She let out a little laugh and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Livvy, you absolute dolt.”
Suddenly, she decided she fancied a spot of breakfast after all.
“Yes, George, you really must wear clothes,” Livvy said, struggling to fit the wriggling child into his small clothes and skeleton suit before he ran off naked as usual. George protested and wailed but was no match for his aunt.
“He’s a little savage,” his eldest sister, Susan, remarked as she changed Birdie’s clout and pilcher with expert hands.
Livvy fastened the last button on the skeleton suit with a triumphant laugh and kissed George’s chubby cheek. “There! Now don’t take it off.”
George pouted, but wrapped his arms about Livvy’s neck and hugged her to show she was forgiven.
“Oh, Livvy! Livvy, just look what that horrid girl has done to my hair!”
Livvy looked up as Rebecca burst into the nursery and just about rearranged her face into something solemn, smothering the laugh that threatened to erupt before she got herself into trouble. Rebecca’s head had a Medusa-like complication of plaits and loops that had all slid to one side, and rendered her quite comical.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Lydia protested, hot on her heels. “It was supposed to look like that.”
She waved a cutting from Le Journal des Dames et des Modes, which Ceci had brought back from London.
Livvy gave the illustration a dubious glance. “I think perhaps Parisian fashions might be a little de trop for breakfast at Boscawen, Lydia dear, even if the earl deigns to grace us with his presence. Do you think you can untangle that and put it in one nice, neat plait? You have ten minutes.”
“Oh, you do it, Livvy,” Rebecca wailed. “She’ll make me cry again.”
“Oh, don’t be such a silly goose,” Lydia muttered, taking her sister by the hand, and towing her out of the room again, with Rebecca protesting as Lydia remonstrated.
Livvy sighed as their bedroom door slammed down the hall and their bickering abruptly silenced.
“What the devil’s going on?” Harry demanded, peering around the door. “It sounded like Lydia was murdering Becca down there.”
“Well, it will be one less for breakfast, then,” Livvy remarked, handing George over to his big brother. “You two take the little ones down. I’d best see if Gelly needs any help.”
“Yes, Livvy,” Harry said, as he hefted George into his arms and carried him off, with Susan carrying Birdie behind him.
Livvy hurried towards the servant’s staircase and paused as she saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.
“Jane!” she called.
There was no reply.
“Jane,” she said again, a warning note lingering this time. The distinct sound of trotters on parquet gave the poor girl away.
Livvy bit her lip and took a breath.
“Jane Penrose, if you don’t come out this minute….”
Jane slunk from around the corner with a piglet trotting at her heels.
Livvy folded her arms.
“Oh, but, Livvy, it’s raining again and he was all wet and muddy,” Jane protested, hoisting the piglet into her arms as the creature squealed and struggled.
“It’s a pig, Jane. Pigs are at their happiest up to their necks in mud.”
Jane scowled and shook her head. “Barnaby isn’t. He’s a clean boy.”
Livvy put one hand on her hip and pointed in the general direction of the piggery. “Back to the sty with him. At once. And then wash your hands and get to the breakfast parlour or they’ll be nothing left for you.”
“Yes, Livvy,” Jane replied with a heavy sigh.
Livvy nodded and was about to turn away when a thought occurred to her. “Wait a moment. You said, he was all wet and muddy.”
“Yes,” Jane nodded. “I washed him in the scullery.”
Oh, lovely. That would put Gelly in a marvellous temper. Livvy groaned and hurried down to the kitchen.
By the time she sat down to breakfast, Livvy really had worked up an appetite and helped herself to a thick slice of brown bread, spreading it with butter and jam. Kingston had not made an appearance, and she wondered if perhaps he wouldn’t come. It was not the habit of the fashionable set to rise before noon, after all. Likely his habit was to sleep all day after a night of… of whatever it was the Earl of Kingston did. She pondered whether he had a mistress or not, or perhaps several mistresses, but then he hadn’t any money, had he? They were supposed to be devilishly expensive.
