If human emotion could be registered in terms of volcanic displays, Aubrey would have erupted. He didn’t permit his fury to show, but merely said quietly, “Anne’s portrait is precious to both Becky and me, Mrs. Bridgewater, and I won’t be removing it any time soon.”
The middle-aged matron snorted. “Well, you’re a fool then.”
Aubrey didn’t respond to this blatant attempt to rile him. “Mrs. Granger is bringing us some refreshments, Mrs. Bridgewater. Won’t you be seated? I’ve sent for Becky.”
“I want to talk to you about Rebecca, Aubrey.” She sat with a crisp crunch of black bombazine. “That’s why I chose to take the arduous journey to this end-of-the-world place today.”
She reminded Aubrey a little of Monster, the way her large body pooched out around the edges. However, Monster, even when attacking his feet, possessed a better nature than Bilgewater.
Her words froze his blood. Not that this human female buffalo could do anything with Becky without his permission, but Aubrey didn’t fancy getting embroiled in a fight with her. He said, “Oh?” and smiled benignly. Because he disliked her and didn’t care for the way she belittled Santa Angelica, he added, “Anne and I chose to live here in order to get away from the fuss and bother of the city. We loved it here. We both thought it would be better to rear children in the country than in the city. Fresh air, vigorous exercise, and all that.”
She sniffed, “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”
“Right.” Suppressing the urge to throw at old Bilgewater’s head the Ming vase he’d rescued several days earlier from Monster’s attack, he muttered, “You said you wanted to talk to me about Becky?”
“Yes. Something must be done about her.”
Good God. She sounded as if Becky were a species of vermin that needed to be exterminated. “What do you mean, ‘done about her’?”
“She needs a woman around her, now that Anne’s gone. She ought not remain out here in the hinterlands with only her father and the servants for company. She’ll never learn how to take her place in society this way.”
Trying not to grind his teeth, Aubrey said, “You needn’t worry about that, Mrs. Bridgewater. I’ve hired her a nanny.”
Bilgewater snorted. “A nanny! And what good, pray tell, is a nanny? The child needs to be with her family.”
“It sounds to me as though you think she ought to be removed from her family,” Aubrey pointed out.
“Nonsense. I only want you to understand that a girl child needs to associate with female family members.”
Still holding back a bellow, Aubrey said,. “She’s quite happy, actually. She’s about to start school in a couple of days, and she’s excited about it.”
“School!” Mrs. Bridgewater’s lips thinned and her nose wrinkled. “And where will she be attending school?”
Aubrey inclined his head, puzzled at the question. “Why, in Santa Angelica, of course. She’ll be in the first grade, and she’s quite looking forward to it.”
“Fah.”
Fah? Why fah? Aubrey lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t approve?” He might have expected as much. Bilgewater didn’t approve of anything unless she suggested it.
The door of the drawing room opened, and Becky bounced in, a smile wreathing her darling face, Callie right behind her. As ever, when in the presence of his child, Aubrey’s heart first hitched painfully and then gladdened. She reminded him so much of Anne.
As soon as the child spotted her least favorite great-aunt, her smile vanished and she stopped bouncing. Evidently recalling past encounters with this intimidating dame, she curtsied prettily and stood stock still. She glanced over her shoulder at Callie. Aubrey could tell she did so in order to gain courage, and his heart pinged again. She ought to be looking to him for aid and comfort, not her nanny.
He went over to her and took her hand. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s say hello to Great-Aunt Evelyn.”
His gaze found Callie, who stood with folded hands beside the doorway. She looked as if she’d just steamed in from a hard gale, with loose tresses flying out from the bun on top of her head. As soon as she caught his eye focused on her head, she unfolded her hands and began patting at her hair.
Aubrey knew, because he’d studied her hair, that it wouldn’t be subdued by such feeble efforts. For a second he allowed his glance to take in the rest of her, and he realized she had smears of dirt on her apron and even on her right cheek.
Aunt Evelyn was going to love this. He gave Callie a quick frown to let her know he wasn’t pleased with her, and again turned toward Mrs. Bridgewater. “Another curtsy would be in order here, Becky,” he said softly and with a smile. He knew Becky was afraid of this woman, and he didn’t fault her for her astute assessment of human nature. Anyone with an ounce of sense would be leery of Evelyn Bilgewater.
