The Nanny Solution (6 page)

Mitchell was frowning. Then he swung his gaze over and looked directly at her. Victoria swallowed hard at the indiscernible expression as a fearful chill rolled through her.

Chapter Six

“M
r. MacLeod, you and your nanny are perfect for this. I can pay you, if you like. Please consider it.”

As the stranger spoke, Mitch tugged his gaze away from Victoria, who wore an expression similar to a newborn calf torn from its mother. He wasn't sure what he should do. It wasn't about the money, although as a man with a hefty mortgage held by a greedy banker, he would be wise to take what was offered.

And have this man know how desperately it was needed?

No. Besides, since this man was asking only that his well-dressed niece travel with them to Proud Bend, her expenses paid for, and with cash of her own for incidentals. Mitch hardly saw a reason to take this man's hard-earned money for such little work.

He had yet to figure out what to do about Victoria. Was that guilt he saw behind the fear in her eyes? Why else would she be fearful of him now that he'd discovered who her uncle was? Unless she feared that her part in some plot to relieve him of his mineral rights was now exposed?

You're being paranoid, MacLeod
, he told himself. She'd given her uncle's name freely. Surely that proved she had no role in any scheme Walter might have devised.

Unless it was a misstep on her part. She
was
naive, after all. But Mitch wasn't sure, nor would he speculate. He'd been wrong about his wife, so he didn't dare accept his own assumptions anymore.

He straightened his shoulders. He would take his situation one moment at a time. Turning back to the man before him, he spoke firmly. “Sir, Mr.—”

“Walsh. Robert Walsh. This is my niece, Clare Walsh. She only needs a companion for the rest of the trip. A family emergency requires that my wife and I return to Boston. I trust her. She's a wonderful young woman. Smart, too, but I would feel better if she traveled with someone. First class is full, as is the women and children's car. She's going to Proud Bend to her parents. She's been away at college.”

Mitch held his tongue until the man finished his lengthy and unnecessary explanation. “You don't need to pay me, Mr. Walsh. I would be happy to keep an eye on her. But our seats are assigned, and I have seven in my group.”

“I can see that she gets a new seat near you, sir. She won't be any trouble.”

“Uncle Robert, I will be fine—”

The man shook his head at her. “Clare, your father does not think so. This isn't college, you know. There may be a moment when you will need Mr. MacLeod's help.”

“There are porters and conductors on this train, Uncle.” Clare swung her gaze to Mitch. “I don't need much care, sir. I might provide some assistance with your children, even. Being the oldest child in my family, I have a great deal of experience.”

Her innocent remark cut through him. He did not need another woman with obvious breeding helping with his children. Look what Victoria had done, foisting her duties onto another woman. He disregarded the fact that Emily looked a whole lot happier having been taken off that baby's milk. It was the principle of it all, Mitch told himself.

He stole a fast glance at his boys. Ralph had joined his brothers playing beside the train. Looking into the train car, he noticed Victoria holding tight to Mary, whose head was pressed against her bodice. What was going on? And where was the baby? He needed to get back on the train and sort it out. Urgency swelled in him.

But Walsh was not to be deterred. “Mr. MacLeod, please. I have run out of options and I can pay handsomely.”

Out of options? Mitch knew the feeling well. He looked again at Walsh. “I would be only too happy to keep an eye on your niece and I'm sure the task would hardly be so strenuous as to require payment.” He peered at Miss Walsh. “Do you have your ticket already?”

The young girl beamed as she held it up. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate this very much.”

Mitch nodded, and after shaking Walsh's hand, he called to Matthew to say he would be right back and then set about assisting Miss Walsh in climbing aboard.

The young porter finished that task, allowing Mitch to make a beeline for his seats. He found Emily asleep in her basket, and a sleeping Mary clinging to Victoria.

“What's wrong?” he barked out, somewhat more roughly than he'd planned.

