Read Family of the Heart Online

Authors: Dorothy Clark

Family of the Heart (10 page)

BOOK: Family of the Heart
4.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Sarah gave a light laugh to reward him for his effort. “Then perhaps I shall try it your way should I again have a need of release, Mr. Bainbridge. For tears never work. They merely give you a headache, a stuffy nose and red, puffy eyes—most unattractive.” She rose and gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you for your care,
and
for your understanding, Mr. Bainbridge. It is most appreciated. Now I shall bid you a good evening.”

“Good evening, Miss Randolph—and rest easy. No harm will come to you in this house.” His gaze held hers. “It was built stout and strong to keep out enemies.”

Only mortal ones, Mr. Bainbridge. Grief found you. I can read it in your eyes.
Sarah smiled, nodded and walked from the room. Some things were best left unspoken.

Chapter Eleven

S
arah made a slow turn in front of the pier glass in the dressing room. The gown was perfect. It was made of lovely, yet sensible, fabric with no flounces or ruffles, its only trim a touch of dark-red roping at the neck, waist and sleeves that enhanced the red in the material’s deep-chestnut color. A plain and serviceable dress—exactly what she had requested. And the workmanship was excellent.

Sarah smiled and patted the matching red roping that held her hair in a loose knot on the crown of her head. There would be no more confusion as to her nanny position due to her elegant, unsuitable gowns now. They were stowed away in her trunk. It was a shame she could not pack her painful memories away with them. But the faint crescents of fatigue under her eyes testified to the impossibility of that.

She sighed and went to her bedroom to open the shutters and let in the morning sunshine. She had not slept at all well. But this time it was not only memories of Aaron that had kept her awake. A vision of Clayton Bainbridge’s face, his eyes shadowed with pain, had kept her tossing and turning all night. That, and this strange connection she felt to him. A connection that grew stronger with each encounter.

Sarah frowned, moved over to the desk, sat in the chair and slipped on her shoes. She did not
want
these feelings. She did not want to sense Clayton’s grief and pain. Did not want to understand it. Or to feel compassion for him. She had enough pain and grief of her own. All she wanted was to feel safe. That is all she had ever wanted since her mother abandoned her. It seemed little enough to ask.

No harm will come to you in this house. It was built stout and strong to keep out enemies.

Oh, if only that were so. But Randolph Court was built of brick, and she had learned that stout walls could not protect one from the worst enemies, the most painful hurts. Nor could wealth, or social position. Death and grief came to all.

Oh, Aaron, I miss you so.
Sarah closed her eyes to conjure the face of her dead fiancé, but it was Clayton Bainbridge’s countenance that came into view. She snapped her eyes open, rose and hurried toward the nursery, wiping the frown from her face and curving her lips into a smile as Nora stood in her crib and held up her arms.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

“Mornin’.” Nora yawned, rubbed her eyes. “Me go outside?”

“After we get you cleaned up and have breakfast.” Sarah lifted the toddler into her arms, blinked back tears at the rush of love overflowing her as Nora’s small, sleep-warm arms tightened around her neck. How was she ever going to give up this child? But she didn’t have to think about that now. Nora would not be taken from her in a moment’s time. She would be able to prepare herself for this loss. And meantime she had a purpose for her life.

 

Clayton rose from his desk chair and held out his hand. “Most impressive recommendations, Mr. Wexford. The job is yours.”

“Thank you, sir.” The man stood and shook hands. “I’ll not disappoint you, Mr. Bainbridge.” He picked up his hat and moved toward the door. “When and where shall I report for work, sir?”

“Come here to the house at eight tomorrow morning. I want to go over some blueprints with you and familiarize you with the various projects.”

“Very good, sir. I shall be here promptly at eight o’clock.”

Clayton nodded, faced the group of men gathered outside the door. “There will be no more interviews. The positions have all been filled. Thank you all for coming.” He closed the door on the mumbling, disappointed men and turned back to the study, his steps quick and light. A grin split his face. At last! He had finally found an engineer qualified to oversee the repairs. The man could actually
read
a blueprint. He could put Wexford in charge of the minor projects, freeing himself to oversee the difficult jobs. He would have no trouble meeting that July first deadline now.

