Page 8 of An Enchanting Kiss (Captivating Kisses #5)

Here she was, five years of age, possessing no sense of good manners, simply because someone had been too lazy to teach her properly. It might be hard to find a governess who would take her on in such a state.

At that moment, Rupert decided he would always do right by Celia. He would teach her himself until he could hire a companion for her.

“Let us get the cake off your hand first.”

She held up her hand and began licking it, and he kept his face neutral, not wanting her to feel as if she did something wrong. When she finished cleaning it with her tongue, he handed her a napkin.

“Wipe your hand on this. And after every bite or two, wipe your mouth on it. Mouths can get messy when you eat, especially something delicious, such as this chocolate cake.”

That earned him another giggle, which was fast becoming the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

After she ate all the cake, Celia asked if she could have one of the scones. It surprised him someone so young and small could eat so much. Then again, he had a suspicion she had not been fed well up until now.

Rupert finally decided to address her question from earlier after she finished her scone, wiping her hands and mouth with the napkin. He taught her to fold it instead of leaving it wadded up.

“Would you like to come sit in my lap?” he asked, thinking his niece had never had any affection shown to her.

Her eyes widened, and then she smiled. “Yes. Please.”

Before he could scoop her up, she scrambled into his lap, snuggling against him.

A warmth filled him, an odd feeling he had never experienced before.

He decided that they had formed an instant bond.

Even though he knew next to nothing about Celia, Rupert believed that he already loved her wholeheartedly.

He had never loved anyone before.

Slipping his arms about her, he said, “You asked me before if I might be your father. The answer to your question is no. Your father is Lord Cressley, and I am his brother. That makes you my niece.”

He paused, letting her take in that information.

“Then . . . what do I call you?”

Now came the tricky part. “I do have something to tell you, Celia. It may make you sad. Your father has passed recently. I am now Lord Cressley.”

He stroked her matted hair. “That means everyone else will be calling me Lord Cressley. You should call me Uncle Rupert, though.”

She gazed up at him solemnly. “Uncle... what?”

“Rupert. It is my name. Uncle Rupert.”

She tested it out. “Uncle Rupert.” Celia smiled at him. “Uncle Rupert,” she repeated. “I like that.”

Then she grew quiet a moment, and he could see her thinking, so he asked, “What is it, Celia? What are you thinking about?”

“Bets said that my mother died. Is that what my father did—die? Are they together now? When do I get to see them?”

“Passed—and died—means that someone is gone forever.” Cautiously, not knowing how to tread through these waters, he added, “You will not see them again. If we are good to others, when we die, we go to heaven. That is where your parents now are.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Where is heaven?”

“Have you been taken to church before?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you and I will go to church every Sunday. That is a place where you learn about God. He lives in heaven.”

Rupert had not graced the inside of a church in over two decades, but he now believed it important to take his niece to Sunday services.

“Bets said she and my mother were friends. She told Bets to look out for me. My father also told Bets that.”

Quietly, he asked, “Do you think Bets has done a good job of looking after you? Does she play with you or sing to you? Does she read to you or take you on walks? ”

Celia grew thoughtful. “No,” she whispered.

“Then it may be time for Bets to go back and live where she did before the two of you came to Crestbrook.” He hesitated. “Would you miss seeing her?”

Celia shook her head. “No.”

His eyes misted at how this small girl had been treated for the first five years of her life. Rupert kissed the top of her head.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Because I am your uncle, and you are my niece.” Then he decided she needed to hear and be shown she was a creature of value. “And because I love you.”

“Love me? What is . . . love?”

“It is something that I hope I am going to show you all about.”

Rupert rose, Celia still in his arms, and rang for Prater. When the butler appeared, his eyes widened, seeing Celia asleep in Rupert’s arms.

“I do not know what has been done to—or for—this child,” he said quietly, anger in his tone.

“She is my niece, and as the daughter of the previous Viscount Cressley, she will be treated accordingly. Have the kitchens heat water for a bath. She needs to be bathed, and her hair washed. Has this Bets returned?”

Disdain crossed the butler’s face. “That one comes and goes as she pleases. I have no idea where she might be, my lord.”

“And none of you thought to care for the child because her caretaker was absent all the time? You, Prater, should have written to Lord Cressley and informed him what a terrible disservice this woman was doing to his own child. She is to be dismissed at once—and I intend to be the one to do so.”

“I will go to the kitchens now, my lord.”

It angered Rupert that his butler ignored everything which had been said. He would have to seriously consider whether or not he wished the Praters to remain in service to him. So far, he did not think either had exercised good judgment, at least as far as Celia was concerned.

At the door, Prater stopped. “There is no bathing tub in the nursery, my lord. When Newton does bathe the child, she does so in the kitchens.”

“Have the water sent to my rooms,” he instructed. “I will bathe my niece myself.”

Shock crossed the butler’s face, and his jaw fell open.

“You are dismissed,” Rupert said brusquely.

He waited half an hour before heading upstairs, Celia still asleep in his arms. Servants exited his rooms, buckets in hand. They avoided his gaze.

Entering the viscount’s rooms, he moved to the bathing chamber, where Mrs. Prater stood, nervously ringing her hands.

