Family of the Heart

Sarah wrenched her thoughts from what should have been, wiped the tears from her face and lifted out the top dress. She shook out the blue and white silk gown, held it up and gave it a critical once-over, focusing all her attention on choosing an appropriate gown. Were the four flounces that decorated the bottom of the skirt too fancy? Would the gold, watered taffeta with the rolled silk ribbon trim be a better choice? What did one wear to an interview with an employer?

Clayton Bainbridge stared at Sarah Randolph. She was unlike any nanny he had ever seen. Her gown was the equal of those his wife had owned—and there was certainly nothing subservient in her manner. Indeed, her demeanor was more that of a guest than of a woman being interviewed for a position. It had him a little out of kilter. As did her latest revelation. He frowned down at her. “So you are telling me you have no actual experience as a nanny.”

“That is correct. However, as I wrote in my letter, I have abundant experience in caring for children.” She smiled up at him. “My aunt has an orphanage and I often helped with the babies and small children. She is my reference.” She handed him a sealed letter.

“I see.” Clayton scowled at the letter, tapped it against his palm. He would have to start the search for a nanny for the child all over again! He tossed the unopened letter on the table beside him. “I’m afraid you have made a long journey in vain, Miss Randolph. A reference from a family member is unacceptable.”

“Laina Allen may be my aunt, Mr. Bainbridge, but I assure you, she is a woman of great integrity. She is highly respected in Philadelphia—as are all members of my family. You can trust her word.”

Sarah Randolph’s stiff posture and the gold sparks in her brown eyes belied the coolness of her voice. Clayton hesitated, then yielded to an inner prompting, picked up the letter and broke the seal. Silence, invaded only by the crackle of the fire that had been started to ward off the chill of the evening air, settled around them as he read.

“Your aunt recommends you highly as one skilled in caring for toddlers and young children.” Clayton folded the letter, slipped it in his jacket pocket and fastened his gaze on Sarah. She looked regal, with her erect posture, lifted chin and light-brown hair swept high on the crown of her head. And wealthy. That gold gown she wore would cost more than his month’s wages. Why had she applied for the post of nanny?

Clayton frowned, continued his assessment. It was certain Sarah Randolph had never done a day’s work. Her hands were soft and white, the nails long and neatly shaped. And her face was the face of a pampered woman. He drifted his gaze over the small lifted chin, narrow nose and shapely high cheekbones to the brown eyes under delicately arched light-brown brows. He stiffened. There was a challenge in those eyes. And something else. Pain. He recognized it easily. He should. He saw it his own eyes every morning when he shaved.

Clayton averted his gaze. Sarah Randolph was hurting, vulnerable, despite the bravado of that lifted chin. But she had courage. That was apparent. She was not yielding to her pain. She seemed to be a fighter. Perhaps she was suitable for the post in spite of her delicate, pampered appearance. He cleared his throat. “I believe you aptly demonstrated the skill of which your aunt speaks by quickly silencing the child’s cries on your arrival. Because of that, Miss Randolph, the position is yours—should you still wish it after learning of your duties and responsibilities. They exceed the normal ones.” He turned and walked to the hearth, giving her time to absorb that information.

The silence settled around them again.

Sarah stared at Clayton Bainbridge’s back. He’d done it again. He’d referred to Nora as “the child.” And what did “They exceed the normal duties” mean? Her stomach quivered, tightened.

“Should you stay, Miss Randolph, the child will be fully in your charge. While I shall provide all that is needed for its care, I will have no personal contact with it. Is that clear?”

Shock held her mute.

He pivoted to face her. “Do you understand?”

Sarah found her voice hiding behind a huge lump of anger in her throat. She lifted her chin and met his gaze full with her own. “Your words…yes. But—”

“There is no but, Miss Randolph. Those are the special conditions of your employment. I realize you will require some personal time, and that need will be met by having Lucy sit with the child while she naps in the afternoon. And, of course, your evenings will be free. Other than that, you will spend all of your time with the child. Your wages will, of course, reflect the added responsibility. Do you wish to accept the position?”

