Alex laughed aloud. She was the sauciest creature! He had always liked females of the lower classes because they were much more natural than their social superiors, but this chit was in a category all her own as she recovered from her traumatic experience with amazing speed. “I begin to understand why you got into trouble with the Pomfrets. Not many households would be prepared for such frankness.”
“My wretched tongue!” she said repentantly. She took Miranda’s hand as they stopped at a busy street corner, and the child happily continued to hold it. “Indeed, Lord Kingsley, when I am back in service, I promise I shall be a model of discretion. But it feels sogoodto be free of that place!”
The rest of the trip was a pleasure to all three walkers—Captain Lord Kingsley could not remember when he had had such a good time. The streets were an ever changing kaleidoscope of activity, with musicians, peddlers, carriages, and beggars competing for attention. Christa and Miranda shared a childlike enthusiasm for the wonders around them, and Alex found it amusing that through the eyes of a foreigner and a child he was rediscovering the city of his birth. His substantial presence prevented the party from being overly molested by beggars and left him free to enjoy the French girl’s imaginative commentary as she explained the shops and businesses to the little girl.
The high point of the journey was Miranda’s round-eyed fascination with a good-natured performing bear so plump it could hardly stand on its hind feet to dance. After the dance, its master said, “Now, go into the crowd, Caesar, and find the prettiest lady.”
The bear obediently waddled into the crowd, straight to Christa. Alex was impressed that she stood her ground as the huge animal bore down on her, though she moved protectively in front of the child. Caesar was as friendly as the average spaniel, and soon both Christa and Miranda were petting him and scratching his ears.
Alex suspected that the beast was trained to go to the woman his trainer pointed out as having the most affluent escort, but he still tossed a coin to the bear leader. “Your bear has good judgment.”
“The best, my lord, the best,” the man said complacently as he pocketed the crown.
Miranda had to be persuaded that Kingsley House had no place for a bear before the journey continued. Stopping at a cook shop, Alex bought everyone hot meat pies that they could munch while moving, followed by fresh hot gingerbread in alphabet letters. Miranda solemnly picked out an M, a C, and a K from the vendor’s tray, then handed each of the adults an appropriate sweet cake.
They were almost back to Kingsley House when they passed a flower seller and Alex impulsively bought two bunches of violets, presenting them with a flourish to each of the ladies. With that gesture he won Miranda’s allegiance for life. Christa’s silver-gray eyes flew up to meet his in momentary alarm, but what she saw in his face must have reassured her. With a delicious gamin smile, she said, “Merci,” and tucked the nosegay into her bodice.
Alex was sorry when they finally reached St. James’s Square. Christa was exactly the sort of girl a sailor hopes to meet in a strange port: pretty, friendly, and uninhibited. But since she might become an employee, he curbed his improper thoughts. He hoped Annabelle liked her—the girl would be a pleasant addition to the household. Unfortunately, that would also place her completely off limits to him, more’s the pity.
Kingsley House was smaller than the magnificent Norfolk House on the other side of the square, but it was splendid by any reasonable standard. Both Miranda and Christa faltered a bit as they gazed up at the building, their handclasp tightening. The brief enchanted hour of freedom was gone; what kind of life waited inside?
The older man who opened the door appeared far more aristocratic than his easygoing employer. Alex handed over his hat and said, “I’ve found some people for the staff. May I present Miss Miranda . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.”
The child blushed, struck once more with shyness in the high-ceilinged entry hall. Christa intervened. “Her name is Miranda Hampstead, named for the village where she was found. She once told me she aspired to become a kitchen maid, so she might eventually learn to cook. Is that not so, Miranda?” The girl nodded vigorously.
“You heard the young lady, Morrison. Have we a situation for a kitchen maid?”
The bemused butler replied cautiously, “Well, I believe that a vegetable maid will be needed, but she must be approved by Monsieur Sabine, the new French chef.” There was a charged silence; cooks were notoriously temperamental even when they weren’t French.
Alex said, “Give Monsieur my compliments on his superb dinner of last night and tell him Miss Hampstead is commended to him by one of his countrywomen, Mademoiselle Christine Bohnet.”
Morrison looked unconvinced but murmured that they could certainly use more housemaids should Miranda prove unacceptable in the kitchen. The butler was becoming used to his new master’s odd starts; if he had decided to pick up new servants in the streets, what was a poor butler to do? He knew the boy was sound, in spite of his parents. Though lions couldn’t have drawn the admission from him, Morrison felt thirty years younger since Lord Kingsley had returned and opened the house.
As Miranda trailed trustingly off behind the butler, Alex turned to Christa and said, “Shall we find my sister, Annabelle?” Without waiting for a reply, he started up the sweeping Y-shaped staircase. At this hour of the day Annabelle was almost certainly in her sitting room sketching or writing letters. Sure enough, when he knocked at her door, a soft voice said, “Please come in.”
Alex was beginning to question the wisdom of bringing his sister an abigail that he had picked up like a stray kitten, so his voice was particularly breezy when he said, “Good afternoon, Belle. I have found an abigail for your consideration. This is Mademoiselle Christine Bohnet. She is French and comes very highly recommended.” He mentally qualified the statement—if nothing else, the girl was skilled at defending her virtue.
As Christa made a respectful curtsy, the two young women examined each other with curiosity and some misgivings. Miss Kingsley wore an unflattering black dress, but the slim figure, lovely face, and wonderful golden blond hair showed that she would be a mistress worthy of an abigail’s best efforts. But it was the younger girl’s apologetic expression that made Christa instinctively wish to help her. Her rescuer’s sister looked as if she needed a friend and ally as well as a skilled abigail, and Christa would be happy to fill those needs.
“It would be a pleasure to work for someone as lovely as Miss Kingsley,” Christa said warmly.
Annabelle was disconcerted by the bright-eyed creature her brother had brought home. The French girl had a contagious, elfin charm unlike any abigail Annabelle had ever seen, and she seemed very young. Her curly black hair was cut short in a style that might be au courant in Paris but was unusual in London. But the girl’s artless admiration was disarming, and she had none of the haughtiness common among the better lady’s maids.
Smiling shyly, Annabelle said, “Do you really think you could give me some town bronze? I fear I am sadly lacking.”
Christa said earnestly, “Miss Kingsley, you could not fail to make a maid’s efforts shine. My former employer . . .” She stopped and gave a delicate shudder, then began to circle Annabelle with a measuring eye.
“The new styles will suit you to perfection. When you emerge from mourning . . . you will carry all before you.” Casting her eyes heavenward, she clasped her heart dramatically. “Men will perish for love of you, and day and night they will beseech your brother for your hand. You will be atour de force!”
Both Kingsleys burst into laughter at the picture. Annabelle felt the first stirrings of excitement. She knew that she was too tall, too thin, too pale, for beauty; had her mother not told her so? Nor had she taken Alex’s compliments seriously—after all, he was her brother and doubtless wanted her off his hands. But this energetic young Frenchwoman seemed sincere in her compliments. Perhaps she really could make Annabelle presentable, and such warmth and good nature would be delightful to have around.
“I should be very happy to engage you, if you would truly like the position,” Annabelle. said. “Let me show you your room.” She stood and crossed to a door in the back of the room.
Relieved that the two young women seemed to have taken to one another, Alex said heartily, “I’ll just put Christa’s bag there and be on my way.”
They hardly noticed when he left.
“Christa?” Annabelle said musingly. Though it was usual to call a lady’s maid by her last name, she found herself asking, “That is very pretty. May I call you that instead of Bohnet? Somehow your surname seems . . . too formal for you.”
