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“A snooty one,” George corrected.
“Ah. I’m more concerned that you’re trying to break the agreement only a few days before the duke’s party. I’ve brought you some prospective parents, which is my part of the agreement. An agreement you signed, if you’ll recall.”
“I don’t care.” George shrugged out of Mr. P’s grip, but he didn’t try to run again. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. “I don’t want them.”
“You don’t even know them yet.”
“I don’t want to know them.” Squeezing his hands into fists, he tried to find the words to explain why he was so mad. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t say those words, either. “Just cross out that part of the agreement. We’ll go to the party, and then just leave us alone.”
“You know I can’t do that. We want you two to be safe and happy and… and loved, George.”
“Then why can’t we stay here?”
As soon as he yelled the words he turned around and rushed up the rest of the stairs. He didn’t want to see Mr. P’s face if he looked disgusted or annoyed or any of the other expressions that meant the Pershings didn’t want them, had never wanted them, and would be happy to see the last of them.
This time Mr. P didn’t chase him, so he ran into his bedchamber and closed the door, then crawled under the bed. Little spaces, dark spaces, were safer when you didn’t know where to go. Hopefully he’d made the Fenmores mad enough that they would leave and not come back, so the Pershings would have to start looking for a family to adopt them all over again.
Will sat on the stairs as George fled. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. The boy wanted to stay. George wanted him—him—and Emmeline to be his parents. The thing he’d been avoiding in his mind for weeks, the thing he and Emmeline never discussed, had now been spoken, and by an eight-year-old boy.
Warm wet plopped onto the back of his hand. For God’s sake, now he was weeping. He wiped at his cheek, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that he’d brokered agreements to open trade routes, thereby ending wars, and that the dilemma here was a small, insignificant one compared to that. Except that it wasn’t.
Pushing to his feet, he returned to the foyer, took another breath, and opened the morning room door. Rose and Patrick were gone, presumably to see the ponies. “I didn’t expect that. My apologies, Michael, Caroline. I’m certain he didn’t mean any of it, if that makes a difference.”
Fenmore shrugged. “I’ve been called worse. That doesn’t trouble me as much as the reason for it; the boy clearly doesn’t want to go with us.”
“He’s comfortable here. That doesn’t mean this is the best place for him. Emmeline and I have tried to figure something out, believe me.” He sat beside his wife, and she wrapped her hand around his arm. “They’re here because of lies, and those lies would remain with them if they stayed.”
Caroline sat forward a little. “They aren’t dangerous, are they? Michael said they grew up on the streets of London.”
“No, they’re not dangerous,” Emmeline answered. “They are very independent, however. With an exaggerated belief that they will do well if left to their own devices.” She sighed. “It will take them time to learn to trust you.”
“I have no worries about the little girl; she’s darling. But the boy…”
“They go together,” Will said, sounding sharper than he meant to.
“Will,” Emmeline murmured.
“You mentioned a thousand pounds a year to help us see to them. How long do you mean for that to continue? That is to say, until they come of independent age? Or until they marry? I just want everything to be decided before we make our decision.” Caroline sat back again.
Money. It always came down to that. Still, Will could see why she’d brought it up. Children were expensive, and the Fenmores were being asked to take on two more than they’d planned for. “We’ll set up a fund. The money will go to you, five hundred for each child, until they turn eighteen. At that time the money will go directly to them, for…” He glanced at Emmeline, who nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. “For the remainder of their lives.”
“That’s very generous, Will, for two children you’ve known for but a month.”
“They’re enabling us to keep our home. I—we—could do no less.”
Could they do more, though? That was the question that would keep him awake nights for the rest of his life. And it wasn’t as if the children were only gifting them with Winnover Hall; they’d also given him a wife who’d once again become the smiling, witty woman who’d tangled his heart practically from the moment he’d met her. He’d attempted to will himself out of love with her when she clearly didn’t love him back, but even so, he’d always admired her. Now, though, he couldn’t imagine being without her. Love. The children had brought it with them, somehow, and now they were sending them away.
The Fenmores put their heads together to confer, and Will faced Emmeline. “George asked why they couldn’t stay here,” he whispered. “I didn’t have a damned answer for him.”
“They’ll understand when they’re older,” she returned in the same low tone, her voice catching. “They would come to resent all the lies, and us. You know that, just as I do.”
He nodded. “I do know. And I still don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, Will. But I don’t have a better solution.”
“Neither do I,” he repeated. “Though I wish to hell I did.”
“We’ll take them,” Michael said into the quiet. “Hopefully they will eventually come to trust us as much as they do the two of you.” He stood, drawing Caroline up after him. “I don’t think we should stay, though; I doubt today will convince anyone of anything. What say you accompany them to Brockworth after you return from Cumberland? We don’t have the room to put both you and the children up, but there are some fine inns in the village.”