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Did that mean he’d met someone? A rock dropped into the pit of her stomach. Ah, so they were friends, and he wanted to show her where he and his wife would be living. And she was supposed to smile and be happy for him, blast it all. “Yes,” she said, realizing she needed to say something.
He narrowed his blue eyes a little. “Yes,” he repeated. “I reckon it’s time for me to get married. A man can’t keep his bride in the stable with the lads.”
Hannah dug her nails into her palm, concentrating on the sharp pain to keep herself from weeping there in his stupid, manly arms. “That makes sense,” she offered, wishing her voice didn’t sound quite so mousy and miserable.
“Will you share it with me, then?”
“I’m sure she’ll adore it.” As she finished speaking, his words sank past her ears and into her mind. “The—we—me?”
“That’s right, Hannah. I’m asking you to marry me. Will you?”
Noise, confusion, and a stealthy, growing excitement all swirled about inside her. Certainly they’d always been friendly, but she’d mostly embarrassed herself by hanging about him whenever she could and laughing too loudly when he told a joke during meals in the kitchen. “We haven’t even kissed.”
Cupping her cheek with his free hand, he tilted his head and touched his mouth to hers. Warmth spread through her, all the way out to her fingers and toes. Wrapping both arms around his neck, she kissed him back again and hoped she wasn’t being horribly awkward about it.
After a long set of moments, he lifted his head a little. “Now we’ve kissed,” he said, his voice a bit rough. “I’d like to do that again. Say you’ll marry me.”
“Oh, goodness,” she breathed. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Tom.”
His grin made her insides heat. “Excellent. Do you want to go look inside?”
When she nodded, he swung down from Topper, then reached up and lifted her down beside him. Goodness, indeed. He took her hand as they walked up the short pathway to the blue front door. Her own house, her own husband, only a wedding between her and them.
She froze. A wedding. “Tom, we can’t say anything until after the Duke of Welshire’s party. The Pershings have enough to worry over, and so do the children. They certainly don’t need another distraction.”
“We’re not a distraction from my point of view, Hannah,” he returned, “but I take your meaning. We’ll tell them after—as long as you come out to the stable for a kiss now and then.”
Hannah took a deep breath. Dreams did come true sometimes, it seemed. “Agreed.”
“I don’t see how dinner last night could have gone any better,” Emmie said. “One or two slips, but they recognized them immediately. I slipped once myself.”
“They are accomplished prevaricators,” Will commented, shuffling through the day’s correspondence across from her. “Which reminds me, we should make a point of informing them that nothing at Welshire’s estate is to come back here in anyone’s pockets.”
“Perhaps we could say something, but it would mean letting them know that we know what they’ve been up to all along. I worry that might be a blow to their confidence at this point, and we’re so close to success.”
Will laughed. “Did I just hear you say that you don’t want to let them know that we’re aware of their thievery because that might hurt their feelings?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She flipped her hand at him. “Nothing here makes sense any longer. Including me.”
“I think it makes perfect sense,” he said mildly. “But then I married a woman three days after she proposed to me.” He shook his head, a swift grin touching his face. “And is it odd that I find their thievery endearing?”
“If it is odd, then I’m odd, as well.”
As he glanced down, the amused expression on his face froze. That made alarm run up her own spine. Will lifted a letter and unfolded it. “Damn,” he muttered. “Powell!”
“What is it?” Emmie asked, holding her breath.
“A note from Michael Fenmore.”
As Emmie’s worry slid into a deep, pinched pain, the butler skidded into the small dining room. “Yes, sir?”
“When did this arrive?” Will held up the letter.
“It came this morning, Mr. Pershing. I wouldn’t put it past that little scamp who brings the mail to have forgotten to bring it with him yesterday, though; he came quite early, and seemed in an extreme hurry for some of Mrs. Brubbins’s honey-and-oat biscuits.”
Will nodded. “Very well, then. We’ll be having visitors this afternoon. Please inform the staff. I don’t know if they’ll be staying for dinner or not.”
“Very good, sir.” With a nod of his own and a twitch of one cheek, Powell left the room again.