Page 11 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
With a cat?Before he could ask, the butler disappeared.
Charley strode down the hallway, nodding at bowing footmen and curtseying maids, more servants than were needed to dust, mop, and shine. The hair on his neck prickled.
None of Shaldon House’s servants were simple domestics, and a great many more of them than usual were up and about early.
Another loud shriek quickened his pace. He pushed through the door.
Perry, her skirts rucked up, her hair bedraggled, her spectacles missing, sat on the floor. And he sensed another presence in the corner, but before he could look, a bundle of dark hair rushed him and latched onto his leg, bursting with cackling laughter.
It was a child, less than knee-height. It turned up its chin and stared up at him, brown eyes shining. A grin split its face, revealing a scattering of tiny white teeth.
It was a very pretty child. With flowing dark curls and short skirts over miniature black boots, it could be either a female or an unbreeched male.
It hugged his leg tighter and settled a cheek on his calf. With that affectionate gesture and that wicked, winsome grin, this must be a female.
“Charley.” Perry pushed to her feet. “Oh, Charley, I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Cha,” the child said. “Cha. Cha. Cha.” She unlatched from his leg and reached her arms up.
A thin, foreign-looking woman, the dark wraith from the corner, moved into his vision, beckoning the child. “Reina.”
Queen.A prickling within sent blood accelerating and pounding into his ears. His mind raced through the facts, the possibilities and the actions needed. No wonder Perry had called for Father and their brother Bakeley.
Charley scooped up the little one. “You are very noisy.”
She chortled, stuffed her fist in her mouth, and began to gnaw.
“I take her, my lord,” the thin woman said.
Thin and older. Perhaps fifty. She must be the child’s nanny, a native servant brought along. And whose child was this? No one had said.
“I am not a lord,” Charley said. “I am a simple mister.”
Drool leaked down the chubby wrist and dampened his sleeve. She smiled, tucked her head down on his shoulder, wriggled her bottom, and sighed.
The nanny’s frown tightened.
“Is Miss Kingsley all right?” he asked.
The woman bit down on her thin lip, and a tremble went through her.
“She is not,” Perry said. “I’ve sent for Father. And I intend to call on Miss Kingsley as soon as is decent. With Sirena gone, I could ask Paulette to accompany me, but I had rather not involve her just yet.”
Their eldest brother Bink’s wife, Paulette, was expecting again.
“Will you come along with me?” Perry asked.
“I’m not sure I should allow you into that house.”
“Try to stop me, brother.”
He glanced down at the little girl. Her eyes had closed. She was fair on to napping. He could hand her off to the anxious nanny, but hanging onto her would cure any reticence toward answering questions. Children were excellent leverage.
“Señora,” he began. He spoke to her in the Castilian Spanish he’d learned in his travels, possibly an accent different from her own, but she would surely understand it better than his English. “What is your name?”
The dark eyes lit. “I am Francisca. My husband is Juan. We have served Graciela all of her life.”
Miss Kingsley’s father had not left her entirely friendless. “And where is your husband?”
