“Is it just you and Miss Brooking?”
“It is now. My husband passed away sixteen years ago.”
“I’m so very sorry.” And he meant it. It couldn’t be easy for a wife with children to care for to lose her husband.
“Thank you, my lord, but we made do. Genevieve was fourteen and her sister fifteen. My son Charles was almost eighteen, and he joined the army. Now he has moved up in the ranks, and Georgiana is a governess like Genevieve. It’s a rare thing when all three of my children are home.” She stepped away for a moment, producing a handkerchief and coughing into it.
Rory stood, somewhat alarmed at the racking sound and the way her cough seemed to shake her entire body. “Do sit, Mrs. Brooking. You are not well.”
She waved a hand. “I am fine. Still recovering, but Genevieve nursed me back to health.”
“Miss Brooking nursed you?”
She did sit and took a breath. “Yes…she left her…last position to come home and care for me…when the ague I had went into my lungs.” She took a deeper breath and seemed able to inhale more deeply now. “She was thrilled to find you were looking for a governess. I think she wants to stay close and keep an eye on me, even though I told her I’m fine.”
“Mama, I heard you coughing,” Miss Brooking said, coming down the stairs with Frances right behind her. “Are you feeling ill?”
“Just a cough. I’m fine.” Mrs. Brooking stood and placed a smaller-than-average teacup painted with flowers on the table. “Miss Lumlee, would you care for some tea? This is the cup Genevieve used when she was your age.”
Genevieve gasped. “Mama! You still have that?”
“Of course.”
Frances set the two dolls she’d been carrying onto the table and lifted the teacup very carefully. “It’s so small.”
“But perfect for your dainty hand,” Mrs. Brooking said. “Do you want tea?”
“Yes, please.” Frances glanced at Miss Brooking, who nodded, obviously approving of his daughter’s use ofplease. “May I have sugar too?”
Rory opened his mouth to object. Sugar was dear, and he did not want to use this widow’s small store.
“Of course,” Mrs. Brooking said before he could speak. “You must have at least two spoonfuls, for a sweet girl like you needs sweet tea.”
“Oh, Mama,” Miss Brooking said, frowning.
Her mother waved her away. “Why don’t you take Lord Emory to see the gardens? Miss Lumlee and I are having tea.”
Miss Brooking looked at him with a question in her eyes. Rory extended a hand to the door. “After you, Miss Brooking.”
She led him outside and around to the back of the cottage, where a small garden bloomed. It was obviously lovingly tended, as the roses were pruned, the beds weeded, and the paths swept clean. He didn’t know the names of the flowers other than the roses, and there were plenty of those in every color he could think of.
“This must take a great deal of time to maintain,” he said.
“My mother enjoys it, and it’s a source of income as well. Those pink roses—do you see them?”
He saw any number of pink roses, but he thought he spotted the ones she referred to.
“Those won best in show at the Sidmouth Horticultural Exhibition.”
“That’s impressive.” Rory had never been to a horticultural exhibition, but he had lived amongst thetonand visited enough great estates of friends and acquaintances to know that gardeners took their blooms very seriously.
“She can sell the seeds and cut flowers as well.”
“And did you care for the garden when she was ill? She said you left your previous position to come home and tend her.”
Miss Brooking glanced at him then back at the prize-winning roses. “It was no great hardship. The boys were of an age where they would go to Eton this fall. They wouldn’t have needed me much longer, and my mother did need me. As you can see, she’s feeling much better now.”
“You must ask Mrs. Mann for time to visit her if she needs you.”
