The Unexpected Bride (Montana Born Brides) (2 page)

“Oh, here, let me.”
Emma automatically went towards Laurent and offered to take Jerome from him; he hesitated momentarily, then handed his son over. She turned to look back at the SUV, where Robert was unloading her luggage, helped by Evie and dodging the barking dog that danced around his feet.

“Hey, go ahead.” The older man gestured for her to take his grandson into the house.
“I’ll get your bags. Perhaps you can get him to start using the bathroom,” he added gruffly.

“Dad!”
Laurent’s tone was unexpectedly sharp, and Emma saw tension show fleetingly in his face. By now, she had Jerome held firmly in her arms, and the little boy had stopped wailing and was burying his face in her shoulder. She noticed he had food in his hair.

“Can you show me where I can change Jerome?” she asked Laurent.

“Sure. Follow me.” He turned and Emma walked behind him with Jerome.

Laurent led the way up the steps to the porch and into the house. Emma was impressed as she walked into a large, light and airy lobby with lots of windows.
It had a high wooden ceiling supported by beams, a bit like a church’s, wood-and-stone clad walls hung with eye-catching art, and a floor tiled with granite flagstones. Her eye was drawn to a freestanding, ornately-carved, antique wooden sideboard in good condition, standing along one of the walls. Beyond that, she could see the rest of the house fanning out into open-plan spaces: a living area furnished in fall colors with big, comfy couches scattered with pillows and throws, a dining area with a long table that bore a big, beautifully-decorated enamelled metal bowl and had matching chairs, and a kitchen with a huge picture window and fitted, natural wood cupboards. There were doors off to other rooms, one of which looked to be some kind of study or office, and another where there were more couches and a TV—would that be what Americans called a den? The house was stylish yet cozy, and she felt immediately at home.

“This is a stunning place,” she said.

Laurent had begun climbing the wide wooden stairway. He didn’t answer but turned around to look at her and a smile played around his lips. Once again, she was caught in the heat of his gaze as it scanned her. Perhaps it was jetlag kicking in, but she felt momentarily vulnerable as his whiskey-golden eyes raked over her.

Emma Peabody was not what Laurent had expected.
He’d known that she was in her late twenties, but he had somehow anticipated a solidly-built, plain-looking woman, with a round, rosy face and a short, serviceable hairstyle. Instead, Miss Peabody reminded him of a princess in one of Evie’s fairytale picture books—petite, with white-blond hair caught up in a knot on top of her head, pale peachy skin and delicate features, including the most amazing ocean-blue eyes fringed by dark lashes. Though she wore a thick padded jacket with a fur-lined hood, he could see she had a neat little figure. He felt himself unexpectedly harden. Disconcerted, he turned abruptly and started back up the stairs, silently ordering his excitement to disappear. He hadn’t been with a woman for year—maybe that was why his body was responding so traitorously. But however pretty and charming Emma Peabody was, she was also just a slip of a girl who looked as though she couldn’t housetrain a kitten, let alone tame his two tiny tearaways. Damn his dad, and damn the nanny agency, which hadn’t responded to Robert’s request for an experienced carer who would instil discipline, he thought with a small flash of irritation. One more situation that would have to be dealt with.

He led her along a passageway to Jerome’s bedroom, and winced when he opened the door and saw the heap of toys, clothes and books on the floor.
Linda, their housekeeper, had been in earlier to tidy up, but clearly the kids had come along and undone her good work since. He turned to Emma, who stood patiently in the hallway with Jerome still in her arms, who was now contentedly sucking his thumb.

“Linda—our housekeeper—she came in this morning to clean up, but the kids seem to have been playing around.
I’m sorry, Miss Peabody.” He wondered if she might just turn tail and run.

The nanny peered around him into the room and took in the scene of minor devastation.
Her face lit up with a smile, and not horror as Laurent was expecting. “Oh, the little monkeys,” she said in her cheerily polite English tones. “Looks like we’re going to have to learn about putting our stuff away when we’ve finished playing with it! And, please, do call me Emma.”

In spite of his reluctance, Laurent felt himself responding to her warm, positive manner. “Sure.
Emma
,” he agreed. Then he checked himself. Was there any point in being friendly if she was going to have to go?

“Are Jerome’s nappies and changing stuff in his bedroom?” Emma broke the awkward silence, peering again around Laurent into Jerome’s bedroom.

Laurent was puzzled. “Nappies?” What was she talking about?

“Whoops! I mean diapers.
We call them nappies in England.”

“Okay.”
He nodded his understanding. “I guess though we’re supposed to speak the same language, we don’t. His
nappies
are in here.” He stood back and allowed Emma and Jerome to pass, then gestured to a closet.

Emma stopped in the doorway and Laurent found himself looking into the blue crystal pools of her eyes again.
He thought he saw a well of understanding there, which shook him. Did she pity him?

“The agency filled me in on your situation,” Emma ventured gently. “I was so sorry to hear about your loss.
But rest assured that I will be doing everything I can to help Jerome and Evie adjust.”

Laurent wanted to let her kindness and concern wash over him like a warm shower, but his pride prickled.
He didn’t want her sympathy, or her pity; he needed constructive assistance. “Thank you. Look, Miss—
Emma
; I think you can see for yourself that my two little guys are more than just a handful. They need someone who’ll be tough with them, straighten them out.” He gave her a stare. “The agency assured my father you were qualified to do this.”

