“What the devil?”
His shout made her legs wobble. Everything about him put her off balance. “Miss Lumlee intended to run away. May I sit?”
“Of course.” He motioned toward a chair. “Where was she running to?”
Genevieve sat, gripping the arms of the chair. “I don’t know. Away from here and the ‘cruel prince.’ That’s what she calls you.” She glanced up at him. He was still breathtakingly handsome.
His face darkened, and his scowl deepened at her words. Genevieve rather wished she hadn’t added that last part.
“Don’t take it personally. Many children her age live in a world of their own imagining. Especially after they have been through a difficult time.”
Lord Emory pointed at her. “I don’t need you to tell me about my own child.”
“Very well.” She should have known better than to offer him advice. Gentlemen didn’t want advice, and parents rarely wanted to be told how to deal with their own children, even when Genevieve knew those children much better than they. Difficult as it was, Genevieve kept her gaze locked with his. It was unnerving to have him looking at her so intently. She didn’tthink she’d ever had such a handsome man look at her. “Er, what else do you need from me, my lord?”
Now it was his turn to look disconcerted. “I-I don’t know. I suppose Ishouldcall for Mrs. Mann.”
Genevieve nodded as his lordship went to the bellpull.Oh my.His backside was as attractive as the front. He turned abruptly, and she quickly looked up at the ceiling, pretending to find it fascinating.
“You will take the position.”
She thought it was supposed to be a question, and she quelled her annoyance by reminding herself a man like him probably wasn’t used to asking questions.
“I will, my lord.”
“Good,” he said. “Then don’t move. Stay right there.”
Genevieve did as she was told, sitting in the room alone for a quarter of an hour before the door opened again and a footman offered to escort her to Mrs. Mann’s quarters.
*
Rory stood athis library window and peered out into the back garden. Miss Brooking and Frances had been playing back there for over an hour. At first, he’d tried to ignore their shouts and giggles and focus on his ledgers, but when the sound of a dog barking joined the noise they were making, he rose.
He didn’t recognize the dog, but he assumed the hound belonged to one of the groundskeepers, as the older man stood off to one side and smiled while Frances threw a piece of rope for the dog and then, after it was fetched, played tug with the animal. The dog would refuse to give the toy up, and Frances would pull hard, and just when she was pulling her hardest, the dog would let go, and Frances would fall on her bottom. Then the dog would lick her face, and Frances would dissolve intogiggles. Miss Brooking was laughing too. She had a deeper laugh, not infectious like Frances’s, but one that made his belly do a slow roll.
He should call for Mrs. Mann and see on what terms the governess had been hired. She would probably fleece him, and it would be his own fault for offering her the moon and the stars. But he didn’t regret it. Not when he saw his daughter laughing like that. He was embarrassed to admit that he’d not thought about his daughter very much in the seven years since her birth. He’d wanted his child to be a boy, of course. He didn’t need an heir, but every man wanted a son, didn’t they? It seemed when Harriet gave birth to a daughter, she disappointed him yet again. He hadn’t even come home to meet the child. All he’d thought was that now they would have to have another child, and he didn’t know if he could stomach it.
He hadn’t wanted to make the effort. Instead, Rory settled in at Lilacfall Abbey, and Harriet had stayed in Town. When Rory had gone to Town, he either stayed with one of his friends or took rooms at the Clarendon Hotel.
Rory thought that if Frances had been a boy he might have taken more of an interest. But he wasn’t needed in the rearing of a girl. Harriet could deal with that—with her.
Well, now she was his to deal with, and his child was a savage. Once in a while, Rory saw a little girl at a park or out on the streets of London. These children were dressed in frilly white dresses and blue bows. Their hair was curled and shiny under their caps. He’d imagined his own daughter looked the same.
But when she was thrust upon him the other day, she’d been wearing an ill-fitting black dress, and her hair was a mass of tangles. She was skinny, tanned, and freckled. What had the Dowlings been doing with her?
Well, he had a governess in his employ now, and Miss Brooking seemed to know how to deal with the child. Soonenough Frances would be in white dresses and bows. Then he wouldn’t have to think about her again. He told himself he could step away from the window and return to his work, but he couldn’t seem to make himself do so. There was something about that laugh, something about his daughter that made him smile, and it had been a very long time since he’d smiled.
“I can see why you hired that one,” Notley said.
Rory turned. He hadn’t even heard his friend enter the library. Now Notley came to stand beside him at the window. “She’s a plum piece. I do love a ginger.”
“No,” Rory said, surprised at how quickly he bristled at the thought of his friend touching Miss Brooking. “She is in my employ. You won’t touch her.”
Notley frowned at him. “You’re saving her for yourself?”
“She is in my employ.”
Notley went to a cabinet with a decanter on top and poured himself a generous glass of port. “If you don’t want her, then—”
