Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
One would think he had never met a child before.
Valerie chuckled to herself as she watched Adrian and the boys attempt to work together to build the former’s likeness. The duke spoke to the boys as if they were grown soldiers, delivering instructions with military authority… and not taking it at all well when they did not listen.
“A carrot cannot be a nose,” Adrian remarked, brow furrowed. “It is not the shape of a nose. The nose should be carved into the head snowball.”
Isaac pushed the carrot right into the face of the snowman anyway, laughing as he did it. “It must have a carrot for a nose.”
“These other ones do not have carrots for noses,” Adrian protested.
David swooped in. “Because we didn’t have carrots then; we just had stones and coal. Yes! We should take out the stones and put carrots in! Come on, Isaac.”
Before Adrian could stop them, the boys ran around the odd little family of snowmen and snow-ladies and pulled out their old noses.
Their giddy laughter rang out across the peaceful garden and up to the lightly-snowing heavens—the sweetest sound in all the world—as they promptly replaced the noses with carrots.
“But they do not look like people,” Adrian said, clearly exasperated. “They should be sculpted with greater detail, instead of simply stuffing twigs and vegetables into them.”
Deciding to put him out of his misery, Valerie approached, her boots crunching through the snow: a glorious addition to the music of the laughter, the chirrups of a merry robin red-breast, and the creak of heavily-laden trees.
“It is more of an interpretation of a person,” she teased. “When a child draws, they draw the idea of something. It is not supposed to be a masterpiece that will end up in a gallery. Snowmen are the same.”
“How is anyone to know which snowman is each person?” Adrian argued, a muscle twitching in his jaw as the boys took off their own hats and set them upon their snowmen.
Valerie chuckled. “I suppose that is a solution.” She lowered her voice. “They are not gentlemen in an important meeting, Your Grace; they are boys who are building these snowmen for the sole purpose of having fun. You must have a memory of that from when you were a boy?”
His expression clouded over, his brow creasing as if the strain of those muscles would help him to find a memory. Yet, his scowl was not of the usual kind; there was something else in the tension around his eyes and the set of his mouth. A pain, almost.
What happened to you, to make you want to shut out the entire world? It was such a vast question that Valerie would not have known where to start in asking it. Nor did she think he would answer if she did.
“At school, perhaps,” he said, his voice faraway as if he had not meant to speak out loud. “Games in the dormitories.”
“Well, remember that, and try to build this snowman on their terms,” Valerie said with a shy smile, surprised that her courage was holding out.
In truth, she had not expected to see Adrian at all that day. So, it was a bizarre twist that she was standing beside him, both of them wrapped up warm in borrowed cloaks, pink-cheeked in the cold. Stranger still that, in his own way, he seemed to be enjoying the activity. Tolerating it, at least.
Maybe, he will kiss me again for the crime of asking him to play along with the boys…
Her skin flushed at the thought, grateful that Adrian was too invested in what the boys were doing to notice. She did not want him to think she had spared a moment’s consternation on how they had parted ways last night. She certainly did not want him to think she wanted to be kissed again.
The ghost of a smile turned up one corner of Adrian’s soft, passionate, kissable mouth. “We shall need more hats,” he called to the boys, adding in a louder shout, “And let us add a tail on Mr. Jarvis for being a sly fox.”
From the study doorway, the butler appeared, having lent his warm outer garments to Adrian.
The man blinked in surprise. His master’s words were clearly an insult, yet the older man’s face suddenly cracked into a grin.
Indeed, he wore the sort of look that one might have if they had just witnessed a miracle.
“Mrs. Mullens,” Adrian said, the housekeeper cringing as she waited to see what her adornment might be.
“Send a couple of footmen up into the storerooms. Tell them to bring down a collection of hats from my grandfather’s boxes.
If these snowmen are to stand in my gardens, they must be distinguished indeed. ”
At that, David and Isaac cheered, their boyish exuberance a wondrous thing to behold.
But it was Adrian that Valerie stared at, charmed by his good deed—charmed by all of his good deeds.
He had no reason to humor her or the boys, yet he had.
He could have stayed in his study or shouted at everyone to get away from his door, but he had not.
Though it clearly made him uncomfortable, he had joined in.
