Free The Nanny Arrangement by Lily George

her far more than was proper. He was avoiding not just her attractive form, but the disappointment that darkened her eyes when he’d refused to meet Juliet at the docks. Her anger when they spoke about it again in the study. Her fear when he’d spied her in the attic. Becky was a whirlwind of emotion, and he had run the risk of injuring perfectly good horses, killing or maiming excellent servants, and had completely destroyed a carriage in his haste to extricate himself from her chaos.
    Whether he acknowledged it at the time or not, he’d allowed emotion to cloud his judgment. Because of his own fear of his feelings, he had run headlong into catastrophe.
    Paul wrapped the leather straps of the horse’s bridle once more around his hand, to help calm the deep ache in his head. When he got back to Kellridge, he would first change out of these wet, bloodied clothes and have a hot bath. Then, he would discuss with Jim how quickly repairs could be made on the broken carriage.
    He would strike forth for London again when all was ready in good time, for he was not about to let fear or feeling dictate his journey ever again.
    * * *
    Becky turned the china doll over in her hands. Yes, a bit of mending on the dress and this toy would be as good as new. In fact, if she could ask Nan for a few bits of remnants from the shop, she could make some new dresses or even an entire wardrobe for the doll. She took her needle from her sewing basket and pulled out a skein of thread.
    Beside her, Tabs purred blissfully. Rain pattered on the arched window in Mrs. Clairbourne’s sitting room. In no time at all, that good lady would return with afternoon tea for the two of them. ’Twas a lovely way to spend a damp, ungenial day.
    Loud cries erupted from the hallway and, above the din, Mrs. Clairbourne’s voice rose, issuing some kind of orders. Becky cast the doll and needle aside and stood, straining her ears. No one ever shouted at Kellridge. In fact, noise of any kind seemed rather profane.
    “The master had an accident...”
    Becky stood with one hand on the door latch. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest. What kind of accident? Was he all right?
    She opened the sitting-room door. Mrs. Clairbourne was in the hall, sending servants scattering in all directions. When the older woman spied Becky watching, she gave a tight smile. “I am afraid I’ll have to postpone our afternoon tea,” she apologized between orders. “The master’s been in a carriage accident. One of the grooms saw them in the lower field, walking back home.”
    If he could walk, then at least he was not dreadfully injured. Even so...
    “What can I do?” She had to have some occupation. Remaining in the sitting room would be intolerable. Surely she could help in some way.
    “Oh...” The housekeeper shrugged. “Run along and grab a few hot bricks from the kitchen. Wrap them in flannel and take them up to the master’s room. If his valet is in there, give them to him. If not, then tuck the bricks in the foot of his bed. The master will be chilled to the bone in this weather, and he’ll need to get warm in a hurry if he’s to keep from taking ill.”
    She had very little idea where the kitchens were, or where Paul’s room was in the labyrinthine corridors of Kellridge. She couldn’t very well stop and ask for more directions, not when everyone was so harried. She followed one surge of servants and, carried along on their current, managed to find the kitchens. Once she was there, she grasped a scullery maid by the arms. “I need some hot bricks for the master’s room.”
    “O’ course.” The maid trotted over to the hearth and, using a poker, pulled out two bricks. Becky glanced around the kitchen—yes, there were the flannel cloths, in a basket by the hearth. She knelt and, with the maid’s help, swathed the bricks in the cloth.
    “Where is the master’s bedchamber?” ’Twas rather bold to inquire, but otherwise, she would wander around the house