Heaven Sent (22 page)

“
It’s not a long walk to
Grant, Mr. Lockhart,” Mark said cheerfully, patting his topper in
place and twirling his walking stick. It seemed to Aubrey that Mark
had arrived with the sun that morning, jolly as an elf, eager to
join in the fun. “Becky told me she’d enjoy a good brisk
walk.”

“
Oh she did, did she?”
Aubrey sucked in a breath and told himself to stop taking exception
to every blasted thing anyone said to him. A glance at Callie, who
was drawing on her gloves, an operation that required her to bend
her head so that he could only see three-quarters of her face
because of the hair and hat, made him grind his teeth.

It wasn’t fair. Nannies weren’t
supposed to make a man think of beds and silken sheets and dim
lighting and so forth. They weren’t supposed to make a man want to
undress them—slowly and seductively, tasting the sweet, exposed
flesh as they went about it. They weren’t supposed to make a man
want to remove the pins from their hair, run his hands through it,
and watch that glorious strawberry-blond mass spread out over his
pillows.

“
You don’t mind, do you,
Papa?”

Aubrey started when Becky tugged at
his coat sleeve. He glanced down at her, noticed the worried
expression on her piquant face, and his heart melted. He dragged
his mind away from what he’d like to do with Callie, and stooped to
pick up his daughter. “Of course, I don’t mind. Do you want chop
suey?” He tweaked her nose.

Becky giggled. “That’s a funny word. I
want whatever that Chinese dinner is that comes with the crunchy
noodles. You remember, Papa. You brought some to me a long time
ago.”

“
It was a very long time
ago,” confirmed Aubrey, his mind boggling. “I’m surprised you even
remember it.”

It had been Anne’s last trip to visit
a doctor in San Francisco—before they’d given up and accepted
everyone’s mortal verdict. Aubrey, his heart aching and his world
crumbling around him, had thought to bring Becky a treat. And she’d
remembered it. His heart gave a spasm now, in
reminiscence.

“
I ‘member it, Papa. Mama
and I ate the noodles and laughed.”

Aubrey felt like crying. His
astonishment nearly overwhelmed him when he glanced at Miss Prophet
and found her discreetly wiping away a tear. His heart hardened
immediately. Dash it, he hated it when the woman showed herself
subject to human sympathies. He preferred thinking of her as an
unruly bumpkin. It was much easier to keep his urges under control
that way.

Nevertheless, their sojourn in
Chinatown wasn’t at all unpleasant. Aubrey was happy to learn that
Miss Prophet could behave in a subdued and ladylike manner when put
to the test, and that she could control Becky’s behavior with
gentle hints. Of course, that was primarily because Becky was a
practically perfect child. But, still . . .

He didn’t like the way Mark seemed to
fawn over Miss Prophet, but he had to admit that Miss Prophet
didn’t encourage him. In fact, if Aubrey had been Mark, he believed
he’d have been quite discouraged.

Oddly enough, the more Aubrey watched
Miss Prophet treat Mark like a younger brother and not like a
potential lover, the more cheerful he himself became. By the time
the four of them toddled into a Chinatown restaurant for a
restorative bowl of soup and some chow mein, complete with crunchy
noodles, he was in a remarkably good mood.

He’d expected this first trip to San
Francisco since Anne’s death to be one of wrenching memories and
depression. But he discovered that it was difficult to be depressed
when one’s almost-seven-year-old daughter was in such a sunny mood.
And, while he wasn’t sure it was a good thing that he’d noticed, it
was difficult to be prey to wrenching memories when one was
accompanied by a lovely young woman with strawberry-blond hair, a
rosy disposition, and a smashing figure, who seemed to be able to
win the hearts of everyone with whom she came into
contact.

She’d certainly won Becky’s heart. And
poor Mark was totally infatuated, even though Callie gave him no
encouragement whatsoever.

It was while Becky was giggling over
the piece of paper she’d discovered in the crispy rice cake
bestowed on her by a fawning Chinese waiter that the notion of a
possible second marriage started worming it way into Aubrey’s
consciousness.

