“Yes.”
I waited for her to clarify.
She did not.
“Lady Ferdinand,” I said carefully, “you are aware that I am looking for a nanny for my children. I’m not looking for someone who needsmeto care forthem.”
“Don’t be clever. It doesn’t suit the circles under your eyes.” She reached into her handbag and began rummaging. “When I married Arthur, his children were furious. And they had every right to be. Their mother had died, and then there I was, young and terrified and trying to take up space in a house that had no room for me. Arthur thought affection would solve it,” she said. “Men do love believing affection is an entire plan.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she pointed a gloved finger at me.
“The children were grieving,” she said. “I was lonely. Arthur was useless, like most well-meaning men are useless when they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing. And then Winifred came.”
“Winifred?” I searched the dusty catalog in my brain of people Lady Ferdinand had mentioned to me in the past. I couldn’t recall anyone by that name.
“My nanny. Governess, really, though she disliked the title. Said it wastoo severe. She had rules, but she also had immense patience. And she had an absolutely terrifying ability to knowwhen a child was lying before the child had finished drawing breath to speak.”
I stared at her handbag. “And this woman is still working?”
“When she chooses to.”
“How old is she?”
Lady Ferdinand withdrew a small, cream-colored card. “Older than you expect, but young enough to handle your brood.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I said, giving a slight shake of my head.
“She’s capable.” She handed me the card. “Call her.”
The cardstock was thick and yellowed around the edges. The lettering looked hand-pressed, dark, and elegant.
Miss Winifred Carrington
Private Childcare and Household Instruction
Discretion Assured
Below that, a phone number had been written in ink.
I stared at the card that looked old enough to retire comfortably in the countryside. “Does this number still work?”
“It did the last time I used it.”
“When was that?”
She pursed her lips. “Time becomes less interesting at my age.”
I looked toward my children again. Billie had stood and was now brushing grass from her coat while Bianca picked grass out of her hair. CJ was rearranging the flowers one more time, delaying the walk back.
“I don’t know,” I said. “The children are… a lot.”
“Yes. We’ve established that.”
“They’ve scared off professionals.”
She patted my arm lightly. “Perhaps they require someone who isn’t easily intimidated.”
I glanced at the card again.
