Quite suddenly, Frances’s eyes went wide, and she brought the handkerchiefs to her nose. “Mama!” she cried. She closed her eyes and inhaled again. “They smell like Mama.”
Genevieve felt a lump rise in her throat. Clearly, the gift was from Lord Emory. She had asked him for perfume. Perhaps he hadn’t found perfume, but he had been able to unearth something with Lady Emory’s fragrance. Ladies often perfumed their handkerchiefs, so of course these smelled like Lady Emory.
“What a thoughtful gift,” Genevieve said when her throat was working again. “I think your papa must have sent these. You shall have to thank him.”
Frances nodded and continued pressing the handkerchiefs to her nose.
“Does the scent bring any particular memory to mind?” Genevieve asked.
“I hurt my finger,” Frances said.
Genevieve’s gaze went to Frances’s hand, but it was unharmed. “Do you mean you remember when you hurt your finger?”
“Yes. I hurt my finger playing with the cabinet doors. Mama told me not to play with them, but I liked to open them and close them again. My finger got stuck, and I cried. Mama picked me up and kissed me and held me until my finger felt better.”
“And since you were snuggled close, you could smell her perfume.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“She sounds as though she was a very good mama.”
Frances nodded.
“She must have loved you so, so much and been very sad when you hurt your finger.”
“The baby was sad too. I felt him kick.”
“Was your little brother there too?”
“He was in Mama’s belly. When she held me, he kicked me. It made me laugh.”
Genevieve smiled. “That’s a wonderful memory, Frances. I think we should put it in your book.”
“Oh, yes! Where is it?”
“I’ll fetch it.” Genevieve rose. “You fold the handkerchiefs neatly and put them back. You can keep the box on this shelf and take it down whenever you want to touch or smell the handkerchiefs and remember your mama.”
While Frances worked at folding the handkerchiefs, Genevieve found the little notebook where the girl had written the one memory of her mother she had remembered previously. Genevieve put it on the desk and readied a quill and ink. She wondered if she should say anything about Frances’s earlier comment that her mama would come for her, and decided she should discuss it with Lord Emory. After all, as the child’s father,it was more appropriate for him to discuss the death of Frances’s mother with her. Clearly, her grandparents had not done so.
Frances spent the next two hours writing her memory. Genevieve helped with spelling and penmanship and even crafting the sentences. Finally, it was late enough that she assumed Lord Emory and Mr. Notley would be at breakfast.
“You have worked so diligently this morning,” she said. “Shall we go down to the dining room and thank your father for his gift?”
Frances looked at the box on the low shelf where Genevieve had placed it. “Yes. Then can we go outside and play with Admiral?”
Admiral was the name of the dog owned by the groundskeeper, Mr. Bloom.
“I don’t see why not.”
They went down the stairs together, and Genevieve knocked on the dining room door. Gables opened it and turned to the room. “Miss Lumlee and Miss Brooking,” he said. The door swung wider, and Lord Emory looked up from the paper he held. Genevieve immediately noted that he was eating alone. She also noted that her belly was rebelling at not having been fed earlier. The smell of tea and baked goods made her mouth water.
Lord Emory stood.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said.
“Good morning, Miss Brooking. Frances.”
“Good morning, Papa.” Frances looked down, still shy around her father. He was an imposing man, and Genevieve herself felt quite shy if she looked at him directly for too long. He looked particularly handsome this morning in his dove-gray coat and charcoal waistcoat. He wore riding breeches and boots, and she couldn’t help but notice how well the breeches molded to his thighs.
