The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,103

his head. “Walsh always packs far too many, and I’ve plenty more at home. Do not trouble yourself on that count.”

“Well, that… that’s marvellous. Thank you so much.” Harry had gone a bright pink and was staring down at the cravats with something akin to awe. King smiled, a little dazed to discover that Walsh had been correct. They had been more than pleased with his gifts.

As it was the tradition of the house that only the children got gifts on Christmas day, King was a little stunned to discover they all had something for him. There were drawings from the younger children, a carefully written letter from Harry thanking him earnestly for his cravat tying lessons, a colourful scribble from George which the boy presented alongside a big wet kiss, and a handkerchief from Susan with a large, slightly askew K embroidered in one corner. By the time they were done, King was thoroughly overwhelmed. He stammered his thanks, gathered up his gifts and made a hurried excuse, disappearing out of the door. He most certainly needed a moment to compose himself.

Chapter Twenty One

25th December 1818.

The most marvellous Brussels sprouts, and a change of heart.

Livvy watched King escape with a sigh. She wished she could make a home for him where he could get used to being treated with such love and affection without the need to run away when it all got too much.

“Is he all right?”

Livvy turned to her brother, who looked puzzled over King’s hurried exit.

“Do you know much about his parents, Charlie?” she asked.

Her brother pulled a face. “Ugh, the Marquess of Eynsham and his lady. More than I need to, I assure you. Very high in the instep.”

Livvy nodded, unsurprised. “Can you imagine being an only child with them at Christmas?”

Charlie’s eyes grew wide. “The poor devil. I… I never considered.”

Livvy nodded sadly as Charlie confirmed what she had guessed to be true. “He’s not used to being so welcomed, not by a family of our peculiar variety anyway,” she amended wryly. They both knew he’d been welcomed with open arms by a certain section of society, but that was not an appropriate topic of conversation.

“You told me once that King didn’t have friends,” she said, her voice low. “Is that true?”

“Yes, I believe it probably is,” Charlie said, thoughtful now. “He was always a popular boy at school. Idolised actually, but… but I don’t remember him ever having close friends. Nothing changed since either. He’s always seen out carousing with the same old faces but I… No. I can’t imagine him being friends with them exactly.”

Livvy frowned, wondering what he would do next. Surely, he could not mean to return to those fair-weather friends. It would a terrible strain on him to return to that life and not begin drinking again.

“Will he be all right?” she asked, unable to still the fear in her heart for him. “When he leaves us, I mean.”

Charlie gave her a searching look. “You are in love with him, Livvy.”

Livvy shrugged, unable to deny it. “I… Oh, Charlie, I worry for him so.”

Her brother sighed and took her hand. “I’ve let you down, Livvy. I know I have. If I hadn’t made such a blasted mull of things, you might have married him and…”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head, understanding now why King had stopped her from saying what she wanted. It was too raw to speak of.

“Whatever happens, I shall stay in touch with him, Livvy. I shall make certain he is well, and he will always be welcome with us, no matter where we end up.”

Livvy nodded, her throat tight, and clung to her brother’s hand.

By the time dinner was ready, King had composed himself and Livvy had buried her heartbreak convincingly enough to make merry with the rest of the family.

Gelly had made them a splendid feast and there was a large roasted goose and a dozen other dishes from roasted potatoes to glazed carrots and peas and, to Charlie’s delight, not a single dish of cabbage. Everyone exclaimed that the Brussels sprouts were the finest they had ever eaten and made King laugh with their increasingly ridiculous compliments. All except for George, who had taken one look at the sprout on his plate and handed it back to King.

“Ugh,” he said, screwing up his little face.

Everyone dissolved.

The Christmas pudding was served with thick cream and whilst a little less indulgent than usual, having been fed with plum juice instead of brandy over the past