The Nanny Arrangement

by Lily George

  “I think I shall try, once more, to take Juliet to Sunday school,” she ventured after a pause. “She needs to meet other children, and as we discussed, as a proper young girl she must begin learning about the Lord even at her young age. My hope is that, since we are establishing some small changes in her life, I can start this anew as well.”

  Paul made an impatient movement in his chair—one completely out of keeping with his indolent pose and his carefree way of speaking. She glanced over at him. His handsome face had hardened somewhat, and something flickered in the depths of his brown eyes. He merely nodded. “Of course.”

  The door to the parlor creaked open and the distinct pitter-patter of bare feet broke the sudden awkward silence. “Juliet, why are you out of bed?” Becky fixed her charge with a stern glare.

  Juliet sidled toward her uncle, keeping her large eyes fixed on Becky. Her rosy lips remained pursed tightly, as though she were keeping a secret all to herself.

  “Do you need a drink of water?” That was the usual excuse for a bedtime visit.

  Juliet shook her head and shuffled closer to Paul.

  “Did you have a nightmare?” She had, once or twice, dreamed of her mama. Perhaps that happened again.

  Juliet shook her head again, sending her braid swinging back and forth. Becky sighed. “Then why, pray tell, are you out of bed? You know it is past your bedtime.”

  Juliet placed her small hand on Paul’s sleeve. Becky eyed them both, wariness building within her. What game was her charge playing at? Just because Paul had grown to tolerate them, and agreed to help manage her, didn’t mean that he would encourage familiarity.

  “You come, too.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand made with the kind of firmness that would serve Juliet well some day, when she had servants and a home to run.

  Paul’s forehead wrinkled and he shook his head. “Whatever are you talking about, child?”

  Juliet remained fixed in her position, her hand resting on his sleeve. She swiveled her head toward Becky. “Sunday.”

  For a moment, ’twas rather akin to putting together an odd jumble of puzzle pieces, trying to sort out what went where. “Do you mean...are you asking...do you want your uncle to come with us to Sunday school?”

  Juliet gave a decided nod of her head. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” One could almost pity Paul, caught as he was between a child’s demand and his own resolute and unchanging mind. Indeed, Becky fought back a chuckle at the astounded look on Paul’s face. “Oh, well. I don’t usually go to Sunday school. It’s not my forte.”

  Juliet folded her arms across her chest and faced Becky squarely. Stubbornness and determination creased her brow. “Me, too.”

  “Oh, now, wait. You certainly shall go to Sunday school if Miss Becky decrees it. Once you are an adult, then you can make your own choices.” Paul settled back in his chair as though the matter were finished. “Go back to bed then.”

  “No.” Juliet stamped her foot. “Not my...fornay.”

  Well, in a matter of moments, there would be a conflagration. That would likely mean that it would take another hour for her to calm down and then fall to sleep—and then, her sleep schedule would be completely thrown off. “Now, Juliet,” she pleaded in her most reasonable tone, “your uncle is master here. The decisions he makes are good for everyone. If he says you must go, then you must come with me. It will be fun, you’ll see. Lots of other children to play with.”

  “No.” Louder now, and more demanding.

  Paul sat back in his chair. “Is this what you have been dealing with on a daily basis?”

  Becky stifled a grin. Now Paul was getting a fairly good taste of a truly Juliet-esque temper tantrum. “Oh, no, sir. I’ve witnessed much worse.”

  “To think I would be hounded by a female in my own home about my lack of religious dedication,” he grumbled. “Fine. If it makes peace in Kellridge and means you’ll go to bed on time, then I shall go, too.”

  Becky shook her head. Amazing. One small child had already convinced Paul to improve his life for the better. Something no adult had been able to do. “Off to bed, now. You heard your uncle.”

  Juliet gave Paul a winning grin and then skipped back to her little bed. The squeak of the mattress ropes announced that she had, indeed, flung herself down. Hopefully, she would fall asleep within a quarter of an hour.

