Page 94 of Something in the Heir
“You don’t want to know them,” she returned. “They’re full of regrets and poor decisions made far too long ago for anything to be done about them now.”
“I hope marrying me wasn’t one of those poor decisions.”
Emmie shifted to look him in the face. “I chose you because you could help me, and I could help you. I trusted you, and logically you made the most sense.”
“Th—”
“Over the eight years we’ve been married,” she continued over his interruption, “I… fulfilled my part of the bargain. Over the past few weeks, however, I’ve realized that I had a partnership, and not a marriage. I—you’re honorable, and witty, and warm, and… I just didn’t see it.” In fact, as she put it all into words, it seemed that after eight years she’d fallen in love with her husband.
“And I wanted a marriage, but settled for a partnership.”
“I know. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.” She swallowed. “Not too long, I hope.”
“No, not too long,” he murmured. “When our lives are back in order, though, how do we keep this?” With his free hand he gestured between the two of them.
What did she say to that? Could they maintain this easy intimacy when they no longer had a mutual challenge in front of them? “I don’t—”
“Do the cows have a place to go when it rains?” Rose asked, prancing into the drawing room. She’d worn her best pink gown again, despite Emmie’s reservations about whether it would still be wearable by the time they actually needed it. There must have been at least a dozen pink ribbons wound through her hair.
“The cattle don’t mind the rain,” Will said, letting go of Emmie’s hand and standing to bow.
Rose sank into a decent curtsy. “If I were a cow, I would be mad at the horses, because they get to be in the stable.”
The things this child thought of. “We’ll pay an extravagant amount of attention to the cows tomorrow, then,” Emmie suggested. “Perhaps an extra bale of hay? We can tell them it came from the horses.”
Pursing her lips in consideration, the little girl nodded. “That might do.”
George walked into the room behind his sister. Like her, he had worn his best things, a deep gray coat, a pale green waistcoat with a simply tied cravat, and brown trousers. Though they weren’t related, he looked very much like a miniature version of Will. If everything went as well as she hoped, no one would ever realize that George and Rose Fletcher weren’t Malcolm and Flora Pershing.
Good heavens, they might actually manage to fool everyone and keep Winnover Hall out of Penelope’s hands. After that… Well, she just wouldn’t think about it. Not yet. Caroline Fenmore hadn’t agreed, after all, and for all they knew she might never do so.
Emmie stood, curtsying. “Good evening, Malcolm,” she said with a smile. “And also to you, Flora.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Rose said, curtsying again. “I am Flora Pershing. And this is my brother, Malcolm Pershing.” She giggled. “I like that Flora means flower, and my name is Rose, which is also a flower.”
“Tonight, your name is Flora,” George pointed out. “You can’t say things like that, or you’ll get us stagged.” He winced. “You’ll get us discovered, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t say that in front of people,” his sister retorted. “I know I’m supposed to be Flora.” She wrinkled her nose. “But what do we call the duke? Grandpa Duke? Grandpa Malcolm?”
“You will call him Your Grace,” Emmie supplied. “If he wishes to be addressed in a more familiar manner, he will tell you so.”
Powell pulled open the far door. “Dinner is served,” he announced, ringing the small gong in his hand, and stood aside.
Rose clapped, but subsided when Will lifted an eyebrow at her. Her eccentricities could be a problem, but Emmie imagined that most five-year-olds were a bit silly. Stepping forward, Emmie took Will’s arm. With a sigh, George stuck out his forearm and Rose grabbed on to him.
“You’re escorting me,” she whispered.
“Yes, I know,” he said.
“Because I’m a lady.”
“Rose—I mean Flora—hush.”
“He said the wrong name!” Rose crowed.
“You’re not supposed to try to make me make a mistake. If we do, then the agreement’s off.”
That wasn’t strictly true, because she and Will were not going to send the children back to St. Stephen’s, regardless. “All we ask is that you do your utmost.”
