Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Where a Forlorn Heiress Finds a Friend
Franny guessed it might be easier to connect with a lonely child when you’d been a lonely child.
In some ways was still one. Or rather, a lonely woman.
Taking a deep breath, she entered the playroom as if she belonged there.
She’d traveled the hallways, passing dozens of parlors and snaking warrens before finally locating the chamber.
Katherine Brierly perched on the window seat, gazing at the snow falling in feathery wisps outside.
She was thin, tall for her age, her disheveled hair shot through with red-gold sparks much like the crimson threads running through the threadbare carpet at her feet.
Her stockings were tattered, her dress rumpled.
She looked like an urchin but held the stately bearing of a queen.
Franny had been warned by the housekeeper, Mrs. Walker, that the ginger coloring matched the girl’s temperament.
She’d laughed when Mrs. Walker said it, eliciting a smile and an extra biscuit on her plate at breakfast. Franny had found that the English domestics were surprised when they were treated as people .
“Hello,” Franny said as she crossed the threshold.
The room smelled like the rest of the house, of dust and if not decay, disuse.
There were scant books and toys on the shelves.
Landscape paintings unsuited to a playroom lined the walls.
The wallpaper faded and of scenes no child would want to see.
Franny made a mental note to send to London for supplies the viscount could likely not afford but couldn’t reject, either, once they’d arrived.
Already paid for. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, she’d always thought.
Katherine swiveled on her seat, the second-view of the child’s face before she drew it into recalcitrant lines.
She was lonesome. And frightened.
Franny made a decision then and there. This girl’s happiness added to the list that included her own.
“We build snowmen at home,” she said and moved into the chamber.
“Although we don’t often get enough to make a truly good one.
I never had anyone to help me, so I got very skilled at making them myself. ”
Katherine swallowed, her apple-green eyes widening with interest. “Snowmen?”
Franny laughed and strolled into the room as if this interview wasn’t of great importance.
Love or hate, the battle lines drawn in moments with children, she’d found.
“Not something you can do in the city, is it?” She crossed to the window and gave the chilled pane a hard tap.
“This snow looks fluffy. So, it may be a challenge. Are you up to it?”
Katherine slithered from the window seat, her lips forming a half-smile. “You want to go outside? In the snow? Right now?”
Franny shrugged. “You can’t build a snowman inside the house.”
Katherine took a step closer, her hands twisting in her skirts. “We’ll get wet.”
“Probably, yes.”
“Our hair messy,” she challenged and drew a lazy loop around her head. “Our clothes drenched. We’ll look like we’ve been pulled through a keyhole.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t have boots.”
Franny sent a sweeping glance around the playroom. “We can locate something.”
“Not very ladylike,” Katherine whispered, reaching to pull her braid between her teeth. “But Americans aren’t ladylike, are they? ”
“We’re not known for it. I’m certainly not.
” Through the window, Franny searched the distance, marveling at the parklands stretching as far as she could see.
A rolling vista gorgeous enough to take one’s breath.
This estate was in need of care, true, but the terrain surrounding it was amazingly beautiful.
“We’ll get holly and pine to decorate while we’re at it. ”
Katherine turned from her search of a wardrobe tucked in the corner. She had a boot in her hand that looked fifty years old. “For what?”
“Why, Christmas, of course.”
The child’s gaze shuttered. “The viscount won’t like that.”
Franny rested her hip on the window ledge, entering delicate territory. “Whyever not?”
“He doesn’t like me,” she said, chewing on her braid. “He prefers calm and order. Like my uncle. Then he died, and now I’m here. In another dreary household with another dreary man.”
Franny traced a sketch of a bluebird on the wall, her gaze leaving Katherine.
Sometimes falsehoods were hard to issue while staring into someone’s eyes.
“Lord Remington has great responsibility resting on his shoulders with his viscountcy. And he has no sisters, no children, so this is very new to him. You are new to him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you.
He’s likely to start building his family soon, and you’re a part of that now. ”
“Are you my new governess?” Katherine’s brow scrunched curiously, her braid dropping from her teeth. “You don’t look like any governess I’ve ever seen.”
