The Nanny Arrangement. Lily George
Читать онлайн книгу.
attended to by a servant, but who knew what kind of servant Juliana had hired abroad? No, she must have a proper English nursemaid. No one at Kellridge could assume that role easily; each servant’s duties were clearly delineated and none of them had time for children.
He could try to hire someone from the village, but that might incite gossip about Juliana and the circumstances of her daughter’s birth and her own demise.
Ciro gathered speed and strength as he tore through the open gate; yes, he knew what he was about. Those gates meant the barn was nearby. Paul quirked the corner of his mouth. Ciro understood his motto, too. Duty first, then pleasure.
The situation warranted someone who had a proper upbringing, who would raise a girl in a suitable manner until she was of age to be sent to school. Someone who wouldn’t gossip, who could be trusted to handle this with poise and tact.
Poise and tact. Just like any genteel young woman should possess.
A young woman like Rebecca Siddons.
Why not? She was aching to get away from the millinery shop. She could be Juliet’s nursemaid and later her governess. Their families were so close; Becky could be trusted not to gossip. And even if she had no experience with children of her own, raising a baby just came naturally to women. It was instinct, pure and simple. She was a romantic, dreamy little thing, but surely she would take to raising a baby as a duck took to water.
That was the answer. He would call upon her tomorrow and ask her.
“Oh, Becky, whatever have you done with the bonnet Mrs. Parker ordered?” Nan poked her head into the sitting room where Becky made use of the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. Such fine stitches needed a lot of good light, and this room was best lit at dawn. “I thought I told you—we cannot afford to use that fine muslin for the brim. We cannot turn a profit if you keep using such expensive materials. Why didn’t you use the cotton I ordered from town?”
Heated words bubbled to Becky’s lips and her fingers trembled as she laid another fine stitch in the fabric. She took a deep, calming breath. If she were to do this for the rest of her life, she must maintain control of her temper. “The cotton is too rough and slubby for a dress bonnet,” she argued. “I only used a small bit of the muslin, and with the ruching I added, I conserved quite a bit of fabric.” There, she showed that she had given cost some thought. That cotton was just so terribly ugly. Why Nan ever bought it was a mystery.
“But I specifically told you to use the cotton, Becky.” Nan strode into the sitting room and cast herself down on the settee. “Honestly, the profit we’ll see on that bonnet is quite slim. The more money we earn on each sale, the more secure our finances. Surely you see that.”
“I do understand,” Becky replied in an even tone. “But the more alluring our bonnets, the more clients we should attract. If we use inferior materials, then we will lose the kind of genteel clientele that will spend a fortune on our creations season after season.”
“Yes, but if our bonnets are affordable and well-made, we will garner loyalty from the villagers—the women who cannot afford something grand, perhaps, but may require a bonnet that is sturdy and hard-wearing. Those women are the bread and butter of our shop.” Nan leaned forward, her mild blue eyes wide and cajoling. “Come, now. Susannah left the shop to our care when she married Daniel. Isn’t it up to the pair of us to see to it that it becomes a successful venture?”
Well, when Nan put things that way...Becky was hard-pressed indeed to think of a retort. To buy some time, she concentrated on another stitch, pursing her lips tightly together as she did so. Of course she didn’t want to see the shop fail. But what was the harm in offering lovely bonnets as well as serviceable ones? “If we restrict ourselves to one kind of trade, surely we chance losing a portion of our customers,” she admonished in as gentle a tone as she could manage. “After all, it was the commissions of three gentlewomen who gave us our start, if you will recall.”
“I know.” Nan leaped from her position on the settee and began pacing, a nervous habit that wore on Becky’s nerves. “But honestly, a simpler style of bonnet is more easily made, and I can train our other helpers to make them quickly. The finer stuff must be left to the two of us, and already we’re stretched thin as it is. The profits we make are higher, and they sell more quickly. And the villagers pay more quickly than gentry. I really do feel most strongly that we should stop making fancy creations and concentrate on the plain and sensible.”
Becky heaved a deep sigh. Plain and sensible. There was little room for imagination and artistry in the plain and sensible, particularly if Nan kept buying such dreadful fabric. She would be chained, for the rest of her life, to stretching scratchy cotton across buckram frames. A vista of ugly, cheap bonnets unfolded before her, and her heart gave a lurch of revolt. True, she was stuck. A spinster forevermore with no hope of marriage to Lieutenant Walker. But did that mean she needed to relinquish any sense of beauty in her life?
“I’m going to see Susannah,” she declared, casting the bonnet to one side and rising from her chair. “She founded the shop. I’ll put my case to her.”
“I shall go too,” Nan rejoined. “After all, I have been seeing to it that the shop is a gainful venture since I took over.”
“Since you took over?” Anger surged into Becky’s being, leaving her trembling in its wake. “The shop was given to both of us when Susannah married. We are equal partners, Nan.”
“We would be, if you had a practical bone in your body! But honestly, how are we to make any money at all if you squander our resources? It’s been up to me to make sure that the shop stays profitable.”
“If you say that word once more, I shall scream.” Becky took her own bonnet from the peg near the front door and clamped it on her head, rebellion singing through her veins. “Since the store is so beholden to you, you can stay here to manage it while I talk to our sister.”
She flounced out of the shop and slammed the door shut behind her. Whatever had taken hold of her? Even if she wasn’t the practical one in the family, she had always gotten along well enough with her sisters. Why was she letting Nan needle her so? And why was she getting angry over each little thing?
“Because they’re not little things any longer.” She spoke the words aloud as she scuffed the grass with the toe of her boot. For once, the distance to Goodwin Hall was worthwhile. She needed time to compose her thoughts. If she couldn’t put her argument to Susannah sensibly, then her elder sister would simply say that her emotions were running too high. That would discredit her argument before she’d even begun.
“If I can’t have beauty and purpose in my life, Lord, everything seems hopeless.” The moor didn’t care if she prayed aloud. Saying the words was strangely calming. If she couldn’t be married and have a home of her own, she would have to find fulfillment in work. If the methods of her work were being proscribed, well, then it felt as though the walls were closing in on her.
She continued to mull over those thoughts, and breathed lungful after lungful of fresh air. Already the blond stone walls of Goodwin Hall loomed on the horizon. Goodwin meant Susannah, and Susannah meant wise counsel.
Yes, Susannah would surely see her side of the matter. Why had she taken this long to see her sister? She’d pinned all her hopes on a proposal from Lieutenant Walker, that’s why. No need to raise a fuss when she had been so certain that she would marry and leave the shop. Well, that wasn’t happening, and she needed to make the best of her situation. The blank horror of the lieutenant’s desertion still held her in its grasp.
In time she would grieve over her dead romance. Now she must think of her future. If she wasn’t to be anyone’s bride, she should at least be allowed a say in her own business.
She gathered her skirts and mounted the wide, gracious steps of the hall. No sooner had she set foot on the second step than the door opened, and Baxter stood, waiting