KDBookOnline
Share Us
“Today? But… we haven’t said anything to the children. Can’t we send the Fenmores away until after we return from the party?” Emmie felt out of breath, as if her chest was shrinking.
“No, we can’t. Caroline wishes to meet the children before they decide. They’ll be here any m—”
“Coach on the drive,” Edward called out from the foyer.
“—minute,” Will finished. “This has to happen, Emmeline. You know that.”
Yes, she knew it, because she was the one who’d invented the circumstances in the first place. “We could keep them as our niece and nephew,” she whispered. “Staying with us for a time. Eventually it would be permanent, and no one would be the wiser. In London they could be our son and daughter, miraculously recovered from their illnesses.”
“Aside from the fact that we would be stripping them of their names and asking them to lie to every acquaintance they ever meet, one of them—or one of us—would make a mistake, and everything would unravel like a worn sock.” He took a breath. “Don’t make me into the villain, Emmeline. Please.”
She put her hands over her face. “I know, I know. I just…”
A moment later warm hands came down on her shoulders, and a kiss brushed her hair. “I’ve become extremely fond of the little pilferers myself.”
It wasn’t just the children. Everything had become better since they’d arrived. It was all different now, and she liked it that way. She loved it that way. For God’s sake, she’d left her bedchamber door open for the past two nights, hoping Will would call, wanting his strong, warm body in her bed.
Powell stepped into the room. “Sir, ma’am, Mr. and Mrs. Fenmore and their child are in the morning room. Shall I offer tea and lemonade?”
“Yes. And biscuits, please. Are the children still at the stable?”
“I believe so. It’s been far too quiet for them to have returned to the house.”
“Send Donald out after them, will you?” Will returned to his seat. “Have them meet us in here. And have them brought in through the kitchen.”
Will was being logical and organized, of course, two things at which he excelled. And he was correct; if the children stayed on with them, they would be forever lying about who they were, what their names were, where they came from—everything. The quiet calm she’d so missed when the little Fletchers had first arrived now seemed foreign and faraway, and she much preferred the barely controlled chaos of the household now. It just wasn’t meant to be, though. Lady Anne, Mother, had been correct. It had never been meant to be.
“Dry your eyes, Emmeline,” Will murmured. “You’ll frighten them. And no, you’re not the only one hoping that something goes amiss and the Fenmores decide against taking them.”
That short statement reassured her. He was doing as they’d both agreed, but he didn’t like it, either. She lifted her napkin and wiped her cheeks, set it back on her lap, and put a smile on her face just as the children trotted into the room.
“I’m teaching General Jenny to curtsy,” Rose announced. “It looks like a bow, though.”
“Billet said a coach came up the drive,” George said. “Who are we supposed to be this time?”
That was the rub. The children might not mind the lies and subterfuge now, but eventually they would. And by then it would be far too late to straighten out the stories. What if they fell in love? Married? Which name would they use? Who would they be?
“Today you are George and Rose Fletcher,” Will answered when Emmie didn’t. “You remember Michael Fenmore? You’ll be meeting him and his wife, Caroline, and their son, Patrick. I didn’t tell you, but Michael is a friend of mine from school, and he knows all about you.”
George glanced from Emmie to Will. “These are the ones you chose for us?”
“If you like them, yes.”
The eight-year-old narrowed his eyes. “Did he know that when he came here before to scare James?”
“Yes. He’s a good man, George.”
“We’ll see.”
“How old is their son?” Rose chimed in.
“He’s five years old. Your age, Rose.”
“You’re certain I’m Rose? I’ve been practicing Flora all morning.”
With a hard breath, the smile still pasted on her face, Emmie stood up and walked over to take Rose’s hand. “Yes. You are Rose, my dear. A fair flower and a queen general.”
“That’s me, for certain.” Rose scowled. “I’ll go meet them, but I still like it better here.”