flickered across his face, was quickly replaced by displeasure. He gave a curt nod in acknowledgment of her greeting. His gaze locked on hers, didn’t even flicker toward the toddler she held. “Did I hear yelling, Miss Randolph?”
His tone made her go as rigid as Nora had only moments ago. “Yes, Mr. Bainbridge, you did. Nora and I were playing.” That was true. There was no need to tell him the yelling occurred first. Or that the play was to prevent it from happening again.
“I see. In the future, please confine your ‘play’ to the nursery.” His scowl deepened. “There are back stairs directly to the kitchen, Miss Randolph. It is unnecessary for you to bring the child into this part of the house.” He gestured behind her. “If you go through the dining room to the kitchen, Mrs. Quincy will show you the stairs’ location.”
He was completely ignoring his daughter! Sarah resisted the urge to lift little Nora up into Clayton Bainbridge’s line of sight where he could not dismiss her. “She has already done so.” She matched his cool tone. “But the steps are narrow and winding, and I feel they are unsafe to use when I am carrying your daughter.” And how can you object to that, Mr. Bainbridge? “Now, if you will excuse us, our breakfast trays are waiting.”
Sarah sailed by Clayton to the forbidden staircase and began to ascend, defiance in her every step. What had she to lose? He could not dismiss her twice.
Clayton stared after Sarah Randolph. The woman had an unpleasant and inappropriate autocratic manner. But he would not tolerate her presence much longer. He would dismiss her as soon as she had given the child her breakfast. He pivoted, strode to the dining room, took his seat, glanced at the paper in his hand. A moment later he threw the paper on the table and stormed into the kitchen. The heels of his boots clacked against the stones of the floor as he marched over and yanked open the door enclosing the back stairs. The narrow, wedge-shaped steps wound upward in a tight spiral. His anger burst like a puffball under a foot. Sarah Randolph was right. The winder stairs were unsafe for a woman burdened with a child.
“Was there something you needed, sir?”
Clayton turned to face Mrs. Quincy. She looked a bit undone by his unusual appearance in the kitchen. “Only my breakfast, Eldora.” He closed the door on the happy little giggle floating down the stairway. “And to tell you Miss Randolph will be using the main stairs.” He turned his back on her startled face and returned to the dining room, feeling irritated, yet, beneath it all, cheered by his sudden decision to keep Miss Randolph on as the child’s nanny. There was not a hint of crying from upstairs, and it had been a long time since he had been able to read his paper and enjoy his breakfast in silence.
Chapter Three
Lucy sat in the rocker and pulled the linen she had brought to mend onto her lap. Sarah gave the young maid a grateful smile and tiptoed from the bedroom. Her time was now her own until Nora awoke from her nap—and she had caught only the briefest glimpse of Cincinnati when she arrived.
She hurried down the stairs, crossed the entry hall to the front door and stepped out onto the stoop. The afternoon sun warmed the flower-scented air. She took an appreciative sniff. Lilacs. She loved their fragrance. And what a beautiful view. She descended the front steps, hurried down the slate walk toward the gate and swept her gaze down the flat, dusty ribbon of road toward town.
Clayton stared down at the paper spread out on his desk. The blueprint had turned into a drawing with no meaning. The sight of Sarah Randolph holding the child had seared itself into his brain and had his thoughts twisting and turning over the same useless ground.
He put down his calipers, shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. What sort of man was he to betray a deathbed promise to his mentor and friend, and endanger, through his weakness, the life of the very person he had promised to marry and care for and keep safe? Andrew had trusted him with his daughter’s life, and now, because of him, because of one night, Deborah was dead.
Clayton balled his hand and slammed the side of his fist against the window frame so hard the panes rattled. He would give anything if he could take back that night of weakness. He had even volunteered his life in Deborah’s stead, but God had not accepted his offer. Instead God had given him a living, breathing symbol of his human failings—his guilt.
A splash of yellow outside the window caught his eye. Clayton looked to his left. The new nanny moved into view, walking toward the front gate. There was a healthy vigor in the way she moved. If only Deborah could have enjoyed such health. If only she had not had a weak heart…
Clayton’s face drew taut. He stared out the window, fighting the tide of emotions sight of the child had brought to the fore. Sarah Randolph seemed an excellent nanny. He had not once been disturbed by the child’s crying since she arrived, and he was reluctant to let her go. But he would if she did not obey his dictates. He would not tolerate the child in his presence. He needed to make that abundantly clear. And he would. Right now.
He crossed to his desk, grabbed his suit coat from the back of the chair and shrugged into it as he headed out the door.
Sarah rested her hands on the top of the gate and studied the scene below. Cincinnati, fronted by the wide, sparkling blue water of the Ohio River, sat within the caress of forested hills that formed an amphitheater around its clustered buildings. For a moment she watched the busy parade of ships and boats plying the Ohio River waters, but the sight reminded her of Aaron and all she wanted to forget. She drew her gaze up the sloped bank away from the waterfront warehouses, factories and ships massed along the river’s shore. People the size of ants bustled around the business establishments, shops and inns that greeted disembarking passengers and crews. Farther inland, churches, scattered here and there among the other shops and homes that lined the connecting streets, announced their presence with gleaming spires. Throughout the town, an occasional tree arched its green branches over a street, or stood sentinel by a home dotted with brilliant splashes of color in window boxes or around doorways. Smoke rose from the chimneys of several larger buildings.
A sudden longing to go and explore the town came over her. Visiting the familiar shops in Philadelphia had become a bitter experience, but there was nothing in Cincinnati to make her remember. No one in the town knew her. Or of—
“What do you think of our city?”
Sarah started and glanced over her shoulder. Clayton Bainbridge was striding down the walk toward her. She braced herself for what was to come and turned back to the vista spread out before her. “I think it is beautiful. I like the way it nestles among these hills with the river streaming by. And it certainly looks industrious.”
“It is that.” Clayton stopped beside her, staring down at the town. “And it will become even more so when the northern section of the Miami Canal is finished.”
She glanced up at him. “Forgive my ignorance, but what is the Miami Canal? And how does it affect Cincinnati?”
A warmth and excitement swept over his face that completely transformed his countenance. Sarah fought to keep her own face from reflecting her surprise. Clayton Bainbridge was a very handsome man when he wasn’t scowling. She shifted her attention back to his words.
“—is a man-made waterway that, when finished, will connect Cincinnati to Lake Erie. It is already in use from here to Dayton.” He lifted his hands shoulder-width apart and slashed them down at a slant toward each other. “Cincinnati is like a huge funnel that takes in the farm produce of Ohio for shipment downriver. And
