Page 53 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
I was saved from responding by Christopher, who entered the staircase above us at that point, followed by his mother. She had little Bess on her hip and was chattering. “—slept through most of the night, thankfully. Although what we’ll do now…” She trailed off and then picked up the conversation with another thought. “We know nothing about this girl save for the fact that she lives somewhere in London, and that’s if we can even surmise that. She might have come up from somewhere else the few times you’ve seen her.”
As she stepped off the staircase she looked up and saw us standing there. “There you are. Crispin, dear, help your aunt for a moment.”
“Of course, Aunt Roslyn,” Crispin said obediently. He’s perfectly lovely to practically everyone but me.
Or at least he was until Aunt Roz stepped forward and dropped Bess into his arms. “Hold the baby for a moment. I have to arrange for a bottle.”
She disappeared through the door into the back of the house without a backwards look at him. She did, however, tip me a very small wink on her way past.
CHAPTERTWELVE
In the first moment,I was afraid Crispin would drop little Bess. I had visions of her hitting the floor and bouncing—and then hitting the floor and not bouncing, which was much worse. The situation—and the astonished expression on his face—would have been rather funny if not for my fear that she’d get hurt. But then he fumbled her into a more secure hold and dragged his eyes from the door where Aunt Roz had vanished to peer down at the baby.
She peered back: wide blue eyes against wide gray, and matching cupid’s bow mouths slightly parted in shock at this turn of events.
You might have expected her to be upset at being unceremoniously dumped into the arms of a stranger, but no. She looked fascinated. So, rather remarkably, did Crispin.
Fascinated, but wary. He looked at her rather as if she were a shell that might go off at any moment.
And of course seeing them stare at one another, faces a foot apart, just emphasized the resemblance. I had known it was there, but seeing them together drove it home, and made something churn uncomfortably in my stomach. They looked like father and child. Knowing that that was a possibility was one thing, seeing it with my own eyes was another.
Christopher sniggered. “They make quite the pretty picture, don’t they, Pippa?”
Crispin’s brows lowered, and he flicked a glance at me before turning a scowl on Christopher. “You’ve no room to remark, Kit. If you were the one holding her, it’d look very much the same, you know.”
“Mum didn’t give her to me,” Christopher pointed out, smugly. “She gave her to you.”
“And I’m holding her, aren’t I? I can’t help it that she looks like me.”
He turned his attention back to the baby, who was bouncing on his arm, trying to get his attention back on herself now that it had wandered. “Yes, I see you. You’re lovely, aren’t you? Such a pretty girl.”
He made cooing noises, and Bess responded by cooing right back. When she reached out and wrapped a chubby fist around his tie, he winced, but didn’t do anything to stop her.
I rolled my eyes but took pity on him. “Not the tie, Elizabeth. He’ll wrinkle, and then Lady Laetitia will feel compelled to fix it for him, and if she does, I might gag.”
I pried the baby’s fingers from around it and smoothed it back down myself.
“It’s a bit uncanny,” Christopher said, in all seriousness now, looking from his cousin to the baby and back. “She really does look enough like you to be yours, Crispin. There’s no denying that face.”
“Or those eyes or that hair,” I added.
“But notmyeyes normyhair,” Crispin pointed out. “Abigail Dole is not my type, and I’m not as unrestrained in my affections as you seem to think I am. If I had bedded her, I would remember. And if this—” he glanced at the baby, “—was mine, I’d own up to it.”
Christopher nodded. “Well, she isn’t mine, either. I can count on the fingers of one hand the women I’ve had any kind of relations with, and none of it would have resulted in this.”
Crispin nodded back, or would have, had Bess not hooked a finger in his mouth and pulled his bottom lip down. “Owch,” he sputtered.
I rolled my eyes but grabbed her chubby little hand again, and pulled her wet fingers away. They let go of Crispin’s lip with a pop, and I grimaced. “Handkerchief?”
Christopher held his in front of me.
“Thank you.” I wiped my fingers, and Elizabeth’s, and then I dabbed at Crispin’s lip for good measure. And that, naturally, was when the door opened and Aunt Roz came back into the foyer.
“Dear me,” she said, when she saw us, “what happened?”
Crispin flushed but glowered. “I know what you’re doing, Aunt Roslyn. And I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate it.”
“Of course not, dear boy.” She grinned and reached out. “I’ll take her now. There’s milk heating on the stove.”
