The Nanny Arrangement. Lily George

had been called here, it would be mighty hard indeed not to crumple and fold when she saw Nan’s practical little face, or embraced fiery Susannah.

      “Follow me, then. I have a little sitting room all my own.” Mrs. Clairbourne led the way through the back of the house, the part Becky had only glimpsed in passing when Paul had escorted her to her room the previous day. What a vast, rambling building this was. Becky craned her neck backward and peered all around her like a goose—after all, she was trailing behind the housekeeper, and no one would notice if she gawked. She would never find her way back to the east wing of the house on her own. She certainly would never find Mrs. Clairbourne’s sitting room again, not without a map and a compass.

      The housekeeper ushered her into a small, tucked-away room under one of the back staircases. How marvelous—it might have been a large closet at one time, but now it saw use as a lovely sitting room. Two deep wing-back chairs flanked an arched window with leaded panes. A vase of the very same chrysanthemums that had graced the library held cheerful court on a mahogany table. An orange tabby cat slept on one of the chairs, curled into a striped ball.

      “I would never have guessed such a room even existed.” Becky smiled, clasping her hands before her. “How different it is from everything else at Kellridge. So—alive.”

      “Do sit. Tabs, move out of the way.” Mrs. Clairbourne shooed the cat out of the chair and patted the cushions down. “I’ve a tea tray right here. Cream or sugar?”

      Becky settled into her chair and stretched out her slippered foot to scratch Tabs’s back. The cat arched in appreciation and flopped onto the floor as if she were a rag doll. “Sugar, please.”

      “Here.” The housekeeper handed over a delicate china cup. “Be careful, it’s rather hot.”

      Becky blew on her tea and, as Mrs. Clairbourne busied herself with her cup, absorbed the atmosphere of this jovial little nook. “I rather think you’d need a place like this in Kellridge,” she admitted as Mrs. Clairbourne sank into her chair. “It’s so lively and warm. The rest of the house is so sterile.”

      “Sterile?” The housekeeper drew her eyebrows together over her spectacles. “I don’t know about that. I do know that the master likes everything to be in place. He’s a good man, and the house keeps me hopping.”

      “Oh, I don’t mean to offend.” Here she was, bungling her first chance at companionship at Kellridge. “The house is lovely. I’ve just never lived anywhere so precise. I rather wonder at bringing a two-year-old here.”

      “Well, that’s why you are here.” Mrs. Clairbourne took a careful sip of her tea. “Mr. Holmes anticipated that young Miss Juliet would be a handful. He knew we have too much to do as it is. So, with his usual foresight, he brought you on board to see that things run smoothly.” She gave a little smile as she stirred her tea. “I must admit to a little mother’s pride where he is concerned. I’ve watched him since he was just a wee baby himself, and he did his family credit when he took over. You’ll never see an estate so well run as Kellridge, not in the whole of Derbyshire.”

      Becky tasted her tea. Lovely—just the bracing kind of thing she needed after her disappointing morning. She’d have to tread carefully—Mrs. Clairbourne was clearly proud of Paul and, because of that pride, would hasten to defend him from any perceived criticism. If she were to preserve this connection, she must be more subtle. “I agree. The house is quite beautiful. You’ve done wonders with the east wing. I know Juliet will appreciate it. I certainly do.”

      “Good, I am so glad.” The housekeeper fairly beamed under Becky’s praise. “Anything you want, you know you may have it. Mr. Holmes is never stingy or mean. Do you need anything? Anything I’ve forgotten?”

      Becky set her teacup aside and considered the matter. If she were in charge of Juliet and all her wants and needs, then she must keep her occupied. The suite they shared was delightful in every way, but was rather kitted out like a guest room for lords and ladies, not as a home for a child. “Toys,” she admitted finally. “We don’t have any toys, and I am sure that Juliet will want to play.”

      “Of course. Why on earth did I neglect such an important detail?” The housekeeper sat up straight in her chair. “I am sure Mr. Holmes can send things from London, but they won’t arrive before Juliet is here.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “Whatever am I going to do? The shops in the village only have a few things. Nothing too entertaining for a child, I fear. I suppose we shall have to make something.”

      If Paul knew she had just commissioned a lot of toys from his already overburdened staff, he would be furious. She had nothing to do for the foreseeable future. This task could keep her busy, and keep her from brooding until she was able to go and meet the child. “Perhaps there is a box of old things I could go through? Since Mr. Holmes had so many siblings, it may well be I could find some of their toys—clean them up and make them do until we can get more from London.”

      “Excellent idea.” The housekeeper put her teacup aside with a brisk gesture. “In the attics, I am certain of it. We put trunks of Miss Juliana’s things away after she left for Italy.” She rose. “In fact, I believe you’ll find several things up there you can use,” she continued, punctuating each word with a wag of her forefinger. “Let me get the keys for you.” She rummaged through the string of keys about her waist, procuring a skeleton key with a filigree handle. “Here it is. Now, I could spare a footman...”

      “No, indeed.” She could hunt for treasure all afternoon. A house as vast and rambling as Kellridge, with what had to be a storied past, would have all sorts of interesting things tucked away beneath its eaves. ’Twas the perfect scenario. She could enjoy looking through all the articles of Kellridge’s past, imagining the stories behind each item. She would be out of everyone’s way, and most importantly, she would be doing something nice for her charge. “I couldn’t ask you to add to anyone’s duties, and I have nothing with which to occupy myself as it is.”

      “Well...” The housekeeper trailed off, as though considering the matter. “I hate for you to do all that lifting alone, without help.”

      “If I need assistance, I promise I shall come down and ask for it.” Sudden gladness rushed through Becky. Mrs. Clairbourne was such a dear. If she could but cultivate her friendship with the housekeeper, Kellridge could be livable. The prospect of having something to do for the next few days was heartening. “How do I find the attic?”

      “You’ll want to take the back staircase all the way to the third floor.” The housekeeper opened the door and ushered Becky into the hallway. “When you reach the top of the stairs, the attic door will be to your left. Are you quite certain you will be all right? I do feel guilty about asking you to grub around among those dusty trunks.”

      “You didn’t ask—I volunteered.” Becky gave the housekeeper a bright smile and accepted the key. “I am very glad to do my part to make Juliet welcome here.”

      She began the long trek up the back staircase. Each step was as though she were marking her new path, starting out on her journey, and she prayed silently for strength and wisdom as she ascended. At the top of the stairs, she might find toys for Juliet. In some small way, she was also going to find a place for herself at Kellridge.

      * * *

      Paul cast his quill aside and stretched as Wadsworth bustled into his study with the afternoon tea. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Wadsworth, instead of in two days’ time.” Though he laced the words with masterful nonchalance, each syllable grated on his nerves. His plan had always been to leave two days hence. Changing that plan now went against the grain.

      The butler stiffened as he laid out the tea tray. He, too, hated change and the disorder it brought. “Indeed, sir?”

      “Yes. I’ve decided there’s no use lolling about. I’ll strike out on the morrow. Business is waiting. Everything’s been packed, hasn’t it?”

      “Well, yes, all is ready for your journey.” Wadsworth tucked a serviette under one of the saucers with his usual efficiency, and handed