Patricia Rice by All a Woman Wants Read Free Book Online

looking too young to be out of school, strolled from the front door of a
neighboring cottage in the direction of the crumbling church. The
church’s wide door sagged open, welcoming any creature who cared to
enter. He’d find no protection from the viscount and his men here.
    “Oh, there’s Mr. Rector on his rounds now,” Miss Cavendish said with what sounded like relief.
    Owl-eyed behind gold-rimmed spectacles, the curate
watched with interest as their carriage approached. Mac had never
intended to meet the whole town. He’d meant to hide the children with
Nanny Marrow while he rode back to London. He needed to see to his cargo
purchases and the preparation of his clipper. He was at a loss as to
how he would accomplish either in this place, but his main concern was
concealing his identity.
    Not being one to cower behind bushes, Mac resolutely
drove Miss Cavendish down the hill into the narrow confines of
Broadbury. A portly gentleman joined the vicar to gape at their
approach.
    ***
    “Miss Cavendish, it’s a pleasure. I see the
gentleman found you.” Nearly sixty, Mr. Digby appeared very much the
butler he once had been as he helped Beatrice from the carriage.
    “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” The curate
rocked back on his heels and inspected the newcomer with curiosity as he
waited for Mac to tie up his horse.
    Flustered, Beatrice handled the introductions,
although she suspected she flubbed them badly. Mr. Warwick was regarding
her with a raised eyebrow, an expression that produced shivers all the
way to her toes. He had the most amazingly thick and expressive brows,
in a shade of brown darker than his hair.
    Rubbing elbows with him all the way into town had made her extremely light-headed. Perhaps she was coming down with something.
    “Mr. Warwick is teaching me estate management,” she said primly. “We need the name of a thatcher to repair the stable roof.”
    “Teaching?” the curate asked with amusement. “Is
that what it’s called these days? And are you an acquaintance of the
earl’s, or of the Carstairses, Mr. Warwick?”
    Beatrice narrowed her eyes at the implication that
her neighbors had sent a man more interested in acquiring her property
than a nanny. “He’s an American, Mr. Rector. He was hoping to find Nanny
Marrow to look after his children.”
    “Nanny Marrow’s sister lives in Virginia,” Mr.
Warwick explained curtly. “She wished me to persuade Nanny to come live
with her. It seems I arrived too late.”
    Mr. Rector clucked his sympathy. “Well, fine thing
that you and Miss Cavendish have found each other. Miss Cavendish surely
knows all that Nanny Marrow taught her. Fine woman, our dear Miss C.”
    “Really, sir,” Bea demurred, “if we could please have the name of a reputable thatcher, we shall be on our way.”
    The obstinate American pursued his own goal. “I’m
sure the children are in good hands with Miss Cavendish, but my time is
limited. I shall see what I can do while I look for a nursemaid.”
    “A nursemaid,” Mr. Digby mused, then abandoned that
unprofitable subject. “When will your aunt be arriving for her annual
visit, miss? The gypsy circus she brought with her last year has been a
constant source of conversation.”
    Just the thought of the turmoil her aunt always
created made Beatrice’s mind reel. Of course the villagers talked about
her. The gypsies had sold half the shire ancient mares painted black to
disguise their age, and her father had had to recompense everyone once
they realized they’d been cheated.
    Still, she so desperately needed her aunt’s wisdom
right now, she would willingly endure the mischief that accompanied it.
“I’ve not heard from her yet. I’m sure you’ll know the minute she
arrives.”
    The gleam in her ex-butler’s eye spoke his full agreement on that point. “We’ll look forward to seeing her.”
    Tortured minutes later, they escaped with the direction of a