The Nanny Arrangement

by Lily George

  Never had he quit London in such haste. Within a quarter of an hour, heart still pounding, his hands sweating inside their gloves, he was saddled and on the road, going the breakneck pace of a runner. By carriage, a fellow could make it to Tansley in a week. He was not ceasing, unless it was to change horses, until he reached Becky.

  No sleep. No inns. Meals quickly gobbled while he changed horses. The burning desire to see Becky once more overcame all physical discomfort.

  Once before, he’d lost someone dear to him, but was he ever in love with her? His mind fell into the rhythm of the road and he gave himself to think. When he and Ruth became engaged, they’d agreed to a yearlong engagement. Long enough for Paul to come out of mourning for his father so they could enjoy a proper wedding. That was what Ruth had wanted. What he didn’t realize at the time was how much could happen—not just in the space of a year, but in the space of a few months. Within just weeks of their formal engagement, Ruth contracted a fever and died.

  When she died, Ruth took all that had been good in him with her. She’d given elegance to his rough edges. Offered wise counsel. She’d been his helpmeet. When she passed, he had nothing left. After a most unseemly display of grief, he had merely existed, chasing pleasures when duty was done, never feeling particularly enthusiastic—

  Until Becky Siddons entered his life.

  Because of Becky, he had learned to accept and acknowledge his failings. He had become a good uncle. He’d even found his way to God. All within a matter of weeks. His life would never be the same again. He must tell her so, now, while he still could.

  His courtship of Ruth had been dispassionate. ’Twas almost a foregone conclusion that they would marry, the moment they met. That was why her death was such a jolt. ’Twas not the proper ending to the tale.

  Becky—she was different. She was tender, and gentle, and kind, and warm—

  He loved her.

  “Oh God,” he called out as he galloped over the main road. “God, I love her. Please don’t take her. Not yet. Please, I beg You. I must tell her so.”

  The road stretched before him, undulating like a ribbon across the countryside. The pounding of the horse’s hooves merely echoed the beating of his heart. He would reach her in time. He would not let her go without telling her how much she meant to him. He would beg her to have him.

  The neat, tidily divided compartments of his emotions broke open. He could no longer be a master in some months and a man in others. Nor could he be a different person at home than he was in town. He would never be jaded again. No, life was too precious for cynicism. Thanks to Becky, he was whole once more. Paul Holmes was a master, a brother and an uncle.

  And if Becky would have him—if he reached her in time—a husband.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Well, Miss Siddons, I don’t think you need worry overmuch.” The doctor placed her wrist back on her bed and glanced over at Mrs. Clairbourne and Susannah, who stood wringing their hands. “I think she just has a cold. Not uncommon when one has been traveling. The air in London is bad, especially for one not used to it. Coming home was the correct choice.”

  Becky nodded. “My headache started when I arrived in town.” Along with her burning eyes, and her heartache too, for that matter.

  “Bed rest is the best option for now. I recommend a brew of weak tea with honey, hot broth, foods that strengthen. Now that she’s home in the fresh air of Tansley, she will perk up in a matter of a week or so. I shall check back in within a few days.” The doctor straightened, scribbling some notes on a piece of foolscap. “Mind you, young lady, don’t get up the moment you feel a little relief. Find something quiet to occupy your mind until the week has passed.”

  Becky gave him a wan smile. Her mind was hardly quiet. In fact, it was treading the well-worn path of what-might-have-been with Paul, sometimes veering down the trail of embarrassment—had he seen or suspected how much she cared?—then detouring along a pathway of bitter despair. If she could break the cycle of her thoughts, she might lie peacefully in bed, planning how to extricate herself from the mess in which she was tangled. As it was, she could only close her eyes and see Paul, the stern set of his jaw and the disappointed look in his eyes as he gave her permission to go. Her heart heaved painfully against her chest.

  “I’ll see to it the young lady follows your orders to the letter,” Mrs. Clairbourne responded briskly. “Come, Doctor. I’ll see you out.”

