Chapter 2 #2
It would have been best if he’d kept away, but odds were his lordship would quickly grow bored of the country, and scurry off back to his London amusements before the week was out.
“Of course, Mrs. Norris. We’ll remain in the schoolroom until luncheon, and then we’ll venture outside this afternoon. ”
Mrs. Norris breathed a sigh of relief. “Very good, Miss Templeton.”
“The chocolate is ready, Miss Templeton.”
“Thank you, Abby.” Helena took the tray with the stout silver chocolate pot and the porcelain cups and strode from the kitchen up the staircase and into the hallway.
It was growing rather late. The boys would come in search of her if she didn’t appear, and the last thing she wanted was them encountering their bedraggled father on the staircase.
But as soon as she rounded the corner, she heard the unholy clatter of two pairs of six-year-old feet pounding down the staircase. Dash it, she was too late. She hurried forward, the cups rattling on the tray. “Pardon me, my fine gentlemen, but where do you think you’re going?”
Two pairs of eyes the same spring green as their father’s peered innocently down at her from the first-floor landing. “Our papa’s here!” Ryan announced. “We saw him coming up the drive from our bedchamber window.”
“He wasn’t wearing a hat,” Etienne added, as if this bit of information was far too fascinating to wait another minute. “It was gone!”
It was, indeed, among other things, most notably his papa’s manners. “I see. And has your papa summoned you?”
Adrian, or Ryan, as he was called shook his head. “Not yet, but he—”
“Then you’re to march straight back upstairs at once, if you please. You both know the rules. You’re to wait in your bedchamber in the mornings until I come fetch you.”
“But Miss Templeton—”
“No arguments, if you please. Your father…” Isn’t fit to be seen. “Will send for you when he’s prepared to see you. Until then, we will proceed as we do every other morning. Up you go.”
She braced herself, her fingers tightening around the edges of the tray.
For all their high-spirits, Ryan and Etienne were good lads, and she’d made great strides with them since she’d come to Hawke’s Run, but they were still little boys, and there were few creatures in all of existence who had less self-control.
“Boys,” she began in a warning tone. “Did you hear what I—”
But it was already too late. Ryan cast a sidelong glance at Etienne, and then both of them dove toward the bottom of the stairs at once.
She leapt to block them—rather a foolish impulse, really, given she was burdened with a heavy tray—but all might still have been well, if Hestia hadn’t chosen that moment to make a wild dash for the staircase.
The tiny silver kitten sealed their fate.
She’d become quite nimble over the past six months of chasing two active boys, but the combined pandemonium of Ryan, Etienne and Hestia was too much for any mortal woman.
She stumbled backwards, and a blood-curdling feline shriek split the air as her foot came down hard on poor Hestia’s tail.
The outraged kitten darted between her feet and up the stairs in a blur of raised gray fur at the same time the boys darted down them.
Etienne jumped over a stair in a truly heroic effort to avoid trampling Hestia, but he knocked into his brother, who tumbled down the last two stairs.
Etienne landed on top of him, then Helena’s feet got tangled in theirs, and she went down, her backside hitting the hard floor with a thud.
As for the tray, it seemed to hang suspended in mid-air for an instant, three horrified pairs of eyes fixed on it until, inevitably, it descended again in a deafening crash of silver and shattered porcelain, the chocolate splattering across the pristine white marble floor in a thick, dark, sticky river.
Helena sat there in the instant of stunned silence that followed, chocolate dripping off the end of her nose.
It was so very dreadful she hardly knew what to do, but Ryan’s lips were already wobbling, and Etienne’s eyes had filled with tears, and really, there was only one thing one could do in such circumstances, wasn’t there?
She dissolved into giggles, but soon enough she was gasping with laughter, the sort of great, big belly laughs that drew tears from one’s eyes. “Oh dear, this is rather a mess, isn’t it? Neither of you are hurt, are you, boys?”
They boys shook their heads, dazed still, but little boys were always more apt to laugh than cry, and soon enough uncertain grins were twitching at their lips.
“And you, Hestia? Are you quite alright? I do beg your pardon for stepping on your tail.”
