Chapter 3 - The Arrival of Mrs. Sterling
The sleek black Bentley pulled up the circular cobblestone driveway of Ashcombe Manor precisely at 2:00 p.m.
Inside the grand parlor, Elise had just finished organizing the twins' nursery and was bringing them downstairs for their afternoon playtime when the heavy front doors swung open. Clara Sterling swept into the foyer like a winter storm, wrapped in an expensive white fox-fur coat, her silver-streaked hair styled into an aggressive, flawless chignon.
"Julian!" Clara called out, before pausing as her sharp eyes landed on Elise standing near the base of the curved staircase.
Clara stopped dead in her tracks, her icy blue eyes scanning Elise from the sensible flats on her feet to the simple, unbranded navy cardigan she wore. A subtle, condescending smirk touched Clara’s lips.
"And who is this?" Clara demanded, not bothering to lower her voice or wait for an introduction. "Another agency temp? How long did this one last, forty-eight hours?"
Elise maintained her posture, holding Rosie securely against her left hip while Maisie clutched her shoulder. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Sterling. I’m Elise Navarro. I’m Mr. Caruso’s current nanny."
Clara stepped closer, her perfume—an overpowering wave of expensive French lavender—filling the foyer. She inspected Maisie’s outfit, then Rosie’s, her nose twitching as if she smelled something foul.
"Cotton blends? Really?" Clara scoffed, looking back up at Elise with undisguised disdain. "My brother pays top dollar for household staff, and my nieces are dressed like they're visiting a public park. Where are the cashmere rompers I had shipped from Milan last week?"
"Cashmere is impractical for four-month-olds who spit up frequently, Mrs. Sterling," Elise replied, her voice remaining remarkably even and polite. "Cotton is breathable, easy to wash, and keeps them comfortable during tummy time."
Clara’s eyes flashed with sharp irritation. She was not accustomed to being contradicted by hired help—especially a young woman who looked like she belonged in a bookstore rather than a billionaire's estate.
"You do not give me fashion advice, young lady," Clara snapped, stepping directly into Elise’s personal space. "You are here to follow instructions, maintain appearances, and keep these children from disturbing the household. My brother is under immense pressure; he does not need a nanny who fancies herself a child psychologist."
"Mrs. Sterling," Elise said, her voice dropping into a firm, quiet register that made Clara pause. "Your brother is drowning in grief. His daughters needed someone who could make them laugh after months of crying. If you prefer quiet, aristocratic misery over healthy, developing infants, I suggest you take it up with Mr. Caruso when he gets home."
Clara gasped, her mouth dropping open in sheer disbelief. "You insolent little—"
Before Clara could finish her sentence, a loud, cheerful gurgle echoed from Maisie, who reached out and grabbed one of the dangling diamond earrings from Clara’s earlobe, giving it a sharp, unexpected tug.
Clara shrieked, swatting at the baby’s hand. "Get this filthy thing off me!"
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"Don't yell at her," Elise said sharply, stepping back and shielding the twins with her body. Her eyes burned with a sudden, fierce intensity that made even the haughty Mrs. Sterling take an involuntary step backward. "They are babies. If you cannot speak in a civilized tone in this nursery, you are welcome to leave."
The silence in the foyer became absolute. Clara stared at Elise, her chest heaving with rage, her mouth working silently as she searched for words brutal enough to crush the insolent girl standing before her.
