Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,4
just a few feet away, Vim watched as her mouth curved up into the very arc of sweetness, her eyes lit with warmth, and her whole countenance beamed appreciation and approval at the groom.
Or perhaps at the horse.
She petted the gelding on his tremendous stern then moved toward to the animal’s bow and planted a kiss on his enormous nose. “Thank you, precious. Stay nice and warm tonight.”
The horse blinked at her or perhaps batted its eyes. When Miss Windham straightened, she wasn’t smiling.
“I suppose we should get the baby out of this weather. Higgins, you’re settled in for the night?”
“Right and tight, Miss Sophie. Any word from your brothers?”
“They’re due any day, though the weather might slow them down. Thank you for asking.”
She swept past Vim, so he fell in step behind her. Miss Windham did not float nor mince, as a society lady would have. She clipped along, all business, until she got to the barn door, where she stopped so abruptly Vim nearly collided with her.
“This snow means business,” she observed. “It will be difficult to send anybody out to search for Joleen as long as the weather is so foul.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
She moved off again, casting him a curious look over her shoulder. “She fell prey to a footman, Mr. Charpentier. Joleen was old enough, but she was innocent and not overly bright. I don’t hold it against her that she gambled her heart on a losing hand.”
She clearly held it against the footman, however. Vim pitied the man if Miss Windham ever laid eyes on him again.
They passed through a gate into a walled garden that backed up to nothing less than a mansion. In some parts of the city, the old great houses built in the reign of the last king had been broken up into multiple dwellings, each with its own narrow strip of back garden.
This house took up roughly half the block, with no divisions of the back lots to suggest it had been split into rental properties. There would be a ballroom in a dwelling this size, parlors, music rooms, and enough cheery fires to keep a baby nice and warm.
The baby squirmed in Vim’s arms just as both wind and snow became more intense.
“This way.” Miss Windham led him to a back door. As soon as Vim stepped inside, he was hit with the scents of clove, allspice, cinnamon, and yeast. A wave of nostalgia for Blessings up in Cumbria, with its big kitchens and familiar retainers, passed through him as the child began to squawk in earnest.
“He is telling us he has been patient as long as he’s going to be, Miss Windham. We’ll need clean nappies, a clean flannel, and some warm water.”
She paused in the act of hanging her cloak on a hook. “The fires in the nursery have likely been allowed to go out because Kit was to have been on his way south by now.”
“A servants’ parlor might do.” If any room in the house was kept cozy this time of year, it was the servants’ parlor.
“Follow me.”
She led him through a spotless kitchen and down a short, dim hallway that looked to be lined with pantries. The servants’ parlor at the end of the hallway was indeed snug and comfortable and enjoyed a view of the snowy back gardens. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth, though the room was with without occupants. The cradle sitting near the hearth suggested Kit had already spent a substantial amount of time here.
Vim spoke to his hostess over the baby’s increasingly loud fussing. “This will do. If you’ll bring flannel and warm water, I’ll get him unwrapped.”
She withdrew a little quickly, her expression suggesting a distraught baby unnerved her every bit as much as it did Vim.
“We can get down to business,” Vim informed the child. “But I need to get you unswaddled first, so be patient.” As soon as he set the baby down, the little fellow started kicking his legs out and waving his arms around.
“Getting bored, are we? Flail around all you like, little man. You’ll be off to sleep that much sooner.”
The habit of talking to people too small to join in the conversation was ingrained. Babies liked being talked to, just the way they liked music boxes and twittering birds and running water. In some ways, babies were the easiest people to like.
But as the warm air in the parlor picked up the scent of soiled nappy,