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Evie swatted her sister on the arm and gave her a look. “There can be only one Christmas Queen, Ari. And it’s Pippy.”
Ari pouted.
“There may be only one queen, but who’s to say there can’t be several Christmas Princesses?” Freddie stooped down and grabbed the last of the laurel branches, weaving two more crowns for his sisters. They were simpler creations, but the presentations were no less grand.
Ari giggled, which did not make Pippy feel better. It was appropriate for a girl of nearly thirteen.
When it was Evie’s turn, she tried to act the part of a young lady nearing the age to enter society. But in the end, she giggled too. Perhaps Pippy just needed to accept that the situation was nonsensical and, therefore, called for such a reaction.
“What is going on in here?” Lord Kentwood stepped through the front door, a scowl on his face. He pulled at the tips of his gloves and dropped them into his hat.
“We’ve just completed our task—that you were absent from,” Freddie said.
His father brushed his words aside. “I had business to attend to.” He handed off his coat and hat to the waiting footman as he stood and looked around the room, his head nodding slightly. “It looks…acceptable.”
Freddie’s eyes narrowed. “Acceptable? It looks damned fine.”
Pippy’s brows shot up.
His sisters gasped and covered their mouths with their hands.
His father looked neither amused nor shocked. Perhaps just disapproving.
“Phoebe and the girls have toiled for hours on these decorations. They deserve more than acceptable.” Freddie’s fists balled at his sides.
Pippy stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “The decorations may not be to everyone’s liking, Freddie. We had a glorious time making them together. That’s the most important part, is it not?”
His jaw clenched several times before he relaxed and looked at her. “I beg your pardon, my dear. I only wished for your effort to be recognized.”
His father cleared his throat. “I should think you have a good chance of winning the competition.” His gaze was only fleetingly on Pippy. “Well done.” He directed the comment at his daughters. With that, he turned and strode toward the staircase, tipping his head to the side as he studied their creations up close. His back was to them, so Pippy couldn’t see his reaction—which was likely for the best.
Freddie sucked in a breath. His muscles tightened beneath her hand resting on his arm.
“It’s fine, Freddie,” she whispered.
“It’s not. He completely disregarded your efforts.” His cravat fluttered from the air he breathed out through his nose.
She squeezed his arm. “He’s still coming to terms with our marriage. Give him time. I’m certain it will sort itself out.”
It was fustian nonsense, all of it. She had little doubt he would continue to dislike her. And she knew not a thing she could do about it.
Twelve
Freddie gave one last flick of his knife, sending the curl of wood flying to the ground.
They’d not won the decorating contest. But it really hadn’t been much of a contest—his aunt was named the winner. As such, she received a crown made of holly and chose the forfeits for the game after dinner. It was not the grand prize that had been promised, but Pippy had been disappointed. Freddie took the loss in stride and declared they need not attend the after-dinner activity. Indeed, he felt they truly had won the greater prize.
Freddie held up the small carved shield with the thistle and dragon etched on the front. Or at least he hoped it would look like a thistle and dragon once he added a little paint to it. Hopefully, this would help ease her disappointment.
He ran the piece of sharkskin over the shield one last time and smiled. The Scottish thistle and the Somerset dragon. He’d never thought the two would cross. But cross they had, and he found he rather liked the idea.
He ran his thumb over the smooth wood. He’d never make a living as a woodcarver, but given the short time and his limited skills, it looked very well indeed. And surely Pippy would enjoy it. At least the old Pippy—the ten-year-old Pippy—would have loved it. He only hoped his wife still had a bit of her old self in her.
He would employ his sisters to help him hide it. His stomach bubbled with excitement as he gathered the pile of small wooden disks and dropped them into the satin bag sitting on the bench beside him.
A quick dab of paint, and they could set out for the folly and place the tokens on the way. But he’d have to hurry if he didn’t want to be late collecting Pippy for church.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Gah! He did not have time to attend church this morning. It didn’t fit with his plans. But one did not miss church on Christmas morning. His aunt would surely ring a peal over his head if he tried.
