Page 76 of Better Off Wed

“Beautiful,” she breathed, looking up at what remained of a mural of the summer sky that adorned the high-ceilinged entry hall. Every surface that could be was covered by coarse holland cloth, with a thick layer of dust atop that. But it took very little to imagine what it would be, someday soon.

“We’ll use this space for celebrations,” Laura predicted as they stepped into what had probably been an elegant ballroom.

“A harvest supper,” he agreed. A wall of windows gave way onto a stone terrace and the remnants of a glorious parterre garden, now mostly weeds. “When there’s a harvest.”

“Next year, then. Think of it. The gardeners we’ll be able to put to work. The women busy in the still room, making up recipes and remedies, healing themselves as they learn to heal others.”

As they walked up the stairs, down the corridors, peeking into rooms here and there, her vision came alive. The bustle of people at work and leisure, recovering from past traumas, learning new skills, rebuilding a house—and lives—that had been abused and nearly abandoned.

“I wish to hire Miss Godfrey,” she told him on the threshold of the schoolroom.

Some of the mistreated serving girls who would come to them would be expecting, like Betty, he knew. “But it will probably be some years before we will be in need of a governess,” he pointed out.

“I am determined that everyone who comes to us for help will leave at least knowing how to read and write and figure.” Her voice was firm, as if she expected an argument. “Educating servants is not without controversy, I know, but—”

“It is the right thing to do. Will we put Betty in charge of the nursery, then, my dear?” he asked, nodding across the way.

“It is her fondest wish to be trained in the styling of ladies’ hair.” Laura’s eyes sparkled as she tossed her short curls. “But I wonder what you would say to having the Pratt girls as nursery maids?”

“Dinah? And…Dora?” He could still picture the coffee pot tumbling from the tray as it slipped from the girl’s hands.

“I don’t believe she is naturally clumsy. I would trust her with—why, with a baby of my own.”

“Your…own…” Excitement and hope bloomed in his chest. “I wasn’t sure whether you wanted…”

“I can’t promise to be the most conventional mother,” she warned him, “but I—I like children. And I love you. And if I”—a flush of color suffused her cheeks—“we go on loving one another as we have been, I cannot think it will be long before a little blessing comes to join us.”

The swelling sensation in his chest rose into his throat. He would be a father? Another part of a future he had never before been able to envision for himself. A child, children, running on the stairs, picking flowers in the garden, and playing hide and seek behind the statues in the gallery.

As she spoke, they walked down the wide staircase and entered the library. He could picture the nearly empty shelves filled with Richard Addison’s books, every volume he had rescued from the rectory, his real inheritance from his papa—a legacy of knowledge, and compassion, and love. “The latest in a very long line of blessings,” he told her, when he could speak again. Blessings that had started, ironically, with words that at the time Jeremy had regarded as a curse.

I want you to marry her.

Thank God for General Scott.

“And here, I suppose, is where you’ll work,” Laura ventured, tracing the corner of a large desk beneath a dusty cloth.

“Yes. Estate business. Leases. Bookkeeping.” Those mundane tasks would be a pleasure, now.

“And…code breaking?” she ventured.

“I—” The world of the Underground had seemed very far away from Everham, until they had stepped into this musty, dim room. Too dim to read her expression. “You do not wish me to give it up?”

“That decision is not mine to make. Do you wish to give it up?”

He weighed his answer for a moment, though he knew it would not change. “No. I don’t.” He took a step closer to her, picked up her hand and chafed his thumb across her knuckles. “It’s become a part of me. But I thought you might not want—”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Do you forget? I fell in love with an intelligence officer.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “Millrose will be relieved.”

“I daresay. And will you be very troubled if—” Her gaze fluttered down to their joined hands. “If, on occasion, a letter should come from the Underground, or from wherever such things are sent, addressed not to you, but to me?”

“To…you,” he echoed. “You mean, you’re willing to go along with Scott’s scheme?”

In the silence, he heard her swallow. “Lady Sterling does know…one or two things that might prove helpful to the war effort.”

“Still eager to play a part, I see,” he teased. “But are you prepared, my dear, to juggle all of it? Home, family, your enterprise here, and…” He wrapped his arms around her and snugged his hips against hers. “A secret agent on the side?”