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“And how does one do it?” he asked.

That was an excellent question, one she’d never put much thought into. “Well, with a blade. Something similar to a small knife. Only it is very straight.”

His brow creased. “Wouldn’t you cut yourself if you used a knife?”

“You certainly can, which is why you must always be very careful.”

His eyes brightened. “Can you show me?”

“No. I’m sorry, my dear,” Alice said, shaking her head. She could mimic the motion of shaving one’s face, but she had no practical experience and would likely do it all wrong. Then, when Joseph tried it, he’d only cut himself. Of course, Joseph would have his own valet by the time he needed to shave, but she didn’t want her son so dependent on money that he couldn’t even see to his own basic needs.

What Joseph needed was a father to show him the proper,safeway to shave.

His small face crumpled in disappointment, and Alice’s heart ached at the sight.

“Will you be home before Jane puts me to bed?” Joseph asked after a minute.

Mr. Clarke approached with Alice’s thickest pelisse, softest gloves, and a muff for added warmth.

She put Joseph down. “Not this time. Dinner parties usually go far later than little boys should stay up.” She reached out behind her, and Mr. Clarke helped her into the pelisse.

“But I want to hear the story about Father Christmas again,” Joseph protested.

Alice pulled on first one glove and then the other. “How about tomorrow night? I don’t have any dinner plans.”

“Very well.” He dragged out the words, clearly disappointed.

“Don’t look so sad, dearest,” she said, kneeling down to be eye level with him. “You and Ponto will have fun while I’m away, I’m sure of it.” She shot the ever-growing puppy a look. Ponto was supposed to be keeping Joseph’s mind off needing a father. That was the reason she’d first gotten him for Joseph earlier that year.

“Ponto wants to run outside.”

Hearing Joseph say his name, the dog barked and stood on all fours once more.

“I know, but it’s far too cold for a little puppy.” Alice hated how often she had to say no to him.

“He’s not so little anymore,” Joseph insisted.

“He has grown, but he’s still a puppy. The snow will hurt his paws, and the cold air isn’t good for his lungs.”

“I’ll let him wear some of my old boots.”

Alice kissed Joseph on the forehead. “Not today.” Ponto whimpered, nuzzling up closer to her. Alice leaned down and kissed him on the top of his head as well. Silly pup, he may be adorable, but he was completely failing at his one and only responsibility in their house. Perhaps it was time she took him aside and spoke to him.

Mrs. Clarke swept into the entryway. “Tell your mother good night, Master Joseph, then hurry upstairs. Jane is waiting for you in the nursery.”

“Good night, Mama.” Joseph kissed her on the cheek then bolted up the stairs, Ponto barking and dashing after him.

Alice stood and took the muff from Mr. Clarke. “I do hope he behaves tonight. I’m afraid if he keeps being so wild, we will lose Jane.”

Mrs. Clarke shook her head. “Nonsense. Jane is as fond of that boy as the rest of us are. Don’t you fret. He’s only excited because Christmas is coming. All boys act this way now and then, and Jane knows it. Now,” Mrs. Clarke held out the brown paper-wrapped package Alice had asked her to prepare. “You run along and have a grand time tonight.”

Alice turned away from the stairs and took the package, holding it between herself and her muff. “Thank you.” It was not common for the mistress of a house to be so close to her staff, but Alice had never had many friends, and when life had left her widowed and alone, it was Mr. and Mrs. Clarke who’d first bridged the gap between their stations, figuratively putting their arms around her and caring in a way she’d never experienced before.

She took a few steps toward the door, and Mr. Clarke opened it, his usual smile as bright as ever.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Alice found herself saying. “I sincerely believe Lord Robins is only soft on me because of my wealth, and I know not another soul at Cresthearth Manor who cares two straws for me.”

Mrs. Clarke placed a hand against her back, urging her forward. “And yet, you don’t wish to appear snobbish by refusing your first dinner invitation.”

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