Pregnant on the Earl's Doorstep, page 3
A proposition? Heather remembered all too well what had happened last time a guy with the surname Bryce had propositioned her. But Cal didn’t seem like the sort.
She’d come all this way. The least she could do was hear him out. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any clear idea of her path forward. All she knew was that she needed to figure out a way to handle her situation without bringing scandal and shame down on her father. Again. He’d had enough of that for one lifetime, and last time... Well, the bottom line was she couldn’t risk that happening again.
She needed to manage this carefully. Maybe Cal could help her do that.
‘I’m listening,’ she said neutrally, watching his expression.
Cal leaned forward in his chair, folded his hands on the desk next to the rubber duck and gazed straight into her eyes. ‘I want you to stay here for the summer as nanny to Daisy and Ryan—Ross’s children.’
Heather blinked. ‘What?’ She might have been less surprised if he’d suggested he ravish her over the desk, or that they set up a rubber duck factory together. ‘I’m... I’m not a nanny.’
‘No, you’re a teacher. Which means you know kids a hell of a lot better than I do, for sure. Daisy and Ryan...they’re ten and eight and they’re struggling. They need someone who knows what they’re doing and I think that person is you. Plus, teachers get great summer holidays, right?’
Six weeks. Six weeks in which she’d normally be planning for the next school year, sorting out her classroom, preparing supplies and resources... Except she’d been on a maternity leave cover contract for a year and, despite the promise of another position when the teacher she was covering for returned, last-minute budget cuts meant she didn’t actually have a new job for September yet. No class to prepare for. And, given all the upheaval in her life, she’d figured some supply work might be best for the next term or so anyway. Until she figured out what she was doing.
All of which meant she really didn’t have anything to do this summer.
She thought back to Cal’s rambled job description when he’d thought she was Miss Thomas.
‘If you stick out six weeks here at Castle Lengroth, and get the children prepared physically, mentally and emotionally for boarding school, I’ll pay you for a full year’s work at your agency base rate. But if you quit before the six weeks are up you get nothing.’
Did that offer still stand? A year’s wages, even at nanny agency rates, would go an awful long way towards providing her with the cushion she needed to take care of this baby—and herself—until she got a new job. She could break the news of her pregnancy to her father in her own time and, while she’d have to tell him about the whole sleeping with a married earl thing, maybe no one else would need to know. It didn’t seem that Cal was desperate to shout it from the rafters.
There’d be talk at home, of course. But an unmarried mother was a totally different thing to an aristocratic homewrecker. And very different again from last time, with her mother. Maybe it would be okay...
Besides, if things got bad she’d have money, and if she had money she had options. She could go and stay somewhere else for a while, until everything blew over. Take Dad with her, even. Maybe Wales, where they’d used to go on family holidays before.
Heather ran her tongue across her suddenly dry lips. ‘What are the terms?’
She didn’t want to spend the summer in Scotland. Not that she had anything against the country particularly, but it wasn’t where she belonged. Especially not in this dark and foreboding castle with duck-wielding children.
But if she didn’t want to be in this scary, imposing place, how must the kids feel about it? They’d grown up here, of course. But given what she knew of their father, and what she could therefore guess about their parents’ marriage and family relationships, would that be a good thing or a bad thing?
‘Same as if you really were the nanny from the agency,’ Cal said. ‘In fact, no one but us two need to know that you aren’t. I think that would be better for now, don’t you?’
Heather gave a slow nod. But would it be better? She wasn’t good at secrets. She knew the harm they could do. But under the circumstances...what option did she have?
‘So, you’d stay a full six weeks and get the children ready for boarding school—I have a folder with the details somewhere...’ He looked around his immaculate desk, empty except for the rubber duck, then back at Heather. ‘Or perhaps Mrs Peterson does. Anyway. You do that and I’ll pay you a year’s wages—not as a bribe, or because my brother got you into trouble, but because you’ll have earned it.’
He’d anticipated her issues with the arrangement, Heather realised. As much as she could use the money, it did feel like a bribe—and that wasn’t what she’d come here for. But he’d offered the money before he’d even known who she was, so it was a genuine payment for services rendered.
God, how bad were these kids?
At least there’s only two of them. That can’t be harder to handle than a class of thirty-four, right? And I manage them well enough.
Besides, teaching was one thing. Living with and supporting kids through important life changes was something else entirely. Something she needed to learn to do now she was going to become a mother.
‘I don’t suppose I can take some time to think about it?’ she asked.
Cal shrugged. ‘Honestly...? You might as well say yes now. Even if you leave in the next day or two nobody will be surprised. In fact, forty-eight hours will be more than the last nanny managed.’
‘You’re not selling this, you know.’
‘I know.’ Cal sighed. ‘I’m not going to lie to you. The kids are hard work. I don’t understand them, and I don’t think they even want to be understood. Plus, the castle might actually be haunted—but you’ll be long gone by Halloween, so hopefully that won’t be an issue.’
‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’ There were enough things in the real world to be terrified of, Heather had found, without adding a whole new fictional layer of fear.
