Page 5 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes
Good Lord. What now?
The door flew open and one of Xavier’s wards—the youngest and smallest—appeared in the hallway.
Gary or Barry? To his own mortification, having spent only a minimal amount of time with his wards since they’d arrived (entering the nursery rather felt like visiting a topsy-turvy land where everyone spoke a foreign language and nothing made sense), Xavier was never quite sure which child was which.
He really should try harder to learn their names. It was common courtesy after all.
When Gary—yes, it was Gary (really Gareth)—saw Xavier and Mrs. Chase, his eyes grew as round as saucers. “Oh, Cousin Xavier—” he began, but then he broke off as another scream burst forth.
Xavier frowned. “Gary, what in heaven’s name is wrong?”
Before his ward could respond, the door swung open wider and a pale-faced Nanny Snodgrass rushed into the hall.
“Your Grace,” she cried. “Your Grace! Miss Harriet is deliberately tormenting me.”
“A nine-year-old girl is tormenting you?” Xavier repeated. “That sounds a tad dramatic.”
“Well, she is! With a frog! She hid it in one of the toy boxes with malice aforethought, so I’d find it.
” The nanny pressed her trembling fingers against her throat.
“I swear my heart almost stopped when it jumped on my hand. I thought the devil himself was coming for me.” Her expression grew fierce with anger.
“Something must be done to curb Miss Harriet’s wicked ways. ”
“Wicked ways?” Mrs. Chase stepped forward.
Her fine brows had plunged into a deep frown.
“Children are not wicked. They can present with challenging behaviors at times, but I’m firmly of the opinion that one should never proclaim a child to be ‘wicked.’?” The younger woman shook her head as if she were quite disgusted with the nanny’s declaration.
Xavier was nothing but impressed by her self-assured manner and her willingness to be Harry’s champion, even though she’d never met the child.
Nanny Snodgrass clearly thought otherwise. Her voice was laden with hoarfrost as she said, “I don’t think anyone asked for your opinion, Miss…”
The young woman lifted her chin. “I’m Mrs. Emmeline Chase, a graduate of the Parasol Academy for Exceptional Nannies and Governesses. And no, you didn’t ask for my opinion, but if you’re going to make damaging assertions about a child’s character, I’m going to feel compelled to intervene.”
If Nanny Snodgrass were a porcupine, no doubt her spikes would be bristling. “Now see here, Mrs. Chase—”
“Mrs. Chase is right. Harry isn’t wicked,” piped up another small voice. Xavier’s “middle” ward, Barry, thrust his head around the door. “It’s not her fault if Archimedes—”
“Archimedes?” repeated Xavier. “Who or what is Archimedes?”
“My frog. A Rana temporaria , or common frog.” Harriet emerged from the nursery, and in her hands she carried a rather handsome olive-green frog with a peppering of black spots along its back. It emitted a deep croak, as though it agreed with everything Harry had said.
Nanny Snodgrass squealed and jumped back. “Get that hideous thing away from me.”
“Archimedes is not hideous,” declared Harry, scowling at the nanny over the top of her spectacles. “And you can’t blame him for wanting to explore the nursery. I can’t keep him locked up in a dark box all day and night. That would be cruel.”
“Harry, how long have you had Archimedes?” asked Xavier.
The girl turned and regarded him steadily. She really was quite fearless. “I found him in the garden three days ago. The last time we were allowed outside.” She threw her nanny a baleful look.
“Three days?” shrieked Nanny Snodgrass. She clutched the doorjamb as though her knees were going to give out. “Miss Harriet, are you telling me that thing has been roaming the nursery for three whole days?”
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” replied Harry. “Archimedes is a friendly frog. He wouldn’t harm a fly.” She frowned. “Well, that isn’t quite true, because he does like to eat flies. What I mean to say is, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Even you , Nanny Snodgrass.”
Xavier bent down to Harriet’s level so he could meet her eyes.
“Under the circumstances, I think the best thing to do would be to get Archimedes an aquarium. While Horatio is well-fed and generally well-behaved, ravens do eat frogs and lizards on the odd occasion. It would be safer for everyone, don’t you think? ”
Harry considered him with large solemn eyes. “Very well, Cousin Xavier,” she conceded after a moment. “I think your proposed solution is acceptable.”
Xavier straightened. “What say you, Nanny Snodgrass?”
The woman gave a haughty sniff. “It is your home, and these are your wards, Your Grace. So I will abide by your decree. But I hope Miss Harriet will keep the aquarium and its occupant in her own room. A nursery is not a place for a frog.”
The three children and Nanny Snodgrass disappeared back into the nursery, and Xavier escorted Mrs. Chase downstairs to the grand entrance hall of St Lawrence House.