  Had the meticulous standards of Kellridge, and their own pressing needs to fit Juliet into a routine schedule, been preserved? Yes, but at what cost? She dared not look at Paul’s face. In a way it was rather touching, and even a little funny.

  She simply could not shake the feeling that something rather extraordinary had just occurred.

  * * *

  So he had given in to his ward’s wishes. What of it? Paul sat back in his chair. He was the master of Kellridge, and if he chose to go to a simple Bible lesson to maintain peace in his home, so be it. There was no need to feel so ruffled in spirit.

  He cast about for something to say. “So...your sister Susannah, these Bible studies are her idea?”

  “Well, they came about after Daniel restored the chapel at Goodwin for her wedding present. You know how hard he had to work to bring Goodwin up to some kind of standards. Things were much, much worse than Kellridge could ever be. I believe the Bible studies keep them grounded and also contribute to a feeling of community in their home.” Becky looked up from her sewing, a gentle, teasing light in her eyes. “You need not fear it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t fear Bible study.” Nothing would change because of it. He was still his own man, and master at Kellridge. No, indeed. He could go and be present, and thus set Juliet’s mind at peace. Of course he wouldn’t have to listen to the sermon, or believe anything he read. And he had a few more days to prepare himself for it, to assume the mask of casual indifference that he wore whenever anything that meant passion, or love, or depth of feeling presented itself. “If it means that she will go and not throw another tantrum, then I shall go through with it. A good general knows which battles to fight. He sizes up the situation and chooses where he shall spend his energy. That is all I have done.”

  Becky smiled, that winsome smile that seemed to signify her secret delight. “You are a good master, and a better strategist. Indeed, I am most grateful that you have chosen to help me in this fight to make Juliet a proper little lady. Your sacrifice is duly noted.”

  The flattery warmed his heart a trifle, but who was she to mock him? Becky Siddons—that little milliner whom he’d always teased in days gone past. His old mischievousness rose to the fore. If she’d been wearing a hair ribbon, he would have pulled it.

  “Watch your tongue, miss, or I shall depart for London straight away and leave you at the mercy of my niece,” he chided. “Or I shall tell Susannah that you are a dreadful nursemaid and send you home.”

  All the color drained from Becky’s cheeks. “Do you mean it?” Her voice had a strangled quality to it. “Am I so awful?”

  “No, no. Of course not.” There he’d gone again, teasing too hard. When would he learn to rein himself in? “As I said before, I trust you implicitly. That’s why I told you the truth about Juliana and Signor Martinelli.”

  “It’s my greatest fear, you know. Being a failure. That’s why I fell apart the other day when Juliet spilled the ink. I’d like to know that I have a purpose. That I shan’t just fade into the background, or be bossed around by my sisters forevermore.” She sighed, pursing her trembling lips. “I do so want to have a calling. And to answer that calling.”

  Paul nodded, keeping silent for a moment. She took this position so seriously. She believed divine intervention had brought her here. He had no right to tease her so mercilessly when she was working so hard and with so few resources. All he’d done was offer her the kind of support anyone should have, when faced with a daunting
challenge. And what he should do was follow that support with praise, no matter how much he wanted to tease her.

  An old saying floated back into his mind, from years and years before. What had Father said to him?

  “Once, my father said something that might be useful to you, Becky. He told me that God doesn’t call those who have everything they need to serve Him. Instead, He bestows everything you need upon you when He calls you. So remember that. You will have all you need to find your place in this world, in due time.” He hadn’t said anything remotely spiritual like that since before Ruth died. In fact, they’d have little debates about faith and God together as they sat in the garden at Kellridge or read together in her father’s library.

  “That’s an excellent thought. I like that. I may write it down, to remember it whenever I feel discouraged.” Becky laid her sewing to one side and placed her chin on her hands, her dreamy large eyes lifted, as though she saw something grand and powerful just beyond him.

  Paul rose. He had done enough. Promised enough, comforted enough. These interviews with Becky stirred feelings within him that he’d buried with Ruth long ago. Her conversation led him down paths he hadn’t traversed in years. And these changes were difficult and painful.

