The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(34)

Evie had lost her first tooth on the voyage from Barbados. He’d no idea what had become of it. “We’ll just have to do our best with this tooth,” he said. “I bet Mrs. Poole will know. We’ll ask her when she returns.” It was her afternoon off.

Fresh tears spilled from Evie’s eyes. “Papa, I’m nervous. Can’t we find someone to help?”

Nervous. That was a word he didn’t like to hear from Evie. She didn’t suffer from the same frustrations he’d felt as a child—the behavior that had earned him the nickname “Bran the Defiant”—but when she was very agitated, as she was now, she became inconsolable. She’d begun to signal these episodes by saying she was “nervous.”

He scrambled for a solution, and the words Evie had uttered a moment ago rose in his mind: vitally important. That phrase reminded him of Mrs. Shaw.

But of course. It was too simple. “How about we go to the Kendals’? I bet the Duchess or Mrs. Shaw could help us.”

Evie’s tears slowed, and she wiped the back of her free hand over her cheeks. “Yes, Papa. Let’s go at once.”

“Just as soon as we’re properly dressed.” He tickled her toes, eliciting a soft giggle that sounded like music to him.

After placing Hudson in charge of the household, which caused a few raised eyebrows but thankfully no outbursts such as the ones demonstrated by Foster and Kerr, who were busy packing their things, Bran drove Evie to the Kendals’ town house in his phaeton.

They were disappointed at the door, however, when Abbott informed them that the family was out. Crestfallen, Evie asked if that included Mrs. Shaw.

“Actually, it does not,” Abbot answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Would you like me to see if she is available?”

“Oh yes, please.” Evie bounced with barely suppressed energy.

Abbott ushered them inside. “Wait here in the hall.”

As it happened, Mrs. Shaw was just descending the staircase. Her gaze fell on them. “Good afternoon, my lord, Evie.” She smiled. “I’m afraid Becky and the others are at the park.”

Bran stepped forward, his hand resting against the back of Evie’s neck. He could feel the slight tremor that coursed through her. “That’s all right, I’m certain you can help.”

Evie ran to Mrs. Shaw with her hand extended. “I’ve lost my tooth, and Foster said we have to burn it with a special ceremony or something, and we don’t know what that is. Mrs. Poole is off this afternoon. And my first tooth wasn’t burned at all. I lost it on the ship, and now I don’t know where it is. Foster said I would have bad luck, especially since it was my first milk tooth.”

Bran walked up beside them at the base of the stairs and saw that Evie’s lip was trembling and that tears had gathered in her eyes. He caressed the back of her neck once more and said soothingly, “Foster is full of stuff. Mrs. Shaw will help us.” He looked at Mrs. Shaw expectantly, hoping she actually could help them. His muscles grew taut as he awaited her response.

Mrs. Shaw squatted down to Evie’s level. “Yes, Foster is full of stuff. Let me see.” She looked at Evie’s mouth.

Evie lowered her lip again to show her the new gap.

“Impressive.” Mrs. Shaw gingerly picked up the tooth from Evie’s hand. “The first thing we must do is rub the tooth with salt.”

“But what about my first tooth?” Evie whined, her forehead creased with worry. “Foster said I would have terrible bad luck for ever and ever because I didn’t burn it.”

Mrs. Shaw frowned. “Foster is misinformed and ought not speak of things she clearly doesn’t understand. Burning a tooth is important here in England, but you didn’t lose your tooth in England, did you? The rules do not apply to that tooth.”

Hope leapt into Evie’s gaze while gratitude and wonder stole over Bran’s soul. “They don’t?” Evie asked.

Mrs. Shaw firmly shook her head. “Absolutely not. Everyone knows this. Well, everyone who isn’t Foster, apparently.”

The corners of Evie’s mouth crept into a small smile. “Papa dismissed her.”

Mrs. Shaw’s gaze found his. “Good for your papa,” she said softly, and Bran felt another tremor deep within himself. “Come, let’s go to the kitchen. I wager Cook will be delighted to help us.”

Of course she would, Bran thought. She made marzipan with children. He ought to ask if she had a sister since he was about to be in the market for a cook. Now that he’d dismissed Kerr and Foster, he was keen to be rid of her too.

Mrs. Shaw took Evie by the hand and led them down to the kitchen. The cook, a tall, slender woman with dark hair and bright gray eyes greeted them with a smile.

“Well, if it isn’t Lady Evie.” Her voice carried a slight Irish lilt. “What brings you here today? It’s not time for marzipan yet.”

“No,” said Mrs. Shaw. “We’re here on another errand. Lady Evie has lost a milk tooth, and we need to salt it.”

The cook’s eyes shone, and she grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of rather crooked teeth. “Do you know what song you’re going to sing?” she asked Evie.

Evie glanced at Bran, her brow furrowed again, before she looked to Mrs. Shaw. “You didn’t say anything about singing.”