Heaven Sent

by Duncan, Alice

  Aubrey’s smile faded into a slight frown and he cleared his throat. “At any rate, it wouldn’t be as if I were bringing a total stranger into the house.”

  Callie was now completely at sea. She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. If there was a point to this rambling, she was missing it. She watched him pace, wondering if she was being particularly dim. She hadn’t slept much last night. Probably her reflexes and thought processes were slow today.

  “I probably should get into the city more, too. My business is doing quite well, but it’s not a good idea to run things at too great a distance, and this would solve the problem of someone being here to see to things around the house.”

  Callie strained her brain, trying to figure out what his point was.

  “I don’t like to leave Becky here with only the household staff to watch her.” He turned and glared at Callie, who jerked with surprise. “And I’ll be dashed if I’ll turn her over to Mrs. Bridgewater.”

  This pronouncement wrung a startled cry from Callie. “Good God, no. No child should be given over to that woman.”

  He nodded. “Yes. There. You see? We aren’t at odds about everything, after all.”

  “Er, no. I suppose we agree on that point.” Because she was sorry to have misjudged him so badly at the beginning of her employment, Callie felt impelled to add, “I’m sure we agree on other points, too, Mr. Lockhart.” She’d like to have mentioned a few of them, but her mind wasn’t functioning right this minute, and she couldn’t think of any.

  “Yes, yes, well, we needn’t worry much about those things. I am, after all, the master in my home and will continue to be so.” He gave her a sharp look and resumed pacing. “I shan’t be relinquishing my position here.”

  “Of course not.” Good Lord, was he thinking of moving to San Francisco and leaving the rest of his household here? Callie’s insides went cold at the thought of Aubrey leaving. And what would Becky do? She’d already been abandoned by her mother. Surely, Aubrey wasn’t thinking of abandoning her, as well?

  She recalled what she’d thought of Aubrey when she first moved in to the Lockhart mansion, and was ashamed of herself. She still believed he hadn’t handled his wife’s death well when it came to Becky, but when she’d moved into his home, she hadn’t understood the true nature of his grief. She hadn’t understood it, in truth, until she’d read those blasted letters.

  Callie decided it would be prudent not to think about the letters at the moment.

  “So, it wouldn’t be a major change,” Aubrey said, furrowing his brow and frowning harder. “I think there’s been too much change in Becky’s life already. Continuity is the answer. I want to be fair to my child.” He shot her a mildly accusatory look. “Whatever you think of me, Miss Prophet, I do love my daughter.”

  “Of course you do,” Callie murmured. “I know that, Mr. Lockhart.”

  He nodded. “Good. So, then, what do you think?”

  Callie blinked at him. What did she think? “Um . . . About what?”

  He looked at her as if she were feebleminded. “Why, what do you think of my proposal?”

  Squinting at him and casting her mind back over the past few minutes, trying to find some kind of proposal tucked away in the fuddle of words Aubrey’d flung at her, Callie didn’t. “Um . . . Well . . . That is, I . . .”

  “Well?” His voice had taken on an edge, as if he thought she were dawdling over her answer for some reason beyond his understanding.

  She gave up and decided to tell the truth. Lifting one hand, feeling helpless, and hating it—Callie didn’t like not being in control of situations and people—she said, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Lockhart, but I don’t believe I grasped the essence of whatever proposal you think you’ve made.” Then she worded that he’d take her words amiss and get angry with her. But really, after thinking about it, she didn’t think he’d been clear at all, and if he’d proposed something, she’d missed it entirely.

  He stared at her as if she were being willfully obtuse. “For God’s sake, Miss Prophet!”

  Frustrated, but willing to keep her temper in check until it became obvious that he needed a piece of her mind, Callie murmured, “I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps I’m slow today. I, ah, didn’t catch the gist of what you were asking me.”

  His stare turned into a goggle. “You what?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lockhart.”