  The doctor gave Becky’s arm a final pat and smiled in a kindly manner. “Be good,” he admonished. Then he followed the housekeeper out of the room.

  Susannah sank against the foot of her bed. “Shall we move you to Goodwin?”

  Becky rolled her head back against her pillow. “I suppose so. I can’t continue on here. Anyway, Paul—Mr. Holmes—is bringing a new nursemaid to replace me.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Susannah regarded her evenly.

  Becky’s cheeks burned, but not just with fever. “Does it show?”

  “Only to someone who knows you well.” Susannah laid a cool hand on her brow. “I shan’t make you talk about it if you feel too ill.”

  “There’s nothing much to discuss.” Becky turned away, embarrassment flooding her being. “I just fell in love with a man who didn’t care a fig for me. Again.”

  Susannah patted her arm. “Becky, do not be so hard on yourself. We’ll bring you to Goodwin, and you can forget all this nonsense.”

  A patter of footsteps sounded on the floor, and Becky glanced over. Juliet tiptoed into the room, her eyes opened wide, her doll tucked firmly under one arm. She paused, regarding Becky with a solemn air. Then she leaped onto the bed, snuggling close to Becky’s side. Becky tucked her arm around Juliet, drawing her closer.

  “No need to worry, chicken,” she cooed. “Just a bad cold. The doctor says I’ll be fit as a fiddle in just a few days.” She stroked the top of Juliet’s head. The child had retreated to some place within herself on the journey home, clinging to Becky as she would a piece of driftwood. Poor thing. She must be frightened. How long had Juliana suffered before she died? Did her daughter witness it?

  No matter how dreadful Becky felt, she must keep her spirits high before Juliet. The little girl had already endured so much. And—sudden hot tears filled Becky’s eyes—she must leave her darling. “Oh, Susannah,” she whispered. “I know you are right. It is time for me to go. Even so, my heart is breaking. How can I leave them?”

  Becky blinked rapidly. Juliet mustn’t see her cry. Not when she was trying to reassure her charge that everything would be fine. “It’s just—so unfair. I never meant to fall in love with everyone at Kellridge, from my charge to my master.”

  “If you’ve given notice, then there isn’t much that can be done,” Susannah responded softly. “I’ll take you home with me. Once you are well, perhaps you can think on this again. But until then, Becky, you must simply let the matter go.”

  “I must bury my feelings. Unrequited love is the very essence of poetry, is it not?”

  Becky sniffed.

  Being a heroine was horrid.

  Susannah rolled her eyes. “Now you’re getting maudlin. I’ll have to see to the arrangements. You are in no state to do so yourself.”

  Her door creaked open and Mrs. Clairbourne entered. A smile softened the corners of her mouth when she spied Juliet sitting with Becky on the bed. “See there, missy?” she sang out. “I told you Miss Becky was going to be just fine. No need for worries.”

  Juliet ducked her head and burrowed closer to Becky.

  “We’re brewing some weak tea for you now, my dear.” Mrs. Clairbourne went about the business of fluffing up Becky’s pillows and smoothing her counterpane with brisk good cheer. “And we’ll have you settled and comfortable in no time at all. Is there anything else I can bring you? A book from the library, perhaps?”


  “I’ll have to take my sister home with me,” Susannah interjected. “While we appreciate your hospitality, she will be more comfortable at Goodwin. Can someone care for Juliet until Mr. Holmes returns?”

  Mrs. C. nodded. “Sally is caring for her already. But the little lamb is so taken with Miss Becky. It will be difficult indeed to pry her away.”

  “Well, I am afraid we must.” Susannah employed the brisk, cheerful tone she always used when faced with a challenge. “Of course, Miss Juliet may come to visit.”

  “Has Mr. Holmes found a replacement for me yet?” Becky twirled her hair nervously. “Perhaps he is already coming home.”

  “He hasn’t sent word, which is rather unusual.” Mrs. Clairbourne’s normally placid brow furrowed a bit. “But we shall press on as we always do. Sally will assist with Miss Juliet. If you really want to go to Goodwin, we can start moving you there this afternoon.”

