The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,2
that was. He hated cabbage, yet it was cheap and grew plentifully in the kitchen garden, so he could dashed well lump it. The scrunch of carriage wheels over gravel announced her brother’s return from London at last, and Livvy hurried to the front of the house.
Charlie stepped down from the carriage and gave her his usual bright grin. “Well met, Livvy. How are my little thieves and baggages?”
Livvy snorted and embraced him. “As wicked and dreadful as ever, brother dear.”
“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it,” Charlie replied and then wrinkled his nose. “Cabbage? Really, Livvy? Is that any kind of meal for a man to return to?”
Livvy folded her arms and returned a stern look, he gave a wistful sigh.
“Ah, well. I shan’t complain, as penance for having done something you shall scold me for, I don’t doubt.”
Livvy’s heart plummeted to her worn slippers, and she didn’t dare ask. She just waited, with a sick feeling swirling in her guts, to discover what ridiculous thing Charlie had spent their last shilling on.
“Oh, don’t look so Friday faced, it’s not that bad,” he said, impatient as he turned back to the carriage and swung open the door.
As he seemed to indicate she ought to look inside, Livvy took a tentative step closer.
The carriage was worn and musty, like everything belonging to the estate, and the air inside was sour, smelling of sweat and… there was a figure slumped in the corner, breathing heavily.
Livvy took an instinctive step away.
“W-Who?” she demanded.
“Now, Livvy,” Charlie said, his voice uncharacteristically firm. “I’ll not have you fly into the boughs. I owe him. He saved me more times than I could count at Eton, and after too. He’s a good fellow despite… well….”
“Who, Charlie?” Livvy demanded.
“Kingston.”
It took a moment before Livvy realised she was standing with her mouth open. She closed it with a snap and tried to gather herself. Harcourt St John, the Earl of Kingston, or, as the scandal sheets had dubbed him, the King of Sin.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
Her words were faint but trailed a wispy cloud on the frigid evening air, proof she had spoken aloud.
“Deadly serious,” Charlie replied, his expression stern. “He’s sick, Livvy, and… well, I feared what might happen if I left him alone. He’ll stay with us until he’s well again, and that’s an end to it. No argument, no discussion. I shan’t be moved on this, so don’t think to try.”
Livvy knew he meant it. Mostly, Charlie was the easiest going of men, too easy, but now and then he’d dig his heels in and nothing would budge him. She could see in his eyes that this was one of those times, so she might as well save her breath, but… to have such a man in the house, for Christmas. Good heavens.
“What’s wrong with him? For if he’s sick and the children—”
Charlie gave a curt shake of his head. “He’s dipped too deep, that’s all. Needs to rusticate for a spell. Fresh air and good food and some time away from—”
“Dissipation and vice?” Livvy suggested, her tart tone giving the words a bitter edge.
“London,” Charlie finished, glowering.
Livvy snorted. As far as she could tell it amounted to the same thing.
“Papa!”
There followed several minutes of hugging and excited chatter as the children came out to greet their father, who dispensed the sweetmeats he’d brought with kisses and a fond words.
Livvy urged them to get out of the cold evening air. “Harry, take the children inside and send Spargo out to help with the baggage, please.”
“Yes, Livvy,” Harry said, as he chivvied the brood back into the house.
Charlie had climbed back into the carriage and was attempting to wake his guest.
“King. King, old man, we’re here. Stir yourself, there’s a good fellow.”
There came a deep groan that seemed to resonate through the walls of the carriage and on into the darkness, and Livvy shivered.
“Miss Penrose?”
Livvy turned to see their butler appear on the front step. He was a big man with a grizzled grey beard and a fierce demeanour, who never said a word if a grunt would suffice.
“Would you help Lord Boscawen with our guest, please, Spargo? You’d best give him Harry’s bed for tonight, until we can prepare the blue room for him.”
Spargo nodded and headed towards the carriage.
Livvy waited, seething with frustration. Yet another mouth to feed, another load of laundry to see to, and heaven alone knew what kind of influence he would be on the children. Not a good one,