“I will supervise Miss Celia’s bath, my lord.”

“You will assist me,” he said, his tone brokering no objections. “And let me say this, Mrs. Prater. I believe you and your husband have been neglectful of my niece.”

“But it wasn’t our job to—”

“Stop,” he ordered. “You saw the girl lacked in supervision. Why, she looks a fright and ate like an animal. This Newton is nowhere to be found. It was your responsibility to see to Celia’s proper care. To write to Lord Cressley and describe to him how intolerable the situation was.”

Rupert paused. “Your lack of good judgment, along with your husband’s, may have cost both of you your positions at Crestbrook.”

The housekeeper began trembling. “Please, my lord. Give us another chance. We both were terrified to speak up. The letter his lordship sent with Newton made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with the girl. It was left for us by the previous couple who ran Crestbrook. They told us Lord Cressley never came to the country. He cared little for his estate and its staff and tenants. We feared if we contacted him, it would cost us our positions.”

Sympathy filled him. “Thank you for explaining the situation to me, Mrs. Prater, but I will tell you now that you both currently walk on thin ice. I expect common sense and good judgment from servants in your position. You lead my staff, and they follow whatever lead you set. I will speak to everyone together, but you and Prater must treat Miss Celia with all the respect a child of a viscount is due.” He paused.

“Else you will be dismissed without references.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Gently, he stroked his niece’s cheek. “Wake up, Celia. It is time for your bath.”

She opened her eyes, stretching sleepily. Then she caught sight of the bathing tub. “Where am I?”

“The kitchens were too busy for you to have your bath there,” he said cheerfully. “I brought you to my rooms so that you might use my bathing tub. Does that meet with your approval?”

“Yes,” she said timidly.

“Then we shall remove your clothes and place you in this warm water. Mrs. Prater is here, and she will help me bathe you.”

He looked to the housekeeper and indicated for her to undress Celia. For his part, Rupert stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. Scooping up his niece, he lowered her into the bathing tub.

“Oh, this feels so good,” she told him, leading him to question if she had ever bathed in heated water.

He had her tilt back her head, holding her nape in his palm to steady her.

“Relax. This will feel good,” he said as he poured warm water over her hair, thoroughly wetting it.

He was afraid to ask about the last time it had been washed.

Then he took the cake of soap and lathered it up, washing her hair as Mrs. Prater scrubbed her limbs.

When she was thoroughly washed, he had her to stand and rinsed the soap from her hair and thin body. The housekeeper held out a bath sheet, and he lifted his niece and allowed the woman to wrap Celia in it.

“Fetch one of Miss Celia’s gowns and a comb, Mrs. Prater.”

Rupert picked her up and took her into his bedchamber, sitting with her in a chair by the window until the housekeeper returned.

“I can dress and comb her hair, my lord.”

“You can do so in the future while I am looking for someone new to care for her. I will take care of my niece now.”

“I brought her nightgown, my lord. It must be close to her bedtime.”

“Good thinking, Mrs. Prater. That will be all.”

Celia piped up, “Thank you, Mrs. Prater,” making Rupert’s heart swell with pride.

As the housekeeper left, he asked, “What did you thank Mrs. Prater for?”

She thought a moment. “Well, she had water for me. Hot water. And she went and got my comb.”

“All good reasons to thank her as you did.” He cupped her cheek. “You are a sweet girl, did you know that?”

His niece bit her lip. “Bets says I’m a bad girl.”

Blood boiling, he merely smiled. “Bets has been wrong about most everything. You will not be seeing her again.”

He slipped the nightgown over her head, and then had Celia sit in the chair while he stood behind her, working on her hair. It took a good hour to untangle the ungodly mess, and he even apologized a few times for being too rough.

“I don’t mind, Uncle Rupert,” she assured him. “I know you love me.”

And he did. He truly did.

When her hair was free of tangles, he picked her up and carried her upstairs to the nursery. It consisted of the nursery itself, a schoolroom, and two bedrooms. Celia showed him her small bed in the nursery, and he placed her upon the mattress.

She leaned up and hugged him. “Thank you for coming here.”

“I plan to stay at Crestbrook,” he told her. “I will have to go to town—London, the city I told you about—but perhaps you might wish to go with me.”

He knew children were never brought to town, but already, this sprite had wriggled her way into Rupert’s heart.

He could not abandon her next spring and be gone for months during the Season.

The bride he selected from the Marriage Mart would be made to understand that she was not only taking on a husband, but she would also have a niece to help raise.

Celia lay back against the pillow. “Goodnight, Uncle Rupert.” She yawned.

“Goodnight, Celia.” He kissed her brow. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Her eyes drooped and then closed. Moments later, she was breathing evenly.

He pulled the bedclothes over her and watched her a moment, wondering how Perceval could have exiled this wonderful creature.

He had never seen his daughter after sending her to Crestbrook.

Rupert only knew he would be a better father figure to this girl than her real father ever had been.

Returning downstairs, Prater lingered in the corridor. Seeing him, the butler hurried to him.

“My lord, Newton has come home.”

“Where is she?” he asked, tamping down his temper.

“Waiting in the kitchens.”

“Have her come to my study.”