Emma’s smile didn’t waver as she returned his scrutiny confidently. “Yes, I am. I think your father saw my resume.
I have a college degree in Early Years Development and Learning, which included a psychology module and training in child bereavement. I’m a professional and experienced carer. I’ve had a number of placements with families, so I have lots of hands-on knowledge too.”

Laurent exhaled sharply.
He wanted to believe: her chirpy optimism and paper qualifications were beguiling, and her petite, perky prettiness was starting to intrigue him. But she obviously had no idea of the size of the task in front of her. “Your resume sounds impressive. But my kids don’t need diplomas, they need a firm hand. Pardon me for saying so, but you aren’t what I was expecting.”

Emma’s smile froze and Laurent noticed two pink stains flushing her creamy cheeks.
“What
were
you expecting, Mr Fletcher?” she asked more hesitantly.

Laurent raked his hand through his hair.
He knew he was being unfair, and part of his brain was telling him to let it go; but months of frustration and exhaustion won out. “My father requested a British nanny, as everyone told us that you people are the best for delivering structure and discipline. He was assured by the agency that we would get someone with plenty of experience of going into families and dealing with challenging situations. Instead I get a slip of a girl with a handful of fancy certificates, who looks like she’d be more at home as a customer operative at Disneyland!”

Emma looked startled and he felt a pang of regret at his forthrightness. He shouldn’t have been so personal.
She couldn’t help it if the agency had screwed up. But then she recovered, drew herself up to her full five-foot-nothing and, adjusting Jerome on her hip, said in clipped British tones, “I’m sorry that I don’t measure up to or indeed look like what you were hoping for, but if you’ll just give me a chance, I think you will find that I’m more than up to the job of looking after your children. After all,” she paused and looked into the bedroom and at its scattered contents, then continued, “it doesn’t appear as though anyone else has had much success so far.”

Hey, the fairy princess had teeth!
Briefly, Laurent felt a flash of admiration as he looked into her now stormy-sea-blue eyes and registered the determination there.

“
Touche
,” he conceded, using one of his mom’s favorite French phrases. “Well, I’m not going to pretend, Miss Peabody…Emma…you’re going have to step up to the plate pretty damn quick. My kids are a couple of demons. We’ve been doing our best, but quite frankly, they need their mother.

“I understand that
Mrs Fletcher—your wife—died just over two years ago?”

Laurent tried to remain impassive as he answered Emma Peabody’s direct question, but he could hear the roughness in his voice.
“Brooke suffered a fatal stroke while giving birth to Jerome. So my son never knew her. Evie was around eighteen months old. I’ve been sharing their care with my mom and dad, Brooke’s mother when she can make it in from California, my brother and Linda, our housekeeper, who comes in daily. But they’ve been running us all ragged.”

“I see. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. It must be very hard on you, having to bring up your children single-handedly and run your business.
You custom-build furniture pieces, don’t you?”

“Yes.”
Laurent resisted the urge to open up to her sympathetic interest, or share any more personal information. “But I’ve had plenty of support, so I can’t say I’ve been raising the kids single-handed.” He stopped, and then surprised himself by saying, “It feels like they play us all off against each other.” Hell! Why had he let that slip? She didn’t need to know this stuff! He didn’t want her—or anybody—to think that he couldn’t cope.

“I’m sure it seems like they do.
But a range of different parenting styles and perhaps frequent changes in routine may be confusing them and they’re trying to make sense of it all. Sometimes, they’ll be overwhelmed and not able to regulate their behavior to your code and expectations.”

Though she had hit the nail exactly on its head as to what the problems were, Laurent also bristled at Emma’s professional jargon—God knew he’d had a ton of it already from the doctors, social workers and psychologists. “Did they teach you that at nanny school?” he hit back. As soon as it was out of his mouth, he thoroughly wished he hadn’t said it but, at the same time, he was tired of people giving him well-meaning advice or, worse, spouting this kind of textbook bullshit.

Emma didn’t bite back as he thought she might, but studied him for a moment with concern. Then she replied gently, “Yes, they did. And I’ve earned myself a lot of common sense since by looking after children of all shapes and sizes. At the end of the day, kids crave stability and security. I’m sure you and your family give Evie and Jerome loads of love, and I am here to work with you and help you channel your caring in a way that works for all of you. And relieve you of some of the load.”

Her spirited and steadfast yet insightful reply struck a reluctant chord with Laurent.
He began to feel ashamed of his sarcasm. Emma Peabody appeared not to be easily intimidated and he could tell that she took her job seriously. And this was the first time anyone had actually offered to work with him. Perhaps he should cut her some slack.

“Miss Peabody…
Emma
…Please excuse my skepticism…” He could at least be honest, there was no harm in that. “We’ve had a rough time here the last couple of years and so many people sharing their opinions on how we should handle things. But my kids aren’t any happier for it or thriving yet, like I’ve been promised they would be. You are my last option. If you can’t help us, then I’m not sure what we’ll do.”

“I know,” she responded quietly, “and I won’t let you, or Evie and Jerome down. Now, I think that this young man needs changing as soon as possible.” She adjusted Jerome in her arms, so that she could look at him.
The little boy returned her gaze calmly for a moment with his fingers in his mouth, then nuzzled happily back into her.

Laurent was amazed at how quiet Jerome was, how comfortable he looked with Emma.
Jerome sure wasn’t ever happy with
him
, he thought sadly. It was as if his son had already bonded with her. He relaxed and gestured again to the cupboard. “Diapers and wipes are in there. Clothes and underwear are in the drawers over there.” He indicated another chest.