Despite his warning that she should not ask for too much, his actions had given her hope.
Hope that there could be Christmas at Blackwall Castle again.
Hope that he was not the beast he claimed to be.
Hope that there was a lot more to Adrian than met the eye, and that his kiss had not been a punishment after all.
And if they were to find themselves alone again, perhaps she might ask for just a little more.
“This is the best day we ever had, Miss Wightman,” David said, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated on his task.
Isaac nodded, his face scrunched as he poured a measure of powdered sugar into a bowl. A plume of sweet dust, like smoke, puffed upward. “The… best day,” he coughed, the sugar catching the back of his throat. “I don’t want it to end.”
After the wind had picked up, adding a bitter bite to the afternoon cold, Valerie had insisted on everyone returning inside.
The boys had protested—even Adrian had seemed reluctant—but she would not allow them to freeze or get sick in the name of fun.
Not when there was more fun to be had in the delicious warmth of indoors.
“It has not ended yet,” she said with a smile, stifling a laugh as David vigorously stirred butter, sugar, and flour in a mixing bowl. Too vigorously, if the cook’s frown was any indication, but one could not help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.
It had been Valerie’s idea for the boys to make some shortbread biscuits, as a way of saying thank you to the duke for letting them stay.
Adrian had retreated back to his study once the snowy shenanigans had ended, so she assumed he would not be averse to a sweet afternoon treat to cheer him in his work.
“Can we have some of the biscuits too?” David asked, turning to Valerie.
As he did, his wooden spoon slipped, sending a glob of shortbread mixture flying out of the bowl and onto the counter.
A workbench that already looked as if a cat had been chasing a mouse across it, knocking over everything in sight: used utensils, dirty bowls from bad batches, a fine dusting of powdered sugar and flour, and a splattered egg that Isaac had accidentally dropped.
“That is it!” the cook, Mrs. Leggat, cried out. “I can’t bear it anymore! There’s dinner to prepare soon and you’re making a terrible mess!”
The boys froze, blinking in alarm at the cook.
“They mean no harm, Mrs. Leggat,” Valerie intervened, her voice gentle. “I will personally clean up every bit of mess that has been made, so you are not delayed in preparing dinner.”
The cook expelled a sigh in Valerie’s direction. The two women had developed a rapport over the past few days, for Valerie had spent a good deal of time in those cozy kitchens. So, it would have been a shame to ruin a blossoming acquaintanceship over some biscuits.
“His Grace doesn’t even like sweets,” Mrs. Leggat said, tutting. “All of this chaos is for nothing. It would be a fine idea for anyone else, but not for His Grace.”
It was Valerie’s turn to freeze. Who did not like sweet things?
She had chosen the shortbread because she could not think of a single person who would not relish those buttery, delicate biscuits.
And the duke liked tea; she knew he took his afternoon tea at around this time, and shortbread would pair so well with it.
She said as much to the cook. “And, as the boys have gone to such effort, he might give them a try. If he does not like them, then there will be more for us all.”
It was Kate who came in to appease Mrs. Leggat, putting an arm around the agitated cook and steering her toward the cellar. “Why don’t we find a nice box to put the biscuits in, hmm?” the housekeeper said in an encouraging voice. “I think I saw a decorative one by the sherry.”
“Sherry?” The cook perked up.
“What do you say we have a little nip of it to warm ourselves?” Kate said, flashing a wink back at Valerie. “You won’t mind the mess so much when you’ve had a sip or two.”
The murmuring cook allowed herself to be led down the cellar stairs, leaving Valerie and the boys to finish their work.
“Will he really not like them?” Isaac asked nervously.
David, on the other hand, snorted. “I hope he doesn’t, so we can have them. We can take them back to the orphanage with us.”
“Well, I am convinced that he will like them,” Valerie insisted, as she rolled up the long sleeves of her chemise and set to work on cleaning up the mess.
“Remember, these are to say thank you. We want him to like them. Now, pour the last of that mixture into a tin so we can give the poor cook her kitchen back.”
With refreshed vigor, David and Isaac worked together to pour the last batch into a buttered tin. Valerie tried not to chuckle as they spilled at least a third onto the counter.