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This is a lot easier than I thought it would be.
Jacqueline had known that the household indulged the child to an extreme degree but even she was surprised how fast the nanny jumped in to cater to the boy’s wishes.
“My name is Mrs. Haversham,” she said to Jacqueline, her watery gray eyes grateful. “And this is my charge, George Wilson Ansel, Marquess of Folkestone.”
Jacqueline feigned surprise. “A Marquess? Should I curtsy?”
The little boy giggled. “No. But you can give me another cake.”
Jacqueline smiled. “All right, once we arrive at your house, I shall give you another piece of cake, but only if you do one thing for me.”
George’s eyes narrowed, and he pouted. “What?”
“Say please.”
George's face reddened and for a moment, Jacqueline thought he might throw a tantrum. But he just breathed like a grampus a few times before subsiding. “Nobody has asked me to say please before,” he argued.
The nanny’s brow was beginning to furrow with worry again.
“No? Well, nobody bakes like I do. So, if you want to continue to eat my food, you must do as I say.”
“But I’m a Marquess and you’re a servant. You do whatIsay.”
Jacqueline tapped a finger against her cheek as if thinking hard. “I’m not sure I like that. I just might go and see if the baker has a place for me. I knowhe’dsay please once he tasted my cakes.”
She knew she was taking a risk teasing the child like this but she had a feeling that it was long past time someone took this child in hand. She made as if to turn away and the boy’s tiny fist closed on the hem of her apron.
“Please!” he shouted.
Jacqueline smiled. “Very good. You may have another cake.” She handed him one with a satisfied smile.
“Thank you,” the Marquess said with a small voice.
Jacqueline beamed. If she must use this little boy to get to his father, at least she would give something back to him. She looked up to find the nanny staring at her in wonder.
“How did you do that?” she whispered, her watery gray eyes wide with wonder.
Jacqueline laughed. “I don’t know. I have a very firm voice.”
Mrs. Haversham nodded slowly, her voice still breathless. “Aye, and you’re very beautiful. I suppose many men just do what you say without demur.”
Jacqueline laughed a little because it was too close to the truth for comfort. She was well aware that men were quite taken with her creamy skin and silky brown hair. They wanted to drown in her wintry gray eyes or nuzzle into her ample bosom. She tended to tantalize them enough that the mere promise ofperhapsbeing allowed to touch was enough to have them eating out of her hand, but she had not meant to do the same with the boy.
“I thank you for the compliment,” she said briskly as she cleared her throat.
Mrs. Haversham paled, her hand reaching tentatively out to brush Jacqueline’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t,” Jacqueline hastened to reassure her, although if she were being honest, shewasthe tiniest bit mortified. They arrived at the huge iron gates and the guards looked her up and down, half with suspicion, half with interest.
A large man with beetle brows and a thick head of auburn hair stepped forward, blocking their way. “Who’s this?”
“Our new baker,” Mrs. Haversham said primly. “Now, are you going to let us in or not?”
The guard grudgingly opened the gate and let them through, though he kept a dark, suspicious eye on Jacqueline.
“Where’d you find her anyway? His Grace didn’t say he was getting a baker.”
“Oh, and he tells you all of his decisions, does he, Mycroft?” The nanny sneered. Mycroft seemed to take offence at that and looked away, clearly sulking.
