How wonderful for the children to see their old nurse. They were so excited they could barely contain themselves.
Mari followed Mrs. Fairfield and the children to the parlor where a woman and man sat on the sofa, reading an almanac together.
When the twins saw their nurse they started running, greeting her with arms thrown around her waist, burying their heads under her arms.
“Amina, ç’est toi! Tu es venu nous trouver!”
Amina hugged them. “In English please. I’ve been practicing my English,” she said in a thick French accent. “And it’s not Amina anymore, I’m Mrs. Shriver.”
She gently detached the children from around her waist.
“You’re married?” asked Adele.
“This is my husband, Mr. Shriver.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Shriver. He was a distinguished-looking gentleman with dark hair and a noble nose.
“And this is Miss Perkins,” said Mrs. Fairfield. “The children’s governess.”
Mrs. Shriver smiled glowingly. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Mrs. Fairfield. I’m so glad the children are in good hands.”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about you as well,” Mari said warmly.
“We didn’t know you had a sweetheart,” said Adele to her former nurse.
“Mr. Shriver and I have known each other for a very long time.” Mrs. Shriver blushed prettily. “But it wasn’t until after you left that he asked me to marry him.”
Mr. Shriver clasped her hands in his. “My love, my one true love.”
The two of them gazed into each other’s eyes, seeming to forget there was anyone else in the room.
“Ew,” said Michel. “Romance. I’ll never fall in love.”
“Never say never,” said Mari.
“Isn’t that true,” said Mrs. Shriver. “Look at me, I didn’t get married until fifty years of age. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“Are you fifty, my dear?” Mr. Shriver stared at her adoringly. “And here I thought you were thirty-five.”
“Oh you.” She swatted his arm playfully. “Mr. Shriver is a horse breeder. We’re here in London on ourlune de miel, er...”
“Honeymoon,” supplied Adele.
“Yes, our honeymoon. That’s what he told me. But really, I think we’re here to watch the Derby.”
“What kind of horses do you breed?” asked Mari.
“Arabians. Would you like to see my race horses someday?” Mr. Shriver asked the twins.
“Would we,” said Michel enthusiastically.
The children were obviously in good hands, and this was Mari’s off day. She slipped out of the room quietly. She loved those children dearly, but they were exhausting sometimes. The long carriage ride filled with questions and conversation had tired her out and she needed to prepare for her meeting with Mr. Shadwell.
He’d said to bring anything she might have to support her claim. That meant P.L., and the prayer book, and perhaps she should compose a timeline to present him of everything Mrs. Crowley had told her about the circumstances of her arrival at the orphanage when she was only a babe.
She’d just gathered everything and was beginning to compose the timeline when there was a knock at her chamber door.
“Yes?” she called.