“Again, I’m so sorry for disrupting your day,” said Mrs. Chase as they paused by the front door. One of the footmen had opened it to reveal rain scudding across Belgrave Square in a thick gray curtain. “It seems like you have a lot to contend with.”
“Yes…” Xavier managed a tight smile. “My wards have only been with me a month, and I employed Nanny Snodgrass only a fortnight ago. I expect the children are still getting to know her, and vice versa.” Of course, he was still getting to know them too.
He really wished children came with some sort of guidebook or instruction manual.
Mrs. Chase made a low humming noise, a soft “mhmmm,” which Xavier seemed to feel all the way to his fingertips.
He was suddenly possessed by the absurd and completely inappropriate impulse to take off one of his gloves and reach out and touch the woman’s coppery tresses to see if the strands had the same texture as silk. How strange.
She’d been looking outside, contemplating the rainy aspect, but then her gaze suddenly returned to his face.
“Even though it’s not my place to say, I did wonder if Nanny Snodgrass might not be quite right for your wards.
They seem high-spirited and Miss Harriet, especially, seems quite intelligent. You mentioned she’s nine?”
Xavier clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, nine. Almost ten.”
The nanny nodded. “She might even need a governess to keep her inquisitive mind occupied.”
Xavier sighed. “I think you might be right.”
Something like a look of sympathy crossed Mrs. Chase’s features. “I do need to be on my way, Your Grace, but before I go…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny tin soldier. “This belongs to your ward, Gareth. I-I found it… on the roof.”
Xavier frowned as he took the toy. Horatio must have flown off with it and dropped it there.
The soldier was slightly dented and a little of the red paint had been scraped off its uniform, exposing the tin beneath.
Nevertheless, it was familiar; Xavier had seen Gary playing with a set of toy soldiers when he’d ventured into the nursery on the odd occasion.
Apparently, the set had once belonged to the children’s late father, a distant cousin of Xavier’s.
He shot the nanny a quizzical look. “How did you know it belonged to Gareth?”
“He was holding one just like it when he came rushing out of the nursery.” Mrs. Chase shrugged a slender shoulder. “It seemed like a logical assumption to make.”
Xavier’s eyes met the nanny’s. “And how did you know my ward’s name is Gareth?”
Her lightly freckled cheeks turned pink and her bright blue gaze skittered away from his. “Oh, I thought you or someone else said his name. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”
“No, no. It’s quite all right.” Xavier studied the young woman’s flushed countenance.
When he quickly went over the conversation outside the nursery in his head, he’d only referred to Gareth as Gary.
But it wasn’t illogical to assume that Gary might be short for Gareth…
And what did Mrs. Chase have to gain from lying about such a thing?
Of course, Xavier was staring again, so that might have set her to the blush rather than anything else.
What was it about this woman that had him so intrigued? She was a “missus,” for one thing, so there must be—or had been at some point—a Mister Chase. Xavier estimated her age to be in the vicinity of twenty-something, so she was quite young for a widow.
“Well, if you ever need another nanny”—Mrs. Chase withdrew a business card from her pocket and passed it to Xavier—“ask for Mrs. Felicity Temple of the Parasol Academy. She’ll be sure to recommend someone who’s perfect for your wards.”
Xavier glanced down at the cream and gold-embossed card in his hand and read:
The Parasol Academy
Bespoke Nanny and Governess Services
51 Sloane Square, Chelsea
Bespoke nanny and governess services ? Xavier’s interest was instantly piqued. He’d never heard of the Parasol Academy until today. And to think it was virtually around the corner from St Lawrence House! He turned the card over to read what was on the other side:
Come rain, hail, or shine, everything will be perfectly fine! Whether your offspring are big or small, expert staff will be at your beck and call.
For all your child rearing and youth educational needs, in London or farther afield, contact the Headmistress of the Parasol Academy for Exceptional Nannies and Governesses, Mrs. F. Temple, for an obligation-free consultation. (Confidentiality and the utmost discretion guaranteed.)
He looked up to thank Mrs. Chase, but like magic, she’d disappeared. “Good luck with your interview,” he called into the rain, but the wind snatched his voice away.
And then of course, he didn’t really mean it.
He shut the door. Curmudgeonly though it was, part of him hoped Mrs. Chase didn’t get the job she was applying for. If Nanny Snodgrass didn’t work out, Xavier rather thought he’d like to secure the young woman’s nannying services himself.
Not only did she retrieve toy soldiers from roofs and stand up for others when she didn’t need to, she’d made him smile, which was no mean feat. And even though his elbow still ached, his headache had miraculously dissipated.
If he was an unusual duke, he could safely say that Mrs. Emmeline Chase was a most unusual nanny.