children are well behaved, but they are still children—and my mother is a bit biased.”
Miss Maren laughed.
If he had been in a different frame of mind, he would have enjoyed the sound. It had been absent from his home for far too long. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I had expected someone with experience—and maturity.”
She shrugged. “How do you gain experience if you aren’t given your first job?”
That was fair enough. “What types of skills do you have?”
She waved the question away with her hand. “Oh, this and that... Who has been caring for the children since your wife’s passing?”
“My wife’s mother and sister.”
“Do they live close?”
“Too close...” He paused, embarrassed at the hasty words. “They live across the street.”
Miss Maren frowned. “Why do you need a governess if you have their help?”
“I...” He paused again. He was the one interviewing her, wasn’t he? “What led you here to be our governess?”
She blinked several times. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“This is a stopping point for me on my way to California. I need the money, and you need a governess, so your mother thought it the perfect solution.”
John steepled his hands on his desk. What had his mother been thinking? Normally she used better judgment, and he had no reason to question her advice—but now he could see he should have asked her more questions. Had she sent Miss Maren in the hopes of matchmaking? If she had, Mother would be sorely disappointed. “I’m afraid I’m in need of someone with experience raising children. My work is very demanding and I must have complete confidence in—”
“You can be completely confident in me.” Miss Maren’s face and voice became very serious.
She would make a convincing actress. He almost believed her.
“I have some questions for you, too,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair. “Oh?”
“How long will you need my services? I won’t be able to stay permanently—but I don’t want to leave until the job is done.”
He wasn’t sure he would need her past this conversation. “I had intended to employ a governess until—” He hated to admit his plans, but what did it matter what this young woman thought of him? “Until I find a wife.”
She leaned forward, her voice lowered as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “You’d marry again so soon?”
Irritation flashed warm under his collar. Who was she to question his decision to remarry? It had been a month since Anna died. Not nearly enough time to think of a second marriage in the traditional sense—but more than enough time to realize his children needed a mother. “My concern is for my children.”
“But surely it will take some time for you to grieve—and then fall in love again.”
He stood abruptly. Fall in love again? He could never love another woman the way he had loved Anna. “I would never dishonor my wife’s memory by marrying for love. This is purely a practical decision on my part.”
She rose, as well. “Practical?” Her voice was filled with passion. “Marriage should be everything but practical! It would be dreadful to be married for practicality’s sake.”
Her response was unnerving. He leaned forward, his hands on his desk, and couldn’t help asking, “What is marriage, if it isn’t practical?”
She put her hand over her heart. “It should be whimsical and utterly romantic. It should be entered into for love, and no other reason.”
“You are young and naive, so I will forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” Ire rose in her countenance for the first time since entering the room, and he had a glimpse of the spark beneath all the fluff. “I know something about practicality, and it is overrated.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him—and he suddenly felt like a schoolboy being reprimanded. “You need a bit of whimsy in your life. I could tell the moment I entered this room that you’re much too serious for your own good.”
He crossed his arms and offered her the stern look he gave the children when they were being impertinent. “You may have time for whimsy, Miss Maren, but I do not.” He was a widower, as well as a doctor with a pandemic on his hands. He had no time for anything resembling whimsy—and Miss Maren was at the top of his list.
He dropped into his chair and pulled a piece of paper out of his top drawer. The picture he had studied earlier peeked out at him. Anna had been as pragmatic as they had come—and he had admired her. Never once had she demanded anything else but practicality from him.
He began to scribble a note to his mother, informing her that sending Miss Maren was a mistake, no matter what her intentions. “I’m sorry, Miss Maren, but I will have to send you back to Chicago.”
The lady lowered herself into the chair, wilting like a plucked rose. “I can’t go back.”
He didn’t bother to look at her. “I need a steady, levelheaded woman to care for my children until I find a wife.” He would put her on the next train back to Chicago—and tell his mother exactly what he thought of Miss Maren.
* * *
Marjorie stared at the doctor, never imagining her day would end like this. “I’ve cut all ties to my life in Chicago—I can’t possibly return.”
Dr. Orton didn’t look up as he continued to scribble on the paper. A lock of brown hair fell out of place and brushed his forehead. “That’s not my concern.”
“But it is.”
He lifted his head, his brown eyes filled with frustration. “How is it my concern?”
“You asked me to come.”
“My mother sent you.”
“At your request.”
“At her suggestion.”
“Your mother told me I would be welcome.” Mrs. Orton had said that Dr. Orton’s family needed someone like Marjorie to bring joy back into their lives.
Dr. Orton paused and he looked as if he had to concede. “Everyone is welcome in my home.”
Marjorie toyed with a silk flower on her hat. “I don’t feel welcome at the moment.”
He sighed, put down his pen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I can’t make you return home tonight. You’ll need to rest.”
Home. What a strange and lonely word at the moment. After Marjorie had left Preston