A muffled, childish giggle, coming from the direction of the back of the house, wiped the grin from his face. Clayton reached to close his study door, paused at the sound of soft, feminine laughter. His exhilaration swelled, pushed at him. He scowled, fought the strengthening urge, the memory of the understanding on Sarah Randolph’s face as he had explained his deadline plight last night in the garden.

Another burst of muffled laughter reached him. He tightened his grip on the door latch, glanced around his empty study, then stepped back into the entrance hall and closed the door. What good was this elation if he could share it with no one? Surely there would be a moment when the child was off playing by itself when he could speak to Sarah and tell her of his good fortune. There was no harm in that.

He strode down the hall and into the library, slowing at sight of the open door. No wonder he could hear their laughter. He stepped onto the back porch, spotted Sarah marching, shoulders back, arms pumping, around the trunk of the maple tree at the side of the garden. The child, imitating her posture and giggling, was following close behind. Clayton’s face drew taut. This was not a good time. In fact, it was a bad idea altogether. What had he been thinking? He turned to leave, pivoted back at a sudden squeal. The child was running toward the pagoda, chasing after a squirrel.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bainbridge.”

Clayton looked down. His heart thudded. The sun bathed Sarah’s upturned face, highlighted her delicate features, the golden strands among her light-brown hair—especially those strands that had worked loose from the restraint of the red cord and now dangled from her temples to rest against her cheeks. Cheeks pink from her exertions playing with the child. Why did the woman not wear a bonnet? He dipped his head in greeting, not trusting his voice. Was that plain gown supposed to hide her beauty? It only enhanced it.

He stood silent, watched her walk to the porch and climb the stairs, all grace and beauty.

“Were you looking for me?”

All my life.
The unbidden answer crowded all other thought from his mind. Guilt assailed him. Would he betray Deborah’s memory? Bitterness rose, washed through him. Clayton frowned, shook his head. “Someone left the door open. I could hear your laughter all the way to my study. Please make certain the door is closed in the future.”

He stepped back through the door, closed it firmly and headed back to his study, his elation replaced by a grim determination to avoid Sarah Randolph from now on.

 

That had not gone as planned. Sarah glared at the closed door, itching to open it again—to march down the hall to Clayton’s study and demand that he come back to the yard and at least
speak
to his daughter. She clenched her hands, turned and hurried down the steps before she gave in to the desire.

“Nora…come with me, sweetie.” She held out her hand, and the toddler came running. Sarah took hold of her tiny hand, opened the gate and started down the gravel way toward the carriage house, hoping Quincy would not be offended if they invaded his territory. She needed a change of scenery. She looked around the far side of the building, but spotted no one.

“Hello?”

No answer. Sarah released Nora’s hand, tugged one of the wide, plank doors open a crack and peeked inside. Cool, musty air carrying a hint of oiled leather, feed, hay and manure flowed out of the dim interior, tantalizing her and bringing back childhood memories. She and Mary and James had spent many happy hours in their father’s stables. And it had been one of Mr. Buffy’s favorite places. Her lips curved at thought of the huge black dog that had been a gift to her from Justin Randolph. It was the day Justin gave her the puppy she first felt he loved her, and she began to talk that very day. Tears filmed her eyes. Mr. Buffy had been her constant companion for seven years. She had been ten years old when he died. Her smile ebbed. That had been her first experience with grief. She had never wanted another dog.

Sarah pushed away the memory, lifted Nora into her arms in case there should be an unfriendly animal of some sort lurking about, pulled the door wider and stepped inside. “Mr. Quincy?” A low nicker was her only answer. She looked toward the far wall. A dark roan with powerful shoulders extended its neck over the stall door, flared sensitive nostrils, snorted and tossed its head. Clayton Bainbridge’s mount. The shoulder muscles bunched, a hoof thudded against the floor. The roan tossed its head again, stared at her out of dark-brown eyes separated by a white blaze.

“My, you are a beauty.” Sarah kept her voice pitched low and soft. “And I think you know it, too.” The roan’s ears twitched, pricked forward. Its stable mate nickered. Sarah shifted her gaze to the smaller bay with a white star on its face that occupied the next stall. The carriage horse. What had Quincy called her? Sassy. Yes, that was it. “Yes, you are a beauty, too, Sassy.”

