“Oh, we know who he is.” Valérie, aged ten, waved her hand to include the other two sisters and their governess, Miss Penny. “Who could not?”
Eugénie set her lips in a firm line. “Nevertheless, ladies must wait to be introduced. This is Lord Wivenly. My lord, my sisters, Miss Valérie Wivenly, Miss Adelaide Wivenly, and Miss Jeanne Wivenly.”
He smiled and bowed as if he’d been in a ballroom. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you.”
“How do you know us?” Jeanne asked, as if he had witch’s powers.
Adelaide rolled her eyes. “Eugénie probably told him.” Then apparently couldn’t resist adding, “Goose.”
“I am not a goose,” Jeanne retorted.
“Adelaide,” Valérie said. “You are not to tease.”
“You certainly are not.” Miss Penny gave Adelaide a reproving look. “That will be quite enough.”
She slumped back, pouting. “Well, she did.”
“As a matter of fact,” Will said, sliding Eugénie a mischievous glance, “your sister has said very little about you, but as if by magic, I will tell you your ages.”
Jeanne’s mouth dropped open until Penny gently tapped the child’s chin, and the girl closed it.
Adelaide sat up, and Valérie raised a brow.
“You,” he said, pointing at Valérie, “are ten.” In an undertone he added, “Going on twenty.”
Eugénie resisted the urge to grin.
He turned to Adelaide. “You are eight.” The two older girls were round eyed in surprise. “And you,” he said, grinning at Jeanne, “are six.”
Jeanne jumped up from the table, running around it to hug him. “You are very smart. Do you know Miss Penny’s age?”
Wivenly picked Eugénie’s youngest sister up, as if holding a child came naturally to him. He was really very good with them. He would make a wonderful father.
“I cannot tell you,” he said to Jeanne. “It is impolite to discuss a lady’s age once she is out.”
“We’ll never be out.” Valérie groaned. “We are never even allowed upstairs except for dinner when it is only the family.”
“Do you”—Adelaide glanced quickly at Miss Penny—“keep children locked away from all the adults?”
He glanced out at the garden for a moment, then looked back at the girls. “We keep them in the attic until they are able to be around Polite Society or until they out-grow the beds.”
Eugénie wanted to giggle, but the children would be offended. Wivenly had told her about the schoolroom at his home and how his brothers and sisters made use of the large cherry tree next to one of the windows. “There, you see, it is not so bad here.”
Her sisters nodded their heads solemnly.
“If you are all very good,” he went on, “you’ll be allowed to travel to England for your come outs.”
Eugénie turned her back to the children and lowered her voice. “Are you mad? Who would sponsor them?”
“It will be eight years before Valérie is ready.” His lips curved into an enigmatic smile that told her nothing. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”
Once the rain stopped, Will escorted Eugénie to the main floor. Her sisters reminded him of his own. Valérie, in particular, promised to be a handful. They, like all young Wivenlys, needed outside distraction, and since their father was no longer around to provide it, the duty fell to Will. He grinned to himself. If he’d known all the work to be done here and that he would trick himself into marriage, would he have even made the trip? He glanced down at Eugénie’s smiling face and hoped the answer would have been yes.
The fan was still wrapped and lying where he’d left it earlier. She picked it up. “What is this?”
“I brought it for you.” He’d almost brought back the one he’d sent last week, but thought better of it. He’d return that fan to her later. She untied the ribbon, drawing it neatly out from the gold paper. He held his breath. “Do you like it?”
With a flick of her wrist, she opened it. It had spokes of pierced ivory, with delicately painted medallions on gold-tinted chicken skin. “It’s lovely.” Her smile broadened. “Even nicer than the one you gave me last week.” A light blush colored her cheeks. “Thank you.”
