Heaven Sent

by Duncan, Alice

  Mark remained stiff for a second or two, then relaxed and offered a tentative smile. “Too many women?” he asked in a teasing tone.

  Ah, that sounded so simple. Aubrey pounced on the suggestion as he’d seen Monster pounce on a paper ball. “Exactly. I’m as fond of women as the next man, but I need to escape every now and then.”

  Going back to his desk, Mark sat, still smiling, although with more palpable strain. “Is, ah, Miss Prophet causing you any problems, sir?”

  “Miss Prophet?” Aubrey took his own chair, behind his massive desk, and gazed thoughtfully at Mark. Here, he had yesterday assumed, was the man whom Callie Prophet loved, damn him for daring to deprive Becky of her nanny.

  Aubrey couldn’t see it. Mark didn’t appear any more lovable than Aubrey to Aubrey’s eyes. He was a good-looking fellow, but so was Aubrey. Mark was smart, but Aubrey considered himself smarter. And he was a dashed sight richer.

  After sighing deeply, he said, “No. She’s fine.”

  “Ah. I see.” Mark heaved a huge sigh, too. “She’s an awfully pretty woman, isn’t she?”

  “I suppose so.” Aubrey slid a pile of correspondence to the center of his desk. Lifting the first envelope and squinting at it, he said as casually as he could, “You seem rather fond of Miss Prophet, Mark. Should I be alarmed?”

  “Alarmed?” Mark sounded genuinely shocked. “Good God, sir, no! That is to say—I assure you, I don’t have any—I mean—”

  “It’s all right, Mark. I only wondered if I’d have to hire another nanny any time soon. I have no business to pry into your personal life.”

  “But I don’t have a personal life!”

  Aubrey glanced up with interest and saw Mark’s face flush. “You don’t?”

  Mark gave a shaky chuckle. “No. Well, not really. My sister’s family generally takes up my time. I live with them, you know, sir. She married a capital fellow, and I’ve lived with them for six years now. I’m fond of their children, and enjoy entertaining them.”

  “I see.” Aubrey hesitated, wondering if it would be polite to ask the question that had sprung to his mind. Then he decided he might as well. “Do you ever think about marriage, Mark?”

  “Marriage?”

  Aubrey’s secretary was plainly startled by the question. His flush deepened. Aubrey was sorry to have embarrassed the boy, but he had an almost overwhelming need to understand Mark’s relationship with Callie—if there was one.

  “Yes. You’re a young, vigorous fellow. Do you ever think about marrying and settling down?”

  After clearing his throat, Mark said, “Well, yes. Sometimes. But I don’t want to rush into anything.”

  Aubrey nodded, trying for a judicial, contemplative expression but fearing his relief might be leaking through. “So, you haven’t met anyone recently whom you’d consider suitable material for a life’s mate for yourself?”

  “No. Not really.”

  Dash it, that was no answer. Well, it was an answer, but it wasn’t the one Aubrey wanted to hear. He decided to be more blunt. “I wondered, after seeing the two of you together, if you might have an interest in Miss Prophet.” There. He’d said it.

  “Oh!” Mark’s face had begun to regain its normal color, but it reddened again at once. “Miss Prophet?”

  Aubrey picked up another envelope and tried to appear nonchalant as he perused its contents. “Just a thought, is all”

  “Oh. I see. Well . . . Well, I do think she’s a charming woman,” Mark said. “And she’s quite pretty. She seems to be good with children. She’d probably make some lucky fellow an admirable wife.”

  Dash it, Aubrey didn’t ask for a compilation of Callie’s finer qualities. The longer Mark took in listing them, the more Aubrey feared he was going to confess to a secret engagement or something. He schooled his features to betray none of his irritation.

  “But I don’t think she’d give me a second thought if I didn’t work for you, Mr. Lockhart. She’s obviously head over ears in love with you, sir.”

  The envelope slipped from Aubrey’s suddenly numb fingers, and he stared at his secretary, “She what’?”

  Mark started and paled. “Well, I— I mean, it seemed—I don’t mean to say that you— Oh, dear.”