“Good morning, Rebecca,” Mrs. Bridgewater said. She was as formal as Figgins, but not as good-natured. Even her smile appeared sour.
Becky executed another curtsy. She was rumpled, too, Aubrey noticed with a sinking heart. Bilgewater was certain to disapprove. “Good morning, Great-Aunt Evelyn,” Becky said dutifully, but without enthusiasm.
Mrs. Bridgewater scanned the little girl with growing dissatisfaction. “What have you been doing with yourself, child? Your dress is a mess.” Squinting through her spectacles at Becky she said, “And so is your face.”
Becky shot a quick glance up at her father. Aubrey was pleased at this indication that she hadn’t completely detached herself from him but still sought his guidance and approval in uncertain circumstances. He nodded and smiled down at her, hoping to give her the courage to relate whatever it was she and Miss Prophet had been doing. She didn’t disappoint him.
“Miss Prophet and I were out collecting birds’ nests, Great-Aunt Evelyn.”
“Birds' nests? Have you been climbing trees, child?” Mrs. Bridgewater clearly did not sanction such antics.
But Becky’s enthusiasm for her recent outdoor pursuits overcame her fear of disapproval. She said brightly, “Oh, yes! It’s autumn, you know, and the baby birds have flown away. We’ve found tons of feathers, and so far we’ve collected a robin’s nest and a tanager’s nest and a blue jay’s nest. Miss Prophet can tell the difference between all kinds of birds’ nests.” She sounded as if she thought Miss Prophet’s knowledge of bird life was the most amazing thing she’d ever encountered.
“Miss Prophet?” Mrs. Bridgewater’s nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something putrid. “Is that Miss Prophet?” Becky’s great-aunt would never do anything so gauche as to point a finger, but she inclined her chin in Callie’s direction, and both Becky and Aubrey turned to look at her. Aubrey was surprised to see the color climb into the nanny’s cheeks. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her react in embarrassment to anything or anyone before this moment. He wasn’t, on the other hand, surprised to see her lift her chin and look defiant, in spite of the blush in her cheeks.
With a sigh, he said, “Will you please step forward, Miss Prophet? Let me introduce you to Becky’s great-aunt.”
“Certainly, Mr. Lockhart.”
She never called him sir. Aubrey didn’t especially mind, not having much of a craving for subservience, but he suspected her lack of sirs had devolved from her false opinion of him as a cold-hearted son of a bitch, and he resented it. This wasn’t the time to air family quarrels, however.
Although it cost him an internal twinge, he smiled at Becky’s great-aunt. “Mrs. Bertrand Bridgewater, please allow me to introduce you to Miss Callida Prophet, Becky’s nanny. Miss Prophet has been with us for approximately six weeks now.” He didn’t add that those six weeks had been fraught with lectures, cat bites, household noise, and his own personal squabbles with the nanny.
To Aubrey’s astonishment, Callie dropped a curtsy. It was a good one, too, leading Aubrey to believe that the woman had been taught pretty manners some time in her past, even if she seldom exhibited them in his presence.
“How do you do, Mrs.
Bridgewater?” Even Callie’s voice was civil.
Aubrey suppressed his amazement. He turned to Bilgewater, wondering what the old bat would make of Callie Prophet. Not much, from the look on her face.
“You are this child’s governess?” Mrs. Bridgewater raked Callie with a glance probably meant to wound. Aubrey frowned.
“I’m her nanny,” Callie corrected her civilly.
“You’re too young.” Old Bilgewater brushed Callie away with one of her well-manicured hands. She turned to Aubrey. “I don’t know what you mean, hiring a mere child to care for Rebecca, Aubrey. It’s scandalous that so young a lady should be living here in this house.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open.
So did Aubrey’s, but only because a fellow couldn’t talk with his mouth shut. “Miss Prophet,” he said in a voice of steel, “is fully qualified to be Becky’s nanny.” He was going to go on, explaining Callie’s educational qualifications, but Callie took over.
“I should say I am.”
To Aubrey’s surprise, the nanny’s face had drained of color. He’d have expected her color to deepen with fury.