  Aubrey flattened his hands on his glossy desk and leaned forward, his eyes blazing. “For God’s sake, you fool, what do you think I was talking about? I just asked you to marry me!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aubrey had known Miss Callida Prophet to be rowdy. He’d known her to have a temper. He’d known her to be sassy, difficult, and just plain rude. But he’d never believed her to be an idiot before this minute.

  He glowered at her and resented it when her mouth fell open in shock, snapped shut, and fell open again. He said,

  “Well? I shouldn’t think you would find the position too unbearable. After all, you’re fond of Becky, aren’t you? You’ve told me you are.”

  She remained silent. She looked as if she were stunned, as if, instead of proposing marriage to her, he’d clubbed her with a blunt instrument. Dash it, what was wrong with the woman?

  At last, she found some words. After she’d spoken them,

  Aubrey wondered why she’d bothered.

  “I—you—I— You want to marry me?”

  His eyes narrowed. Squinting at her, he wondered if perhaps he’d rushed his proposal. Thinking back, he couldn’t recall clearly explaining all the particulars of his offer to her. Because he didn’t want her to misunderstand, he stopped leaning on his hands and stood straight. Still frowning, he said, “I don’t see that a marriage with me should disrupt your life too much. After all, you’re already living under my roof, and you’ve established an effective relationship with my daughter.”

  “I—” Her eyes were wide. Aubrey read confusion in them, and something else he couldn’t put a name to. “I’m Becky’s nanny,” she said. “I hadn’t even considered being your—” She stopped speaking and gulped. “I hadn’t ever considered being your wife.”

  He shrugged. “Well, consider it. It sounds merely logical to me. Convenient.”

  “Convenient?”

  He cast about for a more useful word than that one, which didn’t really convey his meaning, and came up with another: “It would provide continuity. I don’t want to bring a stranger into Becky’s life. She’s suffered too many disruptions already.”

  Callie cleared her throat. “You want to marry me so as not to disrupt Becky’s life?”

  “Well Yes.” He nodded again, judiciously. “It only makes sense.”

  She stood, folding her hands at her waist. Aubrey had never seen her look so demure, and he didn’t trust her. “It makes sense?”

  “Yes. Certainly.” Remembering at last that he hadn’t explained the love angle to her, he said hastily, “I’m sure you understand that this is primarily a business decision on my part, Miss Prophet. You know—the whole world knows—that my late wife and I had a special union of like souls and like minds. You must understand that. But, while I can’t offer you love, I can and will strive to be a suitable husband to you. You’ll never lack for material things, and you’ll have a daughter in Becky, whom, it has become obvious to me, you love.”

  “I see.”

  Was her voice shaking? Could be. After all, it wasn’t every day she got a marriage proposal. Probably. Or maybe she did. What did he know about her personal life?

  Suddenly, Aubrey remembered something else and felt his neck get hot. “I would want for it to be a real marriage,” he said quickly. “If you understand what I mean. I, ah, would like to have more children. Perhaps a son. Not,” he hastened to assure her, for fear of rousing her feminist sensibilities, “that I want marriage only as a means of securing a son. I’m an enlightened man in an enlightened age and don’t believe that female children are intrinsica
lly of less importance than male children. You know very well that I adore my daughter. But Anne and I had planned on having a large family. We—Well, you know what happened.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know what happened.”

  They stood in Aubrey’s library, looking at each other, until Aubrey’s nerves jangled. “Damnation, wilt you stop standing there, staring at me? I just proposed marriage to you, for God’s sake! Say something!”

  She took a deep breath, which effectively drew Aubrey’s attention to her bosom. It was a very nice bosom. He felt a surge of lust and anticipation. Dash it, Callie might be a difficult woman, but she was a remarkably well-built one. Her cheeks now sported twin banners of fire. Aubrey guessed they betokened some kind of modesty on her part, although he wouldn’t have thought she possessed much of that quality.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart.”

  Her voice was shaking. It didn’t sound particularly grateful, either. Aubrey sharpened his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

  “It was very nice of you to make such a . . . a . . . sporting offer.”

  “Sporting? A sporting offer? What the devil do you mean by that?”

