The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,14
him. Losing him when she was fourteen had hit her far harder than the loss of her parents.
It had hurt Charlie, too, and he had been forced to take over the running of the household long before he was ready. Even Livvy had known he was immature for his years. He’d run away with Ceci and married her the moment he was out of mourning, and Livvy knew Grandpa would not have allowed it. Ceci was sweet but frivolous and silly, and only encouraged Charlie in his own foolishness. She’d been due to marry a duke, and her family had disowned her for eloping with Charlie and withheld her dowry. Everyone knew it was a disastrous move, but Livvy had been too young to make her brother see it, and there was no one else to gainsay him without Grandpa there to talk sense. Charlie had tried to make the household a happy one, but Ceci and Livvy were chalk and cheese, and Charlie had made so many disastrous decisions—things that had made Livvy wild—but she was only his sister and could not keep him from folly. He was the man of the house and foolish or not, he never let her forget it.
Livvy groaned and curled her fingers into her hair, tugging at the roots. Was this to be her life, forever scrimping and saving and worrying over each blasted penny, while Ceci and Charlie were oblivious? Well, she could always marry the odious Mr Skewes. A shudder ran down her spine at the idea. He was a wealthy landowner who lived a little over five miles from Boscawen. It was hardly a secret that he wanted to marry her. He’d been very clear on that matter. Mr Skewes was thirty years old, fit and eligible, and easy enough on the eye. He was polite to his neighbours, did his bit for charity, never drank to excess and never raised his hand in anger, and yet… and yet there was cruelty in his eyes. He had a way of saying things without really saying them that made Livvy uneasy. She knew he had his eye on Boscawen’s estate, and suspected he saw his way in via her. She neither liked nor trusted him, and instinct told her that putting herself in his hands would be akin to putting her head in a noose.
No.
No, she’d work her fingers to the bone before she allowed a man like that to own her. Though what would that mean for Susan and Lydia, Rebecca and Jane and poor little Birdie? There would be no dowry for them. How would they ever marry and leave home without a season, or at the very least new frocks for the local assemblies? Tears pricked at her eyes and she scolded herself. Stop that now, Olivia Penrose. You’re getting maudlin for no good reason.
Things might not be as bad as they seemed, and Susan was only thirteen. They had a good few years yet, and anything might happen in that time. Just because the girls wouldn’t have the chance to go to town and marry fine, wealthy gentlemen didn’t mean they would not marry good men who could keep them and their families in comfort. They’d just have to lower their sights.
Livvy swallowed down her anxiety and her misery and closed the book of accounts. No amount of worry and staring at the figures would change them, but perhaps some fresh air would clear her head.
“You can stop grinning at me, like that. It’ll go to me head if you keep on.”
King snorted from his position slouched on the bed, watching as Walsh put away the last of his clothes. “Nonsense. You’ve not a conceited bone in your body, and I was never more pleased to see anyone in my life.”
“Aye, well, I might say the same. Truth be tol’ I reckoned you was dead for a while there.”
There was a despairing note to his valet’s words that King heard with a heavy heart. He did not know why Walsh bore with him. The man could easily find a better position, one that actually paid him a decent wage, and with a master who wasn’t a pathetic sot. Guilt and disgust rose inside him like bile.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Walsh shook his head. “The drink had a grip on ye. Dragging you down, it were. I’ve seen it afore, but I never saw anyone turnabout like you have. Boscawen saved your skin, I reckon, my lord.”