"I'm sure," the driver said evenly. "This is the Talbot house."
I swallowed. "Okay, then. Thanks for the lift."
"You want help with your luggage, miss?"
I stared at the two bags sitting beside me. I hadn't even let him put them in the trunk of the car. "I can manage." They were, after all, no more than carry-ons. I'd been hauling them all over airports. I hadn't bothered packing anything but clothes and makeup. I figured I could get the rest of the essentials in London, and whatever else I needed from home, my mom could ship me. Everything else had gone into storage.
He seemed relieved not to have to get out in the rain. "Very well, miss."
I really wished he'd stop calling me "miss." With a nod, I stepped out of the car and into the downpour. Shouldering my large canvas tote and extending the handle of my rolling bag, I ducked my head and scurried across the pavement to the gate. It was locked. Of course it was. There was a button with an intercom next to it. I pressed the button and then waited for what seemed like ages while cold water slid under my collar and down my back.
"Yes?" A voice finally crackled over the intercom.
"Hi, this is Anna Lucas. I'm the new nanny."
There was a pause. "Come in." I heard a faint buzzing sound, and the gate gave a slight shudder. I pushed it, and it swung open easily. I shoved my way through, letting it slam shut behind me. The walk to the front porch was short, maybe five or six steps, but by the time I reached the door, I was definitely at drowned rat stage.
There were only two steps, which was a relief. And there was a tiny overhang which kept the black and white tiled stoop mostly dry. There was a small welcome mat placed exactly so in front of the door. Unfortunately I didn't think wiping my feet was going to help matters. I was dripping all over the place.
The red door swung open and a pinch-faced woman stared down at me. She was tall, probably close to six feet, with graying hair pulled up in a tight bun. Dark circles ringed her eyes. "Oh, good. You're here." I heard the relief in her voice and realized the pinched look was probably from exhaustion. "Come in. Quick. Out of the rain."
I stepped into the warmth of the foyer, well aware I was dripping on the highly polished marble floor. "Ms. Talbot?"
The woman gave me a weak smile. "Oh, no, dear. I'm Viola. I'm Ms. Bella's housekeeper. Well, that's what I'm supposed to be, but lately I've been helping with the children." She cleared her throat. "It's been a challenge."
Oh, boy. "Challenge" was also code for "difficult."
"Oh, heavens, you're soaking wet."
"Sorry," I muttered, staring down at the pool of water rapidly spreading at my feet. I felt bad. Somebody was going to have to clean that up. No doubt Viola.
She caught the direction of my gaze. "Oh, pish posh. The floor will mop. You, however, are going to catch your death of cold if you don't get out of those wet clothes."
"That's an old wives' tale," I assured her.
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you arguing with me?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Upstairs with you. I'll show you to your room." She grabbed my suitcase before I could so much as blink and charged up the wide staircase. I followed her, wincing at the damp spots left on the polished dark wood. Just what I needed on the first day of my new job: destroying my boss's property. "Don't worry about the water marks," Viola said as if she could read my mind. "Believe me, after having the twins here for the past month, Ms. Bella is getting used to chaos and imperfection."
Frankly, I saw no sign of any chaos or imperfection, but I muttered an agreement and hoisted my tote higher on my shoulder. The thing was heavy, the straps cutting into my skin.
We reached the second floor—I'd learned at the airport the ground floor was called the first floor—and walked down a short hall.
"These are Ms. Bella's rooms," Viola said, nodding at a door on the right. "That's her bedroom and on the left is her office." We trudged up another flight of steps, this one a little narrower but still quite lovely with more polished dark wood and a bannister that looked like it might be original. "This floor is for the twins," Viola puffed as we reached the second—make that third—floor. "They share a bedroom and the other room is for their playroom. This is where you'll spend a lot of your time, no doubt. Follow me."
Another flight of stairs loomed, this one barely wide enough for me to walk properly. The treads had been covered with Berber carpet, a far cry from the elegance downstairs. My bet was these were the attic stairs. Probably had once been servant's quarters. Probably still were. It was practically Dickensian. Good grief, they weren't expecting me to dress in black bombazine and speak in a Cockney accent, were they?
At the top of the stairs, Viola paused to catch her breath before pushing open a narrow door. On the other side of it was a small room with slanted ceilings so low, I could only stand in the exact center of the room. Viola had to duck her head even there to avoid smacking her head on the light fixture.
"This is your room." Viola beamed. "Cozy, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it." There was a single window at one end of the room letting in light. Red and
