The Nanny Solution. Barbara Phinney

for it was Wednesday today. “And me, Mother? If the house is to be sold, where am I to go? Have you considered me in any of this?”

      Abigail bit her lip. “I have thought of you, Victoria. I really have. Last week, after I received Walter’s condolences, I wired him. I received his telegram this morning.”

      Victoria had met her mother’s older brother once, at her mother’s second wedding, but barely remembered him. He lived in some western frontier town. Mother claimed he was making his fortune there.

      “Your uncle says he’ll take you in.”

      She immediately bristled. “Like an old maid?”

      “I’m so sorry for all of this.” Abigail found her black handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “It was a mistake to allow Charles to handle the finances. I see that now.”

      Victoria hesitated. For all her faults, Abigail was still her mother. She hated to see her own flesh and blood on the verge of tears. “I’ll need some money for the train fare.”

      Abigail walked to the sideboard and opened her purse. “Walter wired to say that he can send you money. I didn’t want to ask for myself, but for you...”

      Victoria stiffened. “I won’t take charity, least of all from a relative I don’t know.”

      “He’s your uncle!” Abigail tossed a swift look at Victoria. “He thinks it will work out well.”

      Victoria stilled. She knew her mother. Something else was amiss. “Why would he think that? He hasn’t had any contact with us. What’s going on?”

      Abigail held out the telegram. “Walter suggested you may take a liking to his business partner, who is a widower. It would keep the business in the family. Your uncle says he will send some money so you can travel in comfort. You’ll need to look your best when you arrive and first class has very nice Pullman cars.”

      Snatching the telegram, Victoria flicked it open. “So I can be purchased for the price of a first-class ticket?”

      Abigail stiffened. “You’re not going to find anyone here who will take you in for the long term. That’s just the way it is.”

      Victoria sagged. Her mother was right, at least about accepting her Uncle Walter’s offer of accommodation. “Fine. I’ll go. But I’ll ask Mr. Lacewood for a loan. Once I’m out West, I’ll find a way to repay him.”

      “Borrowing from our solicitor? We already owe him! He’s settling Charles’s affairs discreetly.”

      Within Victoria, irritation swelled again. Her mother had allowed Charles to ruin them, but she wasn’t allowed to borrow train fare from their solicitor? “I’ll be sure to thank him for his discretion.” She swept from the front room.

      Her mother hurried behind her. “You mustn’t ask him for money. That’s too embarrassing!”

      Bent on ignoring her, Victoria scooped up her small purse and threw open the front door. But her exit was blocked.

      A tall man stood at the door, his knuckles raised to knock on the wood above the wreath. And down the few steps behind him were four children of varying heights, all staring at her.

      * * *

      Mitch MacLeod dropped his hand. The slender, black-garbed woman who’d flung open the door glared at him. Perhaps rightly so. He was a disgrace. His suit needed ironing, and he hadn’t had the time today to even shave. He was only thirty, but this afternoon he probably looked fifty. He cleared his throat as he removed his Stetson. “Miss Victoria Templeton?”

      An older woman hurried up behind the young woman. For a few stalled seconds, he stood there, waiting for the younger to answer.

      “I am she.” Those words sounded more like a challenge than a confirmation. “And you are...?”

      “My name is Mitchell MacLeod. I need the services of a woman—” He cleared his throat again. “I mean, I would like to employ a young woman to assist my family as we travel west. My solicitor, Robert Lacewood, suggested you, since you were planning a trip out West, anyway.”

      The woman, Victoria, swung her glare over her shoulder. Just by looking at the pair, Mitch could tell they were mother and daughter, with the younger one’s fine, dark blond hair a shinier version of her mother’s. But Victoria’s expression was hardly respectful.

      The older woman, the recently widowed Mrs. Abigail Templeton-Smith, he presumed, cringed as she spoke to her daughter. “I may have let that slip this morning, but Mr. Lacewood would have guessed your, ahem, need.”

      “Say it, Mother. My need for money. Well, let’s hope Mr. Lacewood’s discretion lasts through the sale of the house.”

      Mitch looked up the front facade. He would have never considered searching for a nanny in one of these fancy brownstones, but he trusted Lacewood. The man had been honest yet prudent with his wife’s affairs, he thought, remembering the squalling infant he’d left in a nurse’s care for the afternoon.

      His gut clenched. His own children now stood obediently behind him. The marriage between the children’s parents had been a convenient arrangement, but neither he nor Agnes had put their hearts into it. Still, Agnes had trained their children well. Would she have done the same for the infant, had she not died in childbirth?

      Focusing back on the women in front of him, Mitch decided to explain the immediate need. His time was short. “Miss Templeton, Mr. Lacewood thought you were planning a trip out to Proud Bend, Colorado. It’s close to my ranch. I have need of a woman who can assist me, and in return, I’ll pay for her fare.”

      He tried a hopeful, earnest expression. “Perhaps we can discuss this inside?” He knew little of this class, but he presumed socialites never chatted at the front door. He’d realized as he’d climbed the steps that he was taking a huge chance that this Victoria Templeton would accept employment, but Lacewood had seemed optimistic. Mitch glanced around as Victoria stepped back from the door to allow him entrance. They owned this house yet needed money? Could they be spendthrifts? Perhaps. Who was he to know this sex?

      No one, he thought, bitter pride blossoming on his tongue. He was a rancher, after all. Ranchers focused on their herd, not on figuring out fickle women.

      Victoria led him, with his children in tow, into the front room. She marched straight to a small bell, which she rang. A woman in a uniform appeared, and refreshments were ordered. The mother stopped at the parlor entrance and looked down at his brood, as if noticing an appalling sample of vermin for the first time. Then, with a short sigh, she strode to the settee and sat down.

      “Have a seat, Mr. MacLeod.” Victoria offered him a fussy chair while she chose to sit beside her mother. “Do you drink tea?”

      “I can.” Mitch hadn’t come to fiddle with dainty teacups and tiny biscuits, but if it was needed to secure help, so be it. He glanced over at his children, who hovered at the door to this fancy room, lost little souls that they were. With a short nod, he indicated for them to enter and sit, although Matthew, his oldest, remained standing, as if on guard. Mary shared a nearby armless chair with her brother, John, while the youngest in tow, Ralph, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, his dark brown curls bouncing as he looked around. Their eyes widened to saucers when the tea and biscuits arrived. But when the older woman offered them nothing, they thankfully stayed silent.

      Following his gaze, Victoria looked over at the children. Mitch knew she’d caught the very small shake of his head that warned them not to beg. Her attention darted back to her mother, who, ignoring all else, supervised her maid as she filled each cup.

      Clicking her tongue, Victoria snatched the tiered silver tray of sweets and marched over to the children. “Your hands.”

      They gaped at her. “Hold out your hands,” she revised.

      They all obeyed. Mitch shut his eyes. Ralph’s grubby paws would need a good scouring. The boy could find dirt in heaven, he was sure. But, ignoring