When the tears had mostly dried up, Frances looked at her governess. “Do you think Mama would like them?” she asked, glancing at the spectacles.
“I don’t know,” she answered, which Frances supposed was truthful but not the answer she’d wanted. “I didn’t know your mama, but if I was a mother, I would want my daughter to be able to see clearly. I can only imagine all the things you see now that you missed before.”
“I wish I could show Mama.”
“I wish you could show her too. Are you missing her?”
Frances’s tummy hurt at those words. She always missed her mama, but she thought Miss Genevieve must be asking if she missed her more than usual. She nodded, and Miss Genevieve fetched the box with Mama’s handkerchiefs. Frances took one out and held it to her nose. Miss Genevieve allowed her to curl up on her bed with the handkerchief, even though it was barely midday. Then she went to her chamber and came back with a book that had descriptions of hundreds of animals as well as pictures. “This will help the next time we play our alphabet game,” she said.
Frances spent a happy afternoon lying in bed and looking at pictures while Miss Genevieve read the descriptions of animals.
*
“Mama! I’m home,”Genevieve said as she opened the door to her mother’s cottage the next day. The house was silent, and Mama was not in the kitchen. Through the window facing the garden, Genevieve spied her in the back among her roses. She put her reticule on the table and went outside to join her mother.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Mama said, rising and brushing her skirts off before hugging Genevieve. “Is it your day off already?”
“It is, and as promised, I came to spend it with you.”
“I feel honored. Will you help me weed the garden?”
“Of course.” Genevieve walked to the garden shed, found a cushion, and returned. She set it near her mother and began to weed. She had done this task thousands of times and didn’t need to be told what to look for. The rote work gave her plenty of time to think, something she hadn’t had time for while she was caring for Frances and helping the girl adjust to her new spectacles. But now she couldn’t escape her thoughts, and many of themreturned her to that kiss.Whyhad she done it? Andwhycould she not seem to regret her actions?
“How are you feeling?” Genevieve asked after a half-hour had passed with her thoughts going around and around in circles.
“Excellent.”
“Mother.” Genevieve straightened and looked at her. “You promised if I took the position as governess, you would be honest with me. How are you feeling?Really?”
Mama also straightened, wincing a bit as she did so. “Ireallyam feeling fine. A little tired, but I attribute that to the fact that I cough at night and don’t rest as well as I’d like.”
“Lord Emory”—Genevieve was not about to call himRoryin front of her mother—“had Doctor Acton come to take a look at Frances. Perhaps he could examine you and prescribe a medicine to help.”
“Doctor Sayers has already given me a tonic.”
“Yes, but if the tonic is not alleviating the cough—”
“Genevieve.” Her mother held up a hand. “Doctor Sayers knows what he is about. We don’t need to spend another fortune on a fancy doctor to tell me what I know: rest and time is the cure I need.”
Genevieve let the matter go. Her mother was not one of her charges, and she would not be managed. Besides, compared to six months ago, her motherwasvastly improved. When Genevieve had abruptly left her position and raced home after a terrifying note from Doctor Sayers, she had found her mother confined to her bed with a high fever and a racking cough. She’d sat with her mother for days on end, listening to her slow, wheezing breaths and applying herb poultices that would hopefully open her air passages.
When Mama had begun to finally improve, Genevieve had fed her broth, read to her, and cut her fresh flowers from those first blooms. Only when her mother was finally able to get outof bed and walk across her room on her own did Genevieve feel the mountain of fear tumble, rock by rock, from her shoulders. She’d known her mother truly felt well when she began to direct Genevieve to sweep the cottage and trim the hedges and wash the pile of dishes she’d left unattended.
Now the house appeared spotless, the garden was back to its original glory, and Mama did look to be improving.
“Let’s sit in the shade for a few minutes.”
Genevieve followed her mother to a set of wrought iron chairs in the shade of a lime tree. An earthenware pitcher and two cups sat on the iron table, and Genevieve poured them both the cool water from it and sipped.
“Is Miss Lumlee ill?” her mother asked.
“Not at all.”
“You mentioned the doctor had come.”
“Oh, yes. That was to fit her for spectacles. She was having trouble seeing distances, and I mentioned it to Lord Emory.”
“He listens to your advice, then? I thought you had finally met your match.”
