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He flipped through another few pages. “Malcolm may have begun walking today, though Mr. Pershing and I are in disagreement over whether they were an actual trio of steps or merely fortuitous stumbling. As I was the witness while he had to hear about the momentous event after the fact, my opinion, I believe, weighs more heavily.”
As he read on, he realized that Emmeline Pershing led two entirely different lives. The one he could see, with her efficient, deft hand serving up a perfect confection of conversation, food, and charm to influence his guests toward the conclusion he wished for, and the one he couldn’t see, which was filled with smiles and laughter, charming incidents carefully arranged in order to evoke enjoyment in whoever read about them in her letters, and a pair of darling little angels who said clever things and whose greatest misstep was getting mud on their clothes at the most amusing moment possible.
Will sat back. They had quite the task before them, if they meant to turn George and Rose Fletcher into the precocious and flawless Malcolm and Flora Pershing. And he’d be damned if he was going to remain the distant, work-consumed, barely involved Mr. Pershing of his wife’s stories. More than anything else, that man—and her view of him—annoyed him.
None of them were perfect, and she was about to discover that. And if her written version of him was rather… accurate, well, that stopped now. From this moment he meant to be a very different flesh-and-blood husband.
CHAPTER NINE
“You can’t keep it.”
Rose twirled the silver spoon in her hands. “Why not? I hid it perfect.”
Her brother pulled off his shoe and removed a gold pin with a green stone on one end. “I got this off that fat baron before Billet nicked us. I can keep it because nobody seen me do it.” He held it out to her. “You can have it. But you can’t keep the spoon because the Pershings saw you drop it on the floor. You should’ve seen Mrs. P’s eyes bug out like a frog’s.” He made his own big.
Giggling, Rose looked at the spoon. They could get a few pence for it, but if pretend Mama and Papa had seen her take it, it could mean the end of swording lessons, and she wanted those. “Should I put it back in the dining room?”
“No. You got to give it to one of them, and be sorry you done it. Then they can’t use it against us later to make us eat tomatoes or something.”
“Blech, tomatoes. I’ll give the spoon to the missus. She bought me pink dresses.”
She climbed out of the big chair by the fireplace in the room with roses on the walls, just like her name. Her bedchamber. The biggest place she’d ever had to herself. She did try to listen to George, even if she wasn’t a baby like he thought she was. They might have seen her get the spoon, but nobody knew about the little dog statue or the hairbrush or the three blue buttons she’d found in the dressing room she shared with George. Her favorite was the pin her brother had just given her, because the green stone was very shiny. Like a jewel. George could sell the other things if they needed to, but she was keeping the pin. It might have come from pirates.
She walked down the hallway to where the mister and missus had their two bedchambers, which still seemed odd. It was a big house, though, so maybe they had decided to take turns sleeping in every single room. That would be fun. Balling her fist, she knocked at the door on the left.
“Enter,” Mrs. Pershing said.
It abruptly occurred to Rose that if they’d seen her take the spoon, they might be mad at her. Oh dear. She inched the door open and peeked her head into the room. “This is yours? It’s very grand.”
The lady of the house sat in a chair beneath one of the windows. She didn’t look happy at all, but grown-ups spent a great deal of time not being happy. “It is mine,” Mrs. Pershing said after a few seconds. “Yellow is my favorite color.”
Rose gazed about the room, at the yellow-and-white-striped walls, the yellow bed hangings and yellow and green quilted spread, the big mahogany furniture, and the trio of windows bordered by green curtains along the back wall. “You have a lot of it. Yellow, I mean. And green.”
“Yes. Did you need something, my dear? I have a bit of a megrim.”
Holding her breath, Rose walked up to the chair, produced the spoon from behind her back, and set it into the lady’s hands. “I took this. George says we have to look after ourselves and you only needed some children for your house, but you feed us good and gave me some pretty dresses.”
“Well,” Mrs. Pershing whispered, closing her fingers around the spoon. “Thank you.”
No yelling yet, and that was good. “Are you still going to send us back to St. Stephen’s? Because George says I’ll end up being a Covent Garden nun, and he’ll just be a long-haul boy and then an out-and-outer, and I don’t want to be a nun. They frown all the time.” She screwed up her face into a dour scowl. “Like this.”
“I… don’t think a Covent Garden nun is the same as a church nun,” her pretend mama said, a sad look on her face. Then she smiled again. “I believe we can find better accommodations for you, Rose. I hadn’t realized the orphanage was so horrible.”
“Why not? You said you visited there.”
“Yes, I did.” Mrs. Pershing looked down at her hands for a minute. “I think I tried not to look too closely. I shall do better from now on. And I am sorry for not paying as much attention as I should have.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t know you then. Anyway, I would still like to learn to sword. And maybe ride a pony. I told George that, but he’s very stubborn.” She leaned closer to whisper. “I think he’s scared of horses.” Straightening again, Rose smoothed her skirt. “I’m not scared.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” the lady. “And whatever comes of it, we will try to make sure you and George enjoy yourselves here.”
The nuns would’ve made them stay in bed for three days, and given them nothing but water and stale bread. This was much better. “I thought you was mad at us.”
“I believe, my dear, that I am angrier with myself. You and your brother are not to blame for your circumstances. Or for your ability to survive them.”
“That sounds good. I have to go get ready to negotiate now.” Skipping, Rose left the room again, shutting the door behind her. George had been correct again; they had seen her nick the spoon, and they wouldn’t be able to get swords in the negotiation if she kept it. Next time she would be more careful and not get caught at all.
“You can’t say you’d trade us food for being proper, because you have to feed us, anyway.” George crossed his arms over his chest, just like Mr. P across the table from him. He could look like a negotiator, too.