Page 4 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“The wizard?” he asked. How long would it take Emily to sleep? They must be halfway home by now.
“The princess.”
“Viola.”
Emily nodded, satisfied.
“The evil wizard cursed Viola the fairy princess because he wanted to marry her and take her realm away from her.” Piers thought he detected a soft snore. He continued talking, hoping the rhythm of his voice would lull her. “The princess left and vowed she would never return to her kingdom until the evil wizard set her free of the curse. For years, she wandered alone. A human man fell in love with Viola and vowed to fight the wizard. The princess gave him a lock of her hair for good luck…”
He trailed off, thinking she might have closed her eyes. Alas, no.
“Did she beat him? The wizard?”
Still awake. Emily shifted, digging one bony knee into his side in the process.
“The lock of hair possessed magic powers—the lady was a fairy, after all—which the man used to disguise himself from the evil wizard. He stole the wizard’s staff and ordered him to lift the curse. But the wizard was cunning. The curse could only be lifted by the kiss of true love…”
Emily’s breath slowed beneath his hand. Asleep at last. Piers released a sigh of contentment.
The carriage halted.
The door opened, letting in cold air. Benjamin, the footman, wore a sheepish expression. “Sorry, sir. We’ve arrived, when you’re ready.” He shut the door.
“Did the man kiss her?” Emily shoved the wrap off her legs and squirmed down onto the floor.
“We’ll have to wait for the next ride to find out, won’t we?” he asked, motioning to his servant to let them out.
“To the museum?” she demanded. Piers, worn out from his offspring’s excessive energy and incessant fount of questions, simply nodded his assent. Emily bounded out, chattering at Benjamin as he led her to where the housekeeper awaited their arrival on the step.
“Soon, little one.” He turned to Miss Townsend, the unlovely but utterly patient young woman he paid to care for his most beloved.
“I see she didn’t nap.” The governess narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes, Miss Townsend, your services are still required this afternoon. I trust your headache is better?” Piers intoned with his best authoritative drawl. Tedious woman, though he appreciated her protectiveness—even when it was misdirected toward him.
3
Viola flungthe doors of the empty townhouse standing at 24 Hamilton Mews wide. Cold air swirled into the limestone edifice, billowing her skirts forward and pressing them against her calves.
Warm stockings weresucha luxury in cold weather. For how many years in Upper Cotwarre had she made do with patched, thin stockings which irritated the chilblains that had broken out on her hands and legs each winter? Viola vowed never to permit that to happen again. Matthew would get schooling, find an appropriate trade, and live his life in comfort while she lived here, with her sister when Harper and Edward were in residence and alone when they were not.
“Is anybody here?” Viola called. Only the echo of her own voice replied. The workers had mostly finished repairing the plaster, refinishing the wood floors, and installing new windows. The comforting smell of wood oil and beeswax permeated the cold rooms. No fires had been laid in anticipation of her arrival, for as yet, there were no servants. Viola had much to accomplish before her sister and brother-in-law returned to town in spring.
She strode into the foyer and latched the doors behind her. Without the cold December wind to animate the house, only her footsteps broke the silence.
Selecting furnishings had been a relatively simple process. During the two months she had spent in the country helping Harper acclimate to her new role as countess, Viola had made herself useful by requesting samples of wood and printed catalogs from the more established carpentry shops. Consulting with her sister had been simple.
“I like these,” Harper had said, circling the page numbers of the styles she liked.
Edward had been equally easy to please, if only because he was utterly indifferent to considerations like furniture.
“Whatever my wife wants. You’ve a frugal streak, Viola. I trust you to manage the orders without getting fleeced.” Edward had grimaced. “Certainly, more than I’d ever trust myself. All of this is new to me. I’m up to my chin trying to cope with Briarcliff’s accounts and deal with issues stemming from the burned townhouse.”
Considering the Earl’s height, that was piling trouble very high indeed.
Viola had placed orders for neoclassical furnishings from George Smith, in mahogany with blue, cream, and gold damask silk and gold braid trimmings. It would be delivered after the new year, which meant that Viola had until Christmas to finish installing wall coverings and select rugs. Then, there were the draperies, the silverwares, the linens, and so forth. The housekeeper at Briarcliff had given Viola a list of vendors and instructions and had offered to her advice on any decisions that needed to be made. Yet no matter how generous the earl’s purse, the task remained a daunting one.
Viola hoisted her skirts and trudged up the grand stairway. By the time she reached the first landing, she’d grown too warm for her mantle, but there was nowhere to hang it, so she kept it on.