Incredible! Sarah clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out and pinching Clayton Bainbridge to find out if he was flesh and blood. The man might as well be a marble statue. His face was expressionless, his voice void of emotion. Had he no feelings? An image of the toddler sleeping upstairs flashed into her head. “Yes, Mr. Randolph, I accept the position.” She fought the anger that had brought her to her feet, lost the battle and gave voice to the words clamoring to be spoken. “I must, sir. Because your daughter is a little girl, not an it.”

Sarah squared her shoulders, whirled away from the look of astonishment on Clayton Bainbridge’s face and swept from the room.

Chapter Two

He would dismiss her first thing in the morning! Clayton stormed into his bedroom, removed his jacket and threw it onto the chair beside the window. His fingers worked at the buttons on his waistcoat as his long strides ate up the distance to the highboy on the other side of the room.

Your daughter is a little girl, not an it!

And he had felt sorry for her. Ha! His sympathy had certainly been misplaced. How dare that woman offer him such a rebuke! Clayton grabbed the silver fob dangling from his waistcoat pocket, jerked his watch free, dropped it into one of the small drawers, pivoted and paced back toward the window.

And for her to walk out of the room and leave him standing there like…like some servant! He shrugged out of the vest and yanked his cravat free. And what did he do? Nothing! Shock had kept him frozen in place. By the time he’d made his feet move, she had disappeared up the stairs. Well, he was not shocked now. And in the morning he would tell Miss Sarah Randolph she was completely unsuited for the nanny position, give her a stipend for her time and have Quincy arrange for her transportation back to Philadelphia.

Because she spoke the truth?

The voice in his head stayed his hand, cooled his anger. Clayton frowned. He refused to consider that question. What did Miss Sarah Randolph know of his truth? Nothing. And, truth or not, she had overstepped her place in speaking it.

Clayton tossed the vest and cravat on top of his jacket and sat in the chair to remove his shoes. Finding another nanny took so much time. And meanwhile chaos would again reign in the household. For some reason Lucy was unable to keep the child from crying all day. And the first nanny had not been that successful at it, either. But at least she had known her place.

Clayton scowled, tugged a shoe off, dropped it to the floor and wiggled his freed toes, weighing the situation in the light of that last thought. Perhaps he should give Sarah Randolph another chance. Perhaps that outburst was only because she didn’t yet fully realize what her position was. Her erect posture and lifted chin as she faced him down, proved she wasn’t accustomed to servitude. No, Sarah Randolph was a lady. Every inch of her. A beautiful lady. So why was she here?

Clayton rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor. The anomaly was intriguing. It was obvious Miss Randolph was not impoverished. And it could not be a case of familial division—she had spoken well of her family, and they of her. At least in the letter. Of course there was the matter of her temper.

A vision of Sarah’s face, brown eyes flashing, burst into his head. She was spirited. And beautiful. Clayton’s face tightened. He grabbed the shoe he had removed, tugged it back on and lunged out of the chair. Bed could wait. Right now he would go to his study and work on his progress report of the needed repairs on the canal locks here in Cincinnati. And on the estimated repairs required on the rest of the southern section of the Miami Canal. He was due to report to the commissioners next week. And the plans had to be perfected, as well. An hour or two spent staring at blueprints would drive away that unwelcome image.

Sarah looked toward the foot of the bed. Her trunk sat there…waiting. She did not dare pack the few items she had taken out for fear of waking little Nora. It would have to wait until morning—or until an angry fist pounded on her door and Mr. Bainbridge told her she was dismissed. She sighed and looked around the bedroom. She had held her post as nanny for what…a few hours? Well, it was her own fault. She should have controlled her temper. But—

No buts! It was too late for buts. Too late to take back her outburst. And too late to leave this house tonight. Sarah removed her silk gown, hung it in the cupboard beside the fireplace and tugged the soft comfort of an embroidered cotton nightgown over her head. She pushed her feet into her warm, fur-trimmed slippers and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her quilted cotton dressing gown.

