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“Hmm. Good pigs, I hope.”
“They were delicious. So, what does bring you to Brockworth? If you’re here to invite me to go hunting with you, I accept.”
“We’ll have to do that. But no, that’s not why I’m here.” Will sent up a quick prayer, though he wasn’t entirely certain what it was he was praying for. And that was the difficulty in this, damn it all. “Two things bring me here, actually. You may not like either of them.”
“Well, this is more interesting than petitioning the court to limit the number of cats Mrs. Vendle is allowed to keep on her premises.”
“Oh, it’s definitely interesting.” Will took one of the seats. “I suppose I should begin with the longer tale. I… Emmeline and I have a quandary, and I thought you and Caroline might be the ones who could solve it for us.”
“The two of us?” Michael frowned. “I’m listening.”
“Yes. We… came into the possession of two children, and for a variety of reasons, we cannot keep them. You and Caroline are good people, and I thought you might consider taking them in.”
Michael stared at him. “Say that again?”
“There are two young orphans living with us at Winnover Hall. George is eight, and Rose is just five. They are, quite frankly, mischievous and clever and wonderful, and badly in need of someone who can love them forever.”
“Aside from the question of how you came to have them, why is it you can’t keep them?”
Thus far only he and Emmeline and the servants—and the three Fletchers, of course—knew the truth of that, and he was loath to include anyone else. On the other hand, the lies were beginning to pile up, and causing nothing but more tangles and troubles. He took a breath. “I’m telling you this in confidence, Michael. No one other than Caroline can know.”
The solicitor held out his hand. “Give me a shilling.”
“What?”
“Or a quid, or a penny. Whatever’s in your pocket. Then you will be my client, and what you tell me is privileged.”
Most of his spare change had been going into the children’s trunks, but he found a shilling in one pocket. He handed it over, and Michael pocketed it. Symbolic or not, it left him feeling a bit steadier, though not because of the exchange of money. Without knowing any but the broadest of facts, Michael had agreed to keep this secret, and he’d done so in a way that was not only personally binding, but legally so. “Thank you.”
“You’re my friend. And my client. Now. What’s afoot?”
Will told him. The agreement he and Emmeline had signed, their inability to produce children, Emmeline’s lies to both their families and the journals she kept about their faux children, her grandfather’s invitation, and the trip to London and St. Stephen’s. And the promise they’d made to find George and Rose a good home afterward.
“That’s… not at all what I expected to hear,” Michael said into the silence when Will had finished. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’d gone queer in the attic.”
“Perhaps I have. The fact remains, though, that we—I—promised the children a good home, and that I thought of you and Caroline.” The more he considered it, the better they seemed. The only reason they hadn’t been among his first choices was that he’d been hoping to find the youngsters a home that was less than a long hour away from Winnover Hall.
“Will, I get paid in pigs. I can’t afford two additional children, even if Caroline was amenable.”
“You could for an additional thousand pounds a year, I’d wager.”
The solicitor blinked. “That’s extremely generous.”
“It goes along with the provision that Emmeline and I could continue to visit them on occasion.” The idea of never seeing the children again made his throat tighten and his chest hurt, like someone had reached a hand in and was trying to rip out his heart.
“God, Will, find a way to keep them.”
“We’ve tried. We’ve spent nights awake trying to figure something out. Keeping them there as our niece and nephew and not bringing them into London with us for the Season nearly won, but if either of our families who think them our children came calling and decided to take the little ones into Birdlip… We’d be done for. It’s easier to hide faux children than real ones.”
For a long moment Michael looked at him. “Let me speak with Caroline. God knows what she’ll say, but I’ll do my damndest to convince her.”
He’d done it, then. It should have been a relief, he supposed, but he didn’t feel relieved. “Thank you,” he said anyway.
“She could still say no,” Michael pointed out. “I’ll send word. How long do I have?”
“Eleven days. I’ll need an answer by then.”
“You’ll have it.”