Page 40 of The Trouble With Dukes
The girl shifted her doll from one hip to the other. Hamish would put her age at about seven. Too old to suck her thumb, too young to be entirely fearless in the dark. Her nightgown was a pale swath in the gloom, and her blonde hair caught the moonlight coming through the library window.
A fairy sprite, and every Scotsman knew fairies were the embodiment of mischief.
“If you’re not a thief, what are you?”
Hamish wasin trouble. Great, awful trouble. “I’m the new footman. Name’s Thomas. Just started today.”
The girl skipped into the library, smiling hugely. “Why aren’t you in livery?”
A bright child—confound the luck. “I’m too big. Had to have a new kit made up, and it’s not back from the tailor’s yet. That’s a lovely dolly. What’s her name?”
“Harold. She’s contrary, like me. I’m Lady Geneva. Why is it dark in here, Thomas?”
“Saves coin to leave the candles unlit when the family’s out. Is wee Harold up past her bedtime, milady?”
Delicate lashes lowered. “Will you peach on us?”
Before Hamish had been a soldier, before he’d been head of the family, a brewery owner, a duke, oranything, he’d been an older brother.
Thank the kind powers, he knew what this child wanted.
“I could be sacked for not doing my duty and reporting your wanderings,” he said, crouching to address the girl at eye level. “I shouldn’t like to be sacked. My family would be disappointed that I’d lost my new job already, but Harold ought not to wander the house by herself.”
Lady Geneva climbed onto a sofa, standing barefoot on the cushions. “Do you have older sisters?”
“Younger sisters, milady. Your sisters are older?”
She heaved such a sigh as ought not to come from one so small. “They get to go out dancing, and my brothers go out too, but they play cards and sometimes they get sore heads. Do you know how to play cards?”
“I’ve played a game or two. Someday you’ll go out dancing too, Lady Geneva. You’ll have pretty dresses and adventures.”
Dresses alone wouldn’t do for this one, God help her parents.
She swung Harold in a wide arc, as if sweeping around a dance floor, and nearly knocked a lamp over.
“I want to waltz at Almack’s,” she said. “So does Harold. I’m very pretty. Papa tells me so all the time. Mama used to be pretty, and my sisters have pretty dresses. They want to getmarried.”
“Does Harold want to get married?”
“No!” Geneva punctuated her reply with a few emphatic bounces on the sofa cushions. “She wants a pony of her own, so she doesn’t have to wait until Fletcher takes her up on his horse, and walks up and down the mews with her. Fletcher is my spoiled brother. Frank is lazy, and Theodore is a disappointment. Martin is the heir. I’m to call him Lord Paltrow.”
Hamish caught the child mid-bounce and affixed her to his hip. “Spoiled brothers are the very devil. I haven’t any, and I’m grateful for that. I hope you aren’t spoiled?”
“Not yet. Neither is Harold, but she’s cross sometimes.” Geneva fiddled with the lapel of Hamish’s coat—a dark garment for a dark errand. “Fletcher forgets. He says he’ll take me up on his horse, and then he rides off and forgets. He’s busy.”
Now there was an understatement.“Hadn’t you better take Harold back up to bed before any of your brothers or sisters come home and find you’ve left the nursery?”
“You smell good. Do you know how to tell time, Thomas?”
“One of few skills I can claim with confidence, your ladyship, and I know it’s time you were abed.”
A large, long-haired black cat came strutting into the library, tail held high. The animal sniffed here and there, in the manner of cats.
“That’s Lucifer. He’s Pamela’s cat. Fletcher says Lucifer is her family.”
“Her familiar, you mean. He’s a grand fellow. Seems everybody worth knowing is awake past their bedtime in this house.”
Geneva rested her head against Hamish’s shoulder. “I like you, Thomas. Harold likes you too. Will you read me a story?”
