How to Turn a Frog into a Prince - Bree Wolf Page 0,6

the deep affection that rang in his voice. “You said people,” she reminded him.

“Yes, I’ve hired a young governess to look after her, Miss Glass. She has a daughter of her own. Susan is a bit younger than Daphne, but the girls are as thick as thieves, always sticking their heads together and whispering.” He grinned. “I swear sometimes I lie awake at night worrying about what they might think up next.”

Charlaine laughed. “Well, I cannot wait to meet them. They sound wonderful.”

“I thought you might think that.” His gaze narrowed. “Do I need to be worried?”

“Always!” Charlaine teased as the strain on her heart lessened.

Indeed, despite its colorlessness, London would no doubt prove to be an adventure like no other. Peter had been right in suggesting she come here. After all, there was nothing left for her in Jamaica while it seemed that London had unexpectedly provided her with a new family. A family to care for and laugh with, and Charlaine could not wait to meet them.

As the carriage rumbled through the streets of London toward Pierce’s townhouse, Charlaine stared at the tall buildings framing the street. Her eyes swept the lords and ladies promenading left and right, their noses slightly upturned, and she wondered what it would be like to live here.

For good.

“Everything feels foreign, does it not?” Pierce asked, his forehead furrowed as he looked at her with concern.

Charlaine nodded. “It does,” she whispered, her eyes still gliding over the world before her. “But you need not worry.” She turned to meet his gaze. “I always find my way.”

Leaning over, he squeezed her hand, a warm smile on his face. “I remember that about you.”

When they finally reached Pierce’s townhouse, he offered her his arm and, together, they climbed the few steps to the front door, which immediately swung open. A tall, thin and almost antique-looking man with no eyebrows appeared in its frame and offered them a low bow, which Charlaine feared might upend his balance. “Welcome home, my lord,” the man said, righting himself.

Pierce smiled at his butler, then looked at Charlaine. “Charlie, this is Albert. If you require anything, he’ll assist you.” Then he turned to look at Albert. “This is Miss Charlaine Palmer. I trust all has been readied for her.”

Albert nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord.” The expression upon his face never quite changed. However, Charlaine thought she saw a deeply compassionate soul lingering beneath the proper facade of Pierce’s butler.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Charlaine told Albert with a smile, fighting to hold back a chuckle when his face turned first pale and then dark red before he mumbled something rather unintelligible and then all but disappeared into thin air. “He is a sweet man, is he not?” Charlaine asked, turning to Pierce.

He nodded, a large smile upon his face. “The best. Now, let’s go find the little rascals.” Again, he offered her his arm and they proceeded up the stairs. “Or are you too tired?”

Charlaine shook her head. “Oh, no, you’ll not hide them from me a moment longer.”

Pierce scoffed. “I’m not hiding anyone.” He paused. “Although, at times, I admit that locating those two can be quite a challenge.”

Charlaine laughed and then stilled as the echo of children’s voice drifted to her ears. Her arm slipped from Pierce’s and she moved onward without thought, drawn to the innocent joy in their voices, beckoning her forward.

Only a few more steps down the hallway and Charlaine came to a wide-open door that led into a spacious room. Tall windows provided enough light despite London’s tendency for gray skies, and she stopped in the doorway, her gaze sweeping over an upturned toy chest, a tent made from sheets and blankets as well as a hairless doll tied to a table leg. Two young girls were kneeling before said doll, their heads bent—one dark and one light—their nimble fingers trying to loosen the knots.

“We need to hurry!” the dark-haired one whispered with some urgency. “Or they’ll capture us as well.”

“I cannot loosen it,” the other, blond-haired girl mumbled under her breath. “It’s too tight. We need a knife.”

“We don’t have a knife,” the dark-haired one stated, no small measure of disappointment swinging in her voice. “But perhaps…we can steal one.”

Charlaine sensed Pierce step up behind her a moment before his booming voice all but shook the room. “Or you could not!”

The girls flinched and spun around, staring at them wide-eyed.

“No knives!” Pierce stressed as he stalked into the room, looking from