  Aubrey took three deep breaths and let them out slowly. He could scarcely credit what his ears had just heard. But his hearing was excellent, and he knew he wasn’t mistaken. Mark, however, was.

  “I don’t believe you’ve judged her sentiments correctly, Mark,” Aubrey said after a moment or two. “Miss Prophet . . .” Miss Prophet what? Miss Prophet hates his guts? Miss Prophet despises him? Miss Prophet considers him beneath her contempt? Aubrey didn’t want to admit those things aloud. After fumbling around in his brain for a few seconds, he merely said, “I don’t believe Miss Prophet entertains those sorts of feelings for me.” In any way whatsoever.

  “No?” Mark eyed his employer skeptically. “Well, sir, I’m sure you know best, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

  Squinting at his secretary, Aubrey thought about Callie. No. Mark was wrong. “I’ve seen the way she looks at me, too,” he said, trying not to sound as sardonic as he felt. “I can assure you that love isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.”

  “No?” Mark remained unconvinced, Aubrey could tell. “If you say so, sir.”

  “Yes, I do say so.” Dash it, this conversation was insane. “But how did we get onto this topic?” he said with asperity. “It has nothing to do with business.”

  A flash of annoyance passed across Mark’s face. “No, sir, but you did ask.”

  “Oh. Right. I did. Sorry, Mark.” Dash it. Aubrey told himself not to take his own problems out on his secretary. “I beg your pardon. Didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Oh, no, sir. It’s quite all right.” His glance was shy. “I, er, appreciate you taking an interest in me, sir. Most employers wouldn’t.”

  Embarrassed now himself, Aubrey said gruffly, “Nonsense. I value you, both as an employee and as a gentleman of integrity and intelligence, Mark. I care about your life and future.”

  God bless it, if he got any more maudlin, they’d both be weeping like babies. Aubrey gave himself a mental shake.

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  More embarrassed than ever, Aubrey rose from his desk. “I came to the city in order to see to a few things,” he said mendaciously. “I’ll be back a little later.”

  He escaped to Golden Gate Park, where he walked for two-and-a-half hours, after which time he felt capable of dealing with his business affairs again. His personal affairs were another matter entirely. But Aubrey decided to be patient. Patience had been his friend in business matters. It probably couldn’t hurt in his dealings with Miss Callida Prophet.

  His confidence in business affairs didn’t, unfortunately, leak over into his feelings about Callie.

  He did dare, however, to ask Mark in as casual a manner as possible how he planned to spend Christmas. It had occurred to Aubrey as he wandered around the park, not looking at anything in particular but pondering his own problems, that Christmas might be a good time in which to try to change Callie’s mind about marrying him. All that warmth and good cheer. Fellowship. Merriment. That sort of stuff.

  “Oh, my sister and her husband invite the whole family over on Christmas Eve,” Mark told him. Aubrey didn’t fail to notice the twinkle in his secretary’s eyes, or the expression of fond memory on his face. “Christmas is a jolly time for families.”

  Exactly what Aubrey had been thinking. He and Anne hadn’t had enough time together to establish very many Christmas traditions, but they’d enjoyed family get-togethers twice after Becky’s birth. After that, Anne had been too ill to plan anything, and Aubrey had been too heartsick.

  However, it might not be taken amiss, by Becky or the indomitable Miss Prophet, if Aubrey were to suggest some sort of family function. Christmas Eve sounded like as good a time as any, and Callie had already shown her good generalship when it c
ame to organizing parties. Mrs. Granger would probably enjoy it, since her own family was back East somewhere and she considered the Lockharts her family. And Figgins, too. Delilah had family in Santa Angelica, so she probably would rather spend the time with them, but that needn’t matter much.

  Now if Aubrey could only figure out where to find a family . . .

  His own family consisted of himself and Becky. He’d be dashed if he’d invite Old Bilgewater, probably the only available member of Anne’s family. The reason she was available was that nobody wanted her around, and Aubrey was no exception.

  Hmm. He’d just have to think of something, was all there was to it. Becky would enjoy a Christmas party, and it would give him an opportunity to show Callie a bit of the good life she’d be throwing away if she didn’t marry him.

