The Nanny's Little Matchmakers. Danica Favorite

took a deep breath. She’d been judging Mitch harshly, when he’d simply been doing the best he could do.

      “Would you like some breakfast?” she said, straightening as she smiled at him. “Your brother thoughtfully provided a housekeeper to help with the cooking and such since apparently you hadn’t had time to engage one. Lucy has just gone down to get some more milk, but I think you’ll be pleased with her.”

      Mitch nodded slowly, then sat at the head of the table. “Thank you. I guess I hadn’t realized what a mess I’d left behind.”

      He spoke slowly, as though the remorse for the difficult position he’d left everyone in had finally dawned on him.

      “We made it through just fine,” Polly said, handing him a plate. “Now we need to move forward as best as we can.”

      She’d have liked to have told him that she was sorry for her accusations the previous night. The five accusing glances, even from little Isabella, must have weighed incredibly heavily on him. He didn’t need the additional pressure from her.

      The back door opened, and Lucy bustled in. “There’s a crowd gathered out front, and they were asking me all sorts of questions.”

      Mitch had just raised a forkful of eggs to his lips but hadn’t taken a bite yet. The fork clattered to the table as he jumped up and went to the front window.

      He muttered something indistinguishable as he turned back toward the kitchen area. “Reporters.”

      “Like when Mummy has a show?” Clara asked, her eyes lighting up momentarily, then dimming. “They don’t know she is gone?”

      “No, you dolt. It’s because Mummy is dead. They all want to know how we feel about losing her.” Louisa’s face darkened, but fire filled her eyes. “Why won’t they leave us alone?”

      Mitch looked over at Polly, his eyes locking with hers. A silent reminder that the children didn’t know the circumstances that hung over him.

      How were they supposed to carry on with their lives with the reporters hanging about? One ill-placed question, and Mitch would have a great deal of explaining to do.

      “Let’s forget about them and enjoy our breakfasts, shall we?” Polly tried to sound cheerful, but as the sullen children stared at their congealing eggs, she found she didn’t have much of an appetite either.

      Isabella, however, was too innocent to understand the darkness surrounding her family, and she devoured her meal. At least one of her charges was eating.

      Mitch made a show of finishing his breakfast. “It was delicious. Thank you, Lucy.”

      He acknowledged their housekeeper with a smile, but his eyes weren’t in it.

      How had Polly come to take such an interest in him? To notice his moods and his features? She shook her head. Just part of the job. Of course she had to be sensitive to Mitch’s moods—for the children’s sakes.

      “I suppose we could start our lessons.” Once again, Polly tried to sound cheerful, but she was met with dull expressions. Typically, the suggestion of lessons would have elicited a few groans, or some argument. But with the mention of their beloved mummy, their grief came back up again, swallowing them into a pit of mourning that left them incapable of feeling anything else.

      “Or, I was thinking, we could go to the parsonage and take our lessons with the children there today.”

      “Wif Nugget?” Isabella’s big dark eyes brightened as she hopped off her chair and bounded toward Polly.

      In the days Mitch had been gone, the children had spent a good deal of time with the parsonage children. Partially because it was easier than keeping them cooped up in the tiny apartment when they were clearly used to living in a larger home. But also because Polly had seen how much the children needed to be around others their own age. Nugget had taken a shine to Isabella and relished finally having a child younger than herself to mother.

      Oddly enough, Isabella seemed to relish the attention just as much.

      “Yes, my sweet. With Nugget.” She ruffled the little girl’s hair, then looked over at Mitch. “With your father’s approval, of course. It might provide a nice distraction.”

      Mitch gave her a warm smile. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Then he looked over at Lucy. “Had anyone followed you to the back?”

      “No, sir. It’s not a well-used entrance, and the only reason I knew of it was because the other Mr. Taylor suggested it to avoid the reporters.”

      Then he turned his attention to Polly. “Let’s go now, before anyone discovers it.”

      * * *

      Madness. That’s what the whole situation was. He would take the children out of the apartment now, so they wouldn’t see the people standing in front of the building holding signs that said Murderer, but what then? Eventually, they’d have to come home, and those people, as well as the reporters, would still be there.

      Everyone thought he’d killed Hattie. The newspapers in Denver already blasted the headline that he’d killed her in a fit of passion. Passion. Ha! He hadn’t experienced passion toward Hattie in so long, he couldn’t even remember what it felt like. But the sensational headlines sold papers, and convicting him of Hattie’s murder would get the sheriff reelected. No one cared about the truth.

      Had it not been for his lawyer calling in a favor with the governor, who’d called in a favor with the judge to allow Mitch to be released on bail until his trial, Mitch would still be sitting in a jail cell.

      He appreciated the way Polly bundled up the children and hurried them out the back door.

      “Let’s be as quiet as we can,” she said softly, putting a finger to her lips. “We’re hiding from those people, and we don’t want them upsetting you further.”

      Five heads nodded at her.

      “Lucy, you take the older two and meet us at the parsonage. If they see a woman and two children walking down the street, they won’t realize it’s us. I’ll go with the younger three, and Mitch, you may follow in a few minutes.”

      Efficient. Strong. And yet, there was a tenderness to her voice that made him think she really did care for the children and sparing their feelings.

      Then she looked at him, piercing him with those blue eyes. “I’m assuming you know your way around town enough not to take a direct route? No sense in leading them there, though I know Uncle Frank will do his best to shield everyone.”

      Mitch nodded slowly. “You’ve thought of everything.”

      Polly shrugged. “We’ve had to deal with our share of reporters over the years. Don’t worry, your children are safe.”

      The tension seemed to evaporate from his chest, and suddenly, he felt like he could breathe again. Polly had very easily managed everything in his absence, and for the first time in a long time, he could almost believe that everything would be all right.

      “Thank you, Polly. I’ll see you all there soon.” He kissed each of his children as they passed and almost bent to kiss Polly as well. Then he shook his head. Where was he coming up with all this ridiculousness?

      Habit, of course. He just kissed every head that passed, especially now, knowing how very precious each moment with them was.

      Polly seemed to sense his hesitation because she ducked her head away, but not before he caught the pink tingeing her cheeks.

      As he exited, Mitch was pleased to note that none of the reporters or people carrying the horrible signs had discovered the service entrance. Perhaps it was because the rear stairs led to the storeroom of the Mercantile, then out the back door of the Mercantile. People probably didn’t even realize the two were connected. He could only hope that the commotion didn’t hurt his brother’s business too much. Iris was expecting another child, and they’d just built a nice house down the road.