* * *

Victoria was going to ask that same question, but held her tongue. Behind him, coming down the aisle, was the porter, followed closely by the young woman Mitch had met on the platform. Her heart sank, but she held herself stiff. “Shush,” she admonished. “You'll wake the children. Nothing is wrong.”

“Then why are you holding Mary? And you look like you've been crying.”

She wanted to ask her own questions, but Mary didn't need to hear that Victoria was leaving her to the care of another woman, if that was indeed the case. She certainly hoped not.

“Mary misses her mother,” she whispered. “We're just having a spell, that's all. She told me about how Matthew didn't want anyone to know they were alone.”

The blood drained from Mitchell's face. Then, after a moment of staring into her eyes as if he was as much a child as the little girl in her arms, the same blood rushed back into his cheeks. “I don't know what Mary told you, but they weren't alone. At least not for more than a day. Agnes's church family cared for the children.”

“I figured it out.” Victoria smoothed Mary's hair. She wanted to remind Mitchell that his children were mourning their mother, and this behavior might go on for months.

Behind him, the young woman bustled past, smiling at Victoria as she did so. The porter found her seat near the young mother, who had decided to leave the car for some fresh air. Victoria rolled her cautious gaze up to meet Mitchell's. “Is there something wrong?” she asked. “You spoke at some length with that young lady and the older couple.”

“No.” Mitchell took the opportunity to glance out at the boys. “She needs someone to keep an eye on her for her trip to Proud Bend. I declined her uncle's offer to pay me. We will hardly be doing anything to warrant money.”

Relief washed through her. “Oh.”

Mitchell frowned. “What did you think it was about?”

“I thought you were securing another nanny to replace me.” She gripped Mary tighter. The little girl shifted in her arms but didn't awaken. Thank goodness. Who knew how she would interpret this conversation? Victoria didn't want her to think she was losing her as she'd lost her mother.

Mitchell's frown deepened. “Replace you? Why?”

“Because of what I did with Emily.”

At the mention of the baby, Mitchell glanced down at her. Victoria saw again that inscrutable expression and wondered what it meant. Would Emily always remind Mitchell of the loss of his wife? What a terrible legacy for a child to carry.

His eyes met hers again. “I have hired you to assist me with these children. I don't renege on such matters, unlike what you have done.” He shut his mouth to a firm, thin line.

Victoria bit her lip. Her misstep had been completely accidental. “Mitchell, you must try to understand something.”

He cut her off. “I don't wish to discuss it, Victoria.” He held out his arms. “Give me Mary. You need to stretch your legs and collect the boys.”

Then he pulled one arm back to dig in his jacket pocket, offering her a small coin purse. “Why don't you take them to find a general store and buy some food? We can't be expected to live on what's left in your treat box.”

The cool dismissal was obvious. If it wasn't for the guarded look in his eyes, she would have simply told him off for such rudeness. Instead, carefully, she handed him Mary and then rose, finding her hand stretching out to take the coin purse.

When she stepped into the aisle, she caught sight of the young woman who'd just arrived. She'd settled in her seat as though the train was going to pull out of the station at any moment. Hadn't the conductor told her of the delay?

Their gazes met. There was nothing in the young woman's stare to raise Victoria's ire, but when the stranger's eyes strayed curiously to Mitchell, Victoria couldn't help but feel irritation blossom within her. Then shame.

For what? She had done what she felt was best for Emily.

Victoria sat down again and glared at Mitchell. “Are you saying I have reneged on a promise made to you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Didn't you?”

“No, but you won't allow me to explain.”

“What is there to explain?”

Victoria tamped down her growing discontent, refusing to raise her voice within earshot of so many strangers. “I believed the milk you'd purchased for Emily was making her sick. I made arrangements to have her fed properly.”

“The doctor said an upset stomach would happen for a while but would go away. He said it's better for her.”

Victoria thinned her mouth as she folded her arms. “I disagree.”

“And on what do you base your belief?” He lifted an eyebrow. “A few fussy moments on a moving train? Are you an expert on babies?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then how can you say what's good for her?”