  On the other hand, maybe he was just insane. On that happy note, Aubrey scowled, and went back to work.

  *****

  “A Christmas party?”

  Callie stared at him blankly. Aubrey grew irritated. “Yes, a Christmas party. I understand Christmas parties aren’t entirely unheard of, even in Santa Angelica.”

  Her own eyes flashed. “Yes, I have heard of Christmas parties, Mr. Lockhart.” She sucked in a breath. Aubrey expected her to use it to scold him, but she didn’t. “When would you like to hold this festive gathering?”

  Her voice was so dry Aubrey might have thought she’d dipped it in alum before flinging it at him, if such a thing were possible. “I thought about Christmas Eve.”

  “I see.” Her eyes narrowed. “Whom exactly do you expect would be available to travel to your home on Christmas Eve, Mr. Lockhart? That evening is generally held to be one for families gathering together. Even rich people can’t expect everyone to drop their own family traditions when they snap their fingers, you know.”

  He glared at her. “Yes, Miss Prophet, I do know that.”

  Aubrey could see her better nature struggling with her desire to hurt him. He was surprised when her better nature won.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. That was unkind,”

  He eyed her narrowly. “Yes, it was. I don’t suppose you’d consider calling me ‘Aubrey,’ would you? And I could call you ‘Callie,’ and we might end up not hating each other eventually.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Callie’s cheeks bloomed with color, “I don’t hate you,” she repeated less fiercely. “You annoy me sometimes, is all.”

  She grimaced, and Aubrey watched with interest as another battle waged itself within her. She was an emotional woman, and not a little explosive. In which regard she was as unlike Anne as she was in every other regard. He waited for her emotional turmoil to settle.

  At present they sat in his library. It was a blustery Saturday afternoon in late November, and when he’d looked out the window, he’d decided snow wasn’t far off.

  Becky was upstairs taking a nap. She’d come down with a bad cold two days prior and was happy to sleep the day away. When he’d gone upstairs to kiss her before her nap, Aubrey had noticed that Callie had lent her Monster to keep her company during her nap. Incomprehensibly to Aubrey, the dashed cat seemed to ease Becky’s uncomfortable cold symptoms.

  Aubrey had thought about his Christmas Eve party idea for at least a month before he decided it might prove to be a worthwhile one. He and Callie had established a comfortable rapport in the weeks following his rejected proposal. The first few days had been prickly, but the fact was that the two of them seemed actually to like each other. It was a big change from the beginnings of their relationship. Aubrey figured they’d overcome those initial misunderstandings through familiarity and mutual respect. The notion pleased him.

  It could not be denied, either, that the longer he remained in the same house with Cathie, the more he thought she’d make a good mother for Becky. And, although he disliked himself for it, he itched to get his hands on her, too. He tried to downplay that aspect of the situation, but it wouldn’t let him.

  He lusted for her. He desired her. A day didn’t pass in which, at one time or another, he didn’t have the urge to lift her in his arms and make away with her. He wanted to strip her naked and taste every inch of her. He wanted to take the pins from her hair and run his fingers through its silky mass. He wanted to bury his sex in Callie’s hot, wet depths. He wanted to ravish her for forty days and forty nights, until neither of them could walk.

  It was, he decided, a dashed good thing he sat behind his desk, so Cathie couldn’t see the evidence of his lust. She probably had no idea these thoughts crossed his mind every time he looked at her. He sighed and waited some more.

  “I beg your pardon,” Callie said stiffly when she spoke at last. “I know it’s not my place to be annoyed by my employer.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Can one help it if one is annoyed by someone, employer or not?”

  Her lips pressed together. “I suppose not. But you know very well that I have a temper. I should try to keep it better controlled,”

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” Aubrey agreed, and was interested to see her color flare up again. He smiled at her. “Face it, Callie, it’s not in your nature to take things easily.”

  “I did not give you leave to call me Callie, Mr. Lockhart!” she cried, as if that were the point of the conversation.

  “I, however, gave you leave to call me Aubrey, and I wish you would.”

  She huffed. “Oh, very well.”

