“Whether you wished it.”
Amelia’s eyes burned. “Whether I wished what?”
Thomas turned toward the children. His face shifted into that stern gentleness that had first undone her weeks ago.
“If they wish,” he said, “Wat and Alyson will be ours. In name, care, and keeping.”
The hall seemed to hush around them.
Alyson’s cherry fell into her lap.
Wat stared at Thomas as if he had begun speaking in tongues. “Ours?”
Amelia was so happy she found herself at a loss for words
Thomas’s hand remained steady over hers. “Aye.”
Wat’s face went white beneath the freckles across his nose. “We’d be Ashcombes?”
“If you wish.”
Alyson slid from the bench, marched to stand before Thomas, and planted both hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of Edith.
“Would I have to stop swearing?”
Edith made a strangled sound.
Thomas considered the question with grave courtesy. “Not entirely.”
“Thomas,” Amelia whispered.
He glanced at her. “I’m negotiating.”
Alyson narrowed her eyes. “How much?”
“Less in chapel. More near Hob.”
Hob lifted his cup. “Reasonable.”
Edith threw a crust at him.
Wat stood slowly. “And me?”
Thomas’s gaze softened. “You too.”
Wat swallowed. He looked at Amelia then, panic and hope tangled so tightly in his face that she nearly cried.
“You would want us?” he asked.
Amelia opened her arms.
Both children crashed into her so hard she nearly slid off the bench. Thomas caught all three of them, because apparently that was his role in her life now, catching whatever love hurled at him.
Alyson sobbed while Wat cried silently, which was worse.
Amelia cried all over both of them.
Thomas looked suspiciously damp-eyed himself and pretended he was merely watching the fire.