“I have a degree from the Brooklyn, New York, Teaching Seminary for Young Women—with honors—and am fully qualified to teach school.”
Bilgewater remained unmoved. “Then why aren’t you?”
“Not,” Callie said—and Aubrey detected a faint quiver, probably brought about by anger, in her voice—“that it’s any of your business, Mrs. Bridgewater, but I chose to live in Santa Angelica in order to remain near my family. If I’d chosen to teach school, I would have had to move elsewhere, and I didn’t want to.”
“Huh. Well, you’re still too young to have charge of Rebecca.” She turned back to Aubrey dismissing Callie this time without so much as a flick of her hand. “Aubrey, the child should come to live with me. I intend to take her to San Francisco with me. In the city, she will have the best of everything.”
Her great-aunt’s words had a galvanic effect on little Becky. She cried out, “No!” and rushed to grasp Callie’s hand. From that position, she gazed with horror from Great-Aunt Evelyn to her father.
A pain spread through Aubrey’s chest. He didn’t like it that Becky had run to Callie instead of to him. And, although he’d been thinking only that morning about how Becky needed the supervision of a woman, and that he wasn’t fit to rear her alone, and, while he’d thought for weeks now that Callie Prophet was too young to be in charge of his daughter, he flatly rejected Bilgewater’s suggestion. Command, rather.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bridgewater, but Becky will be staying here. At home.” He was relieved to see Becky relax slightly. She still didn’t leave her nanny’s side for his, but at least she gave him a quavery smile.
“Pshaw,” Bilgewater huffed. “You’re making a grave mistake, Aubrey. Anne would have wanted Rebecca to have only the best,”
Before Aubrey could say a word, Becky piped up. “But I already have the best. Miss Prophet’s the best. Honest, she is, Great-Aunt Evelyn.”
“Nonsense, child. She’s far too young. And your manners certainly haven’t improved under her care.” She frowned so fiercely at Becky that the little girl snuggled more deeply into Callie’s skirts.
Aubrey didn’t intend to take any more of that. “That’s enough! I won’t have you browbeating my daughter or my staff, Aunt Evelyn. And speaking of manners, I think you ought to work on your own before you complain about anyone else’s. You have no business coming here and telling us how to live our lives.”
It took Evelyn Bridgewater mere seconds to draw in so much air that she seemed to grow larger and to poof out, again reminding Aubrey of Monster. He presumed she aimed to use all that air in denying his accusation and in vilifying his morals and living situation some more, but an interruption prevented her. Thank God.
“Good morning, Mr. Lockhart. I told Figgins he didn’t need to announce me, and I just— Oh,”
Mark Henderson, Aubrey’s secretary from San Francisco, stopped in the doorway of the drawing room, his hat in his hand and his youthful face cheery. “I beg your pardon. I had no idea you had company.” Mark, unlike Miss Prophet, could blush up a storm at the drop of a hat, Aubrey noticed. Yet he was glad for the interruption.
There was no telling how the scene would degenerate if left to its own devices. “Come on in, Mark. This isn’t a formal meeting.” With an effort, he smiled and went over to shake the young man’s hand. “How did you get here so quickly? It takes hours to get here from San Francisco, I didn’t expect you until this afternoon.”
“I drove to Santa Angelica yesterday afternoon,” Mark said, recovering some of his composure. “I spent the night at that quaint little hotel in the village. It’s a charming place.”
Aubrey was proud of his restraint when he didn’t so much as glance at Bilgewater to see how she liked Mark’s commendation.
“You ought to have stayed here, Mark. We have plenty of room. Here, let me introduce you.”
Still red of face, but with his company manners firmly in place, Mark entered the room and smiled at Becky. “How do you do, Miss Lockhart?” He took her tiny hand in his and bowed over it.
“Good morning, Mr. Henderson,” Becky said and smiled back.
This had been a ritual with them ever since Becky was big enough to walk. Aubrey smiled, enjoying the scene before him. He turned to Miss Prophet to see how she was taking in Mark’s theatrics and his smile suddenly faded. She was giving Mark Henderson a look full of approval. She’d never once looked at Aubrey that way.
