Chapter Ten

R ory released Miss Brooking and fumbled for the door latch. Even when his hand brushed over it, he couldn’t quite grip it. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t breathe. Damn close spaces. He’d never liked them, ever since the sadistic headmaster at St. Andrew’s had locked him in the broom closet for two days as punishment for some crime or other he couldn’t remember.

Except Rory hadn’t thought about that incident in years. And he was afraid he was only thinking about it now to try to justify the way his entire body was trembling after that kiss.

What the devil was he thinking? Why on earth would he kiss his governess?

He moved quickly down the corridor and started down the stairs. Below, he could hear Gables opening the door and greeting someone.

Rory didn’t need to think very hard to know why he would kiss Miss Brooking. When she was pressed against him, she’d felt so soft and warm. The faint scent of mint and soap made with rose petals teased his senses. He’d been able to clearly imagine her lovely pink lips.

And then she’d kissed him.

He was almost certain she had kissed him. He’d kissed her back, though, so he had no excuse.

“My lord,” Gables said as Rory reached the bottom of the stairs. “Doctor Acton is here to examine Miss Lumlee.”

“Doctor Acton?” Rory stared at the middle-aged man dressed in black, who was dripping all over the marble in his foyer. “Is something wrong with Frances? We were just playing a game.”

In fact, he could hear Frances cry out, “I found you!” to Miss Brooking, who was either still in the cleaning closet or had emerged after him.

Doctor Acton bowed. “My lord, I was told the young lady may need spectacles.”

“Oh, yes.” Rory had forgotten about the spectacles. He’d forgotten about everything except that kiss. “If you will join me in the parlor, sir, Gables will fetch my daughter.”

Gables bowed and started up the stairs while Rory gestured to the parlor. Once inside, the doctor asked permission to arrange his medical instruments. Rory went to the window and looked out at the sodden lilac bushes and the gray afternoon.

“Here she is, my lord,” Gables said.

Rory turned and spotted Miss Brooking. He was dimly aware Frances had entered with her, but he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the governess. Her cheeks were pink, her mouth rosy, and her green eyes looked quite large. She didn’t meet his gaze but studied the doctor.

“I don’t need a doctor, Papa,” Frances said. “I’m not sick.”

Rory finally dragged his gaze to his daughter, whose brow was furrowed in concern. “Miss Brooking and I want to have your eyes examined. We believe you may need spectacles.”

Miss Brooking’s head snapped up, and she stared at him, her mouth agape. He raised a brow, and she closed her mouth and looked back down.

“Spectacles?” Frances said. “Only elderly people wear spectacles.”

“Rubbish,” Rory said. “I knew a boy at school who wore spectacles.”

Frances cocked her head. “What was his name?”

Rory opened his mouth to answer but realized he only remembered the boy’s sobriquet. They’d all called him Specsie. He couldn’t tell Frances that. “John,” he said a little belatedly. “His name was John.”

Frances looked at Miss Brooking. “I don’t want spectacles.”

“Be brave, Frances. This examination will not hurt at all, will it, Doctor Acton?”

“No, no. Not at all.” The doctor straightened. “Might I have another lamp in here?”

Gables brought another, and Miss Brooking convinced Frances to sit in a chair. The governess held her hand while the doctor looked at her eyes and had her read letters on paper from various distances. When he asked her to cover one eye, she released Miss Brooking’s hand.

The governess watched her charge for a moment, then, seeing she was more relaxed, moved away and came to stand beside Rory at the window. He knew better than to assume this was by accident.

He looked at her, but she kept her gaze on Frances.

“I feel I should apologize for my behavior, my lord,” she whispered. “I assure you, I have never before done something like that with an employer. I honestly do not know what happened or who kissed whom.”

“You kissed me,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, and he saw a flash of what looked like anger in her eyes. Then she turned back to face the room.

“I am mortified and do apologize again. I will understand if you want to terminate my employment immediately.”

The thought made his heart jump. “Not at all, Miss Brooking,” he said. “We can move past the, er, incident. In fact, I’ve forgotten it already.” Rory had always been a smooth liar, but even he was surprised at how convincing he sounded. Move past that kiss? He didn’t think he’d forget it for months.