“No, George,” she said absently, grabbing hold of the child’s hand before he could stick his fingers in the butter. She cut off a piece of her bread and jam and handed it to him instead.
“Fank,” he said cheerfully and stuffed it in his mouth.
Livvy smiled. “What a good boy, George.”
The breakfast table was absent of their parents, as usual. Ceci’s habit was to take a cup of chocolate in her room and drift down after eleven. After that, she would drape herself upon a chaise lounge and take a nap after the exertions of readying herself for the day…or whatever was left of it. Charlie would have already eaten and escaped to his study before they arrived. So, the noise and chaos of the children was Livvy’s and, as noisy and chaotic as it was, she didn’t mind a bit. To her way of thinking, this was what family should be, and she only regretted that Ceci and Charlie did not seem to appreciate it more. Naturally, there were plenty of mornings when she didn’t appreciate it much either, but mostly there was joy to be found in George’s sticky face and in the way Susan carefully spooned porridge into little Birdie, and the children all talked at once and squabbled over the last of the strawberry jam.
Livvy looked up and saw the Earl of Kingston standing in the doorway. The expression on his face was that of a man steeling himself to walk onto a battlefield.
“You mustn’t show fear, my lord. They can sense weakness,” she counselled him.
“Like dogs?” he suggested, still looking dubious.
“Gog,” George said. “Oof, oof.”
“Quite,” Kingston replied.
He gave his waistcoat a tug and walked into the room.
“Good morning. Do you always eat with the nursery?” he asked her as he pulled out the chair at her side.
Livvy rolled her eyes at him. “Only at breakfast and it won’t kill you, I promise. They’re only children, they don’t bite. Well, George might if he’s being very naughty, but generally speaking....”
She saw Kingston give George a frowning glance as she handed the boy another piece of her bread and jam.
“Oof, oof,” George said.
“Hmm.” The earl reached for a bread roll.
“Do you know the Prince Regent?”
“Have you been to Vauxhall Gardens?”
“Do pigs really like mud?”
“Is Lord Byron terribly handsome?”
Kingston paused as a barrage of questions hit him from all sides and Livvy held her breath, wondering if they were all about to get a terrible set down.
He frowned for a moment.
“Yes. Yes. Certainly, and no, he’s overrated,” he said, and put the roll down on his plate.
Livvy watched the children gather themselves for the next onslaught and got in first. “Children, Lord Kingston wishes to break his fast, not answer a lot of impertinent questions. Now, Harry, as you’ve already finished, do take Birdie up to Ceci. I’m sure she’d like to see her mama. Girls, if you’ve eaten your fill, take George to the nursery, and then begin the lesson I wrote on the board. I shall be up in a little while to see how you’re doing.”
“Yes, Livvy,” they chorused, and for a moment there was the industrious chink of cutlery and teacups as everyone finished their tea and cleared their plates, followed by the scraping of chairs.
A short while thereafter, peace reigned.
“Thank you,” the earl said with a sigh of relief.
Livvy suspected he was still feeling somewhat delicate and head
achy, but it wouldn’t do to pander to him.
“I didn’t do it for you. We don’t have an inexhaustible supply of jam, you know,” Livvy replied.
“I beg your pardon. I shall content myself with the butter.” Kingston said gravely.
Livvy’s lips twitched. “I only meant that the children would eat it all if I let them linger too long.”
“Ah. In that case, might I trouble you for the blackberry? It’s my favourite.”
“Certainly.” Livvy passed it to him and took a moment study his face. “You’re looking somewhat better than you did, at least.”
He snorted. “Why, Miss Penrose, my heart is all a-flutter at your extravagant praise.”
Livvy gave a huff of impatience and reached for her teacup. “I am not inclined to flirt with you, my lord. I merely observe that you appear a few steps farther from your impending demise than you did two days ago.”
“Are you inclined to flirt with anyone?”
