He quickly stacked bricks back in front of it, but they were haphazard and crumbling. Despite his best defenses, and Frances’s attempts to scare him off, he was beginning to love her.
Chapter Six
Genevieve sat onone side of the coach with Frances beside her. Lord Emory sat across from them, his gaze alternately on his daughter and the passing landscape. She hadn’t wanted the man to accompany them, but now she was glad he had. She needed to make more opportunities for him to spend time with his daughter. The little girl was charming him quite unwittingly. She’d need him to remember these sweet, happy moments when Frances was next in a temper and told him she hated him or tried to kick him.
It would take Genevieve more than a couple of days to curb that sort of behavior. What she didn’t tell Lord Emory was that she didn’t intend to curb it completely. A bit of spirit was healthy in a young lady.
Genevieve looked out the window herself, enjoying the feel of the soft velvet cushions of the coach. She’d never been in a carriage this luxurious. She barely felt the jolts as they raced along the roads. “There’s the tree I told you about,” she said to Frances. “It’s just a mile to my mother’s cottage now.”
“What are those animals in that field?” Frances asked, pointing at a flock of sheep.
“Those are sheep. Surely you have seen them before.”
Frances nodded, squinting at the sheep. Genevieve had seen her squint at objects in the distance several times in the last day. They passed another field, and Genevieve pointed at twohorses in the pasture with several cows. “Do you see the cows, Frances?” she asked.
“Yes. Right there.” She placed her hand on the window, leaving fingerprints.
“What other animals are in the pasture with the cows?”
Lord Emory looked at Genevieve and then at the pasture.
“Just cows,” said Frances.
Now Lord Emory looked at Frances then back to Genevieve. Genevieve raised her brows at him. “What about those brown animals?”
Frances squinted. “They aren’t cows?”
“No,” Lord Emory said.
Frances stared hard and then put her fingers to her eyes and tugged the corners toward her temples. “Are they horses?”
“That’s right,” Genevieve said. “Horses. Do you see them, my lord?”
“Yes.” But his gaze stayed on Genevieve. He was an intelligent man. She could only assume he understood the problem as well as she. His eyes, that lovely brandy color, held hers for just a moment too long, and she shifted her gaze away, suddenly feeling far too warm. The carriage, which had seemed spacious a few minutes ago, now felt too small for the three of them.
“Ah, there it is now,” she said, pointing to a small cottage on a square of land surrounded by trees and with a garden in the back whose blooms were visible even from the front drive. The coachman slowed the horses and stopped the carriage at the door. Then the outriders jumped down, lowered the steps, and opened the door. Lord Emory descended first then held his hand out for his daughter. Genevieve knew he expected the child to take his hand so he might help her down. Instead, she said, “Catch me!” and jumped.
Genevieve had known what was about to happen, but she still gasped. Fortunately, Lord Emory had quick reflexes. He caught the child with both hands. And then, to Genevieve’s surprise, he tossed the little girl into the air. This surprised Frances too, for she squealed and laughed. “Again, Papa!” she cried. He obliged her, which was also quite a surprise, then set her down and held out a hand for Genevieve.
Still smiling at Frances’s joy, she reached out, and her hand was engulfed by Lord Emory’s. They both wore gloves, but she swore she could feel the heat of his skin through the material. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes in that second before he handed her down and released her. It only took a second for something to pass between them. Genevieve couldn’t say what it was, but it caused her belly to contract in a not-altogether-unpleasant manner. And then he was stepping away, and she was wishing she had brought a fan, as the day seemed warmer than she’d anticipated.
The door to her mother’s home opened, and Mrs. Brooking stepped out, smiling sweetly. Genevieve knew her well enough to see that she was a bit flustered to be visited by such a grand carriage and the son of a duke unexpectedly. “Mama,” Genevieve said, stepping forward. “I do hope you will forgive us for stopping by unexpectedly.”
She took her mother’s hand, and Mrs. Brooking squeezed her own hand in reassurance, showing she had already forgiven Genevieve. Genevieve turned to Lord Emory, hoping she remembered how to properly conduct these introductions. One always introduced a lady to a gentleman, but what if the gentleman ranked far higher than the lady and the lady was just a missus and not really a lady? Oh, drat it all. What did she always teach little boys? Chivalry. That meant she would introduce Lord Emory to her mother. Both were looking at her expectantly now.
“Mama, may I introduce Lord Emory Lumlee? Lord Emory, this is my mother, Mrs. Cecilia Brooking.”
Her mother made a very graceful curtsey, and Lord Emory bowed quite low, which had the effect of making Genevieve like him a little bit more. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brooking. I see where Miss Brooking acquired her green eyes.”
Genevieve blinked, not having realized Lord Emory even noticed her eyes, much less enough to note their color. She did have her mother’s eyes—and her mother’s figure, which was a bit like a vase that was straight at the top and heavier at the bottom, as Genevieve’s hips were wider than her bosom. Still, her older sister Georgiana had no hips and no bosom, so Genevieve would take what she’d been given. Other than her eyes and the figure, Genevieve and her mother did not look alike. Her mother had dark brown hair, where Genevieve had her father’s bright red, curly hair. Her mother also had a small, pert nose and thin lips, whereas Genevieve had a long, straight nose and fuller lips.
And freckles. One couldn’t forget those, no matter how much one tried.
Her mother gave Lord Emory a real smile. “She does have my eyes, though the rest of her face came from her father.”
“Mama, might I also introduce my friend, Miss Frances Lumlee, and her special friend Harriet.” Genevieve nodded at Frances, who stepped forward and gave a clumsy curtsey.
“Was that right?” she asked Genevieve in a whisper.
