Whirlwind by Cathy Marie Hake Page A

Fairweather.”
    “Arthur is sleeping peacefully, sir.” Her voice started out a little shaky, but finished on a steadier note.
    “Fine, then. Good night.”
    “Good night.”
    Had old Miss Jenkin been around, Daniel would have comfortably used the parlor for devotions; with Miss Fairweather, he’d relinquish all personal use of the parlor. Doing so would make it clear to the ship’s staff that he observed all propriety. To punctuate his honorable intentions, he firmly shut his bedchamber door.
    Daniel awoke the following morning to his son’s giggles. He lay in bed and savored the moment. At home, the nursery was on the third floor—far enough away that Daniel hadn’t ever started his day with his son’s peals of laughter. That alone constituted an excellent reason for this move. Once they established their home in Gooding, Texas, Daniel would enjoy his son’s presence at all times.
    Quickly dressing, Daniel outlined the points of a conversation he’d have with the new nanny. Expectations, preferences, pay—the like. He’d ignore how he’d frightened the nanny last night. His son’s needs were of foremost importance. Before he banished himself from the suite for the day, he’d outline what he required of her and steal a few minutes with Arthur. Everything planned out, Daniel opened his door. His thoughts scattered and the words he’d planned evaporated at the tender sight that met him.
    Arthur sat on the nanny’s lap. A bib covered most of him. Miss Fairweather’s slender hands folded over Arthur’s, forming a steeple, and she’d dipped her head to speak to him. “We’ll pray to thank Jesus for our breakfast.”
    His dark brown curls blending with the nanny’s black and brown blouse, Arthur piped up, “Foo good!”
    “Yes, yes. We’ll thank Him for our good food.”
    Daniel chuckled softly. “That was the prayer, Miss Fairweather. At least, that’s the best Arthur manages at present. ‘Thank you, Jesus, for my food and help me be so very good. Amen.’ ”
    “ ’Men!” Arthur disentangled his hands from the nanny’s, leaned forward, and grabbed a rasher of bacon.
    “Good morning, sir. It’s a darling prayer.”
    Poise like hers would stand them in good stead during the next week. Daniel couldn’t help noticing how her hair and skirt were the exact same shade of golden brown. Nannies always wore black, didn’t they? He couldn’t say for certain. Yes, I can say for certain. In this instance, I can dictate a uniform.
    “Miss Fairweather, we didn’t speak about the particulars of your employment yesterday.” He clasped his hands behind his back and watched as she buttered and cut Arthur’s toast into little sticks that she lined up like a row of soldiers. Listing expectations seemed absurd; in the moments he’d seen her with his son, the woman had proven to be capable and creative.
    Listing his preferences, however . . . This would be the ideal time to stipulate what she wore. This outfit made her look soft and gentle. Attractive, too—all qualities he didn’t want. Daniel’s chin lifted. “So there can be no question as to your role, henceforth you’re to be clad in black and wear an apron. Am I correct in assuming you own such attire?”
    She spooned a bite of poached egg into Arthur, neatly slipping a stick of toast into his fingers as he grabbed for the spoon. “I do.”
    “Wear it.” With that settled, he pushed on. “My son is to be called by his full name—not Art or Artie.” Henrietta had been quite firm in that, and out of respect for her, Daniel would see to it that her wishes were carried out.
    Miss Fairweather smiled at her charge. “Arthur’s a fine name for a strong boy.”
    On to pay, then. “The voyage is six days. Five now. That being the case, I’ll pay you for a full week. Consider the extra day you’re paid as your day off, at the rate of seven dollars.”
    Her eyes went wide. “That’s most generous.”
    “My son is worth it. I believe that is