  “Thank you, Callie.” He smiled sweetly. It was odd, but he’d stopped taking her temper amiss some few weeks before he’d proposed. When she’d first come to his home in order to be Becky’s nanny, her plain speaking and unrestrained moods had irked him. He now found them rather amusing. Refreshing, even. Nobody ever had to guess about where he stood with Callie Prophet.

  “However,” Callie went on, “that doesn’t solve the problem of where you’re planning to come up with a family for your family gathering. Do you have one? Besides Becky, I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She gave him a hard look. “I hope to heaven you aren’t thinking of asking Mrs. Bridgewater.”

  “Good God, no!”

  “I’m glad of that, at all odds.”

  “My—and Becky’s—lack of family is why I asked you to meet with me this afternoon, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know more people in Santa Angelica than we do. Do you know of any people who might enjoy getting together with Becky on Christmas Eve? People who don’t participate in large family gatherings of their own, I mean?”

  “You mean stray people?” Callie eyed him doubtfully. “Widows and orphans? People like that?”

  He frowned, taking exception her choice of words. “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms exactly, but I guess I did mean something like that.”

  “Well . . . Let me think.”

  He gestured, giving her leave. He had his own ideas on the subject, but hoped she’d think of them before he had to suggest them. She’d probably reject them out of hand if he did.

  It didn’t seem to be one of Callie’s brighter days, however, and after he watched her brow furrow and her eyes narrow, and he practically read her thoughts as they sped through that agile brain of hers, she smiled briefly, then shook her head.

  “I’m not having much luck, Mr. . . . Aubrey.”

  “No?” Dash it, why was she being dim today, of all days? “You can’t think of any people in Santa Angelica who might like to have a family gathering here?” He glanced around his library. “This is a big house. It could hold a lot of people.”

  She hesitated for a second. “Yes. Yes, it could.”

  Aubrey gazed at her for several more seconds, then sighed. She wasn’t going to help him out with this. It was up to him. He cleared his throat, steepled his fingers, and positioned them under his chin, hoping he looked merely thoughtful and not eager. “Urn, what about your own family, Callie? I understand your parents are gone. Do you suppose your siblings and their spouses and children might like t
o gather here, en masse, as it were, to celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve?”

  Noting the expression of absolute shock on her face, Aubrey hurried on. “I mean, if they have other plans— That is to say, if they get together with others— I mean, I wouldn’t want them to think I’m trying to encroach. It’s only that Becky would . . . well, it would be a blessing, since she has no other relations who— That is to say . . . ” He stopped trying to concoct a coherent speech and sighed disconsolately. Dash it, he’d made a perfect hash of it.

  “My family?” Callie’s voice was very small, quite devoid of its usual robust inflections. “But—” She swallowed. “Do you mean it?”

  “Dash it, of course, I mean it!” Aubrey decided he ought to be insulted, so he bridled. “I’m not in the habit of offering false coin, whatever you may think of me.”

  “I know that. It’s just that the idea is so—so—” She broke off abruptly. “Actually, I’d thought about my family, too. We do like to get together on Christmas Eve, but nobody’s house is really big enough for everyone, even though we all squeeze in together. We usually go to George’s, since he lives in the middle, and the children enjoy playing outdoors, and he’s in the country. Sort of.”

  “Oh? Well, then, perhaps this more commodious abode wouldn’t be frowned upon as an alternative?” His anticipation was so potent, it was difficult to keep it from leaking into his voice. Oh, but the Prophets would be perfect for Becky! If any family on earth could provide Becky with the support a family was supposed to provide, they could.

  Aubrey had noted before this that the Prophets were a singularly close family. Every time Callie got time off, she visited her family, often taking Becky with her. Becky clearly enjoyed the visits and had become close with a couple of Callie’s nieces and nephews. Aubrey thought the Prophets were a good example of family-hood, if there was such a thing.

  What’s more, all of the husbands and wives therein seemed to blend right into the mix. Not unlike mixing cement with straw in order to strengthen building blocks, newcomers into the Prophet clan only seemed to intensify the family bond. Aubrey thought Becky could use such a family, and he appreciated their willingness to take her in. Adopt her into their fold, in a way.