Page 7 of An Enchanting Kiss (Captivating Kisses #5)

H er question startled Rupert. He had never been around children in his life, and he had no idea how to explain to this young girl the very complicated situation she was in.

He looked at her bedraggled appearance, anger seizing him.

She was definitely a Cummings. Her black as night hair and unique eye color marked her as a child Perceval had sired.

Celia’s hair was a tangled mess, however, matted as if it had not been brushed in a week or more, while her gown was stained and too small for her.

The Newton woman who had been hired to look after this child had neglected her terribly.

He wanted to speak to that servant immediately—and most likely, dismiss her.

If he did, however, he would need to immediately hire a new nursemaid.

Or perhaps even a governess. He simply did not know who was supposed to look after a five-year-old or what they did with a girl that age.

Celia gazed up at him with solemn eyes, waiting for his reply. He thought it might be better if they could look one another in the eyes, so he knelt before her.

Hoping to redirect their conversation, he asked, “And how old might you be?”

She cocked her head and then said excitedly, “Five! I am five. That’s what Newton says.”

“Are you certain?” Rupert asked. “Why, I thought you might be forty and five, a very old person with gray in her hair. ”

She giggled, a sweet sound which tugged at his heart. “Like Mrs. Prater.” Celia frowned. “She doesn’t like me. She yells at me.”

Hearing that upset him. “Does Mrs. Prater help care for you?” he asked, hoping she would actually open up about her relationship with Newton.

Shaking her head, Celia said, “No. I’m not supposed to talk to her. Or any other servants.”

He had already been angry at Perceval for sending his daughter away to the country, but now it seemed as if the child were being punished for something she had no control over, being a by-blow, isolated from everyone.

“Who told you not to speak with Mrs. Prater?”

“Bets.”

He frowned. “And who exactly is Bets?”

“Bets is really Betsy,” Celia confided. “That’s her whole name. She likes to be called by part of her name,” the little girl explained very matter-of-factly.

“So, what do you and Betsy do together?”

She shrugged, suddenly going shy, so Rupert decided he would have to guide her responses through gentle questioning. He had done his fair share of interrogating spies. He wondered how much information he might be able to pull from his niece.

“Does Bets help you dress?”

Celia nodded.

“Does she comb your hair?”

She nodded again, offering no new information.

“Hmm. It looks as if Bets forgot to comb it this morning.”

“Sometimes, I comb it,” Celia said proudly. Then she frowned. “But it is very tangled today. I couldn’t get the comb through it.”

“Then it seems as if I will need to comb it for you,” he suggested.

She brightened. “Would you?”

“I would be happy to do so. ”

He heard the door open and spied Prater carrying in a tray. The butler’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Celia, who ducked under the table the globe stood upon. Quickly, Rupert pulled her out and held her hand firmly as she squirmed next to him.

The butler hurried across the room and set down the tray. “I am sorry, my lord. The girl knows she is not allowed here.”

“Why is that?” he asked, glowering at the butler.

“Because . . . she is . . . not. That is how it has always been.”

“A new viscount means new rules, Prater,” Rupert said sternly. “I will be speaking to you—and the entire staff—about this. For now, fetch a cup of milk for Miss Celia. She can share in my tea with me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Prater said, scurrying from the room.

Rupert released his hold on his niece, and she scampered away. This time, he held out his hand, giving her a choice, hoping she would take it voluntarily. She came to him and did so, seeming to trust him, and he led her to a settee.

“I have come a long way,” he told her. “From London, the largest city in England. It is one of the largest in the entire world. I am very hungry, though. Would you like to share what has been brought?”

Her eyes lit up as she looked at the food upon the tray. It contained a couple of sandwiches, a slice of cake, and two blueberry scones.

“I can?” she asked in wonder, looking at the food.

His belly lurched. She was thin as a rail, and he wondered how often she was being fed. He decided to steer the conversation back to this Bets.

“Here, let me settle you.”

He clasped her waist and lifted her to the settee, taking the seat beside her. Taking the plate, he placed one of the sandwiches upon it.

“Here. Try this sandwich first. If you eat all of it, you may have some cake.”

Her eyes gleamed. “I promise. I will eat it all. Then I can have cake!”

Rupert placed the plate in her lap, and she tried to pick up the sandwich, which was much too large for her to hold.