  Her smile chilled him. “I mean, I understand that you think you need a wife, Mr. Lockhart. I, however, do not believe I’m the woman for you.”

  He gaped at her.

  She went on. “I must say that, until this afternoon, no one has ever given me reason to believe I’m a particularly compliant, woman.”

  “Compliant? Dash it, you’re impossible most of the timer”

  “Exactly.”

  There were certainly lots of teeth in that smile of hers. It made Aubrey nervous and he glanced around for lightweight objects near her hands that she might possibly pick up and heave at him. He didn’t altogether trust her mood. Nevertheless, he wanted to get at the bottom of this refusal, if it was a refusal. “I still don’t understand. Do you mean to tell me you’re declining my proposal?”

  “It sounded more like a business transaction to me, sir. I exchange my body and soul for your pleasure.”

  “Pleasure? Good God, I didn’t mean it that way! I want Becky to have a mother. I want her to have you as a mother.” Confused and feeling increasingly misunderstood, offended, and desperate, he bellowed, “Confound it, she’s used to you!”

  She nodded. If her cheeks hadn’t turned a bright crimson by this time, Aubrey might have thought she was completely unemotional. “I see. I understand why you might not want to—to break in another female, as it were. After all, Becky’s suffered enough losses in her short life.”

  Thank God she was beginning to understand. He expelled a gust of breath. “Exactly. Yes. That’s it exactly.”

  “I see. I fear I can’t oblige you, Mr. Lockhart.” She turned around and started for the door.

  Aubrey goggled at her retreating figure. “You what? But—but— Callie, wait!”

  She whirled around, stamping a foot in the process. “Don’t you dare follow me,” she commanded in a measured, ferocious voice. “I have never received such a—a—a damnable offer in my entire life. I can’t believe even you are so lost to feeling that you’d think a woman would accept such a proposition as the one you just made me.”

  “Proposition? Dash it, I just proposed marriage to you!” This was impossible. It was irrational. It was, in short, exactly like her. “Damnation, I want you to marry me!”

  “No, you don’t. You want a built-in nanny and a general housemaid you don’t have to pay for.”

  His mouth fell open. All of his words dried up, along with his thought processes.

  “Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Aubrey Lockhart. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!” She turned abruptly and stomped off, leaving Aubrey at a complete loss.

  Then it struck him. He even slapped his head. “Henderson,” he breathed. “She’s in love with Mark Henderson.”

  Well, dash it. After briefly considering following her— and deciding against it as soon as the thought crossed his mind—Aubrey turned and wandered hack to the window behind his desk. “Henderson.” Something in his chest scrunched up and started throbbing.

  Damn.

  *****

  Callie walked all the way upstairs to her bedroom, opened her door, and even shut it behind her without slamming it. She’d turned the key in the lock and walked to the fireplace before the floodgates opened and tears of rage overcame her.

  “Damn him!” she whispered harshly, startling the cat, who had been curled up on her bed, into lifting his head and eyeing her. His eyes looked golden in the afternoon sunlight coming through her window. Callie marched to the fireplace, lifted a Chinese ornament from the mantel and was about to smash it to the carpeted floor when she stopped herself.

  “No sense breaking priceless Chinese ornaments,” she muttered. “I’d undoubtedly have to pay for it, and I don’t suppose a year’s wages as Becky’s nanny would cover the cost of the blasted thing.”

  She eyed the ornament with loathing. It looked as if it had been made from some kind of ivory. It was an intricately carved ball containing several other intricately carved balls that got progressively smaller toward the center of the thing. It was probably a masterpiece of artistry, but at the moment Callie’s fingers itched to break it. And, after she’d hurled it to the floor, she wanted to grind the pieces under her feet until they were powder. Dust. Particles of trash.

  Wheeling around, she stared at her cat, who stared back impassively.

  “Oh, God, Monster, how could he?”

  The cat didn’t so much as blink at her. He only gazed upon her with his enigmatic cat’s eyes gleaming. Callie sucked in a breath that scraped a throat that was already so tight it ached. When she let the breath out, it sounded like the dying gasp of sick duck.

