The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,101

ruin you, then he’d be duty bound to make you his wife. He’d never consider not marrying you then. Honour, you see, Miss.”

Livvy laughed, the sound startled out of her. “Well, I thank you for your advice, Mr Walsh, but I’d never trap him in such a way. I cannot ask him to choose me over his father. Somehow, they must be reconciled, and his fortunes restored to him. Living in poverty with me hardly has anything to recommend it, now does it?”

“It has you, Miss,” Walsh said firmly, and Livvy’s heart warmed at the compliment.

“I wish that were enough,” she whispered, a catch in her voice. “Thank you, though, for tomorrow night. I… I just need time… time to say goodbye.”

Walsh nodded, and Livvy turned away and hurried up to bed.

25th December 1818.

“Do you think…?”

“Yes!” Walsh said, exasperated. It might not have been the first time King had mentioned this. “Yes, I think the presents are perfect and they’ll love them.”

King huffed, unconvinced. “They’re hardly presents, mere trifles. I feel ridiculous giving such paltry offerings.”

Walsh took a deep breath. King got the impression he was praying for patience. “My lord, those children adore you. They’d be happy with anything you gave them, but the gifts are personal and thoughtful, they’ll be chuffed to bits, you mark my words.”

Mollified, King nodded and gathered the little collection of wrapped gifts together. He had something for Livvy too, but that would have to wait until later.

King hurried downstairs and hid the presents in an out of the way corner before investigating what was going on. The hub of activity seemed naturally to be focused between the kitchen and the dining room.

“Look, King,” Jane called, waving him into the dining room where the children were helping Spargo decorate the table. The best china and crystal and silverware had been polished and shined, and King tried not to think about the possibility of it all being sold off. He hoped things weren’t so very dire. “Doesn’t it look lovely?”

King nodded, smiling at her and picking up a hand drawn place marker. “Beautiful, Jane. Did you make these? They’re fabulous.”

Jane shook her head.

“Rebecca did them.”

King looked at the girl. She was by far the quietest of the siblings and the most serious. She pushed her glasses up her nose, flushed with pleasure at his words. King inspected the place marker with each person’s name carefully drawn in different coloured ink. She had illustrated the names too, with whatever she thought appropriate. King’s was drawn with a large curly K and there were little golden crowns and musical notes all around it.

“You have a very fair hand with a pen, Rebecca. These are quite lovely. May I keep mine after dinner?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course,” she said shyly. “I should like you to have it.”

“Thank you. I shall treasure it.”

Leaving the girl flustered and pink, King went to investigate the kitchens.

He paused on the threshold, enveloped by the delicious scents of Christmas, and enjoying the bustling scene before him. Livvy was in the thick of things as he had expected, her cheeks flushed, golden curls falling around her face.

“Good morning,” he said, causing Livvy to jump and drop the spoon she was holding. It clattered into the saucepan she’d been peering into.

“Oh, King. Good morning to you.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? You all look rather frantic,” he said, noticing that even Ceci was here, though to be honest, she looked rather less frantic and was stirring a saucepan with a lazy hand and a dreamy expression.

Gelly glanced up at him in horror.

“An earl… in my kitchen? I think not, my lord,” she tsked. “What would people say?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Livvy said briskly. “No one will ever know. Why shouldn’t he help if he wants to? There’s all those Brussels sprouts to peel, for one thing.”

Brussels sprouts? Damn. He’d had to open his mouth.

Livvy took his arm and guided him to the kitchen table. Then she fetched a large bowl of sprouts and gave him an empty saucepan and a small knife.

“Like this,” she said, demonstrating how to peel off the outer leaves and cut the base of the sprout.

Well, that didn’t look too challenging.

King set to work, enjoying the hum of conversation as Gelly and Livvy and Ceci chattered. The children came and went, fetching and carrying, and Spargo with a tray full of wine glasses. He shot Livvy an apologetic glance.

“Forgot,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Oh,” King looked up, realising they’d be forgoing wine on