I laughed. “Why don’t you ask her how many Rorys there are in her family?”
She turned to me, eyes alight with wonder, before running off to Rory’s side where she leaned against the kitchen counter. She was peeling carrots while Alfie washed potatoes. Mum and Lizzie bickered over the hearth.
Sydney appeared at my side and guided me over to the table. “Everything sorted?”
“Yes, though I may be corrupting your daughter.”
“Impossible, she’s the corrupting influence on everyone. I know you said you couldn’t explain about the carriage and the drivers, but…”
I sighed, overwhelmed with the prospect. “I really cannot.”
“It’s not illegal?”
“No, nothing like that,” I assured him before reconsidering. “At least, I don’t think.”
“That’s not the comfort you think it is.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“All right then. What brings you this way?”
“We’re headed north to tell Davina’s brother the news in person. We were going to stop here on the way back to tell you all.” The easiest lie slipped off my tongue with a practiced tone I didn’t like.
“I didn’t even know you were courting anyone.”
“Davina and I have known each other for years. She’s a friend of Katie’s,” I explained. At least in this I was not lying.
“And you finally decided to press your advantage now that you have the title?”
“Something like that.”
“Does that mean you’ve decided to stop searching for a way to escape it, the title?”
“I don’t… know.”
Lizzie wandered over, a bowl of peeled carrots in one hand, paring knife in the other. “If you two have time to talk, you have time to chop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” we replied in unison. I took her proffered knife while Sydney pulled a small, foldable one from his pocket.
“How big?” I asked.
She gestured with two fingers about a quarter of an inch apart before returning to Rory.
Simon settled on the chair next to me, supervising as I cut the vegetables. I suspected this was usually one of his tasks and he was trying to avoid his mother’s notice before she found something less pleasant.
“How am I doing?” I asked him.
“Little smaller.”
I nodded and focused on making my pieces more even. “This for nan’s stew?”
“Yes.” The boy had grown half a foot since my last visit, but he was no wider than a string bean. His formerly dark-blond waves had darkened to a solid brown, and his jaw had lost a bit of the boyish softness.
“You got married?” he asked.
“I did,” I said, bracing myself for another disappointed not-so-little one.
“What did you do that for?”