Livvy cursed herself for having walked into that one.
“Yes,” she replied brightly. “Mr Moon.”
His dark brows drew together. “Who the devil is… oh, wait. I remember. The crow. And where is the elegant Mr Moon this morning?”
“Oh, he comes and goes as he pleases. I shall likely meet him in the gardens later.”
“Lucky Mr Moon,” he murmured.
Livvy opened her mouth, quite prepared for the singular pleasure of giving the Earl of Kingston a set down, when she realised this was her opportunity and changed tack.
“I wish there were a Mr Moon to meet me in the gardens, but we are sadly lacking in beaus here at Boscawen. In fact, my lord, that’s something I wish you to help me with.”
Kingston’s eyes widened and his knife clattered down upon his plate. He stared at her in astonishment.
Livvy frowned and thought again about what she’d just said.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, heat blooming in her cheeks. “Oh. Oh, I… I did not mean….”
“No,” he replied with a wry smile. “I rather suspected you didn’t. A pity. I am at your disposal, naturally.”
Livvy fell silent and considered his words. Her heart picked up. Well, there was a thought. If seducing a man was anything like, say, baking, then reading a recipe was all well and good, but there was nothing like practical experience. Surely, a man as depraved as Kingston would have plenty to teach her, and no qualms whatsoever about doing so. The idea made her breathless. Livvy had squashed any hope of marrying years ago, but the longing to feel a man’s arms about her, his lips upon hers, that had never gone away. It rose in her now, hot, and wicked. She slid him a sideways glance. He really was quite devilishly handsome, even with the dark circles under his eyes and the rather worn look about him. In fact, she wondered if it didn’t add a little something to his appeal as he looked very much as if he’d been up to no good. Why was that an attractive quality? She wondered. There must be something very wrong with the feminine brain to find a man with the morals of an alley cat more appealing than a well-behaved one. Yet often being well-behaved was so dashed dull, so perhaps there was a kind of sense in it. Either way, a man like that could teach her a thing or two and have no qualms about doing it. All in a good cause, and only because she needed the experience to… to help her achieve her goal, obviously.
“Do I have jam on my chin?”
“Beg pardon?”
“You are staring at me, Miss Penrose, and whilst I am quite happy for you to admire the view, singular as it is, you are making me nervous.”
“Forgive me, I was just considering what you’d said and wondering if I ought to take you up on it. It really might serve me well,” Livvy replied, frowning into her teacup and trying to decide if it was a stroke of brilliance or if she’d run quite mad.
It was remarkably hard to tell in this house.
The earl frowned at her, obviously baffled.
“I asked if I had jam on my chin,” he said, before taking a bite of bread and jam.
“What? No, no. How on earth does that serve me in any way? Do keep up. No, the bit before that. You said you were at my disposal, if I decided I would like to… to tryst with you.”
Kingston choked. His eyes watered and he went quite red in the face, so Livvy sprang to her feet and pounded him on the back.
“Oh dear, that blackberry is quite tart. I ought to have warned you. We were rather low on sugar, so I scrimped a little. Likely why it didn’t set as firm as it ought to have, either. I assure you it’s not my best effort.”
“Damn the bloody jam!” Kingston exclaimed once he could speak again. “And stop hitting me. I didn’t even provoke you this time.”
“Yes, you did,” Livvy retorted, straightening, and returning to her seat. “You walked into the room. I don’t know why, but that seems all the provocation required to want to throw things at you or do you bodily harm. Strange, isn’t it?”
“Not in the least. My valet remarks on it often enough, but stop changing the subject. Did you say you were deciding whether to… to…?”
“Tryst with you,” Livvy finished for him, realising she was babbling but quite unable to stop herself. “Yes. I was, though why you are getting so flustered about it I don’t know. Isn’t this the sort of thing you get up to all the time? I would think you’d be more sanguine by now.”
