everything in my power to work with Mrs. Manly.”
“I know you will.” He came around and held her door.
She stood for one more moment, letting the breeze cool her hot cheeks, staring at Balfour House, and wishing Carrick hadn’t described it as a prison. Sometimes it seemed her whole life had been a prison of poverty and desperation, and she didn’t relish walking into another. But desperation had brought her here, and it would be a better place than the one she’d left, she knew.
Getting into the car, she settled back as Carrick shut her inside, and returned to the driver’s seat. He steered the narrow winding road, turned off through the electronic gates, and drove to the front door of Balfour House.
As they walked up the steps, the door opened, and a stocky young gentleman clad in an impeccable black suit stepped out. “Welcome home, Mr. Manly.”
“Thank you, Nelson. Miss Hannah Grey, Nelson is the able replacement for our old butler, Torres. Emphasis on old . Torres passed on four months ago.”
“Good to meet you, Nelson.” Hannah smiled and nodded.
Nelson performed a half bow.
Carrick tossed his keys to Nelson. “Our bags are in the trunk.”
Nelson signaled into the house, and another guy dressed in exactly the same pristine dark suit took the keys and hurried to the car.
“Miss Grey’s bag should be put in a bedroom close to my mother’s suite,” Carrick said.
“Sir?” In that one word, Nelson managed to convey doubt and amazement.
“Miss Grey is an RN, a home-care nurse from New Hampshire. Isn’t that right, Miss Grey?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Hannah said.
“I hired her to care for Mrs. Manly.” Carrick smiled approvingly at her.
Swept away by his blistering charisma, she smiled back.
“Yes, sir.” Nelson’s gaze flashed over Hannah.
She saw some emotion—sympathy? Skepticism?
“How is Mrs. Manly today?” Carrick took Hannah’s arm and led her up the stairs and into the house.
Nelson followed. “It’s difficult for me to say, sir. She has not left her bedroom in over a month.”
“Damn it!” Carrick turned on him. “The doctor said she was supposed to exercise.”
“According to Mrs. Manly’s personal maid, she constantly uses her wheelchair, refusing even to try her walker.”
Hannah listened . . . but not really. It wasn’t as if she expected anything different from her patient, and besides, she was too busy gaping like a peasant at the old-fashioned glory that was Balfour House.
The foyer was round, its floor was black-and-white marble, cut into slabs to form a compass with a wide N at the longest point. The broad mahogany stairway swept up to the second floor in a stately curve, and an old-fashioned elevator, complete with ironwork grille, was tucked into the nearby corner. To the right and through an arch, a long dining room table stood in splendor under a series of crystal chandeliers. To the left, gilded double doors stood open, revealing a spacious grand ballroom. Her gaze rose two stories to the golden-painted cove molding and pale blue ceiling, and in her mind, she was transported to the sheer opulence of the French châteaus in Provence.
“Hannah, you are going to have your work cut out for you,” Carrick said.
Hannah snapped her attention back to him. “I can rise to the challenge.”
“That’s the attitude.” Carrick clapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll go up to see her now. Then, Nelson, dinner and a nice bottle of wine to celebrate Miss Grey’s stay with us. She’s going to be just what the doctor ordered, I’m sure.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll convey your wishes to the cook.” Nelson disappeared into a side door.
As Carrick and Hannah climbed the stairs and followed a long corridor, Hannah said, “I’ll bet your mother despises him .”
“Why would you say that?”
Surprised that he didn’t comprehend, she said, “Nelson is a rat.”
Carrick paused, his hand raised to rap on a door. “He’s doing what I hired him