“Nothing.” She adjusted her parasol. “I was just thinking about the wolves.”
“Wolves?” Frances gasped.
“There probably aren’t any in these woods. I think you’ll be fine. You don’t have any food with you, do you?”
“No.”
“Good. Then they won’t smell it and follow you.”
“What if I see a wolf?”
Genevieve stopped walking and pretended to think. “You should climb a tree. You know how to climb trees, don’t you?”
“No.”
“No?” Genevieve widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Haven’t you ever had a governess teach you how to climb trees?”
“No. My governesses never let me get dirty. They were always scolding me and trying to make me take a bath.”
It did not escape Genevieve’s attention that the girl used the plural of governess. There had been more than one, and no doubt the women hadn’t known what to do with such a spirited child. She would be a challenge, to be sure. But Genevieve was relatively sure she was up to the task.
“It’s a good thing you haven’t taken a bath recently, then. If you smell terribly then the wolf will think you are part of the woods and walk right past you.”
Frances’s shoulders slumped.
“What is it?”
“I took a bath last night. The cruel prince—I mean, my father—made me.”
Genevieve made a dubious face. “Was there scented soap?”
“I think so.”
“Can I smell?”
Frances nodded. Genevieve leaned down and sniffed Frances’s shoulder. “Oh dear. It’s just as I suspected. You smell like roses.”
“Do wolves like roses?”
“I don’t know, but they do like to eat little girls, and little girls often smell flowery.”
“What should I do?”
Genevieve shrugged. “If you don’t want to go home and eat breakfast and wait for the smell to wear off and try running away tomorrow, then you should just be very careful in the woods. Perhaps roll in some mud or deer feces to mask the smell.”
“Deer what?”
Genevieve leaned down and whispered in Frances’s ear whatfecesmeant. Frances giggled then said, “Ew! No!”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why dogs roll about in the dirt and in all manner of smelly things? To mask their smell, of course.”
“But I’m not a dog.”
“No, you are not, though if you were a dog, what sort of dog would you be? I would be an Irish setter.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Look at my hair. Don’t you think I would make a good Irish setter?”
