“That was perfect,” Genevieve whispered back.
Mrs. Brooking curtseyed to Frances. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lumlee. Won’t you all come inside?”
“Thank you, Mama.” Genevieve linked her arm with her mother’s as they stepped inside the house. “We have come to collect Marcella for a tea party. Do you know where she is?”
“In your trunk, if I’m not mistaken. The footman you sent yesterday arrived on horseback, so I could only send a fewthings. Now that you have the carriage, you should bring your trunk.” She leaned close to Genevieve. “That is, if this position is long term.”
“That remains to be seen, but I will take the trunk. Thank you, Mama.”
“He’s handsome,” she said in a whisper.
Genevieve poked her mother then turned to their guests. “Would you like some refreshment?”
“I’ll get it, dear. You collect Marcella and your things.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Can I come with you?” Frances asked. Genevieve cast a look at Lord Emory, but he made a motion for her to go ahead. So she held out her hand and escorted Frances to her small bedchamber.
*
Frances followed MissGenevieve to what she called a chamber. It was very small, more of a closet in Frances’s opinion. She said so, and Miss Genevieve laughed and said it was plenty big enough for her. But the entire house was small. She picked at some peeling paper and scuffed her boot on the worn carpet. She hadn’t ever considered that people lived in places other than the large houses she had always occupied.
“Did you always live here?” she asked her governess.
“Yes. I grew up here. My sister Georgiana and I used to share this room, and my brother Charles slept upstairs in the attic.”
“What about your mama and papa?”
“They have their own room, though my papa passed away when I was about fourteen.”
Frances sat on the bed, which squeaked. “What doespass awaymean?”
Miss Genevieve, who had knelt in front of her trunk, looked up. “It means he died.”
“Oh.” Frances felt her chest tighten and her cheeks grow hot. “I shouldn’t have made you talk about it.”
Miss Genevieve stood up and came to sit beside her, making the bed squeak again. “You didn’tmakeme talk about him. I actually like talking about my papa. He was a wonderful man, and I loved him very much.”
Frances frowned at her. “I thought after someone…passed away, you weren’t supposed to talk about them.”
Miss Genevieve opened her mouth then closed it again. “Some people don’t like to talk about the people they’ve lost. It makes them sad. But others do want to talk about them. I like to talk about my father. It keeps him alive in my heart.”
Frances stared at Miss Genevieve’s chest. “He’s in your heart?”
The governess laughed. Frances liked that she had a deep laugh. “Not like you think. It just means that it helps me to remember him.”
“Oh.” That was good. Frances didn’t want to think of Miss Genevieve’s papa made small and shoved into her chest. She stared down at her fingers, pleating and smoothing her black dress. “My mama passed away.”
“I know.”
Frances waited for her to change the subject or to saylet’s not talk about that now, but she didn’t. She simply sat beside Frances, who looked up at her. “I want to remember her, but I’m starting to forget.” Tears sprang to her eyes when she said it. She’d been holding that in for weeks. Before, when she’d thought of her mother, Mama’s face came instantly to her mind. But now it was harder to picture her.
“It’s normal to forget some details,” Miss Genevieve said. Frances looked up at her, expecting to see some sort of censurein her eyes. After all, what sort of little girl forgot what her mother looked like? But Miss Genevieve smiled. “I have forgotten some details about my papa as well, but I remember some things very well.”
“Like what?”
“The way he smelled. He smoked a pipe, and he always smelled a bit of tobacco. And how he was like a big bear when he hugged me before I went to bed. What do you remember about your mama?”
