He knew little of this class, but he presumed socialites never chatted at the front door. He’d realized as he’d climbed the steps that he was taking a huge chance that this Victoria Templeton would accept employment, but Lacewood had seemed optimistic. Mitch glanced around as Victoria stepped back from the door to allow him entrance. They owned this house yet needed money? Could they be spendthrifts? Perhaps. Who was he to know this sex?
No one, he thought, bitter pride blossoming on his tongue. He was a rancher, after all. Ranchers focused on their herd, not on figuring out fickle women.
Victoria led him, with his children in tow, into the front room. She marched straight to a small bell, which she rang. A woman in a uniform appeared, and refreshments were ordered. The mother stopped at the parlor entrance and looked down at his brood, as if noticing an appalling sample of vermin for the first time. Then, with a short sigh, she strode to the settee and sat down.
“Have a seat, Mr. MacLeod.” Victoria offered him a fussy chair while she chose to sit beside her mother. “Do you drink tea?”
“I can.” Mitch hadn’t come to fiddle with dainty teacups and tiny biscuits, but if it was needed to secure help, so be it. He glanced over at his children, who hovered at the door to this fancy room, lost little souls that they were. With a short nod, he indicated for them to enter and sit, although Matthew, his oldest, remained standing, as if on guard. Mary shared a nearby armless chair with her brother, John, while the youngest in tow, Ralph, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, his dark brown curls bouncing as he looked around. Their eyes widened to saucers when the tea and biscuits arrived. But when the older woman offered them nothing, they thankfully stayed silent.
Following his gaze, Victoria looked over at the children. Mitch knew she’d caught the very small shake of his head that warned them not to beg. Her attention darted back to her mother, who, ignoring all else, supervised her maid as she filled each cup.
Clicking her tongue, Victoria snatched the tiered silver tray of sweets and marched over to the children. “Your hands.”
They gaped at her. “Hold out your hands,” she revised.
They all obeyed. Mitch shut his eyes. Ralph’s grubby paws would need a good scouring. The boy could find dirt in heaven, he was sure. But, ignoring the state of the children’s hands, Victoria dropped two biscuits into each outstretched palm.
In turn, each child whispered a polite thank-you.
“Miss Templeton, I need help,” Mitch said when Victoria returned the tray to the table between them and sat down again. “I have to return to my ranch, and as good as my children are, they need a woman while traveling out there, especially considering two of the five are girls.”
Victoria glanced again at the children. Even her mother, who’d been busy looking down her nose at the whole situation, also turned. It was Victoria who spoke. “You have four children, and only one of them is a girl.”
“The baby, Emily, is in the care of a nurse right now.”
“And your wife, Mr. MacLeod? Where is she? Is she still in her confinement?”
Mitch’s jaw tightened. “She died in childbirth a month ago. September 4, to be exact. I’m hoping to take the children to our ranch, the one I’ve been building for my family.”
It was all he would say on the subject. For, no matter what, he would not reveal the truth about Emily’s unknown paternity.
Your pride will be your downfall, Mitch. Don’t go thinking it will serve you well. When pride cometh, then cometh shame.
The pastor of the church in Proud Bend, the town closest to his ranch, had spoken the warning before Mitch had left for Boston to collect his family, now that his new ranch was ready. Mitch had also boasted that he would pay off his mortgage within two years, and that he would then have the finest beef cattle within view of Castle Rock. What awaited him here—his wife’s death, the unexpected child—had brought the pastor’s words into sharp focus.
He pushed aside the memory. It would serve no good purpose to dwell on things that brought shame.
“No mother?” Her eyes widening, Victoria interrupted his thoughts. “Poor things.” Her brows then knitted together as she looked over at him. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. Yes, it has been difficult on them.” And me, in a way you’ll never know. Mitch tightened his jaw, holding himself back from saying something that might reveal the betrayal still coursing through him. “Lacewood is seeing to my late wife’s final affairs, for I need to return to my ranch. And I can’t do so without a woman to assist me. Are you going out West, Miss Templeton? I can pay for your fare and a small stipend in return for your assistance.”
It sounded a foolish thing to say, but Lacewood had suggested those exact words. “The trip is broken up by switching engines and lines, but it’s remarkably fast, only three days, two nights,” Mitch added, hoping the solicitor’s optimism hadn’t been misplaced.
Victoria’s mother shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. MacLeod, but my daughter’s fare is already taken care of.”
“I’ll take it.”
Both her mother and Mitch looked to Victoria. She folded her arms. “My fare hasn’t been purchased yet.”
The older woman looked aghast. “But you need to travel first class, Victoria. You need to look your best when you arrive. You won’t get any rest helping this man.”
Knowing he was being ignored, Mitch spoke up. “I can’t afford first class, but I’m told you’ll get your rest. It’s a second-class car, but it’s a Pullman sleeper one.”
He couldn’t guarantee rest. He just said that because dropping the fancy Pullman name might help his cause, although that company no longer made those second-class sleepers, he’d been told. They would travel in an older model.
The mother gasped. “Second class! That will never do!”
Victoria, however, smiled sweetly at him. Too sweetly. “I said I’ll take the job. When do we leave?”
The young porter hefted Victoria’s bags off the damp platform. The early morning’s cold drizzle reflected the mood of the day. Victoria looked sidelong at the four children staring at her from under the cover of the train depot’s narrow overhang, each clutching one small bag. She cringed. Her maid had managed to pare her luggage down to four pieces, but they seemed huge compared to everyone else’s. Yet she needed it all, and she hadn’t even packed a mourning dress.
And why should she? She refused the convention of grieving the man who’d ruined her life. What she wore today was conservative in style and color and quite expensive. It was more than suitable.
Her mother had taken six bags with her. Her departure yesterday had been surprisingly difficult for Victoria, despite the discontent between them and the fact that Mother had come and gone in Victoria’s life several times. With her need for the cool air of Portland in August or the warmth of the Carolinas in February, she was always leaving Victoria in the care of a nanny, but this time their parting was different. Their home must be sold. Discreetly, of course, the assets liquidated as per Mr. Lacewood’s instructions, after consultation with an investor. The staff
