The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,26

Rebecca wailed. “She’ll make me cry again.”

“Oh, don’t be such a silly goose,” Lydia muttered, taking her sister by the hand, and towing her out of the room again, with Rebecca protesting as Lydia remonstrated.

Livvy sighed as their bedroom door slammed down the hall and their bickering abruptly silenced.

“What the devil’s going on?” Harry demanded, peering around the door. “It sounded like Lydia was murdering Becca down there.”

“Well, it will be one less for breakfast, then,” Livvy remarked, handing George over to his big brother. “You two take the little ones down. I’d best see if Gelly needs any help.”

“Yes, Livvy,” Harry said, as he hefted George into his arms and carried him off, with Susan carrying Birdie behind him.

Livvy hurried towards the servant’s staircase and paused as she saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Jane!” she called.

There was no reply.

“Jane,” she said again, a warning note lingering this time. The distinct sound of trotters on parquet gave the poor girl away.

Livvy bit her lip and took a breath.

“Jane Penrose, if you don’t come out this minute….”

Jane slunk from around the corner with a piglet trotting at her heels.

Livvy folded her arms.

“Oh, but, Livvy, it’s raining again and he was all wet and muddy,” Jane protested, hoisting the piglet into her arms as the creature squealed and struggled.

“It’s a pig, Jane. Pigs are at their happiest up to their necks in mud.”

Jane scowled and shook her head. “Barnaby isn’t. He’s a clean boy.”

Livvy put one hand on her hip and pointed in the general direction of the piggery. “Back to the sty with him. At once. And then wash your hands and get to the breakfast parlour or they’ll be nothing left for you.”

“Yes, Livvy,” Jane replied with a heavy sigh.

Livvy nodded and was about to turn away when a thought occurred to her. “Wait a moment. You said, he was all wet and muddy.”

“Yes,” Jane nodded. “I washed him in the scullery.”

Oh, lovely. That would put Gelly in a marvellous temper. Livvy groaned and hurried down to the kitchen.

By the time she sat down to breakfast, Livvy really had worked up an appetite and helped herself to a thick slice of brown bread, spreading it with butter and jam. Kingston had not made an appearance, and she wondered if perhaps he wouldn’t come. It was not the habit of the fashionable set to rise before noon, after all. Likely his habit was to sleep all day after a night of… of whatever it was the Earl of Kingston did. She pondered whether he had a mistress or not, or perhaps several mistresses, but then he hadn’t any money, had he? They were supposed to be devilishly expensive.

“No, George,” she said absently, grabbing hold of the child’s hand before he could stick his fingers in the butter. She cut off a piece of her bread and jam and handed it to him instead.

“Fank,” he said cheerfully and stuffed it in his mouth.

Livvy smiled. “What a good boy, George.”

The breakfast table was absent of their parents, as usual. Ceci’s habit was to take a cup of chocolate in her room and drift down after eleven. After that, she would drape herself upon a chaise lounge and take a nap after the exertions of readying herself for the day…or whatever was left of it. Charlie would have already eaten and escaped to his study before they arrived. So, the noise and chaos of the children was Livvy’s and, as noisy and chaotic as it was, she didn’t mind a bit. To her way of thinking, this was what family should be, and she only regretted that Ceci and Charlie did not seem to appreciate it more. Naturally, there were plenty of mornings when she didn’t appreciate it much either, but mostly there was joy to be found in George’s sticky face and in the way Susan carefully spooned porridge into little Birdie, and the children all talked at once and squabbled over the last of the strawberry jam.

Livvy looked up and saw the Earl of Kingston standing in the doorway. The expression on his face was that of a man steeling himself to walk onto a battlefield.

“You mustn’t show fear, my lord. They can sense weakness,” she counselled him.

“Like dogs?” he suggested, still looking dubious.

“Gog,” George said. “Oof, oof.”

“Quite,” Kingston replied.

He gave his waistcoat a tug and walked into the room.

“Good morning. Do you always eat with the nursery?” he asked her as he pulled out the