  He bid her good-night in a curt fashion and headed downstairs to his study. Usually, after any demanding day, he would assuage his feelings in liquor. Now, the brandy bottle didn’t beckon. The cut-crystal decanter, lit by candlelight, didn’t wink in the same alluring fashion.

  He simply had no desire for anything tonight.

  He crossed to the windows and flung them open, allowing the sweet evening breeze to flutter through the room. He leaned out on the windowsill, staring across the fields of Kellridge, fields that smelled fresh, like newly tilled earth.

  His actions were noticed now. He could no longer hide behind the facade of being master. A two-year-old detected his lack of faith and brought him to heel. A lovely young nursemaid questioned his long-established methods and practices. Between the two of them, they had upended his carefully ordered life, just as a mule would kick over an apple cart. He was no longer able to conceal his actions, and already, he was beginning to change his ways.

  He would go to Bible study. Nothing would change. He hadn’t listened to a single sermon after Ruth’s funeral. He had no need of anything God would promise, since God had seen fit to take Ruth away. He would go, but he would close his ears and shutter his mind against anything that might be said—anything that purported to speak to his heart.

  So, his stance on Bible study and the Sabbath would have to change. His outward appearances must change. Juliet watched him and his actions with those large brown eyes of hers, assessing everything he did. Had he been able to escape to London before she arrived, he might have gotten away with never changing his ways. She was here now, and she knew him, and he must behave more properly to set a good example for her. ’Twould be a mere extension of the discipline he exercised over Kellridge. He would simply have to separate those two worlds—the world of his debaucheries, and the world that was his home—with an even greater distance.

  Chapter Twelve

  ’Twas good indeed to be walking out in this fine weather. Becky clasped Juliet’s hand more tightly in her own and pointed at a flock of birds, startled into flight by their approach. Paul strode along beside them, his head turned toward the ground. If he was upset by Juliet’s insistence that he accompany them today to Bible study, he didn’t say so. His silence was rather unsettling. They had eschewed the carriage in view of the fine weather and with an eye toward wearing Juliet out. Though it was nice to be out in the splendid weather, the silence of her companions was a trifle grating on her nerves.

  She had learned so much about Paul over the past few days. So much about his past, and about life at Kellridge. It was strange how people with so much privilege had so many troubles. Once her parents died and they moved in with Uncle Arthur, her family’s troubles were simple and clear-cut. Survival. Even as Uncle Arthur squandered their last pennies, even as their uncle and aunt tried to force Susannah into marriage to a man of their choosing, the Siddons girls’ one thought as a singular family unit had always been trained on survival.

  But the Holmes family? So much fodder for a romantic novel. Unsuitable swains, forbidden love, a baby born too quickly for decent society, a quick flit to Italy. And that was just Juliana’s life. No telling what escapades Paul had been up to while all this was going on. He had always been regarded as the bad influence on her brother-in-law. In fact, Daniel had been reformed once he’d found faith and Susannah, but rather in spite of his good chum Paul.

  She snuck a sidelong glance at Paul. Yes, those scars suited him well. What secrets did he hide behind that laconic mask of sarcasm, or his precise method of managing his existence? He was a romantic hero at heart, surely. If she were an authoress, she would pattern her hero on him—the same lurking darkness beneath the smooth surface.

  Juliet tugged at her hand as they neared the gates of Goodwin Hall, bringing Becky crashing back to reality. No more epic poems, or novels, or windswept moments on the moor. She must not roam the fields of her imagination any longer. She was needed here and now by a child who required her full attention.

  “Yes, Juliet. We are here, at Goodwin. For Bible study.” She spoke in response to the little one’s squeeze. Though it sounded rather inane to keep repeating every trifling thing and making grand announcements about the obvious, it did seem to be improving Juliet’s comprehension of English. “Goodwin Hall is my sister’s home. And the little chapel in the woods here is where we are bound.”

