In her arms, Johnny hiccupped, and she rubbed his back. “All done now?”
He shook his head and attempted one last wail. It was weak and half-hearted, and he sighed and said, “All done.”
“Feel better? A good cry always makes me feel better.” She could have done with a good long cry right at that moment, in fact. But she didn’t think it would make her feel any better.
“You can’t cry. You are all grown up.”
“Grown-ups cry,” she said. “We cry all the time.”
He looked up at her, his face red and blotchy and his eyes puffy. He also had snot running out of his nose and she used the handkerchief liberally. “The ladies cry,” he said. “When their hearts are broken.”
“I assure you gentlemen cry when their hearts are broken as well. And for other reasons.”
“Don’t be silly.” He pushed back from her, not leaving her lap but wanting a better look at her face. “Gentlemen don’t cry.”
“Of course, they do.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen them cry. My brother is a gentleman. He cried all the time when he was your age.” She didn’t exactly remember Will when he’d been six, considering she’d only been two, but she did remember him crying when he’d been a boy.
“Why did he cry?”
“Oh, he would cry when his toy was lost or when he stubbed his toe, and once when our dog Scotty died of old age, we both cried every day for two or three weeks.”
“Did you get a new dog?”
“My brother found a lost kitten a few months later, and we kept her.”
“Cats. Blech. I like dogs. We have lots of dogs. Do you want to go to the kennels and meet them?”
“Perhaps later. Right now, if you are done crying, we have some reading to do, yes?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Good morning.”
Lucy and Johnny turned to the day nursey door where a woman who could only be Lady John Russell stood. She was dressed in a morning gown of pale gray, the crown of her head covered by a neat cap. She had brown hair, parted in the center and pulled into a neat style at the nape of her neck. Lucy judged her to be in her very early thirties. She had a sweet smile on her face as she took in the scene. “I see you two have met,” she said.
“Mama!” Johnny scrambled off Lucy’s lap and ran to his mother’s waiting arms. Lucy stood, wiping at her tear-stained bodice, and curtseyed.
“Lady John,” Lucy said inclining her head. She was utterly relieved to see the prime minister’s wife. As one of the two members of the household who knew she was not really a nanny, Lucy could only hope the lady took her eldest child off so Lucy could do her real job.
“Miss Smith, how good to meet you. I am so sorry I could not greet you last night.”
“We arrived very late, I’m afraid.”
“Mama, come see my tops,” Johnny said, tugging at her skirts. Somehow the lady managed to both acknowledge her son and ignore his request. Lucy wished she had a pad and pencil so she might take notes.
“We are very glad to have you.Iam glad to have you. Knowing you are here with Johnny has taken a weight off my shoulders.”
“You can be sure no harm will come to him or to any of you while my brother and I are here.”
“Your brother is here?” Johnny demanded. Lucy was not as skilled at acknowledging but ignoring, so she glanced at the little boy and nodded.
“The one who cries?”
Oh, Lord. No, not the one who cries, but she could hardly take that back now. She and Duncan had agreed their only other sibling was a sister. Lucy cleared her throat and directed her attention back to Lady John, who did not seem particularly interested in a crying footman. Perhaps she was accustomed to her son saying strange things about the staff.
