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“It’s in the agreement.” Shrugging, he went back to scrawling letters.
Considering how adamant he’d been about not returning to St. Stephen’s, or even London, and how much effort he’d put into not being separated from Rose, his nonchalance now was a little surprising. Emmie hid a scowl. It was unexpected if they actually meant to abide by the agreement, she amended.
This was a clever, wily young man, and he probably had a plan at the ready for things she couldn’t even imagine. If he wasn’t concerned about which family might adopt them, then he’d already decided they weren’t going to be adopted.
Tapping the pencil against the table, she watched him copy words. “You know, you should learn numbers, as well,” she mused aloud.
George sat back. “Numbers? We didn’t negotiate that. And I already gave you dancing.”
“We never discussed baths,” she returned.
“Baths?”
“If you’re going to own a shop, you should know numbers. How much money customers will give you, and how much change they should get back. What things cost, and how to make a profit.”
Glancing from her to the window, outside which Rose was finally imitating an actual fencing position with Will, George made a face. “Numbers is important.”
“Yes, they are.”
“How many baths?”
“However many we think you need. You and Rose.”
He sighed. “Do we need to make another agreement?”
“We can just shake hands on it, I think. No spitting, though.”
“We might get stuck together again.” With a brief grin he held out his hand, and she shook it. “Baths for numbers.”
“Baths for numbers.”
Will wiped the remaining shaving cream from his chin and set the cloth back on his dressing table. His gaze remained on the mirror in front of him—or rather on the fireplace mantel in the mirror’s reflection.
“Davis,” he said, as the valet helped him into his jacket, “did I not have a blown-glass bird on the mantel? The one I brought back from France this spring?”
The stocky valet turned around and looked. “Yes, sir. The blue and red one. It was right there. I… I shall notify Powell that someone on the household staff either broke or stole an item from your private rooms.”
“Let’s not do that,” Will countered, turning around. “I think we both know who the most likely culprit—or culprits—are.”
Color touched Davis’s cheeks. “I would never presume to—”
“Davis. I’m not about to sack one of the staff because Rose, most likely, took a fancy to a glass bird.”
It meant the little one had snuck into his private rooms, and while he wasn’t happy about that, he also knew he’d been the one to suggest borrowing children from the orphanage. Complaining about the consequences of such a rash action felt petty.
“As you say, sir.” The valet looked toward the small table beside the window. “That scrimshaw box of your grandfather’s, Mr. Pershing, is a delicate, lovely item if I may say so.”
Will followed his gaze. The box had been sitting there for eight years, since he’d made Winnover Hall his home. The table was in the corner, and the box one of several items displayed there, but at the same time… “Let’s put that in the wardrobe for a time, why don’t we?” he suggested. “Beneath the neckcloths.”
“Yes, sir.”
While he had faith in this experiment, he wasn’t an idiot, either. “Thank you.”
He left his bedchamber and started down the hallway. Emmeline’s door was already open this morning, which would have been unusual except for the fact that everything about the household was now unusual. He’d slipped out of his room twice last night himself, just to make certain the children remained where they’d been deposited at the end of the evening. She’d told him about her conversation with George, and his worry over both Rose being adopted without him and of neither of them being chosen.
George’s door was open, as well, but Rose’s was shut as he passed by. He hesitated, then backtracked and walked into the boy’s bedchamber. “George?”
Nothing. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Will crossed the room, squatted down, and opened the boy’s blanket chest. As he’d suspected, several items from both Pershing House and Winnover Hall lay inside. Small things that weren’t worth a great deal, but that all together would no doubt buy food enough to keep an eight-year-old boy and his five-year-old sister from going hungry for a time. No robin, but that would be in Rose’s chest, no doubt.