He’d meant to escape the children, she knew, who had been cavorting all about the house well before dawn, in all the excitement wrought by the arrival of Christmas morning.
But they’d followed.
Not all of them, perhaps, but she’d counted an even dozen of them as they’d filed out of the house after him in neat little rows, just far enough behind that he hadn’t noticed. Two of the Victorias, all of the Williams, a David, and she thought there had been at least one George amongst the bunch.
She wasn’t certain where they had gone, but she’d dashed down the stairs as soon as she’d seen him trudging back towardthe house, his steps as slow and plodding as Hieronymus’. She had arrived in the foyer with only seconds to spare, gasping out, “How did it go?” as he slid through the door.
Kit threw up his hands. “I wasfollowed.” His voice emerged muffled from behind the thick fabric of his scarf.
“I know. I saw.”
“And you didn’t think to warn me?”
She had. Just…not very hard. “Come now, it wasn’t all that bad, surely.”
Kit grabbed for the ends of his scarf, unwinding it from about his neck and face. “William caught up with me first,” he said. “I think it was William, at least.”
“Which one?”
Another wild gesticulation of his hands. “How the hell would I know!” He cast his scarf aside, and it landed draped haphazardly across a coat rack. “There was a convenient hill. I pushed him down it.”
Phoebe choked on a shocked laugh. “You didn’t!”
Kit rolled his eyes. “It was covered in snow,” he said. “He slid straight down to the bottom, laughing the whole way.” A heartfelt sigh. “And then the restof them descended upon me, all wanting a go themselves. I spent what was meant to be a pleasant,quietwalk pushing children down a hill.”
“I think you enjoyed yourself at least a little,” she said.
“It’s not even eight.”
“It’s Christmas morning,” she said. “Everyone rises early on Christmas.”
“Idon’t. I’m meant to be asleep another four hours at least.”
How had he expected to manage that with the bulk of the children awake and shrieking at the top of their lungs with excitement?
“I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”
“That’s not quite true. I distinctly recall bringing you tea andscones.” But not the brandy he had pleaded for. “Come now,” she said. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
“Are you joking?” He stepped closer, pursing his lips against a grin. “I got to push a dozen children down a hill, entirely free from consequences. It wasglorious.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I think I hear them coming.”
Kit’s eyes went wide and panicked. “Distract them whilst I hide,” he said. “And for God’s sake, bring me some brandy.”
∞∞∞
Chris had got the brandy eventually, though Phoebe had taken it from him once more when she’d caught him drinking straight from the decanter. Now the spirits were closely guarded, and she permitted them only if they were cleverly disguised within some other beverage.
So he’d had rather a lot of hot toddies in the past several hours. Enough toalmostproduce an amiable disposition, or at least one that vaguely approximated amiable.
Amidst the flying wrapping paper and shrieks of glee from the children, Chris held his cup firmly in both hands and sent a fervent thanks to God that Christmas came but once a year. If he had been only a little more resolute in his convictions, he and Phoebe might even now be on their way back to London. But then she’d done that thing with her tongue that she had to have learned of from Charity, since no proper lady should even know of it, and his convictions had abandoned him as if they’d never existed.
He still hadn’t made up his mind whether Charity was a good influence upon her, or an absolutely horrid one. Possibly henever would.
Phoebe waded toward him through the thick of the discarded paper, which had reached waist-deep and promised to continue to rise. She’d wisely left him to his chair at the edge of the room, where he was largely left alone.
“How are you bearing up?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the din of so many children.