“Take a look at her, Mitchell. She's sleeping like a baby should sleep. She's not in pain anymore. How can this other stuff be good for her if it causes her pain?”

It was Mitchell's turn to shut his mouth.

Victoria leaned in and lowered her voice. “This isn't about what I arranged for Emily, is it? I am not going to be so rude as to pry into your personal life, Mitchell, but you should not be blaming me for something I didn't do! It's unchristian, and frankly, it's rude.” With that, she sat back and pressed her lips into a thin line.

He then leaned forward, close enough to her that she fought the urge to back away. Mary shifted in her father's arms, her pinafore scrunching up around her chin as she, still sleeping, turned her head so as not to be smothered against Mitchell's jacket. “Then, why don't you tell me why you're really going out to Proud Bend?” he asked her. “Because I have a pretty good idea.”

Shame flooded through her, this time for a very good reason. She was penniless and homeless, and to hear him accuse her of it was like a heavy stone falling deep in her stomach.

She swallowed hard. “What do you know? What did Mr. Lacewood tell you?”

Mitchell's mouth hardened. “So Lacewood is part of this, is he? Was he the one who thought it up?”

She sat back, unsure how to answer. Yes, Mr. Lacewood had found her temporary employment. Was that what Mitchell was asking?

“The plan won't work, you know,” Mitchell warned. “I will see to it.”

What plan? To find work? Or did Mitchell know about Walter's plan to marry her off to his aging partner, for surely the widower would be at least as old as Walter Smith? Her cheeks burned even hotter than before. Mr. Lacewood was supposed to be discreet, even though her mother had probably told him far too much. Abigail Templeton-Smith talked a good line about maintaining decorum and appearances, but once alone with Lacewood, she must have, in order to convince the solicitor of the need for secrecy, spilled out every shameful detail of her daughter's life. Victoria had no money, no decent marriage prospects, and she was headed into what was surely going to be an awful life of marriage to an old man and being a puppet to her uncle.

Tears sprang unbidden into her eyes. She would not answer Mitchell. She would not tell him to mind his own business and thus confirm what he'd just said.

Mitchell leaned in closer, his eyes glittering as if he was taking personal offence to the decisions foisted upon her. “Why don't you tell me everything?”

Tell him, like her mother had blathered to their solicitor? Victoria was already enough like her mother, thank you very much. She would not be foolish to boot. Mitchell MacLeod may have guessed much of her life, but she refused to relent to this demand for confirmation. “Mr. Lacewood was supposed to say nothing.” She glared at him. “If you think this plan isn't going to work and you have the ability to stop it, then why should I bother to give you the details?”

“So I can nip it in the bud and save you the humiliation when it all becomes public knowledge.”

Public knowledge? That must never happen. Pride stiffened her shoulders, an action tempered only by another nervous swallow. And in that moment, she felt the horror of another realization, something as bad as the people of Proud Bend knowing her embarrassing circumstances, her stepfather's suicide, the theft before that and her absolute lack of hope for happiness in life.

Victoria gasped. She was as proud as her mother.

She jumped up and fled from the sleeper car.

Chapter Seven

M
itch gently set the sleeping Mary on the bench seat opposite him, smoothing her rumpled pinafore and pulling her dress over her stockings. He then sat back, exhaustion draining him. He dragged his hand down his face and throat, hating the itchy burr caused by his need for a decent shave and hating that he was so dog tired.

And also hating how the truth was coming out. So Lacewood was part of Walter Smith's plan to buy his mineral rights. The solicitor had seemed honest and reliable, but who knew nowadays? Mitch shut his eyes. He hadn't been able to trust Agnes, either. Those letters she'd written him over the past year had been one farce after another. All those words about how it would be good to see him again. They were all lies.

He shook his head. Had she lived, she no doubt would have lied about Emily's birth date, too, saying something about poor health making the baby smaller than she should have been. All to hide what she'd done.

