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“Oh, my arse is going to be that from now on,” Rose said gleefully. “My sit-upon.”
“My sit-upon is going to sit upon a chair.” George gave a half skip.
Goodness. That was very nearly frolicking. Emmie laughed. “Well said, George. But you are going to have to learn to dance. I would hate for us to be at the party and have someone call for a dance—and you have to stand there while all the other children take to the floor.”
“I wouldn’t hate that,” he countered. “But I signed my name to the agreement, and I keep my word.”
Once again Emmie sent up a silent thanks that Will had thought of an agreement. For that, at least, she remained grateful. Then she pushed open the double doors marking the beginning of the east room—and decided she might have been a bit harsh in her mental criticism of her husband.
A trio of musicians sat in one corner, Will standing before them and speaking in a low voice. All the windows were open, and light flooded into the large room. The servants had moved the tables and chairs to the extremities of the room, and they’d rolled up the long, narrow Persian carpet and stood it upright in one corner.
Her husband turned to look at her, and then sketched a slight bow. “I thought this might serve us better than clapping the time.”
“Oh, much better,” Rose said, before Emmie could answer. The girl pranced up to the musicians. “Hello. I’m Rose.”
“I’m Jerry,” the man with the violin responded, until the other two shushed him. “I didn’t want to be rude,” he whispered.
Will cleared his throat. “I’ve explained that we’ve been tasked with teaching our niece and nephew to dance,” he said in a voice that would carry to all the staff still filing into the room, “and these gentlemen kindly agreed to delay their journey to Gloucester by a day in order to play for us.”
“Oh! I’m so happy I’m going to faint!” Rose exclaimed, and gracefully collapsed to the floor.
“Aunt Emmie wishes you would mind your dress,” Emmie said, keeping a smile on her face.
Rose sat up. “That’s not a real smile,” she declared, pushing to her feet again.
“No, I don’t suppose it was,” Emmie admitted. “But then I’d hate for your gown to be ruined before you get to show it off to everyone.”
While Rose busied herself with making certain all of her shiny beads remained in place, the orchestral trio tuned their instruments and George walked over to watch. Emmie hoped he wouldn’t decide he needed to learn the violin in addition to reading and drawing.
“Did I overstep again, hiring musicians?” Will murmured from directly beside her.
“You happened to stumble upon them at the inn, waiting for the northbound coach, did you?” she countered.
“Perhaps I happened to have advance notice that Lord Sheffield is holding a party tomorrow evening in Gloucester,” he said, “and that the musicians were to arrive today.”
“Another of your connections, then?”
“Yes.”
“It’s brilliant,” she said.
“Thank you.” Will hesitated. “And I apologize for earlier. Neither of us had any preparation for this situation. You’ve been superb from the beginning—from before the beginning—and I remain in awe of your talents.”
“That would have been a much more pleasant conversation,” she whispered.
“Yes, well, we insulted each other. You required an apology. I did not.”
With that he turned away and motioned to the musicians. The violinist tapped his foot three times, and a lively country dance filled the grand room. George took a step backward, as if the noise surprised him, while Rose leaped into the air and began twirling. Emmie kept her gaze on her husband.
She’d implied that he was frivolous where the children’s wishes were concerned, but that was certainly true. Fencing for Rose? Encouraging painting for George? If the decision had been hers alone, she could have found more practical entertainments for them. Something amusing, but useful. How to play hide-and-seek without fleeing into the woods, or playing a game of cricket without using the bat to bash other children. Pitching pennies and not stealing everyone’s winnings. That sort of thing.
Pointing out the truth of something wasn’t an insult. What he’d said to her, though—at its base, that she was a cold fish who only cared that the Fletcher children showed well at Welshire Park—of course that required an apology. The very idea that she only cared about the results and not the youngsters made her angry.
She wasn’t a cold fish. She did care if the little ones were happy and well looked after and had better prospects in the future than they’d begun with. For heaven’s sake, she’d arranged for Father John to come visiting this afternoon so she could speak to him about that very thing.
Rose grabbed her hand. “I need to know the steps,” she squealed, “or I’m going to burst into flames!”
Shaking herself, Emmie nodded. “Of course. That’s why we’re here. To keep you from catching fire.”