  Becky fought a rising tide of panic. “Could Juliet stay with me at Goodwin? We can bring her toys there, and she can play quietly with me. Indeed, I should prefer that to any other arrangement, at least until Mr. Holmes sends word from London.” Becky patted Juliet’s back with a comforting gesture. ’Twould do her heart good to have her charge about. The child’s company would help keep her mind from running on endlessly about Paul.

  Susannah shook her head. “Becky—”

  “I cannot say goodbye just yet,” Becky retorted firmly.

  “We cannot remove Mr. Holmes’s niece from his house without his express permission,” Susannah admonished. “Really, I think the fever is affecting your brain, Becky.”

  “Your sister is right.” Mrs. Clairbourne gave her a kindly smile. “Of course we could bring Miss Juliet to visit. After all, the point of the bed rest is to get you well and on your feet again quickly. If you shirk the doctor’s orders, you will likely set yourself up for twice the amount of time in recovery.”

  “I promise I wouldn’t overtax myself.” Once again, her heart gave a painful, poignant tug at the thought of leaving Kellridge. “I know how seriously you take your duties here, and I know your dedication is pleasing to Mr. Holmes.” Mrs. Clairbourne clasped her hands together and tilted her head, her spectacles winking in the late-morning sunshine. “Listen to your sister, for she has your best interests at heart.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Clairbourne. Now, we should begin planning Becky’s departure.” Susannah gave Becky a brisk smile and rose from the bed.

  The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, let’s go downstairs. I am certain we will need help in getting her things packed.”

  Mrs. Clairbourne and her sister turned to go, but both halted as the door slammed open.

  Paul stood on the threshold. Wait, could that man be Paul? ’Twas like him, to be sure, but this man was so much scruffier than Paul’s usual sophisticated self. The growth of a beard darkened his jaw and chin, and dust clouded his attire. His brown eyes, completely bereft of their usual mocking light, burned into hers. A saddlebag was draped across his shoulder.

  She could not swallow. She could scarce draw breath.

  “Mr. Holmes—” Mrs. Clairbourne began, but Paul cut her short with a wave of his gloved hand.

  “Leave us,” he announced curtly.

  “This is most unseemly.” Susannah drew herself up to her full height. “I will certainly not leave you here with my sister.”

  Paul spared her a glance, his jaw tightening. “What I have to say, I must say to Becky alone. Again, I say, leave us.”

  * * *

  Becky was there. She was alive.

  She regarded him with eyes that were startlingly wide in her pale face, but she wasn’t gone yet. He still had time.

  Something stirred under the counterpane beside Becky. As he watched, his niece emerged from under the blanket, a smile lighting her little face.

  “Uncle,” she declared. Then she scrambled out of bed and ran to him, her arms outstretched.

  He gathered Juliet close and kissed the top of her head, breathing a silent prayer of gratitude. How he’d missed her. Life was a dreary desert without Juliet and Becky. Lord willing, he would never part from either of them again.

  “Go with Mrs. Clairbourne and see if there’s a cookie for you in the kitchen.” He patted her back, directing her toward the housekeeper. Mrs. Clairbourne obliged by taking Juliet’s hand, and led her from the room. Susannah looked as if she would speak again, but merely shook her head and left, closing the door with a quiet click.

  He dropped his saddlebag on the floor and crossed the room in two quick steps. Becky still said nothing, though her complexion seemed a shade whiter. He paused at her bedside. He couldn’t turn away from her. So often on the nightmarish trip home, he’d been certain he’d lost her, or that he would be too late—and the certainty of those thoughts was a knife twist in his gut each time.

  “I’ve spent too much of my life in regret for my own failings.” His voice sounded rough, almost angry. Becky blinked, as though his words struck her. He must soften his tone. In his haste, he was making a hash of things. He cleared his throat, ducking his head. “Forgive me. I should start anew.”

  “Won’t you sit down?” Becky asked in a gentle tone. “You look rather...tired.”

