down mattress and pulled the woven coverlet over her. She held her breath and stood poised, waiting…Little Nora blinked her eyes, sucked on her thumb and slept on.
Sarah let out a long sigh of relief and glanced around the room. Time to familiarize herself. She stripped off her gloves and tossed them on the rocker with her bonnet, tiptoed to a large, handsomely carved wardrobe and pulled open the double doors. Small dresses, aprons and coats with matching bonnets hung in colorful array on the right side. Little shoes and slippers marched beneath and, on the left, undergarments filled drawers. She noted the fine workmanship on Nora’s clothes, shut the wardrobe doors and looked around the room. Shelves, full of books, toys and stuffed animals, filled the alcove formed by the stone fireplace. An exquisitely detailed dollhouse sat beneath a window. A child-size table, set for a tea party, its matching chairs holding the attending dolls, sat in front of the shelves.
Sarah smiled at the evidence of the father’s love for his daughter. Obviously, that twinge of warning she had felt on meeting the man was wrong. She had simply misinterpreted his perturbation over Nora’s unhappy cries. Thankfully, she had been able to quiet the child. She skirted the chair on the hearth and opened a door onto a dressing room. Sight of the pipe traveling along the stone wall to the wash basin and tub brought a rush of relief. Running water! She had been prepared to give up that luxury. It was wonderful to know that sacrifice wouldn’t be required.
She glanced back to check on Nora, moved to another door and peeked inside. A cool draft flowed out of the dark room. Sarah shivered and stepped back, hesitant to enter the gloomy space. There was enough darkness in her life. She pulled the door closed—froze—opened it again. Yes. That was her trunk sitting on the rug of braided rags on the wide plank floor.
So this dismal place was to be her bedroom. Disappointment morphed into the barely controlled despair that was always with her. Why had she been so foolish as to think taking this position as nanny would help her over her grief? She should go home where she had every luxury, where she was cosseted and pampered, and…and wretched.
Unwanted memories impelled Sarah into the room. Her gaze skittered from the stone fireplace centered on the interior paneled wall, to a writing desk and chair, to the four-poster bed situated between two shuttered windows. She rushed forward, threw open the shutters and tugged up the bottom sashes. Light and warmth flooded into the room. The scent of lilacs floated in on a gentle breeze.
The horrid tightness in her throat and chest eased. Sarah lifted her face to the waning sunshine and took a deep breath. The tears that had been so close to flowing receded. Another battle won.
The victory gave her courage. Sarah marched to her trunk, unfastened the hasp and lifted the lid. She needed to change out of her travel outfit before Nora’s father summoned her. A sigh escaped. How she longed for Ellen. The woman had been her confidante as well as her personal maid since she outgrew her own nanny. She looked down at the trunk’s contents, and the victory she had won dissolved. She touched the cool silk fabric of the top dress and tears flooded her eyes. The gown had been designed for her to wear on her honeymoon. She should be aboard ship with Aaron and halfway around the world right now. A sob caught in her throat.
Sarah wrenched her thoughts from what should have been, wiped the tears from her face and lifted out the top dress. She shook out the blue and white silk gown, held it up and gave it a critical once-over, focusing all her attention on choosing an appropriate gown. Were the four flounces that decorated the bottom of the skirt too fancy? Would the gold, watered taffeta with the rolled silk ribbon trim be a better choice? What did one wear to an interview with an employer?
Clayton Bainbridge stared at Sarah Randolph. She was unlike any nanny he had ever seen. Her gown was the equal of those his wife had owned—and there was certainly nothing subservient in her manner. Indeed, her demeanor was more that of a guest than of a woman being interviewed for a position. It had him a little out of kilter. As did her latest revelation. He frowned down at her. “So you are telling me you have no actual experience as a nanny.”
“That is correct. However, as I wrote in my letter, I have abundant experience in caring for children.” She smiled up at him. “My aunt has an orphanage and I often helped with the babies and small children. She is my reference.” She handed him a sealed letter.
“I see.” Clayton scowled at the letter, tapped it against his palm. He would have to start the search for a nanny for the child all over again! He tossed the unopened letter on the table beside him. “I’m afraid you have made a long journey in vain, Miss Randolph. A reference from a family member is unacceptable.”
“Laina Allen may be my aunt, Mr. Bainbridge, but I assure you, she is a woman of great integrity. She is highly respected in Philadelphia—as are all members of my family. You can trust her word.”
Sarah Randolph’s stiff posture and the gold sparks in her brown eyes belied the coolness of her voice. Clayton hesitated, then yielded to an inner prompting, picked up the letter and broke the seal. Silence, invaded only by the crackle of the fire that had been started to ward off the chill of the evening air, settled around them as he read.
“Your aunt recommends you highly as one skilled in caring for toddlers and young children.” Clayton folded the letter, slipped it in his jacket pocket and fastened his gaze on Sarah. She looked regal, with her erect posture, lifted chin and light-brown hair swept high on the crown of her head. And wealthy. That gold gown she wore would cost more than his month’s wages. Why had she applied for the post of nanny?
Clayton frowned, continued his assessment. It was certain Sarah Randolph had never done a day’s work. Her hands were soft and white, the nails long and neatly shaped. And her face was the face of a pampered woman. He drifted his gaze over the small lifted chin, narrow nose and shapely high cheekbones to the brown eyes under delicately arched light-brown brows. He stiffened. There was a challenge in those eyes. And something else. Pain. He recognized it easily. He should. He saw it his own eyes every morning when he shaved.
Clayton averted his gaze. Sarah Randolph was hurting, vulnerable, despite the bravado of that lifted chin. But she had courage. That was apparent. She was not yielding to her pain. She seemed to be a fighter. Perhaps she was suitable for the post in spite of her delicate, pampered appearance. He cleared his throat. “I believe you aptly demonstrated the skill of which your aunt speaks by quickly silencing the child’s cries on your arrival. Because of that, Miss Randolph, the position is yours—should you still wish it after learning of your duties and responsibilities. They exceed the normal ones.” He turned and walked to the hearth, giving her time to absorb that information.
The silence settled around them again.
Sarah stared at Clayton Bainbridge’s back. He’d done it again. He’d referred to Nora as “the child.” And what did “They exceed the normal duties” mean? Her stomach quivered, tightened.
“Should you stay, Miss Randolph, the child will be fully in your charge. While I shall provide all that is needed for its care, I will have no personal contact with it. Is that clear?”
Shock held her mute.
He pivoted to face her. “Do you understand?”
Sarah found her voice hiding behind a huge lump of anger in her throat. She lifted her chin and met his gaze full with her own. “Your words…yes. But—”
“There is no but, Miss Randolph. Those are the special conditions of your employment. I realize you will require some personal time, and that need will be met by having Lucy sit with the child while she naps in the afternoon. And, of course, your evenings