Kingston opened and closed his mouth, opened it again and took a breath—looking for all the world as if he were about to tear her off a strip—and then closed it again.
“Do stop doing that, you look like a carp and they always make me shudder. All those little mouths opening and closing. Ugh.” Livvy shook her head and wondered why the earl looked quite so outraged, but then she supposed his light skirts rarely compared him to a carp. It wasn’t likely to make a man foolish with passion, was it? “There, you see, I’m certain your high-flyers don’t speak about fish. This is why I need your help.”
“My help?” he repeated, still staring at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Yes,” Livvy said, pouring him out a cup of tea with hands that trembled suspiciously. She peered into the cup. “I’m afraid it’s a little strong. Do you like it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Your tea, do you like it strong?” She frowned at him, wondering if he looked feverish. There was a definite flush to his cheeks. “Are you feeling quite well? You seem awfully out of sorts this morning.”
“I have a headache,” he said tersely.
“Ah, yes, I suspected you did. Bound to make you waspish.”
“I am not waspish!”
Livvy gave him a doubtful look. He certainly sounded as if he’d taken a pet.
“As you like. Do drink your tea, though. I’m sure it will help. Also, I believe your vast experience will be invaluable to me, so I shall take you up on your kind offer. Now, when should we begin, do you think? I could probably spare half an hour before lunch if that suits?”
There followed a taut silence during which her heart thudded in her ears.
Livvy went to speak, but he raised a finger and pointed at her.
“No. Do not…. Not another word. My head is spinning and either I am going quite mad, or you are suggesting I meet you in the gardens before lunch, so I may… So we might….”
“Tr—”
“I said to be silent!”
Livvy closed her mouth again, folded her hands primly in her lap, and waited.
He let out a breath.
“Please, I beg you, do not use that word again,” he said, looking as though he meant it. “I am not convinced you have the slightest idea what it means, or what you are suggesting, but I do know ladies of your…type…do not go around propositioning men like me.”
“May I speak now?” Livvy asked politely.
Kingston waved a hand at her with an expression of resignation.
“I understand a tr—that word—to describe an illicit, romantic interlude between lovers, and what the devil do you mean, ladies of my type?
Do you mean old maids?” she demanded with a surge of indignation. She supposed, strictly speaking, that was just what she was, but really one did not like to have it flung in one’s face.
“No-oo,” he replied, drawing the word out in such a way that suggested his patience was fraying. “I mean that gently bred young ladies do not go about propositioning men at the breakfast table.”
“Oh,” Livvy replied tartly, folding her arms. “Should I have waited for dinner? Is that how it’s done? I just assumed my brother might interfere in the matter.”
“Don’t be facetious, and you know perfectly well that if there is any propositioning to be done, it’s my job as the resident libertine to do it!”
He looked so indignant that Livvy had to work at keeping a straight face, but she was reasonably steady when she nodded her understanding and replied, “I do beg your forgiveness, my lord. You may proceed.”
“Proceed?”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “If you are going to proposition me, you’d best get on with it. The children will wonder where I’ve got to.”
To her immense frustration, he got to his feet, tossed his napkin to the table, and strode away.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
He turned in the doorway and looked back at her. “To bed, Miss Penrose. I believe I have suffered a relapse. However, when I come down again, I feel certain I will discover this has all been a vastly disturbing dream. The result, I don’t doubt, of my wasted life of dissipation. I admit I have never regretted indulging in drink more in my life. I bid you a good day.”
With that, he bowed politely and left the room.
Chapter Seven
9th December 1818.
The sea, a seduction, a troubled conscience and a kiss.
Walsh gave his master a dubious glance. “You’re pulling my leg.”
King reclined against the pillows on his bed, massaging his temples with delicate fingertips. “I assure you I am not. Bold as brass she was, asking if I could spare half an hour before lunch. Half an hour! I ask you.”
“Are you more upset that she beat you to it, or that she underestimates your stamina?” Walsh asked mildly.
The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 7