Miranda and Grayson sat close as the Great’s carriage bounced on its way to Storne Hope, each very aware of the other, listening with only half an ear to the children’s word game they didn’t understand at all but still brought gales of laughter and ferocious insults. He felt the warmth of her, smelled the light verbena fragrance. He said close to her ear, “Did you really look interested when you heard Max looked like a romantic prince?”
He looked into her beautiful eyes and saw his reflection—and deviltry. She leaned close. “Can you doubt it, Grayson? As a local romantic princess, don’t you think it would be a perfect match?”
Grayson wanted to kiss her, maybe lightly bite her lip. He said, “It’s true what Pip said, you’re ours.”
“Well,” she said, squeezing his hand, “there is that.” A pause, then another wicked smile, a whisper. “Ah, but to be a princess—it’s difficult, Grayson, so many choices to make, so many hearts to break—” And she grinned, touched her gloved hand to his, and thought about how very fascinating life had become since a wizard have moved into her neighborhood. Odd how she’d never considered wizards actually existing out of the pages of books, but now—oh yes. He was her very own wizard.
She tucked her hand into his, and together they watched Pip giggle as Brady tickled him and told him he was a right proper little pickle, P.C. looking on, so pleased with Brady and his nearly perfect English she didn’t correct his grammar when he slipped. At least not on Sundays.
He heard P.C. say, “Brady, Cook told Grandmama the new earl has a big orange cat named Clotis. Do you think we should introduce Musgrave to Clotis? Maybe they’ll like each other.”
Pip said, “They’ll either lick each other or fight to the death.”
P.C. said matter-of-factly, “You know Musgrave is too lazy to hiss at another cat or puff up his tail. He’ll start licking and hope for the best.”
Brady grinned. “Papa told me before church Mr. Harmon’s got a litter of King Charles spaniels—you know the dogs with the floppy ears? Papa said they feel like silk and I can pick out the one I want. Maybe two. I think Musgrave will like a puppy, probably lick him bald.”
“Papa, can I have a King Charles puppy too? Remember, you said you’d think about a dog—”
Grayson’s first thought was to wonder what would happen to his new Turkish carpet when a puppy forgot himself. Did Haddock like dogs? He didn’t know. But who could resist a puppy?
Thankfully, before he could answer, Brady said, “What should I name him? Or them?”
Name discussions led to arguments and insults until ten minutes later when the Great’s old creaking coach with its shining eagle on the side pulled up in front of Storne Hope.
P.C. looked up at the stone crenellations, the ivy-covered walls, the shining windows, and said to her mama, “It looks very romantic, Mama, just like it should with a romantic prince living here. I will tell you what I think of the new earl so you will know whether or not to show him any interest.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Storne Hope
Miranda straightened her bonnet’s lovely lavender ribbons and sat forward, her mother’s eye on each child’s face. “All of you listen to me. Lily is a stranger to the neighborhood. She doesn’t have friends yet. You will be kind. Understood?”
There were nods and a “Yes, ma’am,” from Brady.
Pip said, “Is she pretty like P.C.?”
This won him an approving nod from P.C., and Pip’s proud papa wondered if a five-year-old little boy could possibly have that much guile. Grayson said, “Yes, she is. Ah, here they are, waiting for us.”
Max and Lily stood on the ancient deep stone steps, Max holding her hand. Grayson had assured Max Prithius was a night demon. He wouldn’t come today, not with a crowd of people, not in the bright daylight. All would be just fine. This was to be a day of fun for the children, Lily making new friends.
Tonight, though, Prithius would come, and they’d be ready for him.
After everyone was introduced, Grayson watched the children eye each other, and then slowly but surely, each began to talk, then they were talking over each other, some laughter, until Pip said in his clear child’s voice, “Lily, drop your cloak so maybe this bad demon Prithius will come and we will all pound him into the ground.”
Grayson felt the spit dry in his mouth. How had Pip known about cloaking and Prithius? Then he remembered—he’d written it all down, then read it aloud, refining his plans as he spoke. He didn’t doubt Pip had eavesdropped.
P.C. and Brady, even Lily, surrounded Pip, to his great delight, demanding to know what he meant by Lily dropping her cloak, and who was this Prithius, some silly French name? But it didn’t sound French, so maybe Russian? The three adults listened unmoving as Pip told P.C. and Brady what was happening, and amazingly he was relatively cogent. P.C. and Brady appeared to understand. The adults were holding their breath, dreading the worst, but like children with little experience with violence or mayhem, they took it in stride. As for Lily, she was studying each of them, watching their faces as Pip spoke.
When he finished, Lily said to Pip, “You’re smart.”
“Papa tells me I’m smarter than a groundhog in a field of daisies.”
Even though it didn’t make sense, Lily patted his shoulder. “You’re smarter than any groundhog.”
Max said, a dark brow arched up, “You’re right, Lily. Grayson, you have a very precocious son.”
Grayson said, “He also has big ears and never passes up a chance to eavesdrop.”
