by Jen Turano
“We don’t need another housekeeper. I’m perfectly capable of managing matters on my own.”
“You just offered four children shelter here—perhaps permanently—although what you were thinking when you did that, and at your age, I truly have no idea.”
She immediately turned ornery. “I may be seventy-nine, dear, but age is merely a number. I’ve always thought of myself as being twenty-eight, which is younger than your thirty-three, and I’m more than capable of seeing after four children.”
“Mrs. Gladstone said they’re odd children.”
“Of course they’re odd. They’ve been uprooted from everything they’ve ever known.”
“How did they end up here?”
Aunt Birdie’s lips thinned. “From what I was told, the Duffy children were left to fend for themselves after their father went to work one morning and never returned home. The eldest child, Primrose, mentioned that her father occasionally stopped at a tavern after work and sometimes didn’t return to them for a day or two. A few weeks ago, though, Mr. Duffy never came home, that sad state of affairs only coming to light when the rent came due. Apparently, when Mr. Duffy could not be found, the landlord called the authorities. The children were then hauled off to an orphanage, but once there, it was discovered there was not enough room to keep all of them.” She caught his eye. “That’s when someone connected with the orphanage recalled that I’d offered shelter to orphans in the past.”
“And they sent you a letter of inquiry to see if you’d be willing to help?”
“No, the woman from the orphanage simply showed up here with the children—a brilliant strategy, if you ask me, because I only had to take one look at those four frightened little faces and knew it was my God-given duty to offer them a place to stay.”
“But it was originally supposed to be a temporary place to stay?”
“It was, but I changed my mind about that after the children had been here for about an hour.” She smiled at him. “You would have done the same if someone had come knocking on your door, needing a place for four wee ones.”
“I doubt anyone would knock on my door since I am a bachelor. But it bothers me that someone from the orphanage asked for your assistance. Did the woman who came out here with the children not notice your slightly advanced years or that you’re recovering from an accident?”
“I wasn’t in my wheeled chair when she came, nor was I using my cane.”
“She didn’t notice the fading bruises on your arms?”
“She might have, but I also told her that with the help of Mrs. Gladstone, we’d be more than capable of looking after the children, which is why I think the woman made the decision to leave them here.”
“But Mrs. Gladstone is no longer here, which means you will need to be cooperative and agree that we have no choice but to hire another housekeeper.”
“I don’t like you spending your money on such frivolous matters,” Aunt Birdie said, spinning her chair around and wheeling it down the hallway.
Ian followed her, stopping in front of the screen door that led to the front porch. “I have more than enough money to cover the cost of a full staff for you here, as you very well know. But because I know you’ll balk at that, we can compromise and agree I’ll only hire on a new housekeeper, as well as a governess to see after the children.”
“We don’t need to hire on a governess. The children will attend the local school come September.”
“Isn’t one of the children too young to attend school?”
“Well, yes, Daisy is only three, but I’m more than capable of seeing after one little girl while the other children are at school.”
“Humor me and agree to the governess.”
Aunt Birdie quirked a white brow. “And if I don’t care to humor you?”
“Then you’ll have no choice but to eventually move in with me at my new residence outside of Pittsburgh because you’re certain to become overwhelmed with the daily tasks at some point.”
“Amos would go into a full decline if I took him away from Glory Manor.”
“Then you’ll need to agree to outside help because you must know I’ll not have another good night’s sleep if I’m constantly worrying about your welfare.”
“You’re going to resort to guilt now?”
Ian inclined his head. “I didn’t get where I am today by always playing fair. If appealing to that tender heart you so efficiently hide behind your bossy nature is what it takes to get you to agree to my little request, I’m not above using that tactic.”
“I’m not bossy.”
“You are, and you’re also the most stubborn woman I know. Your stubbornness is exactly why you didn’t send me a telegram last month letting me know that Uncle Amos was no longer capable of using the plow.”
“If I’d sent you a telegram, you’d have been on the first train home, taking on the mundane task of plowing up a few rows of soil to plant beans we don’t even need, but beans Amos was fretting about not planting.”
“True, but then you wouldn’t have been on the plow. I would have.”
“And then you might have been injured instead of me when the plow broke, which would have left you unable to return to Pittsburgh to attend to all those business matters of yours.”
From the stubborn set of her jaw, Ian knew this particular argument was one he wasn’t going to win. “What say we agree that your days of operating farm equipment are now firmly behind you.”
“Fine.”
“Wonderful. And you’ll be cooperative about hiring on additional help?”
“I suppose that wouldn’t kill me, but . . .” Aunt Birdie stopped speaking as her eyes suddenly lit up. “Did I mention that Mrs. Rogers’s niece, Miss Olive Perkins, has recently moved to Canonsburg?”
A sigh escaped him. “I don’t believe you did.”
“Rumor has it she’s a delightful young woman, and if memory serves me correctly, Olive might have recently held a position that had something to do with the care of children.”
“Is your memory really serving you correctly, or is this another one of your attempts at matchmaking?”
Aunt Birdie looked a touch guilty. “Perhaps Olive might have been more along the lines of a lady’s maid, but everyone knows some of those ladies are somewhat childlike with all the demands they make of their staff.”