He picked up a knife. “Let me cut it in half for you.” He did so and separated the halves on her plate.

She looked up at him, her eyes round. “You can have one of these if you want.”

It was good to know she had a generous nature. That would be a start.

“Why don’t you eat what is on your plate, and I will eat this other sandwich.”

She clapped her hands in delight, then she picked up one of the halves and bit into it. He was shocked because her manners proved to be atrocious. She practically shoved food into her mouth and tried to speak to him while her mouth was full.

In a gentle but firm tone, Rupert said, “No talking while food is in your mouth. That is one of the rules you must follow.”

“Rules?” she asked, chewing with her mouth open.

“Another rule is to chew with your mouth closed. No one likes to see what your food looks like all mushed up inside your mouth. This is the way to do it. Take a small bite—not a large one—and chew as thus.”

Rupert demonstrated and saw she watched him carefully.

“Let me try!” she cried, taking a dainty bite and chewing as he had.

When she swallowed, he praised her, saying, “You learn quickly, Celia. I am very pleased with you. Eat the rest of your sandwich that very same way. And all of your meals in the future.”

She looked up at him. “What is learn?”

It appalled him to know she did not know such a simple word.

“Celia, have you been taught your letters? Or numbers?”

“No,” she said, looking very small and a bit frightened, as if she had done some wrong.

He didn’t know if this Bets could read or write, or if she might be illiterate.

Why, she might even be this child’s mother, despite having told Mrs. Bowers that she was not.

But would a mother treat her own child in such a disgraceful manner, letting her go about looking like a savage, not even teaching her the basics of how to consume food?

Prater appeared with the cup of milk, and he brought it to the table, placing it upon the tray.

Though it was unusual for a servant to be thanked, he wanted his niece to practice her manners. Looking at Celia, Rupert said, “This is where you would say, ‘Thank you, Prater,’ because he has done something nice for you. It is good for you to appreciate kindness from others.”

His niece looked at the butler and parroted Rupert’s words. “Thank you, Prater.”

For his part, the butler appeared stunned, but he found his voice. “You are welcome.” When Rupert eyed the butler stonily, Prater added, “Miss Celia.”

“That will be all for now, Prater. Thank you.”

The butler left, and he watched his niece eat. As she did, he asked her a few more questions, and she was clever enough to wait until she finished chewing and swallowing each time before replying. Apparently, she remembered lessons taught to her, which was a good thing.

“Where do you think Bets is now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe in the village?” Celia suggested.

“Why would she go to the village and leave you here if she is supposed to watch you?”

Celia shrugged. “She leaves me by myself a lot. Bets tells me to stay in the nursery, but I don’t have anything to do there.”

“Are there no toys or dolls? No books?”

“A few blocks. The doll has a broken head. And no books.”

Anger simmered within him. This child was being sorely neglected. “What do you do when Bets is gone?” he asked gently, not wanting her to be frightened by his growing rage.

“Well, I go inside rooms. I like this room. I like looking at books. The ones with pictures.”

“And the globe?”

She frowned, so he pointed in the globe’s direction. “Oh, you mean the round ball that spins. I like it a lot.”

Over the next several minutes, he got out of her where she went in the house and how she tried to avoid the servants since she was never supposed to leave the nursery.

“I even go outside,” she confided. “I like to run and smell flowers.”

He could not imagine how limited and boring Celia’s life had been up until now. The first thing he would do would be to find her a governess. Of course, he had absolutely no clue how to go about doing so.

By now, she had finished both halves of her sandwich and looked at him expectantly. “Is it time for cake? One time, Bets brought some to the nursery. She let me have a bite of it. It was so good!”

“Yes, you may have the entire slice of cake.”

Rupert placed the cake on her plate and returned it to her again. Before he could hand her a utensil to eat it with, she grabbed the cake with her hand.

“No,” he said sharply, shocked by her behavior.

Then he saw her wince as she withdrew her hand, her eyes filling with tears.

In a kinder tone, he said, “Cake is very messy, Celia. That is why you must use a fork to eat it.”

He demonstrated how to use a fork, the girl watching him carefully all the while. “You try, now,” he said, handing her the fork.

“Like this?” she asked, obviously wanting to please him.

“That is exactly right.” Then he asked, “Have you ever used a spoon or fork before?”

“Sometimes, I have a spoon, but I haven’t seen that before.”