Page 62 of His Wicked Little Christmas

Taking a deep breath, she entered the playroom as if she belonged there. She’d traveled the hallways, passing dozens of parlors and snaking warrens before finally locating the chamber. Katherine Brierly perched on the window seat, gazing at the snow falling in feathery wisps outside. She was thin, tall for her age, her disheveled hair shot through with red-gold sparks much like the crimson threads running through the threadbare carpet at her feet. Her stockings were tattered, her dress rumpled. She looked like an urchin but held the stately bearing of a queen.

Franny had been warned by the housekeeper, Mrs. Walker, that the ginger coloring matched the girl’s temperament. She’d laughed when Mrs. Walker said it, eliciting a smile and an extra biscuit on her plate at breakfast. Franny had found that the English domestics were surprised when they were treated aspeople.

“Hello,” Franny said as she crossed the threshold. The room smelled like the rest of the house, of dust and if not decay, disuse. There werescant books and toys on the shelves. Landscape paintings unsuited to a playroom lined the walls. The wallpaper faded and of scenes no child would want to see. Franny made a mental note to send to London for supplies the viscount could likely not afford but couldn’t reject, either, once they’d arrived. Already paid for. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, she’d always thought.

Katherine swiveled on her seat, the second-view of the child’s face before she drew it into recalcitrant lines.

She was lonesome. And frightened.

Franny made a decision then and there. This girl’s happiness added to the list that included her own. “We build snowmen at home,” she said and moved into the chamber. “Although we don’t often get enough to make a truly good one. I never had anyone to help me, so I got very skilled at making them myself.”

Katherine swallowed, her apple-green eyes widening with interest. “Snowmen?”

Franny laughed and strolled into the room as if this interview wasn’t of great importance. Love or hate, the battle lines drawn in moments with children, she’d found. “Not something you can do in the city, is it?” She crossed to the window and gave the chilled pane a hard tap. “This snow looks fluffy. So, it may be a challenge. Are you up to it?”

Katherine slithered from the window seat, her lips forming a half-smile. “You want to go outside? In the snow? Right now?”

Franny shrugged. “You can’t build a snowman inside the house.”

Katherine took a step closer, her hands twisting in her skirts. “We’ll get wet.”

“Probably, yes.”

“Our hair messy,” she challenged and drew a lazy loop around her head. “Our clothes drenched. We’ll look like we’ve been pulled through a keyhole.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t have boots.”

Franny sent a sweeping glance around the playroom. “We can locate something.”

“Not very ladylike,” Katherine whispered, reaching to pull her braid between her teeth. “But Americans aren’t ladylike, are they?”

“We’re not known for it. I’m certainly not.” Through the window, Franny searched the distance, marveling at the parklands stretching as far as she could see. A rolling vista gorgeous enough to take one’s breath. This estate was in need of care, true, but the terrain surrounding it was amazingly beautiful. “We’ll get holly and pine to decorate while we’re at it.”

Katherine turned from her search of a wardrobe tucked in the corner. She had a boot in her hand that looked fifty years old. “For what?”

“Why, Christmas, of course.”

The child’s gaze shuttered. “The viscount won’t like that.”

Franny rested her hip on the window ledge, entering delicate territory. “Whyever not?”

“He doesn’t like me,” she said, chewing on her braid. “He prefers calm and order. Like my uncle. Then he died, and now I’m here. In another dreary household with another dreary man.”

Franny traced a sketch of a bluebird on the wall, her gaze leaving Katherine. Sometimes falsehoods were hard to issue while staring into someone’s eyes. “Lord Remington has great responsibility resting on his shoulders with his viscountcy. And he has no sisters, no children, so this is very new to him.Youare new to him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. He’s likely to start building his family soon, and you’re a part of that now.”

“Are you my new governess?” Katherine’s brow scrunched curiously, her braid dropping from her teeth. “You don’t look like any governess I’ve ever seen.”

Franny grinned, delighted. “I am. You may call me Miss Shaw. I’m here until Lord Remington can secure someone properly English. I’m a friend of his friend and in need of companionship during Christmastide. My father returned to America, and I truly had nowhere to go. My companion, Ada, loves the season and will help us decorate.”

This could not be further from the truth. Ada had never met a length of garland she wished to hang nor a present she wished to wrap.

Katherine plopped to the floor and wrestled the boot on her foot. “You were drawing in the parlor after breakfast.”

“That’s my favorite hobby in the world. I’ve been sketching since I was your age.”

“Can you teach me? I don’t have anything I know how to do well.”