  “I’ve been riding straight through for days after getting your message,” he admitted, sinking onto the edge of her bed. Of course, ’twas highly improper to talk to Becky alone in her bedroom, much less sit on her bed, but he was done with propriety for the time being. “What I have to say cannot wait a moment longer. Rebecca Siddons, I love you. With every fiber of my being, I desire you to be my wife.”

  He took her hand, so cold and so small, in his. “I am a fool and a coward,” he rambled on. The contemplations that had occupied his mind over the past few days—the meditations that kept him awake and riding on down the miles of road—spilled forth. They could not be contained. “You are the heart and the soul of Kellridge. The mother my niece never had. The helpmeet I always needed. You are the most charming, the loveliest girl I’ve ever encountered, and I must ask you to please, please be mine. I know you are ill—even now you are sick, my poor darling, but I’ll take care of you—” He was babbling like a madman.

  “Paul.” Becky tried to free her hand but he refused to let go. “You mustn’t worry. The doctor says it’s only a cold. I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

  He raised his head, searching her face. “Are you certain? The doctor said you’ll recover?” A sudden glad rush poured through his very soul. God was good—and Becky was going to live—

  “Yes, Paul. I am so sorry we worried you—”

  Paul cradled her close. “Thank You, God,” he breathed against her temple. “I cannot thank You enough.”

  Becky placed her hands against his chest and sat away from him, keeping her chin tucked down. “So now that you know the truth...”

  “It doesn’t change my sentiments a bit.” He finished, smiling down at her in relief. “The question is—how do you feel? You haven’t answered me yet.”

  She raised her chin and gazed at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. Being regarded so intently by one so lovely was rather breathtaking for a fellow, actually. “Everything is different than I thought. When we were in London, I realized I would have to find a new position somewhere else. I couldn’t go on making a ninny of myself, the way I had before. But as soon as I returned to Kellridge, I came to the realization that I love you—and Juliet—more than anyone I’ve ever known. I can conceal my affection for you no longer.”

  “No more concealment. No more containment.” He brushed a lock of wavy dark hair off her forehead. “When you left London I was a miserable excuse for a human being. And when I heard you were ill, I just—I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t lose you. You’ve made me whole again, Becky-girl. Do you see all you have done? But
for you being here, I would still be walling myself up inside tidy little boxes. I would continue living an unfulfilled life. I would not have found my way back to God. My life now is so rich and so full of hope—and I must share it with you. I implore you to say yes. Please say you’ll be mine.”

  Becky ran her finger along his jawline, focusing on the path of her fingertip as though uncertain that he was really there. “Yes—if this is real, and not a dream, I’ll marry you.”

  “Becky-girl.” He gave full vent and kissed her with all the tenderness and raw, aching fear that had plagued him for the past several days. He was home now, and Becky would be his for the rest of his life, and he need never go without her for another day. How good life was! At length, Becky pressed her hands against his chest, setting herself away from him.

  “I cannot be certain this is not some fever-induced dream,” she whispered, her eyelashes fanning out over her cheeks, which had turned a most becoming shade of pink.

  “I know. I have been reminding myself from the moment I laid eyes on you that everything was going to be fine,” he admitted. “You have no idea how afraid I was. I thought for sure I would be too late, and that you would be so ill that I couldn’t see you—or worse.”

  “Why were you so afraid? The note we sent just said that I might need help with my duties until I recovered. I didn’t even want to send anything, but Sally, the maid you sent with me, was most insistent. She said that you’d want to know everything about Kellridge, especially if there were a change in the servants’ roles, even just temporarily.” Becky gave him a small smile. “Why were you so certain that I was on my deathbed?”

  Her question was an acute one. Becky was no fool, and his reaction to the message from Kellridge had been extreme. Yet he could not apologize for it, because now he had finally overcome the emotional quagmire that held him prisoner for so long.

  Would Becky care to hear the truth behind his mad flight to see her? That he had thought he was losing her, as he had lost Ruth Barclay?