  “Oh, God.”

  Unable to deny her pain any longer, Callie threw herself face down on her bed. Monster hissed, but he didn’t jump up and run away. Callie appreciated his consideration, because she needed him just then. Grabbing him around his rotund middle, she buried her head in his soft fur and wept until she thought for sure her heart would shatter.

  It was a heart already broken. It felt as if it had been smashed like that Chinese ornament would have been if she’d been less considerate. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

  “I love him, Monster,” she whispered several minutes later when she could gather sufficient breath. “I love him, and he just offered me a business proposition. As if I’m no more to him than a—a—” She couldn’t think of the right word and pounded on the bed with her fist, thus offending Monster, who tried to get away, but she wouldn’t let him.

  “I’m a convenience!” she cried into his fur. “I’m here, and he wants me for Becky. For Becky!”

  Monster muttered a low growl, but he didn’t bare his claws or his teeth.

  “Oh, God, I can’t stand it.”

  Callie hadn’t slept much the night before, and the emotional energy required to react to Aubrey’s damnable proposition succeeded in draining her entirely. After sobbing her heart out for what seemed like hours, she eventually subsided into gasping hiccups before she fell into an exhausted slumber, still clinging to her cat, who immediately began smoothing his ruffled fur when Callie’s grip lessened.

  She had no idea how long she’d been sleeping when a quiet tapping came at her door. She sat up on the bed and rubbed her eyes. Monster, who’d given up thoughts of escape and, catlike, accepted the inevitable and napped along with her after licking his fur back into place, eyed her malevolently, his expression that of a cat sorely tried.

  The tapping came again. “Miss Prophet?”

  It was Becky. Callie suppressed a groan and stood up, staggering slightly. She must have been upset to allow herself to fall apart so absolutely. She cleared her throat, which felt raw. “Becky?” Good heavens, she sounded like a hoarse toad.

  “Miss Prophet? Papa said you weren’t feeling well. Are you sick?”

  Callie had made it to
the ornately carved teakwood bureau. The sight she saw in the mirror was so appalling, she groaned aloud.

  “Miss Prophet?” The little girl sounded worried now.

  Oh, Lord, None of this was Becky’s fault. Callie refused to take her emotional distress out on the child. “Just a minute, Becky sweets. I’ll be right there.”

  Aubrey Lockhart was rich enough to have installed hot-and-cold running water when he’d built his mansion, but that didn’t help Callie at the moment, since the bathroom was down the hall. Fortunately, Delilah always filled the water pitchers in the bedrooms during her morning rounds. Callie was, therefore, able to pour some water into the basin and give her face a cold scrub.

  When she glanced in the mirror again, she saw that the water hadn’t done much good. Her eyelids were swollen up like pumpkins and about the same color. What she needed was a damp, cool rag and a good long nap or three.

  That couldn’t be helped. Resigning herself to lie to Becky—she’d never tell the little girl how her father had crushed Callie’s self-respect and shattered her composure—she walked to the door and opened it, She smiled down at the child. “Come on in, Becky. I was, er, napping.”

  Becky looked as worried as she’d sounded. “Papa said you

  weren’t feeling well. Are you sick? You look sick.”

  Wonderful, and not unexpected. “I, er, don’t feel too well,” she temporized.

  The little girl nodded. “Papa said I wasn’t to bother you, but I didn’t think it would be a bother to ask you if you’re sick.”

  “You’re absolutely correct, sweetheart.” Papa said I wasn’t to bother you, indeed, Callie thought savagely. He said you were sick.

  The brute. Callie wished Aubrey Lockhart were here—without Becky. She’d show him sick. She’d make him sick.

  “Can I come in and sit down?”

  “Of course, you may, sweetheart. Come right in.”

  Because Callie couldn’t think of a single thing with which to amuse Becky, her imagination having been drained along with her emotions, she gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you pet Monster for a bit. Maybe I can find a book to read.”