What had caused her to act in such an unaccustomed way? She had gained nothing by giving vent to her outrage over Clayton Bainbridge’s callus attitude toward his daughter. Except for the momentary satisfaction of that look of utter astonishment on his face. Her lips curved at the memory of his widened deep-blue eyes and raised, thick, dark-brown brows, the flare of the nostrils on his long, masculine nose. That had been a gratifying moment. Of course, an instant later anger had replaced the astonishment. His brows had lowered, his eyes had darkened and the full lower lip of his mouth had thinned to match the top one. And that square jaw of his! Gracious! It had firmed to the appearance of granite. No, her outburst had done nothing to help little Nora. Or herself.

Sarah caught her breath at a sudden onrush of memories, fastened the ties at the neck of her dressing gown and hurried into the nursery. The oil lamp she had left burning with its wick turned low warmed the moonlight pouring in the windows to a soft gold. Tears welled into her eyes as she straightened the coverlet that had become twisted when Nora turned over. She had thought by now she and Aaron might be expecting a child of their own. The tears overflowed. She brushed them away, smoothed a silky golden curl off the toddler’s cheek and, unable to stop herself, bent and kissed the soft smooth skin. Nora stirred, her little lips worked as she sucked on her thumb, went still again.

Sarah’s heart melted. She resisted the urge to lift the little girl into her arms and cradle her close to her painfully tight chest. The hem of her dressing gown whispered against the wide planks of the floor as she walked back to her own room. What was wrong with Clayton Bainbridge? How could he not want anything to do with his own child? How could he not love her?

Sarah glanced at her trunk, halted in the doorway. Would whoever took over this position of nanny love little Nora? Would she give her the affection every child deserved? Or would she simply take care of her physical needs and keep her quiet so Mr. Clayton Bainbridge was not disturbed? Oh, why had she ever challenged the man’s cold, detached attitude toward his child? She should have kept quiet—for Nora’s sake. The little girl needed her.

And she needed this post.

Sarah blinked back another rush of tears and walked to her bed. She removed her dressing gown, stepped out of her slippers and slid beneath the covers, fighting the impulse to bury her face in the pillow and sob away the hurt inside. Crying wouldn’t stop the aching. It never did. But everyone said time would bring healing.

If only it were possible to hurry time.

Sarah breathed out slowly, reached over and turned down the wick of the lamp on her bedside table. She couldn’t bring herself to snuff out the flame. She could do nothing about the darkness inside her, but she could keep the darkness of night at bay. She rested back against the pillow, pulled the covers up to her chin and stared up at the tester overhead, willing time to pass.

Birdsong coaxed her from her exhausted slumber. Sarah opened her eyes and came awake with a start. She shoved to a sitting position, blinked to clear her vision and gazed around the strange room. Where was she?

Her open trunk provided the answer. The moment she saw it, the events of yesterday came pouring back. She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, searching for the floor with her bare feet. Her toes touched fur and she pushed her feet into the warm softness of her slippers and gave another sigh. She wasn’t accustomed to rising with the dawn, but she had better get ready to face the day. Mr. Bainbridge was most likely an early riser. Even when he wasn’t angry.

She tiptoed to the door of the nursery, glanced in to make sure Nora was still sleeping and yawned her way to the dressing room to perform her morning toilette. How was she to manage without Ellen?

Soft stirrings emanated from the nursery.

Sarah gathered her long hair into a pile at the crown of her head the way Ellen had shown her, wrapped the wide silk ribbon that matched her gown around the thick mass and tied it into a bow. When she removed her hands, a few of her soft curls cascaded down the back of her head to the nape of her neck. She frowned and reached to retie the ribbon.

The stirrings grew louder.

She had run out of time. Her hair would have to do. Sarah took another look in the mirror to make sure her efforts would hold and hurried from the dressing room into the nursery, smiling at sight of the toddler who was sitting in the middle of the crib, her cheeks rosy with warmth, her blue eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, Nora. I’m Nanny Sarah—” at least until I’m summoned downstairs for dismissal “—do you remember me?”

“’Quirrel.”

Sarah’s smile widened. “That’s right. We watched the squirrel together yesterday. Aren’t you clever to remember.” She moved closer to the crib and held out her arms. “Are you ready to get up and have some breakfast?” She held her breath, waiting.

Nora stared up at her. “Cookie.” She scrambled to her feet and held up her arms.