Frances thought for a moment. “Her hair. It was so pretty, like gold. I liked to stroke it and twirl it. It was soft.”
“That’s a lovely memory. What else?”
“She smelled… I don’t know what the words are. But she had a spray, and when she put it on, it meant she was leaving the house. It smelled nice.”
“It was probably perfume. Maybe we can find out what perfume she liked and get you a bottle. Then you can spray it and think of her.”
Frances gaped at her governess. “You can do that?”
“I can ask your father.”
Frances shook her head. “He doesn’t know. He was never at home. I never even saw him until they put her in the ground.”
“Oh. Well, I can still ask, yes?”
Frances stopped pleating and gripped the dress. “He might not want to talk about her.”
“We’ll see. You can always talk to me about her. I think you should write down what you remember as well. You can practice your penmanship and make a record.”
Frances nodded. “Can I see Marcella now?”
“Of course.” Miss Genevieve stood up, making the bed squeak again. She pulled a doll from her trunk, and Frances smiled. This doll was about the same size as Harriet, but her face had almost no paint left. She did have a beautiful dress on, andMiss Genevieve pulled out several items of clothing and told her that Harriet was welcome to try them on when they returned to Lilacfall Abbey.
“What happened to Marcella’s face?” Frances asked.
“Georgiana and I loved her so much, we kissed off the paint. You can see a bit of her eye here and her mouth. Perhaps there is paint at your home, and we might repaint her face. Georgiana and I did that once, though we couldn’t wait to play with her again and smeared it before it was dry.”
Frances looked up at Miss Genevieve. “You were impatient?” Frances was always being told to be patient. She’d never considered that any of the adults she knew had been impatient when they were children.
“I was, and I was naughty sometimes too. Just like you.”
“You’re not naughty now.”
“That’s because my mama corrected me when I was being naughty, just like I will with you.”
“What about your governess?”
“I didn’t have one.”
“Why not?”
“Most children don’t have governesses or servants. Your father is an important man, and you are so fortunate to have everything that you do.”
Frances nodded, but she thought about Miss Genevieve living in this small house with her mama and her siblings, and wondered if she was truly the fortunate one.
*
Rory had almostforgotten how to make idle chitchat. He’d spent far too much time these past months in dark taverns with the inebriated sons of minor peers discussing the merits of this wench or how much to wager on that wrestling match. He couldnot discuss wrestling or horse breeding with Mrs. Brooking, so he turned to the safe topic of the weather. “The weather has been surprisingly mild this year,” he said. “My lilacs are still blooming.”
“Are they really?” she said, glancing at him. She bustled about the kitchen to take the kettle from the hearth and steep tea. She had offered him a seat at the table, which was in the kitchen, the cottage being small and having only one room that served as dining room, kitchen, and parlor. “Most of my flowers are still blooming as well. Strange for this late in the season. I imagine your lilacs are beautiful.”
“They are, yes. Have you been to Lilacfall Abbey?”
“Not inside, no, but everyone in these parts knows the place and you, my lord.”
“I’m sorry if I don’t recall—have we met before, Mrs. Brooking?
She poured him a cup of tea. “No, my lord. No reason for our paths to cross.”
