“Just one thing?” He took a seat and leaned back.
“One thing more. This morning when Frances received the box, she said something I think you should know. She told me she thought the box was from her mother.”
“It is, in a way.”
“No, my lord. The gift is from you, but the fact that Frances believes her mother could send her gifts worries me. Several times she has either said to me, or to her doll in play, that she believes her mother is coming back for her. I have explained that her mother has died, but I’m not sure if she believes me or simply doesn’t want to accept the truth.”
Lord Emory’s gaze went to the windows, where Frances could be seen petting Admiral while Mr. Bloom looked on.
“What do you think I should do about it?” His brandy-colored eyes shifted to Genevieve. “Sit her down and tell her that her mother is buried on the west side of the property and never coming back for her?”
“No, though a visit to her mother’s grave is not a bad idea. I think what Frances needs is reassurance that she is safe here, safe with you.”
“Do you think I will harm her?”
“Of course not.”
“And I already told you I won’t send her away to a school.”
“But you haven’t toldher. Nor have you promised her you will not leave her again or send her away.”
He opened his mouth then closed it. “I’m not quite sure I can promise that. I returned to England for a reason. Once that objective is accomplished, I cannot promise to stay here.”
“I see.” If he couldn’t promise to stay with Frances and offer her a stable home and caretaker, then perhaps it was better if he said nothing. Actions could reassure as well, though. “Perhaps it is better if you don’t say anything to her then. But I do think there’s value in getting to know her better and allowing her to know you.”
“She’s seven. What else do I need to know?”
“Her favorite color? Her favorite games? What she fears? What she loves? Spend some time with her, my lord.”
“That is what I pay you for, Miss Brooking.”
“And I am doing my job, my lord.”
“I advise you to stick to your job and stop telling me mine.”
Genevieve opened her mouth again then closed it. She’d already overstepped. “Yes, my lord. May I be excused?”
He waved a hand, and she felt her back burning as he watched her depart.
Chapter Nine
Rory was nervousabout dinner. Ridiculous that he should be nervous to dine in his own home with his own daughter and a servant. He hadn’t been nervous when he dined with the prince regent. He hadn’t been nervous when he met Lord Byron or Ludwig von Beethoven. Why should he be pacing the dining room now as though he were a new bridegroom?
He heard steps outside the door and moved quickly to take his seat.Devil take it.If he sat, he’d just have to stand again as soon as the females entered. He quickly decided to stand behind his chair—no, beside his chair. He’d just managed to pose in a manner that he hoped conveyed ennui and nonchalance when the door opened. He straightened as Frances and Miss Brooking entered. His gaze was drawn by Miss Brooking. That red hair was difficult to ignore, and she wore a sea-blue dress that somehow made her green eyes look even greener. The bodice was modest, and he wished it dipped so he might have a view of her collarbone. Still, the long column of her neck was enticing enough.
Miss Brooking was not looking at him, however. Her gaze was on Frances. He transferred his own gaze to the child and noticed she was not wearing black. This was the first time he had seen her out of black except dressed in her nightclothes. Tonight, she wore a lavender gown that still looked far too somber for achild, but which was appropriate for someone in half-mourning. Did anyone expect a child to mourn this long?
Rory came forward and offered Frances his hand. “You look very pretty tonight,” he told her, noting the ribbon at the end of her long braid.
“Thank you.” She took his hand, and he led her to a chair at the right of his own, pulled it out for her, and seated her. She sat down, and the table barely cleared her chin. Rory looked at Miss Brooking, not sure what he was supposed to do.
“Gables,” she said, moving to the seat beside Frances, “do you have a cushion for Miss Lumlee’s use at dinner?”
“Of course, Miss Brooking.” The butler exited through the servants’ door and returned a moment later with a padded cushion. He placed it on the chair for Frances, and when she sat on it, the height was perfect.
Rory was aware he did not need to pull out a chair for his governess, but he did so anyway, and was rewarded with the sharp scent of mint when she moved past him.
He took his own seat and nodded to the servants to bring the first course. As soon as they entered with the trays, he had two realizations. One, he had no idea what foods his daughter liked and had not instructed his cook to prepare anything special. Two, he had no idea what to talk to her about.