She started forward. Nora wiggled, tightened the arm she had wrapped around her neck. Sarah looked at the toddler, who—thumb stuck securely in her little mouth—was staring wide-eyed at the horses. Anger gushed. She kept forgetting the little girl had been kept caged in the nursery before she came. “See the pretty horses, sweetie? They will not hurt you. Shall we go pet them?”

“Horse.” Nora pointed at the stalls, stuck her thumb back in her mouth and squirmed closer.

Sarah gave her a reassuring hug and started toward the smaller bay—stopping as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Heart pounding, her gaze locked on a grain box that sat on the floor along the side wall, she backed toward the doors. Something small and gray darted out of the empty stall beside Sassy’s and ran behind the chest. A rat? She swallowed a scream, stared at the spot where the rat had disappeared and felt behind her for the door.

“Mew.”
A tiny gray face with green eyes poked out from behind the box, drew back.
“Mew.”

“A kitten!” Sarah laughed and hurried to the grain box, her long skirts sweeping a trail through the dust and bits of hay and straw covering the puncheon floor. She sat Nora down on top of the chest and peered behind it. Four pair of green eyes gleamed up at her. “Oh, Nora, look! There are four baby kittens.”

She reached down. Kittens darted from behind the box and scattered every direction.

“Kitty!” Nora squealed, wiggled to the edge of the chest, flopped over onto her stomach and pushed. Sarah made a grab for her and missed. The toddler landed with a thud on the spotless seat of her white ruffled pantalettes, pushed to her feet and chased after the kitten that had run into the empty stall.

“Wait, sweetie! He will scratch you.” Sarah rushed inside the cubicle, pulled the door shut and stooped to pick up the tiny, spitting and hissing, furry ball of feline fury crouched beneath the manger.

 

Clayton frowned at the rap on the door. He had told Eldora to turn away any further applicants. “Yes?”

The door opened. Eldora Quincy stepped into the room. “Not wantin’ to bother you, sir, but—” She stopped, glanced toward the window as light flickered through the room and a low rumble sounded in the distance.

Clayton followed her gaze. Raindrops batted at the leaves on the trees, danced on top of the low, stone wall and tapped at the window. “When did it start raining?”

“A bit ago, sir. ’Tis why I come. Miss Randolph and the child…they are still outside.”

“Most likely on the back porch.” He returned to his work of assigning men to the various repair jobs.

“No, sir, I checked.”

“Eldora, Miss Randolph is perfectly capable of caring for the child. She will come in when—” Lightning flashed, thunder growled. The image of Sarah’s frightened face during the last storm popped into his head. Clayton frowned, looked up. “The pagoda?” It was a foolish question. He knew the answer before his housekeeper shook her head no. He fought the urge to rise and go search. The child was safe in her care, and Sarah Randolph was not his concern. “Have Quincy look in the stable, perhaps she took refuge there.”

“Mr. Quincy went to the farm early this morning.”

“Then send Lucy!”

Eldora started at the snap in his voice, gave him a curious look. “Lucy has been home these last two days tendin’ her sick family. An’ I’ve food on the stove and in the oven needs watching. ’Tis almost supper time. That child is goin’ to get almighty hungry.” She turned with a swish of her long, gray skirt and left the room. He could hear her shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen.

How could footsteps convey disgust? Eldora’s clearly did. Clayton shoved his chair back and lurched to his feet. So much for avoiding Sarah Randolph and the child! He peered out the windows, scanned the front and side yards. Lightning flashed. Rain poured down. He snatched an umbrella from the brass stand by the front door and ran down the hall to check the backyard and stable.

 

Sarah caught her breath at the glint of lightning, brushed at the dust clinging to Nora’s frock and plucked bits of hay from the toddler’s golden curls. How was she going to get Nora to the house? She had delayed as long as she could, hoping the storm would move on. Instead it was growing more intense. She gave the hem of the long skirt of her gown a vigorous shake. Dust flew. Nora sneezed. “Sorry, sweetie.”

Her voice shook. Sarah took a breath to gain some control, pushed at her mussed hair with her trembling hands. Thank goodness Nora was too little to guess she was terrified.

BOOK: Family of the Heart
4.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Stay by Alyssa Rose Ivy
Her Mad Baron by Rothwell, Kate
The Pemberley Chronicles by Collins, Rebecca Ann
Gotham by Nick Earls
Heather Graham by The Kings Pleasure
The Phoenix Unchained by James Mallory
The Final Line by Kendall McKenna