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Laughing, the cook looked up, her eyes widening as she caught sight of him standing there. “Mr. Pershing,” she squawked, jumping to her feet.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, deciding he might enjoy observing menu preparations more often. Fascinating things, they were, rather like planning a negotiation—or a battle. Emmeline made for a splendid hostess, but it had never occurred to him how much effort went into the preparation for something as… banal as a meal. And likewise, how much industry had gone into what he thought of as her obsession with his work. No wonder she didn’t smile as much as he remembered.
“That’ll do for the rest of the week, Mrs. Brubbins,” she said, closing her calendar book. “We’ll strategize again on Saturday.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pershing. Thank you.” The cook bobbed at Emmeline, whirled around and bobbed again at Will, then slipped out of the room.
“The agreement is ready, then?” Emmeline asked.
“It is.” Will shut the door behind him and strolled to the couch, where he sat beside her.
“I thought I might speak with Father John, and ask him if he knows of any local families willing to take in a brother and sister,” Emmeline said, twisting the ring on her finger.
“Be certain to tell him that any candidates should have their valuables under lock and key.”
“Will.” She scowled at him. “While I don’t approve of their past activities, if we continue to treat them like thieves, aren’t we forcing them to remain precisely that?”
Stacking the papers against his thighs, he sat back to gaze at her. “We’ve known each other for better than two decades, and we’ve been married for eight years. How is it that you’ve suddenly gained the ability to utterly astonish me?” In a given situation, she reacted in a given manner. Even the flights of fancy from her journal were well-orchestrated moments of darling behavior.
“Perhaps neither of us is as well-acquainted with the other as we thought,” she suggested.
The idea fascinated him. “Indeed. But what happened between pickpocketing and Rose stealing that spoon and now?”
“She gave it back to me. I don’t know if she or George realized that we’d noticed the theft, but she apologized, and quite prettily. And then we all got stuck together when Topper snorted on Rose and Willow drooled on George.”
Will looked at her, at the smile that touched her eyes, at her open, expressive hands as she demonstrated what she meant. “Attacked by horse spittle. That wasn’t in your journals, Emmeline.”
“No, it wasn’t. Honestly, I could never have imagined such a thing.”
“Surprise, the unexpected, aren’t always a bad thing, are they?”
“It depends on the setting.” She shifted a little. “I’ll admit, though, that parenthood, even this temporary parenthood, isn’t… I thought I would be terrified and horribly incompetent. My mother did tell me that women who can’t have children weren’t meant to be mothers, and that I should be glad I possess a talent for hostessing.”
He took her hand. “That is a bloody horrible thing to tell someone. Writing to tell her about baby Malcolm must have been supremely satisfying.”
“It was. I was very gracious about it.” Emmeline shrugged. “It was all a lie, of course, but at the time I was desperate. Now hopefully she will never realize just how much of a fraud I’ve been.”
“I knew Winnover meant a great deal to you,” he said, “but I’m beginning to realize it’s not just the property. You, my dear, seem to feel the need to be… perfect.”
She took a breath. “Looking at me—and our situation—now, I don’t think I could be any further from perfection. But I will, at least, see those children settled somewhere that meets with their approval. I don’t know if that qualifies as perfection, but it does seem the correct thing to do.”
“Yes, it does.” Will glanced toward the closed door. “I intend to abide by this bit of paper, legally binding or not. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Your idea of speaking to the pastor is a good one. While most of my connections are in London, there are a few letters I can send, discreetly mentioning some children who need a good home.”
Emmeline nodded. “A good idea, Will. The wider we cast our net, the better.”
He looked at her for a moment. “I want to say again that it’s pleasant to address you by your given name again. We are married, and we’ve been friends for a very long time. Aside from that, I’ve always liked your name, Emmeline. It reminds me of springtime.”
“I… Thank you.” A soft blush touched her cheeks. “But you used to call me Emmie.”
“Emmeline has more curves and shadows to it. And I’m beginning to realize you have more mystery to you than I knew. It suits you.” Her renewed sense of humor pleased him. The way she’d welcomed sticky hands despite her perfectly crafted faux children pleased him. She pleased him, when he’d stopped… hoping, some time ago. “So. Shall we find the Fletchers and sign our promises?”
“Yes.”
Conversation finished, but still he held on to her hand. Stop being an idiot, Will, he told himself. Then, before he could think better of it, he leaned sideways and kissed Emmeline on the cheek.