of your time with the child. Your wages will, of course, reflect the added responsibility. Do you wish to accept the position?”
Incredible! Sarah clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out and pinching Clayton Bainbridge to find out if he was flesh and blood. The man might as well be a marble statue. His face was expressionless, his voice void of emotion. Had he no feelings? An image of the toddler sleeping upstairs flashed into her head. “Yes, Mr. Randolph, I accept the position.” She fought the anger that had brought her to her feet, lost the battle and gave voice to the words clamoring to be spoken. “I must, sir. Because your daughter is a little girl, not an it.”
Sarah squared her shoulders, whirled away from the look of astonishment on Clayton Bainbridge’s face and swept from the room.
Chapter Two
He would dismiss her first thing in the morning! Clayton stormed into his bedroom, removed his jacket and threw it onto the chair beside the window. His fingers worked at the buttons on his waistcoat as his long strides ate up the distance to the highboy on the other side of the room.
Your daughter is a little girl, not an it!
And he had felt sorry for her. Ha! His sympathy had certainly been misplaced. How dare that woman offer him such a rebuke! Clayton grabbed the silver fob dangling from his waistcoat pocket, jerked his watch free, dropped it into one of the small drawers, pivoted and paced back toward the window.
And for her to walk out of the room and leave him standing there like…like some servant! He shrugged out of the vest and yanked his cravat free. And what did he do? Nothing! Shock had kept him frozen in place. By the time he’d made his feet move, she had disappeared up the stairs. Well, he was not shocked now. And in the morning he would tell Miss Sarah Randolph she was completely unsuited for the nanny position, give her a stipend for her time and have Quincy arrange for her transportation back to Philadelphia.
Because she spoke the truth?
The voice in his head stayed his hand, cooled his anger. Clayton frowned. He refused to consider that question. What did Miss Sarah Randolph know of his truth? Nothing. And, truth or not, she had overstepped her place in speaking it.
Clayton tossed the vest and cravat on top of his jacket and sat in the chair to remove his shoes. Finding another nanny took so much time. And meanwhile chaos would again reign in the household. For some reason Lucy was unable to keep the child from crying all day. And the first nanny had not been that successful at it, either. But at least she had known her place.
Clayton scowled, tugged a shoe off, dropped it to the floor and wiggled his freed toes, weighing the situation in the light of that last thought. Perhaps he should give Sarah Randolph another chance. Perhaps that outburst was only because she didn’t yet fully realize what her position was. Her erect posture and lifted chin as she faced him down, proved she wasn’t accustomed to servitude. No, Sarah Randolph was a lady. Every inch of her. A beautiful lady. So why was she here?
Clayton rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor. The anomaly was intriguing. It was obvious Miss Randolph was not impoverished. And it could not be a case of familial division—she had spoken well of her family, and they of her. At least in the letter. Of course there was the matter of her temper.
A vision of Sarah’s face, brown eyes flashing, burst into his head. She was spirited. And beautiful. Clayton’s face tightened. He grabbed the shoe he had removed, tugged it back on and lunged out of the chair. Bed could wait. Right now he would go to his study and work on his progress report of the needed repairs on the canal locks here in Cincinnati. And on the estimated repairs required on the rest of the southern section of the Miami Canal. He was due to report to the commissioners next week. And the plans had to be perfected, as well. An hour or two spent staring at blueprints would drive away that unwelcome image.
Sarah looked toward the foot of the bed. Her trunk sat there…waiting. She did not dare pack the few items she had taken out for fear of waking little Nora. It would have to wait until morning—or until an angry fist pounded on her door and Mr. Bainbridge told her she was dismissed. She sighed and looked around the bedroom. She had held her post as nanny for what…a few hours? Well, it was her own fault. She should have controlled her temper. But—
No buts! It was too late for buts. Too late to take back her outburst. And too late to leave this house tonight. Sarah removed her silk gown, hung it in the cupboard beside the fireplace and tugged the soft comfort of an embroidered cotton nightgown over her head. She pushed her feet into her warm, fur-trimmed slippers and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her quilted cotton dressing gown.
What had caused her to act in such an unaccustomed way? She had gained nothing by giving vent to her outrage over Clayton Bainbridge’s callus attitude toward his daughter. Except for the momentary satisfaction of that look of utter astonishment on his face. Her lips curved at the memory of his widened deep-blue eyes and raised, thick, dark-brown brows, the flare of the nostrils on his long, masculine nose. That had been a gratifying moment. Of course, an instant later anger had replaced the astonishment. His brows had lowered, his eyes had darkened and the full lower lip of his mouth had thinned to match the top one. And that square jaw of his! Gracious! It had firmed to the appearance of granite. No, her outburst had done nothing to help little Nora. Or herself.
Sarah caught her breath at a sudden onrush of memories, fastened the ties at the neck of her dressing gown and hurried into the nursery. The oil lamp she had left burning with its wick turned low warmed the moonlight pouring in the windows to a soft gold. Tears welled into her eyes as she straightened the coverlet that had become twisted when Nora turned over. She had thought by now she and Aaron might be expecting a child of their own. The tears overflowed. She brushed them away, smoothed a silky golden curl off the toddler’s cheek and, unable to stop herself, bent and kissed the soft smooth skin. Nora stirred, her little lips worked as she sucked on her thumb, went still again.
Sarah’s heart melted. She resisted the urge to lift the little girl into her arms and cradle her close to her painfully tight chest. The hem of her dressing gown whispered against the wide planks of the floor as she walked back to her own room. What was wrong with Clayton Bainbridge? How could he not want anything to do with his own child? How could he not love her?
Sarah glanced at her trunk, halted in the doorway. Would whoever took over this position of nanny love little Nora? Would she give her the affection every child deserved? Or would she simply take care of her physical needs and keep her quiet so Mr. Clayton Bainbridge was not disturbed? Oh, why had she ever challenged the man’s cold, detached attitude toward his child? She should have kept quiet—for Nora’s sake. The little girl needed her.
And she needed this post.
Sarah blinked back another rush of tears and walked to her bed. She removed her dressing gown, stepped out of her slippers and slid beneath the covers, fighting the impulse to bury her face in the pillow and sob away the hurt inside. Crying wouldn’t stop the aching. It never did. But everyone said time would bring healing.
If only it were possible to hurry time.
Sarah breathed out slowly, reached over and turned down the wick of the lamp on her bedside table. She couldn’t bring herself to snuff out the flame. She could do nothing about the darkness inside her, but she could keep the darkness of night at bay. She rested back against the pillow, pulled the covers up to her chin and stared up at the tester overhead, willing time to pass.
Birdsong coaxed her from her exhausted slumber. Sarah opened her eyes and came awake with a start.