‘Even better.’ Cal gave her a small smile—maybe the first she’d seen from him. It made him look younger, lighter. And even more handsome. ‘The bottom line is, if you stay you can get to know your baby’s family. And we can get to know you. You might decide you want nothing to do with us afterwards, but at least you’ll have the information to make that decision with. And I’ll get to help you financially without it being underhand or dodgy.’
‘No one else will know why I’m really here?’ Heather asked. That was important. ‘I haven’t... You’re the only person who knows about the baby.’
He looked a little surprised at that. ‘No one else will hear about it from me,’ he promised.
And against her better judgement Heather believed him.
Six weeks. Six weeks to figure out what she wanted to do next and earn the money to pay for it. Six weeks to figure out how to admit to her father how badly she’d screwed up. To steel herself against his disappointment and upset.
Nannies were practically servants, right? And servants were prized for being invisible. Heather liked being invisible. If people didn’t see you they were less likely to talk about you, taunt you or humiliate you.
She’d spent her childhood being part of the most talked about family in her small village. Here she could be completely anonymous—despite the scandal she carried inside her.
Six weeks.
How hard could that be?
She nodded. ‘Okay.’
CHAPTER THREE
CAL HARDLY LET her get the word out before he pressed a button on the phone on his desk and called Mrs Peterson.
‘Is she staying?’ his housekeeper asked bluntly through the speakerphone. ‘Or do I need to call another taxi? Only you know how much Harris hates driving all the way up here every time you lose another nanny. He’ll be on his lunch break now, anyway.’
She made it sound as if he was misplacing them somewhere, in the nooks and crannies of the cavernous castle. As if they weren’t actually running out through the front door without looking back.
The last one hadn’t even waited for Harris—the driver of Lengroth village’s only taxi—to show up. She’d walked the three miles to the station instead.
‘Miss Reid is staying with us,’ Cal said smugly.
‘Reid?’ He could almost hear Mrs Peterson’s eyebrows rising. ‘I thought the agency said her name was Thomas?’
Damn. He wasn’t good at subterfuge. But he’d have to get better quickly if he was going to disguise his brother’s pregnant mistress as a nanny for the next month and a half.
‘A mix-up at the agency, it seems. Our new nanny is Miss Heather Reid.’
‘I’ve stopped bothering to learn their names,’ Mrs Peterson replied. ‘Did the agency get the time of the interview wrong, too?’
‘Yes. Yes, they did.’ Mrs Peterson valued promptness highly, and what was one more little white lie if it smoothed the relationship between the nanny and the housekeeper of Lengroth Castle? ‘In fact, Miss Reid was technically fifteen minutes early.’
‘Hmph.’
Across the desk, Heather was looking most amused by his attempts to pacify his housekeeper. He resisted the urge to toss the rubber duck at her to stop her silent laughter.
‘So if you could please come up to the office and take Miss Reid for a tour of the castle, and to meet the children...?’
There was a loud sigh on the speakerphone. ‘I suppose,’ she said, and then the line went dead.
‘Mrs Peterson is not a big fan of nannies?’ Heather asked.
‘To be honest, the last few we’ve had haven’t really tried to endear themselves to her.’ Cal tried to smile reassuringly. ‘Mrs Peterson is a sweetheart when you get to know her, I promise.’
Heather looked sceptical.
But when Mrs Peterson arrived a few minutes later—Cal suspected she hadn’t wasted time going all the way back down to the kitchen...she’d probably figured she’d be needed to show the nanny out before she even got that far—Heather smiled sweetly at her and talked about how excited she was to get to know the children and the castle.
‘We’ll see how long that lasts,’ Mrs Peterson muttered ominously.
As they shut the door behind them Cal let out a long breath and sank down into his chair to process the last half an hour. Much as he’d far rather take a nap, there were still so many things to deal with.
So, taking stock...
Pluses: he had someone to look after Daisy and Ryan, hopefully for the rest of the summer, so he could get on with fixing everything their father, his brother, had screwed up before his death.
Minuses: that person was pregnant with Ross’s child, and was basically another scandal waiting to happen.
Cal didn’t think Heather was about to go running to the papers, seeking a pay-out for the headline Adulterous Earl Fathers Baby from the Grave or anything, but he knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. At least this way he’d be keeping the scandal close to home, until he was sure of Heather’s character. And the baby was a Bryce—he definitely believed that much.
Another nephew or niece for him to not know how to love. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d ever been given any examples of loving parenthood, or even a loving relationship.
‘Your heart’s as cold as a Scottish winter,’ his latest ex-girlfriend had told him as she’d walked out. ‘The view might be nice, but you wouldn’t want to live there.’
She might have had a point, he had to admit. But his life wasn’t the problem here. Ross’s was. And not just because of Heather.
With a sigh, Cal pulled over the folder sitting on the corner of his desk, sending the rubber duck toppling over as he did so. The folder’s cover was blank—purposely. Cal didn’t need a reminder to know what was inside it.
Another of his big brother’s follies.
