The next few days were a whirlwind of activity and utter pandemonium. Elspeth, determined to involve the children,decided they would make the decorations for the charity event. That would be a way to have their presence known without so much… well, presence. She brought a dozen of the orphans to Arrowfell House, much to the horror of his staff and the dismay of the Dowager Duchess. She was especially sensitive after the frog incident.
“Now, boys,” Elspeth instructed, her sleeves rolled up, her hands already covered in glue and glitter. “We are making paper flowers! Like this!” She demonstrated, her fingers surprisingly nimble.
“You are very good at crafts, Lady Inverhall,” one of the boys cooed, looking up at her with wide eyes. “I like doing crafts with you and being in this grand house. Do you live here with the Duke?”
“You must refer to him as His Grace,” Elspeth corrected, giving him a wink. “But aye. For the time bein’, I am under his care. And ye are under me wing, so we must get on with these decorations!”
“Sure, Lady Inverhall,” John said with a laugh.
Oh goodness, Elspeth sighed inwardly as she left to fetch some more supplies.
Her suspicions were correct. The children very much had their own ideas. Paper was crumpled and littered across the floor, glue was smeared on everything but the designated surfaces,and the glitter she had splurged on, that insidious, pervasive substance, seemed to multiply exponentially.
She stifled a groan, thinking of poor Mrs. Whipple and the maids having to clean it.
Within an hour, the grand drawing room was an absolute riot of color and chaos, rivaling a war. A string of paper chains hung precariously from a chandelier, a giant, lopsided paper flower adorned a bust of Hugo’s stern-faced ancestor, and a small boy was attempting to snort a handful of glitter.
The boys had begun to run then, shouting unintelligible words as they chased each other.
Somehow, nothing had been broken. Well, not yet.
Hugo, entering the room to find his ancestral home transformed into an utter mess, turned positively pale. His light brown hair, usually so neat, seemed to stand on end. He clenched his fists at his sides.
“What in the name of all that is holy is this?” he gritted out, his eyes wide with horror as he surveyed the disarray.
A paper bird, haphazardly glued, fluttered down from the ceiling and landed on his shoulder. He looked at it and flicked it off with a finger.
Elspeth, covered in glitter and beaming, looked up at him. “Decorations, Yer Grace! For the charity event! Are they nae splendid? Of course, there is a little work to do with the cleanin’ up and gettin’ things together, but with a?—”
“Splendid?” Hugo roared, gesturing wildly to the glitter-stained carpet. “My house looks as though a flock of demented ducks has descended upon it!”
“Well, ye did say ye wanted me out of yer hair,” Elspeth reminded, her voice deceptively sweet. “And this is how I intend to do it. By winnin’ this competition, I’d be a more desirable match and thus secure a husband. But to be able to do that, I need to make this event a success. And to make it a success, I need to involve the children. Which, as ye can see, requires a certain… hands-on approach.” She gestured to the chaos. “So, if ye would be so kind, Yer Grace, perhaps ye could assist in managin’ thecreative energyof our young artists? We could use an extra pair of hands to prevent young John from attempting to glue his ear to the table.”
This is ridiculous.
Hugo stared at her, then at the children, then at his ruined drawing room. He opened his mouth to protest, to issue a ducal decree of immediate cessation, but the sight of Elspeth, her face smudged with glue but glowing with a genuine, infectious enthusiasm, gave him pause. He had fought her so long, every whim and every word.
He looked at the children then. He saw the way they looked at her, their unruly energy tempered by a surprising obedience when she spoke.
“This is madness, Lady Inverhall,” he warned, his voice still tight with exasperation, but a hint of something else, something softer, began to creep in. “Your unconventional methods will backfire. The ton will never accept this.”
“Perhaps nae,” Elspeth relented, meeting his gaze. “But I refuse to throw an event that excludes those it is meant to help. We will do it me way. And if it backfires, at least I will have done it with a clear conscience. Can ye at least give me that?”
“Very well,” he said with a clipped tone.
Very well? Even I am surprising myself.
Despite his continued warnings and his outward exasperation, Hugo found himself drawn into the chaos. He barked orders at the children, his voice surprisingly effective at directing their energy. To his astonishment, he even found himself helping a small boy untangle a string of paper flowers, his large hands surprisingly gentle.
“You cannot be so rough with it, Hugo,” he advised the boy with whom he shared a name. “If you just continue to work it like this, you will find it much easier. Does that make sense?”
“It does, Your Grace,” the boy said as he untangled the paper chain he held in his hand. “Thank you so much, Your Grace!”
Hugo rose then and walked to the corner of the room. From there, he watched Elspeth. Her patience seemed endless, her laughter echoing through the room as she guided the children.
“All right, I think this will be long enough,” she declared as she attached pieces of the paper chain together and held it up. “Ye’ll all have a career in party plannin’ if ye keep at it! I am proud of ye all. We will have to have some refreshments brought in!”
Just then, Mrs. Whipple ushered in the maids, who carried in boxes of the sweets Elspeth had purchased a few weeks ago. She could not have known she would need them for this occasion, yet something about it struck Hugo.
