Chương 1
""“DON’T STOP.”
Evelyn Carter froze with a stuffed rabbit held over her head, one yellow-gloved hand gripping its soft belly and the other pinching an absurdly long ear.
Four baby girls erupted behind the white crib rail.
They slapped their palms against the wood, bounced on unsteady legs, and laughed as though the rabbit’s interrupted flight had somehow made the performance even funnier. One of them squealed hard enough to hiccup. Another shook the rail with both hands. The smallest—Claire, though Evelyn still occasionally mixed her up with Sophie when they were sleepy—threw her head back and showed four tiny teeth.
Evelyn did not turn around.
She knew the voice.
Nobody else in the Cole house could make three ordinary syllables sound like a disciplinary hearing.
Her shoulders tightened beneath the pale sage-green sleeves of her uniform. The white ruffles of her apron settled after her sudden stop. She heard the nursery door finish opening behind her with a low wooden creak.
For three seconds, the babies were the only people in the room who seemed delighted by the situation.
Then Evelyn slowly lowered the rabbit.
Adrian Cole stood in the doorway.
He had probably just come home. His fitted black shirt was still tucked neatly into charcoal trousers, sleeves buttoned at the wrists, dark hair arranged with the irritating precision of a man who could work fourteen hours and somehow never look rumpled. At thirty-five, he was younger than Evelyn had expected the first time the agency showed her his photograph, although nothing about him in person felt young.
He seemed composed even when he was exhausted.
Especially when he was exhausted.
Tonight there was no expression on his face.
That was worse.
“Mr. Cole,” Evelyn said.
Her voice came out smaller than intended.
Emma slapped the crib rail and shouted something that sounded like “Buh!”
The rabbit dangled from Evelyn’s hand.
Adrian barely looked at her.
His attention remained on his daughters.
“They haven’t laughed like that since their mother died.”
The words did not sound rehearsed. They did not sound dramatic.
They sounded like something he had accidentally said aloud.
The nursery changed around Evelyn without anything in it moving.
A lamp glowed beside the built-in shelves. Teddy bears sat in tidy rows. Pale curtains hung motionless over tall windows. Somebody—probably Evelyn herself that afternoon—had left one wooden stacking ring beneath the rocking chair. The smell of baby soap lingered under the faint citrus scent of the cleaning solution she had used on the changing table.
The girls were still laughing.
Adrian was not.
Evelyn swallowed.
“Sir... I didn’t know.”
His gaze moved to the rabbit.
Then to her yellow gloves.
Then back to the babies.
Behind Evelyn, Sophie stretched both arms toward her and made the impatient little grunting sound she used whenever she expected to be picked up.
Adrian stepped into the nursery.
Only one step.
“Every nanny I hired quit.”
Evelyn looked at him then.
She had heard pieces of that story from the kitchen staff, though she had never asked questions. The Cole household had the kind of employment turnover people noticed without discussing directly. Two nannies had left before Evelyn started working there. Another lasted eleven days. A night nurse disappeared from the schedule shortly afterward.
Evelyn had assumed four infants were explanation enough.
Four diapers.
Four bottles.
Four fevers.
Four developing personalities.
Four opportunities for somebody to begin crying and convince the other three to join in.
The girls had been born within minutes of one another and, according to the housekeeper, had developed a nearly supernatural ability to coordinate chaos.
Adrian looked from one daughter to another.
Emma was trying to climb her sister.
Claire was still laughing at nothing.
Sophie reached for Evelyn.
Lucy had discovered the edge of Evelyn’s glove and was stretching two fingers through the crib rail toward it.
Evelyn automatically moved closer.
Lucy caught one yellow finger.
Her entire fist closed around it.
Adrian watched.
“So tomorrow,” he said, “don’t come back as my maid.”
Evelyn’s eyes snapped toward him.
The first thought through her mind was that she had been fired.
The second was rent.
The third was that losing a job because she had entertained four babies with a plush rabbit would be so ridiculous she might actually laugh on the train home.
Adrian continued before she could speak.
“Come back as their nanny.”
The room seemed to become very quiet despite the babies.
Evelyn stared at him.
He stared back.
Emma shrieked with laughter because Sophie had fallen backward onto her diapered bottom.
Evelyn blinked.
“You’re serious.”
“I usually am.”
“That wasn’t really a question.”
“Then yes.”
Evelyn glanced at Lucy, who remained firmly attached to her glove.
“Mr. Cole, I’m not a nanny.”
“You seem to be doing better than the professionals.”
“I was making a rabbit dance.”
“Yes.”
“That is not childcare training.”
“No.”
“You have four babies.”
“I’m aware.”
Evelyn almost laughed.
The man possessed a special talent for saying perfectly reasonable words in ways that made her want to argue with them.
She eased her finger from Lucy’s fist and removed the gloves, setting them on the changing table.
“I can’t answer that right now.”
Something changed in Adrian’s expression.
Not anger.
Surprise.
Perhaps he had expected gratitude.
Perhaps people usually accepted whatever he offered because his offers tended to come with numbers large enough to discourage hesitation.
Evelyn folded the gloves together.
“I need to think.”
He nodded after a pause.
“Fine.”
“And I need to know why they quit.”
The surprise sharpened.
“The nannies.”
“I understood.”
“You said every nanny quit. I’d like to know why before I become the next one.”
Adrian’s jaw shifted slightly.
It was the first sign that she had made him uncomfortable.
Behind them, Claire began fussing.
Evelyn turned instinctively, lifted the baby from the crib, and settled her against one hip.
Claire stopped almost immediately.
Adrian stared at his daughter.
May you like
Evelyn noticed.
She had noticed before that he rarely picked the girls up unless somebody handed one to him.