Ian swallowed a laugh. “You’re incorrigible, but I don’t need you to find me a wife.”
“You haven’t appeared to experience much success with the young ladies in Pittsburgh.”
“I do well enough with the ladies. I simply haven’t found a lady in possession of all the qualities I’ve decided I need in a wife.”
Aunt Birdie rolled her chair an inch forward, rolling over his foot in the process. “Are you still determined to marry a lady from a society family, one who comes with a father possessed of connections that will further increase your stature in Pittsburgh business circles as well as societal ones?”
Moving well away from her chair, Ian bent over, rubbed his foot, then looked up. “It’s a logical choice, Aunt Birdie, and will ensure that any children I might eventually have won’t be harmed by my unfortunate ancestry. I want my future children to benefit from my fortune and enjoy all the advantages it will bring them. That means I must marry well, which means I eventually need to set my sights on a Pittsburgh society lady.”
Aunt Birdie immediately took to tsking. “From what little I know of the ladies roaming the society events in Pittsburgh, they’re very proper and may not be the type of women to keep you warm at night.”
“Then I suppose it’s fortuitous that I’ve equipped my new home with forced heat.”
Aunt Birdie’s lips twitched before she turned her attention out the screen door, leaning close to the screen. “Is it my imagination or is Amos trying to round up his chickens again?”
Ian looked out the screen, reaching for the doorknob a second later. “I’m afraid it’s not your imagination, although how the ch
ickens got out of their pen for a second time today is beyond me. If you’ll excuse me, I think Uncle Amos may need some assistance.”
Striding through the door and then down the porch steps, Ian reached his uncle’s side, and after listening to his uncle rant about how someone was up to some skullduggery and kept releasing the chickens, Ian began herding the chickens back to the coop, a difficult task if there ever was one. Before he could get even one chicken put away, a childish shriek of delight distracted him.
Looking in the direction of the shriek, he saw a little girl of no more than three race into view and across the front yard, her chubby little legs pumping as fast as they could. Smiling at the sight, he watched her run, his smile fading when he realized she was heading directly for the duck pond. Remembering exactly how much appeal that pond had held for him as a child, Ian broke into a run and raced after her.
“Stop!” he yelled, but instead of stopping, the little girl’s legs pumped faster than ever. Before Ian could catch up with her, she threw herself straight into the pond.
Not bothering to kick off his shoes, he dove into the murky water, panic flowing freely when he couldn’t see so much as an inch in front of him. Fighting through algae that seemed to be attacking him, his head split the surface of the water and . . . he found himself staring at a small face, the only part of the little girl visible as she bobbed in the water, grinning as if she were having a most marvelous time of it.
Grabbing hold of her, he pulled her close. “Thank goodness you know how to float, but you’re not allowed to swim in the duck pond ever again without an adult with you.”
“Swim!” she all but shrieked, patting her hands against the water and sending water up his nose.
Sputtering, Ian kept a firm grip on the squirming child and began hauling her back to shore, earning himself a glare from the imp he was holding when he reached the shore and began climbing from the pond.
“Swim!” she demanded again.
“No more swimming.” He set her down, brushing wet hair from her face and uncovering green eyes that were shooting sparks his way. He resisted a smile. “After we get you into dry clothes, I bet Uncle Amos would love to have you join him in the game he’s playing with the chickens—a game I’m going to call ‘fetch and return to the coop.’”
“Chickens!” she roared, and then, before he could remind her about the dry clothing, she was off like a shot across the yard in the direction of Uncle Amos, who’d just rounded the corner of the house, the flock of chickens now chasing him.
“Daisy didn’t mean no harm, sir. She just likes them ducks that swim in the pond, but I’ll be telling her she shouldn’t be jumpin’ in to swim with them. She’s real good about mindin’ me and my sisters.”
Turning, Ian found a thin boy with an untidy shock of bright red hair watching him warily, his green eyes filled with worry.
“Little girls can be incredibly tricky to keep track of. That was Daisy?”
The boy nodded.
“Daisy seems especially precocious.”
“What does that mean, precocious?”
“Trouble,” Ian said with a grin. “But no time to explain the intricacies of girls just now, we’ve got some chickens to catch. Before we do that, though, I’m Ian MacKenzie.”
“I’m Henry, sir. Henry Duffy.”
Ian held out his hand, drawing it back when the boy took a step away from him. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”
Henry tilted his head. “Why isn’t your last name Alderson, like Uncle Amos and Aunt Birdie?”
“Because they’re not my real aunt and uncle, although they’re the only family I know, since they took me in when I was just around your age.”
Henry dug a bare foot into the dirt. “You were an orphan?”
It would have been easy to simply nod and leave it at that, but something told Ian that the boy standing in front of him needed to hear the full truth.
Squatting down to look Henry in the eye, Ian shook his head. “I wasn’t an orphan, Henry. My mother died when I was really young, but my father was alive at the time I came to live at Glory Manor—he simply didn’t want to take care of me any longer.”
“My pa left me and my sisters all alone, like he done forgot about us,” Henry whispered.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I imagine there’s a reason your father never came back to you and your sisters, but I’m sure that doesn’t lessen the hurt you’re feeling.”