At first he was appalled. A second
marriage? After Anne? Impossible. His marriage with Anne had been
perfect in every respect. They’d loved each other wholly and
absolutely. Aubrey couldn’t imagine loving another woman as he’d
loved Anne. Theirs had been a match that had been, if not
literally, at least figuratively made in heaven. He could never
remarry. The very idea was absurd.

“
Oh, look, Papa!”

His attention jerked back from the
thorny tangle, Aubrey glanced at his daughter. “What is it,
sweetheart?”

“
I got a
fortune!”

“
Aha. And what does your
fortune say?”

Becky squinted at the small print. “I
can read it,” she announced as Mark reached to take the slip from
her fingers.

Grinning, Mark withdrew his
hand.

“
It says, ‘You will soon be
happy.’ ” Becky looked up at her father, her cheeks glowing with
health and good cheer. “It’s right, Papa. I’m happy right
now.”

Aubrey’s heart hitched. “I’m glad,
Becky. Very glad.” He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Miss
Prophet. He knew she was the authoress of his daughter’s happiness,
and he appreciated her for it, even if she did cause him many pangs
and disconcerting moments.

Miss Prophet looked away quickly,
leading Aubrey to surmise that she’d been staring at him during his
interchange with Becky. Hmm. What did that mean? he wondered.
Perhaps she didn’t find him as repulsive as her sharp tongue might
lead a fellow to believe.

He was undoubtedly only being
fanciful.

Nevertheless, that evening, he made it
a point to go to Becky’s room in order to escort his daughter and
her nanny to the cab he’d hired to carry the three of them to the
Harriotts’ party. He gave a soft rap on the door and called out,
“Becky? Are you two ready in there? It’s about time to be off.” He
kept his tone jovial to forestall Miss Prophet, who seemed an
exceptionally defensive young woman, from taking his prompting
amiss.

“
All ready, Papa!” Becky
sang back. She sounded cheerful, and that made Aubrey
glad.

As for himself, he wasn’t looking
forward to the evening. Not only was it going to be difficult to
meet Anne’s family, most of whom he hadn’t seen since the funeral,
but he didn’t anticipate anything of a jovial nature from old
Bilgewater. With a sigh, he stood back, drew on his evening gloves,
and waited.

The door opened at last, and Becky
popped out. “You look as fine as anything, sweetheart!” Aubrey
exclaimed, heartened by his daughter’s spiffy appearance. She’d
make a huge hit with the Harriotts.

“
Miss Prophet made me this
dress, Papa,” Becky told him as she twirled in front of
him.

“
Good for Miss
Prophet.”

She did look darling. Callie had sewn
her charge a blue taffeta confection, full of frills, flounces, and
ribbons, with a deeper blue satin sash at the drooped waistline. It
suited Becky to a T. The blue of the satin sash was almost the same
color as her eyes. She also wore pristine white stockings, frilly
drawers that Aubrey could see when she twirled, and black
patent-leather Mary Janes.

Not even Old Bilgewater could take
exception to her appearance. Her hair, Aubrey noticed with
satisfaction, gleamed, and was braided neatly and tied with blue
ribbons.

As if reading his mind, Becky said
perkily, “Miss Prophet washed my hair and rinsed it with vinegar,
too.”

“
Did she?”

Becky nodded. “She says vinegar takes
away the soap res—res—something. It’s a nice word for
scum.”

Aubrey nearly choked. “I see. I
believe the word is ‘residue.’ ”

“
That’s the one!” Becky
confirmed.

“
I see.” He squinted at the
open door. “And is Miss Prophet planning to join us anytime soon?”
He regretted the acidic tone in his voice as soon as he heard it.
He really didn’t want to rile Becky’s nanny this evening. He wanted
the night to be as pleasant a one as it could be, under the
circumstances.

“
Oh, yes. She said she just
had to grab her evening cloak.”

“
I see.”

“
Here I am,” Callie said,
out of breath. She barreled through the door, buttoning a glove and
almost bumping into Aubrey. She drew herself up quickly and
blushed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lockhart. I couldn’t find my
reticule, and then I couldn’t get this silly glove
buttoned.”