Lacewood had lied, too, but his plan was now exposed.

Yes, Mitch's business with Lacewood was pure happenstance, but Lacewood had mentioned that he knew Victoria was planning to travel.

Mitch nodded to himself.
Of course.
Lacewood knew Smith. The diplomas hanging in both men's offices were from the same university. He remembered seeing Smith's the day he applied for the mortgage. And that morning a few weeks ago when he'd first sought out Lacewood, Mitch had sat in his office with the solicitor's diploma in full view, all the while casually mentioning that his banker in Proud Bend wanted his mineral rights.

Lacewood knew even more. He'd helped Agnes write her will, which left everything to Emily, for he had a copy of her will on file. Then after learning of Mitch's troubles, he'd helped Victoria's mother. Lacewood could have easily seen the opportunity presenting itself and telegraphed or sent a letter by courier to Walter Smith with an idea. He knew of Victoria's financial troubles, too. Her need for money that would make her a willing accomplice.

Lacewood's treachery was one thing, but hearing Victoria practically admit it aloud was something else entirely. It left a hollowness in his stomach. The thought that Victoria was embroiled in this cut him to the quick, a betrayal that he hadn't seen coming.

And she'd just rushed out, after blushing as bright as a cherry. The retreat had sealed her guilt.

Mitchell opened his eyes and turned his head to spy Victoria herding his boys down the street that led away from the depot. She held one of Ralph's little hands, while Matthew held the other, and his youngest boy had already begun to swing and jump between the pair. For just a second, he caught her smiling down at Ralph. Then the three boys all laughed.

He was as stuck as she was. He couldn't dismiss her and have his children suffer. Yes, they'd only just met Victoria, but despite her inexperience, she was good with them. More importantly, they were already responding to her natural affection. He couldn't rip that away from them, not so soon after they'd lost their mother.

But he would not trust her one iota, using the Greek term his mother had often used. Victoria would not use her wiles to convince him to sell his land's mineral rights to her uncle.

Had that been what she'd started to do when they'd discussed his parents' farm? Obviously, her skills at small talk were keenly honed. He would have to be more careful in the future.

Lord, give me the strength to protect what You've given me.

* * *

Victoria peered over the counter at the various foodstuffs. Still gripping Ralph's hand, lest he wander away and force her to pay for whatever mischief he wreaked, she asked the prices of some of the items. She wasn't sure what she should purchase. A loaf of bread and a pot of preserves were obvious choices, but the prices seemed high and Victoria didn't want to get into another spat with Mitchell.

She couldn't believe he just expected her to admit her family's shame in public. She'd thought he was a decent man. So much for her skills at judging men.

Still weighing her best options for food, and asking Matthew what he would normally eat in the run of a day, Victoria added some cheese, tinned meat and some biscuits, carrots and tea.

She watched as the clerk wrapped up her purchases. Pride still stung her, even as she carefully counted out the money. Anytime she'd purchased something, it had been billed to her stepfather.
Ladies don't deal with the crassness of money
, he used to say. Even now, feeling as though she couldn't afford the food, which she couldn't personally, she felt her cheeks burn as the clerk peered down his nose at the less-than-abundant contents of Mitchell's small change purse.

Pride made her snap it shut after she'd handed over the few coins. Then, catching Matthew's curiosity, she thinned her lips. Foolish pride, already tender from Mitchell's harsh words. What of it if she was penniless? No doubt some in Proud Bend would guess her situation soon enough.

No, she would not let it mold her into being so ridiculously haughty that at the slightest hint of scandal, she would flee, as her mother had done.

Victoria shut her eyes. Hadn't she done exactly that a few minutes ago on the train?

Mitchell's demands—no, his threats—should not force her hand, she told herself. Accepting her purchases and dividing them up between the boys to carry back to the train, Victoria decided she would speak to Mitchell. She refused to be bullied, plain and simple.

But there was no point in asking for Mitchell's discretion. Her mother had asked for that from Lacewood and she'd seen how that had ended.