Mark stood up from his bow and glanced from Mrs. Bridgewater to Callie, where his gaze seemed to stick fast. Aubrey saw him swallow and forged onward.
“Mrs. Bridgewater, please allow me to introduce you to my secretary and right-hand man, Mr. Mark Henderson. Mark keeps the office in San Francisco operating on an even keel. Mark, this is my late wife’s aunt Evelyn, Mrs. Bertrand Bridgewater.”
With what looked like a struggle, Mark managed to tear his gaze away from Becky’s nanny and focus it on Great- Aunt Evelyn. He bowed formally. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bridgewater,”
“How do you do, young man?”
“And this,” Aubrey said, although he didn’t want to, “is Miss Callida Prophet, Becky’s new nanny.”
With less formality but a good deal more sparkle, Mark bowed to Callie, keeping his gaze locked on her the entire time. “Miss Prophet. A pleasure.”
“How do you do?”
Callie returned his bow with another perfectly executed curtsy. Aubrey noted, however, that she didn’t seem to be as enthralled with him as he was with her, because she almost immediately returned her attention to Old Bilgewater. To Aubrey, it looked as if she’d like to take the woman up on her criticisms about her own fitness to be Becky’s nanny and about Santa Angelica and argue with her for the rest of the afternoon.
Aubrey was about to intercede when Mrs. Granger entered the room bearing a tray with bread-and-butter sandwiches on it. Delilah followed her, carrying a tray laid out with teacups and the best silver tea service. He breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t much been looking forward to getting in between these two headstrong ladies.
With totally feigned joviality, he rubbed his hands together and beamed at the two servants. “Ah. Good. Mrs. Bridgewater and Mark, please make yourselves comfortable, and take some tea and sandwiches.”
He turned to Becky and Miss Prophet, who still stood by, hand in hand. “Miss Prophet, perhaps you should return to your outdoor-activities, Or, if you and Becky wish to partake of refreshments, you might want to visit the soap and water first.” He hoped Callie would be so offended she wouldn’t take him up on the latter suggestion.
Since she stiffened all over like Aubrey’s favorite pointer when eyeing a duck, he guessed she wouldn’t. “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart. I don’t think we will join you for refreshments. As you can see, we’re not dressed for company.”
“Yes. I did notice that,”
He
saw her bosom heave. He’d been observing her bosom fairly often of late, although he was sure he shouldn’t. But, dash it, she was a pretty woman, however ghastly her personality, and he was a young man, even if he still grieved over the loss of his wife.
“Come along, Becky. You’d better curtsy to your great-aunt first and ask to be excused.”
From the tone of her voice, Aubrey supposed she’d wanted to suggest that Becky chuck something at her great-aunt first, and then at her father. He would have smiled, except be didn’t want to give Bilgewater anything else to fuss about.
Reluctantly, Becky released Callie’s hand and walked over to her great-aunt. She gave another one of her pretty little curtsies. “May I be excused, please, ma’am?”
Old Bilgewater eyed her critically. “Very well, Rebecca. At least your manners haven’t vanished entirely. Yes, run along now. I’ll talk to your father more about the subject under discussion later.”
Becky didn’t like hearing that. She opened her mouth to protest, but Callie touched her shoulder lightly, shook her head, and reached for Becky’s hand. Unhappy, but understanding that it wasn’t a child’s place to question the adults in her life, Becky accepted defeat and turned around. She wouldn’t even have said good-bye to her papa if Callie hadn’t reminded her.
Aubrey frowned after the two females as they left the drawing room, unhappy with Becky’s defection. If it was a defection.
Perhaps Old Bilgewater was right about Becky. Maybe his daughter would be better off staying in San Francisco with Bilgewater and her unpleasant husband. If Aubrey sent her to live with them, she’d at least be glad to see her papa when he made it into the city.
He chided himself at once. These musings were merely the result of his selfishness surfacing again. He hadn’t realized how large that side of him was until recently, when Miss Callida Prophet had come into his life.
Damn her. Before she came here to stir up the ashes, his life was miserable, but at least he understood it. Now he didn’t understand anything.
His mood was not improved when Mark said, “What a remarkably pretty young woman, Mr. Lockhart. Did she come from the city?”
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