The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,11
said as much, hadn’t she? Her brother made the show of largesse and received the thanks, and she paid for it.
King nodded and made appropriate comments as he was introduced to Charlie’s wife, a faded little blonde woman with a sweet smile and a languid way about her, as if the act of staying awake required great effort. There were so many children King did not even attempt to learn their names, though the baby—Birdie—was one that stuck in his mind. He was uncertain if it was a pet name or her real name. Going on what he’d seen of the household to date, he would not be the least surprised if she’d been christened Big Blue Parrot.
Throughout the introductions, his gaze kept returning to Livvy. She was quite tall for a woman, and well made, with generous curves and slender limbs, and an unruly mass of curly hair that was the colour of dark honey, with lighter blonde threads that caught the sun. She was not beautiful by any means, but there was something arresting about her. It wasn’t just her eyes, which were a very dark blue and certainly worth a second glance. Perhaps it was the formidable will of iron lurking beneath her soft exterior that shone through and made a man take notice? It had taken King little time to realise that the few staff in this ramshackle house turned to her for instruction, not the viscount. Once the introductions had been made, Charlie told Spargo to bring some sweetmeats for the children, and the man looked to Livvy before obeying. She gave a discreet nod, and Spargo did as Charlie had asked. King wondered if the viscount knew or cared.
His father had never gone in for the traditions associated with the Christmas season, or any season come to that. It was ironic, given he was so bloody passionate about the traditions that went with the damned title, and the need to marry an appropriate bride, no matter if the girl was…unsuitable, to put it mildly. The Penrose family were different. For a start, they seemed to like each other, which was a novelty in King’s experience of family life. They were undoubtedly the noisiest collection of individuals he’d ever come across. Even Lady Boscawen could hold her own with an uproarious bellow of laughter, which seemed far too large for her frame or character.
As the tradition of the day was for the giving of gifts, the children were already overexcited, not that anyone but Livvy did anything to temper their high spirits. Indeed, Charlie seemed to add fuel to the fire by playing the fool and chasing them around, until one of the girls fell over, bumped her head, and began to wail, and the smallest boy disrobed in the middle of the room, pronouncing he was “’Ot. Too ’ot.”
King sympathised. The noise was making his ears ring, and he was sweating. The unpleasant sensation of his shirt sticking to his back provided an extra irritation. Thankfully, Livvy quieted the girl with a hug and kiss and stern admonishment not to make a fuss as it was only a little bump. She ignored the boy, who was down to his small clothes and socks. King wondered if she would ignore him if he tore his own clothes off too. Probably.
Finally, the children settled down when Livvy told them no presents would be exchanged until everyone was behaving themselves. Peace reigned. King could almost have kissed her for that.
As everyone went to fetch their gifts, King shifted on the settee, feeling uneasy for having no gifts to give, and for the knowledge that his hands were shaking. He scanned the room, hoping to see a decanter of brandy and finding nothing. He swallowed, trying to steady his breathing, which was coming faster now as anxiety kicked in. Perhaps Charlie kept a bottle in his study. He’d never been a drinker, King knew that much, but damn it, the man must have a brandy now and again. Hell, he’d drink sherry if he must.
The children ran back in and exchanged their gifts with each other. They were all homemade, with varying degrees of skill: a conker on a piece of string, an embroidered handkerchief, little watercolours, samplers, and poems.
“This is for you, my lord.”
King looked up, a little startled to be addressed by the eldest child, a boy on the cusp of manhood. He was thin and gangly, all arms and legs, and had a serious, anxious