Page 27 of His Wicked Little Christmas

Bringing Franny from her musing, Mrs. Streeter laughed and smoothed her hand across the desk, her elegance truly admirable when Franny recognized the defiant personality buried beneath. “Chance, you’re coming to me, oh, about a year sooner than expected. But I did expect it.”

Chance.Franny pressed her palm to her belly, her cheeks heating.Chance.

Remington choked out a groan and dropped into the chair across from Hildy. Hooking a boot certain to be Hoby on his opposite knee, he drummed a silent tune on his thigh. “Oh,no. No matchmaking, Hild. No Countess Society or whatever it is you’ve got going. I need help, but not that kind.” His smile dimmed, the song on his thigh going silent. “Not yet, anyway.”

“We’re not matchmakers,” Hildy murmured. Although in a roundabout way, they were. She and the Duchess of Markham, Georgiana Munro, had created the Duchess Society with the thought to empower women on the cusp of marriage. Review of marital contracts and placement in a union not solely benefitting the husband. In the course of business, matchmaking had occurred even if Hildy and Georgie preferred to lightly conceal this fact. Their endeavors also includedinvestigation into prospective partners, which is why Franny was there. Men in want of a wife often lied about their circumstances. Franny’s father had someone he thought would make an adequate husband.Adequatewas all he was shooting for. A baron he wanted to ensure wasn’t in worse financial trouble than he'd stated.

Remington dropped his head back, his gaze crawling to the ceiling. Franny drank him in like brandy, drawing the strong line of his stubbled jaw on her palm. He had a crook at the top of his nose from some misadventure. Her fingertips itched to sketch him. The pad of paper and pencil hidden away in her spencer’s pocket fairly shouted to be released. “You’ve made quite an exceptional life for yourself, Hild. Queen to the rogue king, the two of you ruling Limehouse. If I hadn’t seen you together, I’d likely never believe it myself.”

Hildy’s cheeks pinkened as they did when anyone brought up her husband, Tobias. Her love, a glow that radiated like a flame to brighten the room. “Enough flattery, Chance, out with it.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he finally said, his voice sullen. Swiping a thick strand the color of charcoal from his brow, he slid lower in the chair. “An immense one.”

Hildy rearranged a folio on her desk, patience personified. “Is it Arthur?”

Remington grunted softly and yanked again at his hair. It was longer than current style dictated, the locks snaking around his slim fingers like a vine, dusting the edge of his collar. He’d apparently left his hat in his carriage because Franny could see an indentation where it had recently sat on his head. “Unbelievably, my brother has managed to remain at Cambridge for the term. I negotiated a settlement of sorts for the brawl in the Wren Library. It’s been around since the 1600s, so they’re fairly protective of the place. As if the crumbling roof on the estate in Hampshire wasn’t enough to deal with.

“Tenants in Derbyshire are set to revolt after the way my father left things. The townhouse in Berkeley Square is not in the grandest condition, either. This title is killing me. If not for my side project, and your husband’s valued partnership, I’d be in appalling financial shape like the rest of theton. My dipping my toe in trade sickens them but savesme. For the moment.”

Hildy braced her palm on the desk and rose. Strolling to the stack of crates serving as a mock sideboard, she shot Franny a fast look and brushed her index finger across her lips—quiet. A command Franny was exceedingly happy to follow. “You know Toby and I are more than willing to assist if you need a loan. I’ve known you since we were children, Chance. There aren’t many friendships I value, but yours is one of them. My mother even said, if we traced our lines back far enough, we’d find we were cousins.”

“Well, Cousin, my solicitors have informed me that I have a ward. A little girl. Six years old. Her father was my uncle, a distant relation three times removed or something. He left the care of her to my father, so she now falls to me along with the rest. When I’ve never even had a sister to look after. Only one unruly brother. I’m vastly out of my element here.”

Hildy popped the tumbler to the sideboard, thankfully cutting off the sound of Franny’s gasp. “A ward?”

“Hence my frantic need for a governess.”

Hildy lifted the glass she’d likely intended for Remington and took a stunned sip. “You have frantic need of awife.”

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Remington closed his eyes. Franny couldn’t determine their color from this distance. And she’d never been close enough to see. “I’m begging you. Through Christmastide. A fortnight. In the new year, I’ll secure a proper arrangement.”

“You’ve pedaled through a dozen mistresses. Ask one of them. The Duchess Society does not supply governesses. Or wives, for that matter.”

“Bloodyhell.” Remington shoved from the chair and strode to her, snatching the glass from her hand and polishing off the contents. “Consider this a familial favor, Hild. One measly governess for a well-mannered urchin. How hard an ask is that for your society magicians? I’ll pay as well as I’m able. And I’m a deuced congenial employer.” This said, he unleashed a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes, a smile that Franny felt to her toes and back. While his cousin seemed unaffected.

“Don’t waste your charm on me, Chance Allerton.” But she was grinning when she said it. It was confirmed then. No woman could resist the man. “Or should I now call you Lord Remington?”

The viscount’s shoulders slumped, a weary sigh leaking forth. “You’ll help me.”

Hildy wiggled the glass from his hand. “I’ll help you. But only through the holiday. A fortnight. Then you must find a permanent solution. I have two children, two felines, and a growing business to care for without worrying about you. And Arthur. And now this poor, orphaned girl.”

Crossing the room, Remington halted by the door. “I must be off. I’m leaving to retrieve the girl. Then I’ll be at the Derbyshire estate, which may or may not be overrun by irate tenants. I’m fairly certain itwon’tbe by servants. I think my funds only employ three. I’ll send a carriage round for the governess you locate on Friday. Is that enough time?” Knowing he’d won the battle, he leaned recklessly against the doorjamb, his good humor returning. His reputation for masterfully blending gallantry with a cagey hunger that drew women like cats to cream was well deserved. “I thank you from the bottom of my battered heart, Hildy.”

“I’ll figure something out, as I always do.” Hildy tapped her knuckle on her bottom lip. “We’ll be at Hampton Hall for the holiday, so I’ll pop over and check on things next week. Lord Grimley is holding a ball, too. I’m assuming you were invited, along with everyone in Derbyshire.”

Remington grumbled, his delight fading. Titled men were sought-after properties, even the impoverished ones, eliciting what amounted to female skirmishes on ballroom floors. She’d witnessed more than one from her frequent spot behind a fern or column.

Hildy settled the glass on the sideboard and turned to him. “The governess I send you, she’s not to be dallied with, Chance.”

A hint of temper sparked in his form. He straightened from his slouch, offended. “Message delivered, Hildy. You have my word. With the thousands of mistresses I apparently have, who needs a governess?” Then he tipped his head and was gone, his footfalls ringing off the scuffed planks outside Hildy’s makeshift office. A brother’s exit, almost rude but acceptable, again proving how close they were.

Franny stepped from behind the drape, her nerve endings tingling. She looked to find Mrs. Streeter gazing at her with a concernedexpression.

“Not like any viscount you’ve ever seen, is he, Miss Shaw? Arrogance and helplessness wrapped in silk. What a captivating combination, and he probably doesn’t even realize why.”

“I’ll do it.”

Mrs. Streeter stumbled over a wrinkle in the Aubusson, the only graceless move Franny had ever seen her make. “Dowhat? You’re here to review agreements my solicitors have preemptively drawn up for Baron Hillsdale. This tangle with Remington”—she slashed her hand through the air as if she held a wand—“has nothing to do with you. If not for my affection for the man and my appreciation of his dire situation, it would have nothing to do with me. But as you can see, he’s like family, so…”