Hestia gave a disgruntled meow which set the boys off, and it all might have ended in gales of laughter if it hadn’t been for a door slamming open, and a furious voice echoing down the adjacent corridor. “What the devil was that ungodly noise?”
Heavy footsteps stomped toward them. Heavy footstep, that is, only one boot heel striking the marble, the other lost somewhere between London and Hawke’s Run.
The boys gaped at her with wide, anxious eyes.
Helena did her best to scramble to her feet, not relishing the idea of facing off with Lord Hawke while sprawled on her backside, but the floor was slippery with chocolate, and she’d only managed to stagger to her knees before his lordship descended upon them, his dark brows drawn so low they looked ready to flee his face altogether.
He looked from her to the boys to the shattered porcelain and flood of chocolate, and his face went as hard as stone. “Explain yourself this instant, Miss Templeton.”
“It was an accident, my lord. I was going up with the tray, and the boys were coming down, and we collided.” Really, what more was there to say? He only had to look to see for himself what had happened. “No one is hurt, thankfully.”
“Be that as it may, Miss Templeton,” Lord Hawke began, but before he could get another word out, disaster struck.
Well, not disaster so much as Hestia. Again.
The kitten, one of a half-dozen from Circe’s most recent litter had retreated to a safe corner of the landing, away from the chaos, and was peering down on them through the spaces between the spindles.
That in itself was nothing to fret over. After all, who didn’t love kittens? The trouble was that Hestia had a worrying habit of leaping upon the shoulders of unsuspecting passersby, and digging gleefully into their flesh with her claws while they thrashed about trying to dislodge her.
Hestia, likely offended by his shouting, had set her sights on Lord Hawke. Her blue kitten eyes were wide, her tiny behind wriggling as she prepared to leap. “Watch out, my lord—”
But the warning came too late. Hestia was already flying through the air, her front legs extended and claws at the ready, a little bundle of silvery fur and vengeance, and there was Lord Hawke, the flesh of his neck exposed, a perfect target…
Hestia landed on his shoulder, sunk her sharp kitten claws into his neck and held on for dear life, and Lord Hawke let out a bellow that shook the rafters. “What the devil! I’ve been stung by a bee!”
Oh, dear. That would teach him not to lose his cravat, wouldn’t it? Helena scrambled to her feet. “I beg your pardon, my lord! It’s not a bee, but a kitten!”
“A kitten? What bloody kitten? There are no cats at Hawke’s Run. I detest the things!”
Perhaps there hadn’t been six months ago, but there were now, and rather a lot of them. “She doesn’t mean any harm, my lord. She’s just playful!”
“Her playing is drawing blood! Get this demonic hellcat off me this instant, Miss Templeton!” He whirled around, presenting her with a broad, muscular back.
For a moment she froze, watching in fascination as his muscles flexed under his shirt, but Lord Hawke’s thundering voice jerked her back to the emergency at hand. “Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Templeton!”
“Yes, I—yes, of course.” She stumbled around the broken porcelain and caught Hestia by the scruff of her neck, but the kitten clung like a burr as she tugged and scolded, until at last she managed to pry her loose. “Come here, Hestia, you wicked thing.”
“Hestia? Does this creature belong to you, Miss Templeton?”
“Er…yes?” In truth Hestia and her five brothers and sisters were communal pets, but this didn’t seem the right time to delve into the details.
“Your pet, Miss Templeton.” Lord Hawke pointed an accusing finger at the kitten. “Has just destroyed a costly linen shirt, and that’s to say nothing of a silk waistcoat with hand-carved mother-of-pearl buttons!”
Helena clutched Hestia closer to protect her from his stabbing finger. “Nonsense. It was already spoiled when you rode up the drive. It’s hardly fair to blame Hestia for your own carelessness.”
Oh, no. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. His face was turning an alarming shade of red.
Lord Hawke drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive, indeed, though the effect was rather dampened by the droplets of bright red blood staining the neck of his shirt. “Pack your things, Miss Templeton. Your services at Hawke’s Run are no longer required.”