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She nodded. “It could work,” she whispered back. “Well done.”
As they reached the duke’s large study, he bent down toward George. “It’s not ruined yet. Stay quiet and listen.”
The boy nodded, wiping tears from his face.
The duke took a seat behind his massive mahogany desk. Steepling his fingers against the well-polished surface, he nodded. “Sit down.”
With Rose on her lap and whimpering, Emmeline sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. Will gave the second chair to George, and he stood beside his wife, one hand on her shoulder.
“You made a mess of things, young man,” Welshire stated, glaring at George. “More importantly, you made a wreck of my house. Explain yourself.”
“I—”
“Malcolm and Flora have spent most of their lives with only each other for company,” Emmeline interrupted before George could confess anything. “And for much of that time, they’ve been quite ill. We make up tales, tell stories, things to keep their imaginations engaged and quell their boredom. Evidently Flora told one of our stories to the other children, and it got her teased. Malcolm stepped in to defend her when they began calling her a liar.”
“And a baby,” Rose added.
The duke pinned each of them with a hard look, no doubt meant to induce them to confess any falsehoods. Well, he’d chosen the wrong family to intimidate. Not one of them so much as blinked.
“Humph,” His Grace grunted. “A reminder, then: This party is about me. My legacy. I will not have it disrupted again. And especially not by your family, Emmeline, when I gave you such a generous gift, and you produced such sickly offspring. Any of your cousins would gladly take it from you if they could.”
“I am aware, Your Grace. Thank you.”
“Yes. Go now. And apologize to your betters, boy, for throwing food at them. Ramsey’s a damned viscount.” He snorted. “Your father works for the government.”
Emmeline stood and gestured at George to follow her. Not quite certain he’d heard what he thought he’d heard, Will followed them out to the hallway.
“And shut the door. I need a moment of quiet away from the vultures.”
Will pulled the door closed, then took Rose from Emmeline’s arms. “Well.”
“Well,” she echoed. “Evidently, we’ve done it.”
“But all the other children were calling us orphans and poor and stupid,” George muttered, his fists clenching again. “They know everything.”
“Knowing and being believed are two very different things,” Will said. “I suggest we change out of these egg-soaked clothes, take a walk to give everyone time to calm down, and then retreat to our rooms until dinner.”
“I ain’t apologizing.”
“No, you aren’t. We’re going to ignore it.”
“So, we won?” Rose asked, putting her hand on Will’s chin and turning his head toward her.
“I think we did.” There was still a chance they would be challenged, especially if Penelope Chase’s son told her about the conversation, but Emmeline had set the story perfectly, with a firm base and light details. “Emmeline has a way with words.”
Rose sighed. “Well, that’s good. I was worried you wouldn’t get to keep Winnover Hall, and we wouldn’t have done the agreement like we promised.”
Emmeline stopped midstep. For a moment he wasn’t even certain she was breathing. “Emmeline?”
With a blink she returned to life again, whipping around to face him. “I think I have a solution,” she whispered, and put her hands on his cheeks, cupping his face much as Rose had done. “Are you with me?”
“Always,” he murmured, his heart pounding.
She gave him a swift kiss before she released him again. “Come with me.” Gathering up her skirt, she not so much walked as marched back to the door of the duke’s study.
Rose pushed away from his chest, so he set her down, and she stomped after Emmeline, a lady in miniature. George went next, and he brought up the rear. Without even pausing to knock, Emmeline shoved open the door and walked back into the duke’s study.
“What the devil are you doing?” His Grace demanded, setting aside a half-empty glass of what smelled like whiskey.