Franny grinned, delighted. “I am. You may call me Miss Shaw. I’m here until Lord Remington can secure someone properly English.
I’m a friend of his friend and in need of companionship during Christmastide.
My father returned to America, and I truly had nowhere to go.
My companion, Ada, loves the season and will help us decorate. ”
This could not be further from the truth. Ada had never met a length of garland she wished to hang nor a present she wished to wrap.
Katherine plopped to the floor and wrestled the boot on her foot. “You were drawing in the parlor after breakfast. ”
“That’s my favorite hobby in the world. I’ve been sketching since I was your age.”
“Can you teach me? I don’t have anything I know how to do well.”
Franny felt a surge of affection, fierce in its power. “I can.”
Katherine giggled and reached for the other boot, finally looking like a little girl set to go on an adventure. “Miss Shaw, since we’re becoming friends, you may call me Kat.”
Chance couldn’t tear his gaze from the enchanting scene outside the library window.
Katherine and his new governess, Miss Shaw, were building a lopsided snowman on the sloping lawn across the way.
It was going to tumble if they put too much weight on the top portion.
He’d been waiting for it to tumble. Ten minutes earlier, he’d watched them gather pine branches and holly from an overgrown thicket near the side garden, frolicking about as if it wasn’t cold as a witch’s teat this morn.
They had to be soaked to the skin. Clothing sodden, fingers and toes numb.
Nevertheless, they looked rapturous. The first time he’d seen this emotion from either of them.
He wanted to ignore the enchantment of the scene but couldn’t.
As was often the way with life, he was toasty from a blazing hearth fire, his belly full of tea and toast—yet he was melancholy for some reason.
“You shouldn’t have come without alerting me,” he murmured to Lady Chapman-Holmes as she wiggled into the nook between his body and the wall. “I have the girl to think of now.”
Eleanor snaked her arm through his, leaning into him.
“How was I to know you’d been burdened with a child to care for?
As if anyone would consider you father material.
I’m staying down the way at Lady Dane’s as we discussed last month.
A ten-minute carriage ride. I’ll see you at Grimley’s ball in any case.
Remington, I didn’t want to unduly surprise you.
I simply wanted to see you. One of the benefits of being a widow, I can travel alone on occasion. ”
Chance withdrew his arm as politely as he could. Eleanor wanted to stake her claim is what she wanted. As she’d wanted in London, to his discontent.
It was his fault, the direction his life had taken.
He’d once desired her. Or women like her.
Desired a different piece every night if he could manage it, in fact.
And in his youth, he had. Champagne sipped from slippers.
Or navels. Tangled sheets one moment and awkward silence the next.
Interactions lasting only as long as his release.
Truly, he’d only been passionate about designing furniture.
He glanced back to the girls romping in the snow.
Something was happening, a mysterious yearning. He rubbed his chest, his breath catching. His existence was changing in the seconds being counted off on the mantel clock behind him. He felt powerless and powerful . On the precipice.
Lady Chapman-Holmes was situated in his old life.
When he suspected he was preparing for his new.
“What are they doing?” she asked, her tone scathing. “I assume the little one is the urchin you’re now guardian of.”
Enjoying life, he thought dully, suddenly determined to follow Miss Shaw’s improper lead.
At breakfast, she’d chatted with every servant who had stumbled into the morning parlor.
Which due to his meager finances, amounted to four.
Chance was charmed by her nonchalant playfulness.
The joy she took in the blueberry jam she claimed was the best she’d had since leaving Philadelphia.
The delicate teacup she claimed must have been in his family for years.
Mrs. Walker’s grandson, the scullery maid’s brother. She asked about them all.
She was unlike any woman he’d ever met in that she didn’t seem bothered by what people thought of her.
When he’d been raised by an indifferent man who believed in basing his entire being on what people thought of him.
Chance recalled being hugged exactly once by Viscount Remington. At his mother’s funeral.
His father had never made any dwelling feel like home .