telling her politely to mind her own business, reminding her of her place in his household. Annie wouldn’t let it go.
“But don’t you miss them?” she asked, taking a step closer.
Josh’s gaze came up quickly and landed on her with a force than shook her. Yet his expression wasn’t one of anger or irritation at her continued prying. Something else shone in his face.
Maybe it wasn’t his children he missed, Annie realized. Maybe it was his wife.
A knot jerked in Annie’s stomach. She should have kept her mouth shut. Should have minded her own business. Kept to her place.
He picked up a single sheet of paper, forcing his attention on it. “Good night, Miss Martin.”
Still Annie didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, to do something to make him feel better. The urge overwhelmed her.
But what could she possibly say?
“Good night,” she mumbled. At the door she looked back and saw Josh hunched over his desk; from the expression on his face she doubted he saw a single word written on the papers there.
As she climbed the stairs, Annie reminded herself that Josh’s feelings for his dead wife were none of her business. Yet, for some reason, her heart ached a little thinking he still grieved for her after all these months.
But what about his feelings for his children? Weren’t they her business?
Not if she wanted to keep her job.
At the top of the stairs, Annie peeked into the children’s room again. Three little bulges under the covers slept soundly. She checked on the baby, as well, and found Hannah sleeping.
In her room, Annie undressed, washed at the basin, and slipped into her pink nightgown. The cotton fabric seemed coarse, not nearly fancy enough for the room she’d been given. She sat in front of the mirror, unraveled her braid and combed out her hair.
As she climbed into bed, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Annie froze, pulling the quilt over her. Josh. The heavy, measured steps could only be his.
For an instant, Annie thought he stopped outside her door. She shook her head, sure it was her imagination. The footsteps faded and she heard a door down the hallway close softly.
With a sigh she leaned back on her pillows, relaxing on the feather mattress. The book on child rearing rested on her bedside table, and Annie considered reading it. Surely she’d need all the help she could get taming the Ingalls brood.
For her first day as nanny, things hadn’t gone so well, Annie was forced to admit. The children had rebelled at the sight of her. A food fight had erupted. She’d forgotten the book her employer had given her, invaded his private sanctum and splashed milk on him—not once but twice.
Annie settled deeper against the pillow, sure tomorrow would be a better day. After all, they were only children.
And tomorrow she’d do a better job of minding her own business. Somehow.
Chapter Six
Dressing like a girl took forever.
Annie lamented her decision as she closed the last fastener on her dress and turned to the mirror.
The green gown—her second favorite—looked nice, she decided, even if climbing into hoops, corset and petticoats took three times as long as dressing in her trousers. She’d coiled her hair atop her head, adding to the ordeal.
But she looked like a nanny, or at least what she guessed a nanny should look like. Mrs. Flanders certainly couldn’t peer down her nose at her when she got downstairs this morning.
Annie heard a voice in the room next door and found Georgia tending to little Hannah.
“Slept all night, did she?” Georgia asked as Annie walked in.
“Not a peep out of her.”
Georgia lifted Hannah into her arms; the baby yawned and stretched her chubby arms.
“I brought up her bottle for you,” Georgia said, nodding toward the table beside the rocker. “Mrs. Royce gets it ready first thing.”
“I’ll feed Hannah, then wake the other children,” Annie said. It seemed a reasonable, organized way to start her day, even if she hadn’t read it in a book.
Georgia shook her head. “They’re not in their room. I was just there.”
Annie was mildly surprised. “Oh. Well, then they’re having their breakfast already.”
Georgia uttered a short laugh. “I was just down there, and there’s not hide nor hair of those children anywhere in this house.”
Mild surprise edged toward panic. Her first full day as nanny and Annie didn’t even know where the children were.
She resisted the urge to utter a curse. “Could you start feeding Hannah while I check on the others? I don’t want to get you into trouble with Mrs. Flanders, but if you could just—”
“Oh, never mind about that Mrs. Flanders.” Georgia gave the baby a hug. “Me and little Miss Hannah know a few places to hide out where that cranky ol’ woman won’t never find us.”
“Thank you, Georgia. Thanks so much.” Annie hiked up her dress and rattled down the stairway.
“Miss Martin!”
Annie jerked to a stop in the downstairs hallway as Mrs. Flanders barked her name. Hands folded in front of her, the older woman stood in the center of the parlor, glaring at her.
Annie’s first instinct was to tell Mrs. Flanders she had no time for her, and to hurry on about her business. But Mrs. Flanders ran the house. Being rude to her wouldn’t improve her employment longevity.
“Yes?” Annie asked politely, forcing a smile, feigning interest.
“I want to make it clear to you, Miss Martin, that you are to take charge of the children. Georgia is no longer available to assist with them in any way.”
Annie pressed her lips together, sure Mrs. Flanders couldn’t possibly know that Georgia was taking care of the baby at this very moment.
“A proper nanny would know that,” Mrs. Flanders told her, indicating by her tone that Annie was just the opposite. Her lips turned down even more sharply. “I understand a girl of your…background…isn’t accustomed to living in a fine home such as this.”
Annie’s cheeks flushed in the face of yet another insult.
“Mrs. Ingalls devoted countless hours to decorating her home.” Mrs. Flanders waved her hand about the elegantly furnished parlor. “Do you recognize the workmanship of that cabinet, Miss Martin?”
Annie reined in her impatience to find the children, and eyed the mahogany cabinet with its slender tapering legs, carved feathers and oval, brass drawer handles. “Well…”
“Hepplewhite,
