it was not so; his tiny little tyrant of a niece had done that herself.