Her Secondhand Groom(32)
“I didn’t,” she said, blinking her innocent eyes at him. “That’s how you always look.”
A peal of infectious laughter rent the air, and a tight coil formed in Patrick’s stomach. He glanced at Juliet. She wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on her canvas instead. He reached forward to pluck it from the portable easel she was using. “Papa,” Kate said, shoving her indecipherable painting in front of him. “What do you think of my painting of Juliet?”
Patrick dropped his hand from the edge of Juliet’s canvas, and his eyes bored into the image in the middle of Kate’s. That was not a picture of Juliet. It couldn’t be. The hairy, angry, ravenous bear was a closer resemblance to him than Kate’s...uh...he couldn’t even describe what it looked like, was to looking anything like Juliet. It was just a few uneven lines and several blobs as far as he could tell. “It’s lovely,” he murmured, turning his head away before she could ask anything else.
Kate tapped him vigorously on the shoulder with the bottom edge of the canvas. “Do you think I captured her figger right?”
“Her what?” he spewed, snapping his head around to look at her.
Shrugging, Kate said, “Her figger.”
Patrick blinked at his little girl, speechless.
“Kate, I believe the word you mean to use is figure,” Juliet said, her voice terribly uneven.
Patrick swallowed and chanced a glance up at Juliet. Though her eyes didn’t have the light in them he’d seen earlier, there was no denying she was on the verge of laughter. “Poppet,” he said thickly, turning his attention back to Kate. “Your picture is quite splendid.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Kate said, beaming.
He patted the top of her head. “You’re welcome, poppet.” He turned his attention back to the mirthful Juliet. “Can I see y―”
“Papa, do you think I made her fluffies right?”
“Pardon?” Patrick choked, gasping for air. Her fluffies?
“Papa, your eyes are bigger than the wolf’s in the story Juliet told us,” Kate commented, her voice full of wonder and her eyes just as big as he imagined his looked.
Patrick beat his chest with his fist. “Sorry,” he muttered when he felt composed enough to talk. “I was merely shocked.”
“Shocked?” Juliet queried, the light pink tint on her cheeks the only telling sign of her discomfort with the conversation.
He nodded. “Yes. I had no idea my little girl knew what fluffies were.”
Juliet opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by more misguided innocence from Kate. “They’re the fluffy things Juliet keeps hidden in her dress here and here,” she said proudly, tapping her chest to indicate just where these fluffy objects were located.
Patrick blinked. “That’s quite enough, Katie love. Why don’t you go paint some flowers or something. I need to have a word alone with Juliet.”
“Excuse me for a moment, girls,” Juliet murmured, wiping her fingers on a damp handkerchief. “Finish your paintings so when I’m done we can have tea.”
“Would you care to explain what you’ve been teaching my girls?” Patrick asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the girls.
Juliet blinked at him. “We’re painting. I’m sorry if the portraits they have painted were not what you would have liked for them to paint. I wanted them to become familiar with using paints before asking them to focus on painting―”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” he broke in. “Why is Kate openly talking about breasts?”
Though Juliet’s face turned crimson, she inclined her chin. “She’s not. She’s talking about fluffies.”
He penetrated her with his stare. “And what do you think fluffies are?”
“There’s no need to be condescending, Lord Presumptuous.” She twisted her lips and looked out over the gardens before turning her attention back to him. “She’s only five. She’s just being a little girl.”
“I wasn’t aware little girls had interest in breasts,” he retorted. He knew for certain boys did. He remembered that part of his boyhood very well. But girls? No. They probably didn’t even notice their existence until they started developing. A knot formed in his stomach. Just when did they start developing? Kate was too young, but what about Celia? His blood froze in his veins. Not Celia. She was too young still. She couldn’t be maturing that way yet. Could she?
“You’re not even listening to me,” came Juliet’s voice, penetrating his thoughts.