Living the lives they did, the Earls of Lengroth had never been particularly good at holding on to their money. Fortunately the estate was still reasonably lucrative—with most of it rented out to farmers or tenants in the linked village. But the castle took a lot of upkeep, which required all that money.
At least it did when there was someone sensible at the reins—usually an estate manager or the current Countess of Lengroth.
Ross, however, seemed to have believed he could do it all himself. Or maybe he’d felt he needed to, in order to keep his secrets. Because what Ross mostly seemed to have done with the estate finances was gamble it away.
Cal’s eyes fluttered closed as he tried, for an unsavoury moment, to imagine his perfect big brother at the gambling tables, throwing away his children’s inheritance. Or in a London bar, seducing Heather Reid.
The latter was alarmingly easy. With that river of copper hair, and those soft green eyes, Cal could easily imagine any man’s attention being drawn to her, even across a darkened bar.
He opened his eyes again. Not helping, Cal. Especially since he liked to think—in his better moments—that he might actually be able to resist the kind of scandalous fall from grace that seemed to afflict all the Earls of Lengroth sooner or later.
‘But I’m not the Earl,’ he muttered to himself.
He was going to do everything in his power to stop Ryan from following that same path. But first he had to finish fixing Ross’s mistakes.
He flipped open the folder, ready to start again.
Most of the basic gambling debts he’d dealt with up front, the moment he’d found them. He should have used the estate money, he knew, but that was Ryan’s, and Cal didn’t want his nephew to be saddled with money troubles from the outset. Fortunately Cal’s own property business in the States was lucrative enough that he’d had enough personal wealth to fill the hole. His accountant hadn’t been happy about it, but then neither was Cal, really.
More problematic to deal with were the times when Ross had clearly tried to use his title and minor celebrity in place of money. Or to impress, Cal supposed. He wasn’t sure what else would explain the obligation sitting on top of the pile, waiting for him to fix it. An email from a magazine editor, confirming plans made with Ross for later in the summer.
‘Why on earth would Ross have invited a reporter to come and stay at the castle?’ he wondered aloud, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if that would change the contents of the printout in front of him.
It didn’t.
Only one way to find out, Cal supposed.
He picked up the phone to try and explain to this editor that, with Ross dead, there was no way in hell he was letting a journalist anywhere near Lengroth Castle this summer.
* * *
She’d left the rubber duck in Cal’s office, Heather realised as Mrs Peterson showed her yet another identical green and grey room in the cold, dead castle. She should have brought it with her—either as a peace offering or a sign that she couldn’t be intimidated by flying bath toys.
Except she was, of course—intimidated. And not just by ducks.
Thirty-four children in a classroom were one thing. Two children alone in a castle, with a ghost and a revolving door for nannies, were something completely different.
Heather felt sick again. Didn’t this castle have any bathrooms? She wasn’t sure that Mrs Peterson had shown her one.
‘And this will be your room,’ Mrs Peterson said finally, opening the door on a grey room with a grey metal bed and a green and grey tartan bedspread. There was a chair by the window, looking out over the front of the castle all the way to the grey gates. Heather wondered if this was where Daisy had thrown the duck from.
‘Is there a bathroom?’ Heather entered the room cautiously, looking for a bathroom door and possibly a ghost, or a child waiting to jump out at her and pelt her with bath toys. She saw neither.
‘Down the hall,’ Mrs Peterson answered. ‘Lengroth Castle was built before the advent of your modern en suite bathrooms, you realise.’
Lengroth Castle had clearly been built before indoor plumbing, central heating, electricity and Wi-Fi technology, too, but Heather sincerely hoped they’d all been included in any subsequent remodelling.
‘Down the hall? Right...’
Feeling she’d taken in enough of the room, Heather dumped her rucksack beside the bed, turned to Mrs Peterson and said, ‘So, shall we go and meet the children?’ in her best Mary Poppins voice.
Mrs Peterson looked suspicious.
‘I mean, that is what I’m here for,’ Heather went on, knowing she was babbling and unable to stop herself. ‘To be a nanny, I mean.’ And definitely not the bearer of the children’s illegitimate half-sibling or anything. No, sir.
Oh, she was terrible at lying. Clearly she took after her father and not her mother there. Why had she ever thought she could pull this off?
But after a long moment Mrs Peterson stepped back, out of the doorway. ‘The nursery is this way.’
She click-clacked off down the corridor, her heels echoing off the stone walls, and stopped at the next door, a good ten metres away.
Heather steeled herself, and followed.
‘Children,’ Mrs Peterson said as she opened the nursery door, ‘this is Miss Reid, your new nanny.’ She sounded almost...fond, Heather realised. Which, given what she knew of the children so far, didn’t make much sense.
Unless they were in it together, determined to drive away any newcomers to the castle.
Heather was so engaged in a sudden daydream of Mrs Peterson dressing up in a white sheet pretending to be a ghost, while Daisy and Ryan stood behind her hurling rubber ducks at an invading army of nannies, that she almost forgot to greet the children.
‘Hello! You can call me Heather. And you two must be Daisy and Ryan!’ She was still channelling Mary Poppins, she realised. If she wasn’t careful she might burst into song at any moment.
