“Now.”
“I am afraid that is imposs—”
“Iwillsee Miss Whitmore, sir, and if I have to rip this door off its hinges to do so, I will.” Simon pressed a hand to the door. “You had better stand back.”
“Err.” The butler glanced back to whoever was beside him. He finally nodded. “That will not be necessary. If you will follow me, sir.” He stepped aside, gesturing them inside, and a maid inside the hall greeted them with a threatening look.
Simon guided his children in front of him. When they reached the parlor, John sat beside him on the cream-velvet settee, and Mercy took to studying the globe with lip-biting concentration.
“Papa, me found Marwicktow.”
John peered over the back of the settee. “That’s France, silly.”
“Here?”
“Naples.”
“Here?”
Simon’s knees bounced, as John joined his sister and the drone of their quiet conversation dimmed. He had been able to eat little of his breakfast this morning. The toast he’d managed to down rumbled in his stomach, tossed like flotsam bobbing in a turbulent sea. Why?
He had never been nervous to see her before.
But then again, he had never asked her to marry him before.
Not like this.
The clock hand on the wall ticked away fifteen minutes before the parlor door finally opened. Miss Whitmore entered, wearing a pink morning dress with wisps of loose curls framing a rosy face.
His chest pounded as he stood. He meant to say something, but John and Mercy raced around the settee and tackled her legs.
She laughed, all their words falling on top of each other. Mercy blurted nonsense about home, and John showed her how tall he was growing, on account of the chops and liver he’d been eating.
Simon was lost to everything. All he saw was the way her hand easily rubbed John’s back, or the way her lips pursed in awe at some amusing thing Mercy exclaimed.
When Georgina’s eyes finally lifted to him, he knew she had asked him something, but he didn’t know what. He hesitated for too long. The room quieted.
“Would you like Nellie to take you to the kitchen?” She turned back to the children. “Cook has made chocolate cream, and you may each have your own bowl, if you like.”
“Me love chocolate!” Mercy jumped and clapped. “Me can have some, Papa?”
He nodded them on, stock-still as Georgina ushered them into the hall with instructions to the maid. When she returned, the flush had settled to a pallor. The door thudded with uncertainty behind her.
“I did not realize you were so much recovered.”
“You did not answer my letters.”
“I was busy.”
He nodded, annoyed that his voice rasped lower and less steadily than normal. He tried not to look at her lips. “There is a lot I wish to say to you.”
“Mr. Oswald took dinner with us yesterday. He related much of what has happened, along with the details of the Wilkinses’ capture. I am glad.”
“You should not have endured my troubles.”
“It is over now.”
“I wish I could have protected you.”
