“How can you reduce her world to only what she can see right in front of her face? She deserves to see the entire world and experience it too.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
He crossed his arms.
“I need a bottle of the perfume the late Lady Emory wore.”
Now he blinked, and the mask of indifference he wore faltered for an instant. “I beg your pardon?”
“Frances misses her mother. She is worried because she is beginning to forget her, but one thing she does remember about her is her perfume. I’d like to give her a bottle of that scent to help her remember her mother and to feel close to her.”
“How can she feel close to her? The woman is dead.”
“So is my father, and yet whenever I pass a man smoking a pipe with the tobacco he used, I remember my father, and that memory makes me smile.”
A muscle in Lord Emory’s jaw flexed, and when he spoke, he barely parted his lips. “Harriet was a vain, grasping woman. There’s nothing about her memory to make one smile.”
The anger burning inside Genevieve began to fade. It appeared Frances was not the only one hurting. “My lord.” She reached out to touch his arm, but he drew back as though her hand were a hot coal. The mask of indifference slammed down over his face again, and she realized he’d said far more than he’d intended.
“It’s late,” he said. “I’ll wait in the coach while you fetch Frances.” Without pausing for a response, he turned and marched out of the garden.
Genevieve put a hand to her heart and sank down on a bench a few feet away. She closed her eyes. She should have realized Lord Emory had no affection for his wife or her memory. There had been enough signs to that effect. He didn’t know his daughter at all, which meant he probably had not spent time with her or her mother before Lady Emory’s death. The couple must have been estranged. No wonder his face took on that pained expression whenever Frances said the name of her doll. He didn’t like to be reminded of his late wife.
Not wanting to anger him any further by keeping him waiting, she returned to the house and found her mother andFrances chatting as though they were old friends. Mama looked up at her, caught her expression, and gave her an inquisitive look. Genevieve shook her head and smiled at Frances. “Your papa is waiting in the carriage. We had better not tarry.”
“But I like it here,” Frances said.
“Then you must come back,” Genevieve’s mother told the little girl. “You are welcome anytime.”
Genevieve handed Harriet and Marcella to Frances. “Go and settle the dolls in the carriage. I will be there in a moment.”
The little girl did as she was told, and Genevieve turned to her mother. “Did the footman take my trunk?”
“Yes. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, just the clothing. Thank you, Mama.” She kissed her cheeks. “Please send for me if you don’t feel well.”
“I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, have an enormous task before you.” Mama glanced at the door. “He’s a proud man, and he’s hurting.”
Genevieve raised her brows. “You gathered all of that in the five minutes you spent with him?”
“He doesn’t hide it as well as he thinks.”
“Well, fortunately, I am only governess to Frances. Her father is not my concern.”
“Just keep reminding yourself of that fact.”
Genevieve reminded herself Lord Emory was not her problem or her charge all the way back to Lilacfall Abbey. The man himself said nothing, but fortunately Frances was engrossed in playing with her dolls and didn’t seem to notice the tension. Or perhaps she did notice it, and that was why she busied herself playing. Back at the estate, Genevieve spent the rest of the day playing with Frances and then a long hour coaxing the girl into the bathtub. Many children did not like to wash, but once they were in the tub, they rather enjoyed it. Frances, on the other hand, trembled the entire time.
When she was clean and dry and wrapped in a towel, Genevieve held her and asked why she feared baths. Tearfully, the little girl admitted she was afraid of the water. Genevieve made a mental note to accustom the child to the water and show her baths could be enjoyable.
Once the girl was settled in bed, Genevieve unpacked her trunk and sorted her things in the chamber Mrs. Mann had given her next to the nursery. They’d decided Genevieve would sleep in the nursery the first few nights to keep an eye on Frances and be close in case she needed anything. Then one of the maids would be given that task so Genevieve might have her own chamber, as was customary for a governess.
The longcase clock in the grand foyer had just chimed twelve times when Genevieve finally climbed into the nursery bed to the clip-clop sound of horses’ hooves. Abruptly, she realized Lord Emory and Mr. Notley must have gone out. She’d been so busy with Frances’s bath and unpacking, she hadn’t heard the men leave or noticed how quiet the house had been. But it was quiet no more.
The front door slammed open, and boots clicked on the marble floor. Above the din, Lord Emory’s booming voice gave what sounded like commands to the staff. Frances stirred but did not wake. Genevieve closed her eyes, hoping everything would quiet now, but she opened them again at the sound of voices in the garden below.