Bustling the children out of the general store, while ignoring Ralph's plea for brittle, Victoria met with a sudden strong gust of wind. The weather had changed. Gone was the scent of morning, newly cleansed by a good thunderstorm. A cluster of colorful leaves fluttered past as if hurrying away from an impending storm.

What she really needed were a few dollars, so she wouldn't have to stay with Uncle Walter. So people wouldn't assume she was a penniless relative. Then any of Mitchell's shaming threats could be ignored.

But she had less than one dollar, let alone a few.

“Ouch!” Ralph cried out. “You're holding my hand too tight, Miss Templeton!”

She eased up on it immediately. “I'm sorry. I didn't want you to wander off.”

“Is that why you're frowning?” John asked, falling in step beside her as he hefted up his share of the foodstuffs. “Because Ralph would run away, you know.”

“I would not!”

“Hush, both of you. I was frowning because my mind was elsewhere.” It was right back at square one, like a silly game of chutes and ladders when your man lands on a chute and you end right back at the beginning. She had no choice but to carry on with this trip, regardless of the tears welling up in her eyes and her future looking as bleak as the graying skies.

As they stepped onto the wooden platform of the depot, the young porter hurried over. “The tracks are cleared, ma'am.”

“So soon? I thought it would take all day.”

“We did, too. But the engineer has announced that we can move along soon. I think they hurried it up on account of another storm coming our way.”

Victoria looked up. Indeed, the wind had risen and the sky had filled with dark-bottomed clouds. She'd read about those big storms coming from the Midwest and wondered if this was one of them, but, Victoria realized, she wasn't even sure how far into the Midwest they were. She'd ask the porter. But when she dropped her gaze from the sky, she found he had left to round up the rest of the passengers.

“Let's get on the train,” she told the boys, hurrying toward it. “Your father is probably hungry.”

“So am I!” announced John.

The older children climbed easily aboard. She helped Ralph up, and as the wind threw up some debris, and her skirt, she stalled in her own climb. Within the car was Mitchell.

Lord, take away my apprehension.

It had been more a sense of duty that had compelled her mother and stepfather to attend church, but Victoria had found comfort and solace in her prayers, especially after her father's sudden death a decade ago. His heart had not been good, the doctor had said, and even today, she missed his easy laugh and friendly wisdom. He'd often chided, with good Christian patience, her mother's desire to stay within their class.

Oh, to receive his advice again, but she'd been so young that even his face was lost to time.

Spying a family bustling toward the car, Victoria allowed Matthew to quickly help her up. The outside air smelled of fumes and rain and she was glad to be aboard.

Once up those few steps, for the porter had not set out the short stool for her to use, she decided that whatever had caused Mitchell's sudden surliness, he and his late wife had taught their boys well. She plastered on a smile as she thanked Matthew.

At the thought of Mitchell's wife, Victoria felt her heart squeeze. She had to keep reminding herself of his grief.

But should that grief be an excuse to threaten to tell any and all of her dire circumstances?

She threw back her shoulders. Just as her pride should not trump his grieving, his subtle threats to expose her plan—to find employment and not be seen as a penniless relative relying on charity—could not be allowed to stand.

Indignation spurring her on, Victoria brushed down her dress and with a hand on his back she urged Ralph down toward the center of the car. Ahead, Mary was peering over the back of the seats and smiling at her. The nap must have been exactly what the little girl needed. And Matthew, bless him, was helping his father stow away the food she'd purchased.

Victoria stiffened her spine and sat down. Mitchell needed to know that she would not be cowed by any threats.

He had changed seats with John and Mary to allow them to sit facing the direction of travel, and the two children were already looking out the window with keen interest. She sat beside them.

Keeping herself as straight as she could manage, she leaned toward Mitchell. He leaned toward her, no doubt expecting her to speak.

Just as she opened her mouth, the steam whistle sounded and the train lurched forward.

Mitchell was pitched into her arms.