Aubrey took a hasty breath and forced
himself to be calm. “Think nothing of it, Miss Prophet.”

This was bad. Very bad. It might even
be terrible. Something was definitely wrong with him. He ought not
to be having these improper impulses, and especially not toward his
daughter’s nanny.

Eyeing Callie sideways, Aubrey felt
indignation swell within him. It wasn’t right. And it wasn’t his
fault, either. He couldn’t be called to blame if Callie Prophet got
herself all dolled up until she looked good enough to
eat.

Or, if not to eat, at least to
bed.

The worst of it was that, if he were
called to say exactly what he found in Miss Prophet’s appearance
this evening that might be calculated to make a man salivate, he
couldn’t name it. She was dressed in a sober gray evening dress,
perfectly appropriate for a nanny escorting a charge to a formal
evening party. She was neat as a pin and perfectly fashionable, but
there not a thing about her that might lead an impartial observer
to think she was casting out lures with the intention of reeling
Aubrey Lockhart into her creel.

He felt lured anyway, and he resented
it.

Fortunately for him, the Harriott home
was not far from his San Francisco mansion, so he was able to worry
about something besides his libidinous feelings toward Callie
Prophet after a very few minutes of fretting over them. After that,
he only had to field obnoxious comments from Old Bilgewater once or
twice. The rest of the Harriotts liked him just fine.

As well they should. After all, it had
been Aubrey Lockhart who had saved the entire clan from bankruptcy
when he’d married Anne and redirected their investments onto a
profitable path.

Anne’s aunt Glenda was a lovely,
good-natured woman, too. She’d taken Amalie under her wing when
Anne and Amalie’s parents had died. Aubrey found himself talking to
Glenda a lot during the evening, and blessing the woman for being
as unlike Old Bilgewater as a blood relation could be.

“
Becky is such a darling,
Aubrey. You must be very proud of her.”

Aubrey sighed. “I am. She’s the image
of Anne, isn’t she?”

Glenda eyed him speculatively. “Yes,
she is. How are you getting along, dear?”

“
All right.”

“
I’m sure you both miss
Anne.”

“
Yes.” Aubrey’s lips
tightened. He knew Glenda only wished for his happiness, but he
couldn’t bear talking about Anne. Glenda didn’t press the
issue.

The two of them watched Becky dance
with Mark Henderson, who had kindly led her out onto the floor.
“Mr. Henderson is an awfully nice man, isn’t he?” Glenda asked with
a smile.

“
Yes.” Aubrey discounted the
times when he’d felt like whacking Mark for being infatuated with
Callie Prophet, because he sensed those times weren’t really Mark’s
fault.

“
And Becky’s nanny is a
delightful young woman. She seems to have done Becky a world of
good. She’s quite pretty, too, isn’t she?”

Aubrey stiffened. “Is she? I hadn’t
noticed.”

Glenda eyed him more closely. “She’s
more than merely pretty, Aubrey. She’s a blessing for
Becky.”

“
Mmm.”

He didn’t appreciate Glenda’s knowing
chuckle, but when he turned to offer her a glacial and suppressing
glance, her grin was so broad and so wise that he had to look away
again immediately.

Later on in the evening, and against
his better judgment, Aubrey asked Callie to dance a waltz with him.
His state of mind was not eased by the discovery that she felt
nearly perfect in his arms.

The only thing she could have done to
ease his mind, in actual fact, was to have been Anne. And even
Aubrey, no matter how much he wanted to, couldn’t blame Callie
Prophet for not being Anne.

Chapter Eleven

Aubrey didn’t know about
this.

Two weeks had passed since Amalie’s
engagement party, and his mind hadn’t been quiet once. It was in
more of a turmoil than usual this morning at he gazed out on his
small kingdom in Santa Angelica. At least it used to be his
kingdom.

Right now, the rolling lawn on the
north side of his house had been turned into another world. Miss
Prophet had installed a huge open tent, under which rested two long
tables, what looked like a million chairs, untold yards of colorful
bunting, and perhaps a billion balloons. Aubrey couldn’t recall
ever seeing a more festive side lawn anywhere.