Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,16
She produced a rag and got Kit’s little phiz cleaned up with a few brisk swipes. “Will he go back to sleep?”
“Is that hope I hear in your voice, Miss Sophie?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I don’t suppose it can all be cooing and sleeping, can it?”
“At first there’s a great deal of sleeping, but then they start to notice their world, and the fun begins. Let’s let him romp a bit, shall we?”
He rose with the baby before the urge to put an arm around Sophie’s shoulders overpowered his good sense. Babies did this. They created a capacity for maudlin sentimentality in all who beheld them. It was a response determined by God to give the little blighters a fighting chance in a world with little enough tolerance for sentiment.
Vim couldn’t resent the child for it, but neither would he fall prey to the baby’s charm. He was leaving in the morning, and that was that.
“How does a fellow romp at his age?” Sophie remained on the sofa, one hand stroking lazily over the cat. Vim could hear the animal purring from several feet away.
“We’ll see.” He patted Kit’s back gently on the off chance a burp was brewing. “I don’t think Kit is quite able to crawl yet, for which, God be thanked.”
“Crawling is bad?”
“Crawling is dangerous.” As he spoke, Vim arranged an afghan on the carpet then spread the baby’s shawl on top of the blanket. “I expect crawling is half the reason the Elizabethans strapped their infants to cradle boards, chamber pots, and cribs.”
A very small burp emerged from the very small baby.
Sophie glanced around the room, frowning. “How could it be dangerous to crawl? I thought it was a necessary prelude to walking.”
“Come down here with us.” Vim settled on his side along the blanket and patted the carpet. That she couldn’t see the dangers was vaguely alarming. As of tomorrow, she’d be on her own with the child until her brothers showed up—and they, being men, were a dubious source of aid at best.
She sat beside him, her legs tucked around to the side. “He’s getting up on all fours.”
He was, his little nappied fundament pointing skyward until he got his chubby arms braced under him. When he gained his hands and knees, Kit looked around, grinning gleefully.
“Well done.” Vim tapped the child’s nose gently with one finger. More grinning and even some rocking in place. “He hasn’t quite got it figured out yet.”
“He will soon?”
“Any day, but consider that he’ll soon be rollicking about and view the room from his perspective.”
“What do you mean?”
Vim stretched out on his belly. “Join me.”
She looked around dubiously then shifted to stretch out on the other side of the child.
“What do you see, Sophie?”
“I see the fireplace.”
“Kit will see it too. He’ll see the dancing flames and bright colors; he’ll feel the warmth; he’ll hear the hiss and pop of the occasional log; he’ll see the shower of sparks.”
“My goodness.”
“What else do you see, Sophie?”
She was quiet a moment while Kit started babbling his pleasure at life in general. “I see the set of hearth tools, ready to come crashing down on a curious baby. I see standing lamps and nice frilly table runners, all ready to be pulled over by a fat little fist. I see things a fellow could put in his tiny mouth, and things that could strike him on his precious little head. I see… trouble.”
She rolled to her back, eyes going to the baby. “How do they ever survive? How did Her Grace raise ten children?”
He shifted to his side to face her, so they were separated by one grinning, cooing baby. “She had help, I’m sure, but this is part of the reason the little ones are kept in the nursery. My guess is the hearths are raised there, so nobody can crawl into the ashes, and the shelves are built into the wall, so nothing can come crashing down on a fellow’s head.”
“They are.” She sighed, eyes going to the ceiling. “And there are no table runners, no pretty little glass bowls full of flower petals, only toys that are quite sturdy.”
“And a crib?”
“There are cribs up there, though Kit still fits nicely in his cradle.”
“Except he’ll soon be able to climb out of his cradle, won’t he?”
“My goodness.” She closed her eyes. She kept them closed when she resumed speaking. “I went to the maid’s quarters to see if Joleen left anything for Kit.”