“Is it?” he asked, his voice far too loud.
“Yes.”
“Who’s this?” asked the woman leaning against the wall. Her voice was not as loud as Notley’s, but it wasn’t quiet either.
“I am the governess,” Genevieve whispered.
“What?”
She closed her eyes and, summoning all her patience, gestured for the couple to follow her. They stumbled after her, and once she had them away from the nursery door, she said, “I am the governess. The nursery is that way,” she said, pointing. “Your chamber is that way.” She pointed again.
“Ah, much obliged to you, love,” Notley said.
“It’s Miss Brooking,” she corrected him. “Goodnight.”
The couple stumbled off in the direction of the family bedchambers, and Genevieve considered returning to the nursery. But she could still hear the noise downstairs. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon. If Frances was like every other child, she’d be up with the sun, and Genevieve would be expected to chase after her on only half a night’s sleep. She didn’t usually chastise her employers, but then, they didn’t usually allow drunk men to bring their evening’s entertainment right outside the nursery. Lord Emory hadn’t won any accolades as a father in her mind before, and now, as she descended the stairs, she knocked him down another notch.
One man was lying in the vestibule sleeping, a puddle of vomit beside his head. A woman was leaning against a wall, listlessly drinking from a crystal glass. The rest of the party appeared to be in the dining room. The door was ajar, and Genevieve moved past the drinking woman in the vestibule and pushed the door wide. Her gaze landed on Lord Emory immediately. He was sitting at the head of the table, one woman on his lap and another standing behind him, rubbing his shoulders. Two men were angrily discussing some matter related to horses, and one woman stood across from them, listening intently.
Everyone in the group looked up when she entered. Silence descended.
Lord Emory stared at her for a long moment, then dislodged the woman on his lap and stood.
“Miss, er—”
“Brooking,” she supplied after he continued to flounder.
“Right. Is it time for breakfast already?” He pulled his watch from the pocket and squinted at it.
“Might we have a word, my lord?” She eyed the others. “In private?”
“Of course.”
She led him out of the dining room, heard his exclamation as he spotted the man on the floor, then opened a door across from the dining room and stepped inside. She didn’t know what this room was, and it was dark. She didn’t need light to say what needed saying.
Lord Emory stumbled inside the room, and she stood in the light from the vestibule so he could see her and she him. He smelled of beer, smoke, and perfume, and she made certain they stood a good distance apart.
“We woke you,” he said immediately. She didn’t know him well, but she could see by the heightened color in his face that he was drunk. He didn’t seem as drunk as his friends, however.
“You did, and while you haven’t woken Frances yet, that is only because she was exceedingly tired after the events of the past day.”And from crying her eyes out when you left without even a fare-thee-well.The girl had pretended she was upset about the dirt on her doll, but Genevieve knew better.
“I see. I’ll quiet everyone—”
“Furthermore”—Genevieve was not in the habit of interrupting her employers, but she was quite angry now—“your guest Mr. Notley was becoming better acquainted with his companion right outside the nursery. If I had not intervened, I fear they would have stumbled inside.”
“He must have gotten turned around.”
“Indeed. I set him straight. But I must ask you, is this the sort of environment you wish your daughter to grow up in? A house where she might be awakened in the middle of the night by a drunk couple copulating outside her door?”
Lord Emory drew himself up. “I am still the master here, and you will be careful how you address me.”
Genevieve gave him a long look then made a trifling curtsey. “Yes, my lord,” she said tonelessly. “I’ll go back to my station now before some other lout stumbles in on your sleeping child.”
She probably shouldn’t have tossed her hair as she walked away. That was rather childish, but it certainly felt good. She stomped up the stairs as well as one could in bare feet, then returned to the nursery and silently closed the door.
She tiptoed to Frances’s bed. The child was still sleeping, her breaths deep and even.
Genevieve removed her dressing gown and climbed back into bed, prepared to lie awake and listen to the debauchery below, but to her surprise, she heard only Lord Emory’s voice orderingeveryone out. Within five minutes, doors had closed, hoofbeats were heard, and the house was silent.
