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The boy backed away, his hands going behind his back. “Not me.”
“I’ll waltz with you,” Rose stated.
“The two partners have different steps, my dear. Each of you should have an experienced partner.”
“I ain’t doing it until I see it.” George plunked himself into a chair. “I heard a man can get a woman pregnant dancing the waltz with her.”
“Ah. No,” Will finally contributed. “Not unless you’re doing it very, very badly.”
Emmie shot him a look, rather grateful that James wasn’t there to say something worse. “That isn’t amusing. No, George, a waltz, well or poorly done, will not cause a woman to be with child.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Will snapped back. “I forgot; there’s no time for fun or amusement in this household. Back to work, then. Dance, children. Dance.”
“But I want someone to show me, too,” Rose said, her face scrunching into a scowl. “I want a baby, but I’m still too little.”
The pregnancy-through-waltzing story must have come from Deirdre at the orphanage—the girl seemed to have a theory about nearly everything. Before she could consider a better response to it, Will walked up to Hannah and flipped open the music box. As the tinny sound of a German waltz tinkled into the room, he strode up to Emmie, took her hand, and half pulled her into his arms.
“Rose, watch Emmeline’s feet,” he instructed. “George, watch mine. The steps repeat, so once you learn the first six, you’ve learned the entire dance.”
As he spoke, he demonstrated, leaving Emmie no choice but to join him or be spun to the floor. Previously he would never have dragged her into anything without first asking her permission, or without them already having coordinated an entire evening to decide with whom they would be dancing each dance. Given his lowered opinion of her, he evidently no longer felt it necessary to bother with coordinating. Or asking permission.
“You’re supposed to be encouraging them to participate,” he muttered, his mouth close by her ear. “Or is dancing too frivolous now?”
“What?” she whispered back, hiding a scowl behind a much-practiced smile. “I suggested the dancing lessons, if you’ll recall.”
“Ah. Dancing is acceptable, then.”
Whatever this was, she didn’t like it. She was the one who’d been insulted, even if he’d done it behind her back. Meeting his glare straight on, Emmie kept the smile on her face. “In the future,” she whispered, “it would be helpful to the cause if you didn’t inform the children that I see them as a disruption and can’t wait to be rid of them. I never in my entire life thought of you as cruel, Will Pershing. Even if you meant to hurt me, there was no reason to do that to the little ones.”
“‘Cruel’?” he repeated. “No, you made it quite clear that you think of me as a charming, whimsical fool. Which is odd, since you previously didn’t think I owned an ounce of whimsy. And don’t you dare lecture me about carrying tales to the children. I know full well you gave them your opinion of me.”
Emmie blinked. “What the devil are you talking about? I told you to your face that I envy you your charm and ease with the children, and I have never said a cross word about you in front of them, no matter the provocation.”
As they argued they twirled about the room, faster and faster, the pace of the music box left far behind. Peripherally she noted that Hannah had set the mahogany box in a chair, and that she and the children had joined hands and fled the room.
“Is envy why you—What do you mean, you’ve never said anything cross about me in front of the children?” Will demanded. “George told me precisely what you said. Do not lie t—”
“I am not lying. And George told me what you said that I said, which I didn’t say, so pray climb down from your pedestal and—” She stopped midsentence. This disagreement had one thing in common: George Fletcher.
At the same moment, Will stopped their dizzying dance around the room, though he kept his grip on her waist and one hand. “George,” he said out loud, making the name a curse.
“Why would he do that?” she panted. The boy had pitted them against each other, and given that he didn’t seem a mean-spirited soul, either she’d misjudged him or he’d had a reason of some sort.
“I have no idea,” Will replied. “He seems to be enjoying his time here. I even caught him laughing when he hooked a five-pound trout yesterday. This feels like sabotage. Deliberate sabotage.”
“I still don’t understand the purpose of it. We haven’t violated the terms of the agreement, we’re in the process of finding him and Rose a permanent home if they choose not to go with James, and I informed him that we would be willing to contribute a sum to see the two of them well settled.”
“It seems very specific,” he commented, his tone more thoughtful. “He meant to have us arguing, or not speaking to each other. What does that gain him?”
She considered his question. “When he told me what you’d said—allegedly—I was asking him what sort of household he imagined himself in, what sort of family he wanted.”
Will’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I believe our conversation was along similar lines when he informed me of your disparaging remarks. Why wouldn’t he want us asking those questions, though?”
She considered that for a moment, and only one answer came to mind. “He has other plans,” she suggested. “Or one of the Fletchers does.”
“I’d guess the young ones still mean to make a run for it, as soon as we return from Welshire Park, would be my guess. With or without their brother. Damnation.”
“We can’t blame this on James, either. He’s someone they’re accustomed to not being able to trust. It’s us. We brought them here because of a lie, Will,” she said. “They have little reason to trust adults as it is. We may well be their worst nightmare—offering food and comfort, with the assurance that we will turn them out when we don’t need them any longer.”