  “Daniel seems to be in the process of plowing the far field,” Paul remarked. ’Twas the first thing he’d said in a quarter of an hour.

  “Yes,” she replied, for want of something intelligent to say.

  “I wonder what he’s planting so late in the year. I’ll have to ask him. His estate manager has some rather interesting notions about crops and allowing fields to lie fallow. I may have to have a chat with him some time. Perhaps he could advise me on Kellridge, though Parker is a good man.” Paul stuck his hands in his pockets and began to whistle.

  “Hoot, hoot,” Juliet hummed in imitation. “Hooo.”

  Paul glanced down at Juliet and smiled—a genuine, warm smile that made Becky catch her breath. He had, up until this moment, been only stern or slightly teasing with his ward. Was he softening at last? She would say nothing, of course. Better to let the moment pass without remark, for Paul might feel he was being called out or mocked if she remarked upon it. His smile was an excellent sign, surely.

  They skirted the edge of Goodwin Hall and made their way to the chapel, the scene of so much distress a week ago. Juliet’s steps slowed a trifle and she stuck her fingers in her mouth. That was her sign that she was nervous. ’Twas a bad habit and one that she would have to break in time, but for the moment, Becky allowed her to continue. After all, ’twas much more important that they reach the chapel without Juliet giving vent to her temper.

  As before, a group of children played in the clearing beside the building, and people—mostly tenants and servants, judging by their clothing—milled about. Becky searched the crowd for Susannah. Ah, yes. There she was. Even a modest white cap couldn’t conceal the bright glory of her sister’s hair. “Susannah,” she called, waving her free hand.

  “Becky, my dear.” Susannah caught her skirts and bustled over to them, her smile lighting her face. “And little Juliet. So glad to see you again, you pretty thing. Why, that lavender dress just suits you.”

  Juliet didn’t shrink beside Becky as she had before, but smiled shyly up at Susannah.

  “Yes, your sister’s handiwork with her needle is quite remarkable.” Paul gave a courtly bow. “Susannah. Good to see you.”

  Her elder sister bobbed a little curtsy. If she was surprised to see the rakish Paul at h
er Bible study meeting, she was too well-bred to let on. “Why don’t you allow me to take Juliet to the children’s study? Then you and Paul may find your seats in the chapel. Nan and Daniel are already inside.” She stooped and picked Juliet up. “Why, you are as light as a feather. Are you a little bird?” She continued chattering away to Juliet as she carried her toward the clearing in the woods.

  “Do you think she will be all right?” Paul asked as he watched Susannah walk away.

  “Susannah knows what she is about. She’s making much over Juliet and also giving us the chance to make a hasty exit. Less likelihood of a temper tantrum this way.” Really, her sister was so good with children. She could have been a nursemaid herself, had she not found her place as a milliner. And she would make a wonderful mother some day.

  Paul tilted his head a little. “If you are certain...”

  “Yes, let us go now.” Becky turned and found her way through the milling crowd. She gave one last glance to the children’s gathering. Yes, Susannah was there, introducing Juliet to the teacher. Judging from their gestures, they were making much over Juliet’s dress. No screaming or cries as of yet. They were safe.

  She crossed the threshold of the chapel and scanned the few crowded pews for her family. Ah, there they were, Daniel sitting in the front row beside Nan. “Excuse me. Pardon me.” She managed to jostle her way up the small aisle and sink into the pew beside Nan. “I vow, this is quite a crowd today.”

  “Becky!” Nan threw her arms around her sister. “You are here. We weren’t sure you would ever be able to come back, given how dreadfully your charge behaved.”

  Becky made an inward groan. Trust Nan to say something like that when her charge’s uncle stood beside them.

  “Paul? Are you really here?” Daniel stood, clapping his friend on the back. “I never thought I would find you in this chapel of your own free will.”

  Paul shrugged. “One has to set a good example for one’s niece.” He gave a hearty laugh, and the two men settled down on the pew, joking and laughing together.