Henry’s eyes turned suspiciously bright. Dragging a ragged sleeve over his eyes, he looked away, then took a single step forward. “There’s a wagon comin’ down the lane. It looks like the ice wagon that was here yesterday.”
Remembering how it felt to be abandoned by a father, as well as remembering how he’d not cared to discuss that event either, Ian pushed aside the questions he longed to ask Henry. Straightening, he squinted in the direction the boy was now pointing. “That is the wagon from Mummel’s Ice House, but I wonder what it’s doing back here already if ice was just delivered yesterday. Shall we go investigate?”
Henry nodded, and together they began walking toward the incoming wagon, their progress coming to a halt when moos of clear distress suddenly sounded from the vicinity of the front porch.
“Looks like Buttercup’s stuck again,” Henry said, nodding toward the porch. “She must have figured out how to open the front door, but she don’t like steps. I’ll go walk her through the house and out the back door.” With that, Henry bolted away, calling over his shoulder that he’d be right back after he rescued Buttercup.
As Henry reached the porch, Uncle Amos rounded the house again, chickens still in pursuit, with Daisy now chasing after the chickens, flapping her little arms and giggling madly. When she caught sight of Ian, she made a beeline straight for him, lifting up her arms when she was a few feet away.
Unable to resist the child, he caught her up into his arms, then lifted her up on his shoulders, her shrieks of laughter having him laugh in return. Looking up, he frowned as the wagon that had been trundling down the lane suddenly turned around and headed back toward town, leaving a woman standing in the dust the wagon wheels had created.
She was dressed in a plain skirt and blouse, had an unassuming hat on her head, and was wearing what appeared to be spectacles on her nose. She was also, curiously enough, standing next to a large traveling trunk and clutching what seemed to be a newspaper.
“Pretty,” Daisy yelled, pulling his hair with surprisingly strong fingers as she apparently caught sight of the lady as well.
“She might very well be at that, although it’s difficult to say from this distance. Shall we go see why she’s here?”
“Go!” Daisy yelled, giving his hair another yank.
Deciding that was excellent advice, and trying not to wince even though it felt as if Daisy had pulled out half of his hair, Ian started forward, making it all of three feet before Uncle Amos suddenly rushed into view.
That Uncle Amos was carrying his rifle was less than an encouraging sign, even with the knowledge that Aunt Birdie had hidden any ammunition to the rifle months before. Before he could intervene, though, Uncle Amos stopped, lifted the rifle, and aimed it directly at the woman.
It came as no surprise when the woman took one look at the rifle now pointed her way, let out a hair-raising shriek, spun on her heel, and dashed straight back down the lane.
Chapter 7
Being chased by an elderly, gun-toting man, one who was wearing short pants and shouting something about her trying to steal his chickens, was not what she’d been expecting when the helpful delivery man from the ice shop in Canonsburg had dropped her off at Glory Manor.
She’d also not been expecting to find herself deposited on what seemed to be some type of farm, complete with chickens running amok and a cow standing on the front porch.
Glancing over her shoulder, Isadora was horrified to discover that the elderly man, instead of being left in her dust, was gaining on her. Lifting up the hem of her skirt anoth
er inch, while realizing that the corset she’d fought to put on that morning at the delightful inn where she’d spent the night seemed to be coming unhooked, she increased her pace, trying to ignore that her lungs felt as if they were on fire.
Darting off the dirt lane, she headed for the forest to her right, the curious thought springing to mind that when faced with the very real threat of being shot by an obviously demented man, the idea of marriage to the Duke of Montrose wasn’t looking nearly as unappealing as it once had been, even if there were rumors regarding the man and his many deceased wives.
“Uncle Amos! Stop chasing that poor woman, and for heaven’s sake, put the rifle down before someone loses an eye.”
Not waiting to see if Uncle Amos, apparently the name of the man chasing her, did as asked, or even bothering to see who had yelled those slightly encouraging words, Isadora jumped over a fallen log. Stumbling when she reached the other side, she regained her balance, then plowed forward into the forest, fighting through leafy branches that seemed intent on delaying her flight.
Pushing aside a springy branch, she blinked as it came flying back at her, knocking her straight off her feet and ripping her hat off her head.
Tumbling to the ground, she winced right before she found herself rolling down a steep embankment directly past the tree that had attacked her. The only saving grace she could see was that the embankment was covered in leafy green plants, ones that, thankfully, cushioned her fall when she finally reached the bottom and landed face-first in a large bunch of them.
Pushing herself up to her elbows, while wishing she’d not abandoned her gloves on the wagon ride to Glory Manor because her hands were resting in what was clearly mud, she stilled when small pebbles began rolling her way. As she lifted her head, the reason behind the rolling pebbles became apparent when a pair of muddy boots came sliding into sight, although that sight was somewhat blurry because her spectacles were now splattered with mud.
Since those boots were attached to legs that seemed far too muscular to belong to the elderly man, she didn’t feel the need to flee, not that she was certain she could anyway because every inch of her body seemed to be protesting the tumble it had just taken.
