I piled up my hair and stepped into the shower, hoping it would wash away my anxieties before going to meet with the potential nannies—another concession I’d made to my protective husband. We both had businesses to run. I’d debated selling my half of Bless, my couture clothing rental service, to my business partner, but I couldn’t quite let it go. As much as I wanted to be a mummy, I didn’t want to completely give up my identity. A sharp kick inside me stole my breath as though my darling girl already had opinions of her own on these matters.
“You could just come to work with me,” I cooed, rubbing a circle over my ever-larger belly and earning another kick. “Us girls have to stick together.”
I just didn’t see why I couldn’t do both: be a mum and a business woman. My best friend managed to be a mother and the Queen of England.
“With a household staff,” I reminded myself with a sigh, shutting off the water. Even Clara had a nanny in the beginning. I’d been helping her since William was born. Women needed women. It didn’t make me a bad future mum to have a hand and it didn’t make me a bad entrepreneur to have a baby. Balance was an illusion, anyway. I’d learned that much my first year running my own company.
My wandering thoughts had resulted in too much water spraying on my hair to put it back down, and I had no time to dry it. Rearranging it into a top-knot, I popped into my closet, grabbed a blue silk scarf and tied it artfully around my head. I’d kept most of my maternity dresses in London, where I needed them for business meetings and going to the palace. In the country, I generally opted for a more comfortable wardrobe that allowed me to easily climb around construction materials, wade through the tall grass behind the estate, or lounge around after the crews left for the day. But today, I wanted to make an impression and coveralls and jumpers wouldn’t do the trick. Grabbing a stretchy pair of cropped black leggings, I tugged them on, barely maintaining my balance as I pulled their high waist up and over my swollen stomach. The more pregnant I got, the harder it became to do the simplest tasks. Abandoning my side of the closet, I walked to Smith’s and found a simple white Oxford. I tugged it on, buttoned the first few buttons and then tied the rest just over the waistband of the leggings. I slid on a pair of velvet Birdies, the greatest thing to happen to my feet in the last three months, and decided that was enough. It was better than showing up in sweatpants anyway.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and started toward the stairs, pausing when I saw a text notification.
Clara: When are you coming home? Maybe we can all have lunch?
I took a deep breath, uncertain how to respond. By all, she meant me and Edward. Lunch with Clara meant going to Buckingham. She had a newborn and there was no way around it. I happened to know that Edward missed her and would love to have lunch and see his new nephew. But Buckingham also meant Alexander, and no matter how much Edward loved his sister-in-law and friend, nothing would convince him to step foot inside that place. Nothing had for weeks. I couldn’t blame him for that. I’d stopped asking him when he was going to talk with his brother out of fear that he would cut me out of his life as well. Someone had to keep an eye on him.
I responded that I’d have to check, knowing full-well that I was simply putting off a harder conversation for an easier answer now. I scrolled through my messages to see if Edward had responded to my last friendly hello, asking if he wanted to talk. I’d got back a two word response.
I’m fine.
Fine. It’s all I ever got from him now. Fine? Bollocks. He was not fine. Not by a long shot. Who would be after the death of his husband? Especially given what had happened. He’d begun taking off on last minute trips as though he could run away from his problems. I never knew when he was in London let alone England, and Clara expected to get updates through me about his whereabouts. I hated feeling caught in the middle between my best friends. I hated being stuck out here and unable to force the two of them to finally face one another. I suspected that I just hated feeling like my real life was an hour away in the middle of London.
I turned the volume down on my ringer as I descended the last stair and braced myself. The door to the sitting room was open and I stepped inside, closing it behind me to drown out some of the construction noise.
Smith paused mid-sentence and turned to look at me, his eyes raking across me in a way that always sent a shiver racing down my spine. Even now, in the middle of one of the most mundane tasks ever—a job interview—hunger reflected in his green irises. He looked as he always did: like he was about to pounce and pin me to the wall.
Under that gaze, I felt like I always did: like I wanted him to do just that.
My husband was more than most men dreamed of being. There was handsome, and then there was Smith. Dark hair, just a shade past auburn and sharp, chiseled features formed him into more god than man. Broad shoulders that crowned a muscular upper body, he oozed with a natural arrogance that I couldn't resist. I’d tried once, after he’d hired me to be his assistant. In all fairness, I’d stayed out of his bed much longer than anyone expected. Knowing him now, I wish I hadn’t waited so long. There were few vices in life more delicious than being completely owned and possessed by a man as powerful and certain as Smith Price. I hated the idea that I’d lose even a moment of them to my own stubborn willfulness. Even now, I had half a mind to drag him away to bed—or the nearest flat surface.
But we had a guest and judging from the way her incredibly thin lips had formed a straight, flat line, she disapproved of...from the looks of it, everything. The rest of her was equally sharp from the beak-like nose to her tightly pulled back hair. I forced a warm smile on my lips and strode over, hand extended.
“This is my wife, Belle,” Smith introduced me, and the potential nanny gripped my hand so firmly I thought it might snap off. “Belle, meet Martha.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I said smoothly, earning me nothing more than a grunt before she returned her attention to Smith. I took the seat next to my husband on the sofa.
“And the hours?” she asked, ignoring me entirely.
“We haven’t quite decided on that.” He glanced at me for confirmation.
“We only need someone part-time,” I told her. “After she’s born and we’ve been home for a while and settled in.”
“You don’t want part-time,” she said—not to me, but Smith.
Oh hell no. A hand fell on my knee and squeezed. A warning from Smith not to get too riled up. Could he sense that I felt left out of the equation?
“We don’t?” he asked politely. I’d heard him use this voice before. He reserved it for small talk.
“Consistency is key. It will be several years before the child can go off to school, but structure is essential. You’re both business owners. Neither of you can commit to being the primary caregiver,” she said, nailing the situation a bit too precisely for comfort. “Someone must be around to make certain discipline and structure are strictly enforced.”
“I don’t think babies require discipline,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Did she think she was being asked to run a nursery or a boot camp?
Martha’s withering glare suggested she felt differently.
“It’s certainly something to keep in mind,” Smith mused, squeezing my knee twice, our secret code for let me handle this. “As you can see, we’re still figuring out the best fit, and we will have a while before we need someone here.”