“Come in,” she called after he knocked.
Leopold opened the door and had to consciously keep his mouth from dropping open. The very image he’d imagined earlier that morning all but manifested before his eyes.
The warm fire. The crocheting.
The woman.
He had been prepared for her to lob a shoe or a vase or some other weapon at his head the very moment she saw him, but she simply glanced up with a timid sort of smile before dropping her gaze back to her hands.
He closed the door behind him and inhaled. This was, perhaps, worse than if she’d been outright angry with him. But before he could begin his apology, her words cut him off.
“I didn’t mean to offend you earlier,” she said.
“Offend me?” No matter how prepared he thought he was, he could never quite anticipate what would come out of her mouth next. “How did you offend me?”
And then she lifted her hands, showing the project she’d obviously been working on for some time. It looked like a… toad?
“Talking about the toys—the foundling hospital. But I’d like to explain.” And then she gestured to a nearby chair. “Won’t you sit down?”
He hadn’t intended on spending any more than one or two minutes having this discussion. Even if she’d temporarily abandoned her strict adherence to genteel behavior, Leopold could hardly ignore that this was her bedchamber. And dash it all, she was a lady.
But he could hardly refuse her request. So, intentionally averting his gaze from the large, canopied bed on the opposite side of the room, he did as she asked.
Besides, she’d managed to pique his interest.
“It’s clever.” Leopold flicked a glance to her hands. “I like the warts.”
“Oh.” She did nothing to hide her pleasure. “Thank you. At first, I tried making frogs, but the legs proved problematic. Frogs have skinnier, longer legs, and I couldn’t get them to hold their shape. Most people think frogs are prettier, but while researching both, I must admit I am partial to the toad.”
This was not the conversation Leopold had expected to be having, but he didn’t mind it. Feeling more relaxed than he had all day, he reclined into the chair and rested his left boot on his right knee.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Toads look more regal, don’t you think? And their eyes are like jewels.” Her hands continued making the same motion, a slow, rhythmic circle. She was creating this little animal from nothing but yarn and her hook. It was oddly mesmerizing.
“What do you use to give them eyes?”
She stopped just long enough to draw his gaze back to hers—inviting blue, firelight flickering in the reflection like a dance.
“I have a jar of beads at home. If none of those seem appropriate, I’ll try buttons.”
“Ah…” He couldn’t help but admit, even if only to himself, that it was adorable.
Hell,shewas, in fact, adorable.
“I try to make every one of them special.” She sounded so earnest. “I can’t meet all the children who get them, but I hope they can tell that I made their toys with love. It’s the only way I know to show them that someone cares—that I care.”
Leopold swallowed hard. Much more of this and he’d be sobbing into her skirts.
And that wasn’t why he’d come. Not even close.
“You didn’t offend me,” he said, that guilt gnawing silently.
“You don’t think this”—she lifted her hands—“is frivolous? I thought…”
And then he realized. They’d been discussing the crocheting, she’d mentioned the toys, right before he’d had to get himself out of there.
“No, I don’t.”
