Authors: The Baby Bequest
Lyn Cote (25 page)
Still, the young woman in front of him did not conform to his
notion of a nanny. He would have thought the wisdom that came from age and the
experience of raising children to be requirements. She looked too young, at
least five years his junior. He also hypothesized that family connections or
beauty would be lacking, as either could qualify a woman for an easier life as
the wife of a well-situated man. While he could not know her family situation,
that bright hair and smile would certainly allow her to make some claim to
beauty. If she’d been dressed more like the young ladies of the ton, she would
likely have found any number of young men eager to pursue her.
But she did not appear interested in pursuit. In fact, the way
her foot was tapping at the grass, this lady already regretted looking in on
him, as if she had far more important things to do than possibly save his
life.
If she was Alice’s nanny, he had to agree.
Alice! He glanced about, seeking the dark-haired head of his
daughter. “Tell me you didn’t bring Alice with you,” he ordered.
She frowned at him. “Certainly not. I thought a four-year-old
should be spared the inhalation of carbonic fumes.” She shrugged. “Old-fashioned
of me, I’m sure. Clearly you prefer it.”
He should take umbrage, but she said it all with such a
pleasant tone he could not argue. That trait alone probably made her an
exceptional nanny.
He should find out.
He immediately banished the thought. This was not an experiment
requiring acute observation and documentation. This was a female in his employ.
Besides, Charlotte had been clear in her requirements for managing his
household. She had the responsibility for Alice and the staff. He had the
responsibility of staying out of her way.
Still, questions poked at him, as they always did when he was
confronted with something he didn’t immediately understand. A few moments’
investigation would not hinder his other work. The smoke would need a little
time to dissipate in any event.
He tapped the fingers of his right hand against his wool
trousers, gazed at her down his nose. “If you are not here with Alice, how did
you know I required assistance? The nursery is on the opposite side of the
Grange, if memory serves.”
She clapped her hands as if he’d said something particularly
clever. “Excellent! At least the smoke hasn’t addled your wits.” Lowering her
hands, she added, “I was in the kitchen preparing tea. And as you appear to have
taken no immediate injury, I should return to my duties.” She curtsied again as
if ready to escape.
But he wasn’t ready for her to go. He had too many questions,
and he needed answers before forming a hypothesis. “You seem uncommonly
outspoken for a nanny,” he said. “Why would that be?”
She straightened. “I suppose because other nannies fear for
their positions too much to tell the master when he’s behaving like a fool.”
Nick stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
Her smile was commiserating. “I don’t believe the smoke has
affected your hearing, sir. Let me see if I can put this in terms you would
appreciate. You have miscalculated.”
He frowned. “In what way?”
“You have the sweetest, brightest, most wonderful daughter, yet
in the three months I’ve worked here, you have never visited the nursery. You
didn’t even know who had charge of her. You spend all your time out here—” she
gestured to his still-smoking laboratory “—risking your life, risking leaving
her an orphan. That, sir, I find foolish in the extreme.”
Nick raised his brows. “So you have no regard for your position
to speak this way.”
Her smile broadened. “I have tremendous regard for my position.
I would defend your daughter with my life. But I don’t think you’ll discharge me
over strong opinions, Sir Nicholas. You need me. No one else would agree to
serve in this house. Good day.”
Nick watched, bemused, as she gathered her dusky brown skirts
and marched back to the Grange, her pale hair like a moonbeam cutting through
the vanishing smoke.
Singular woman. He could not remember any member of his
household speaking to him in such a bold manner. Of course, most members of his
household avoided speaking with him entirely. Something about his work unnerved
them as if he meant to test his concoctions on them rather than to use the
chemicals to help develop a new lamp for mining.
Still, he could not argue with her assessment. He had been
neglecting Alice. His skills were either insufficient in that area or
unnecessary. His daughter had people who loved her, cared for her, made sure she
was safe. The coal miners he was working to support had no such protection. They
risked their lives daily in the mine on his property to the east of the Grange.
Why shouldn’t he risk his health for them?
He’d already risked his reputation.
And, he feared, he was about to risk it again. Other noted
philosophers were laboring like he was to find the secret to producing light
under the extreme conditions underground. They enjoyed the challenge. He knew
personally the deaths that would be prevented. What was needed was a lamp that
would burn without exploding in the pockets of flammable air that appeared
without warning.
Yet, as he returned to the laboratory and began to clean away
the remains of his failed experiment, he found himself unable to focus. It
seemed another study beckoned, one in which he had every right to investigate
and every expectation of immediate success.
He needed to know this woman who was taking care of his
daughter, how she came to be in his household and how she knew exactly what kind
of smoke was streaming from his laboratory.
ISBN: 9781460317334
THE BABY BEQUEST
Copyright © 2013 by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.