She didn’t speak for the length of three heartbeats. Her back visibly stiffened, and then she nodded once. “So have I, my lord. On another topic, I owe you my thanks.”

Rory’s brows went up. “For?”

“Summoning the doctor. I know you didn’t want Frances examined for spectacles. Thank you for listening to my suggestion. Again.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Brooking,” he said.

The doctor had opened his bag now and withdrew several pairs of small spectacles. He tried a pair on Frances and had her read one of his charts of letters and numbers. Then he gave her another pair and had her try again. She tried on three options and then went back to the second, a pretty gold-rimmed pair. Miss Brooking moved forward. “What do you think, Frances? Can you see better with those?”

Frances looked up at her, large brown eyes even larger behind the spectacles. “You have freckles, Miss Genevieve.”

“I do, yes. We both do.”

“But I never saw them unless I was very close to you.” She pointed to the window behind Rory. “I can see the trees outside the window. It’s a little blurry.”

“It is raining outside,” he said.

She nodded. “I never saw the trees before. Everything looked like a fuzzy puddle.” She rose. “May I go look at the rest of the house?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” Miss Brooking said. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Frances scampered away, pausing every few moments to stop and look at something in the room before she finally made it to the foyer. Rory heard her exclaim and glanced at Miss Brooking, who was smiling.

The doctor turned to Rory and nodded. “Children Miss Lumlee’s age often break or lose their spectacles. Shall I order her a second pair with the same magnification?”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor.”

The doctor packed everything back in his bag and took his leave. Rory had expected Miss Brooking to leave as well, but she turned to him when they were again alone. “Thank you, again, my lord. I know these spectacles will make a world of difference to your daughter.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Miss Brooking. I admit, I had no idea how poor her vision was. I let my vanity take precedence over common sense. Thank you for pushing me to see things your way.”

“My way?”

“I believe you pointed out that Frances is more than an ornament to be hung on a man’s arm.”

“I might have spoken a bit harshly.”

“Sometimes that’s the only way to ensure I hear what you have to say. I have been called stubborn and hardheaded at times.”

“I haven’t found either of those adjectives true, my lord.” She curtseyed and left the parlor. Rory turned back to the window. The rain was falling steadily, and he watched the limbs of the trees sway in the wind. He had never thought much about being a father. His own father had been largely absent from his life and the lives of his siblings, except for his eldest brother, who was the heir. Even now, Rory rarely heard from his father or saw him. His mother wrote him on occasion, but her letters were little more than news of his siblings’ spouses and children or the political figures she had met with. Rory always had the sense that she wrote the same letter to all his brothers and sisters, copied it, then sent it.

Strange then that he liked playing with his daughter, listening to her talk, watching her play with her doll. He hadn’t even wanted a daughter. Men wanted sons, or so he thought. But now he found himself impressed by Frances’s cleverness or laughing at something amusing she said. He wanted to spend more time with her.

He also wanted to spend more time with Miss Brooking.

Rory leaned his forehead against the window, which was pleasantly cool due to the rains. He appreciated the chill of the glass against his heated skin. Increasingly, he felt rather warm whenever he thought of Miss Brooking. Rory didn’t anticipate that would change now that she’d kissed him—and he’d kissed her back. He might have been relieved that she seemed as attracted to him as he was to her, except that his life would have been easier if she took no notice of him.

Rory was perfectly aware that a gentleman marrying his governess was common enough to become a cliché. The problem was that Rory did not want to marry again. He was perfectly aware women only wanted him for one thing—his proximity to a dukedom and title. He didn’t want to be used again. Marriage was the only way to have Miss Brooking—Genevieve. He wasn’t a man with particularly strict morals, but one thing he believed in was treating his staff well. He didn’t abuse his position and power, and as Miss Brooking’s employer, he had all the power.

And yet…she had kissed him.

And he had liked it.

Why couldn’t it have been a sloppy, wet kiss that disgusted him? Why couldn’t her breath have smelled rank or her lips been thin or dry?

But kissing her had been perfect.

Of course, kissing Harriet had been perfect as well, the few times he’d dared once they were betrothed. And then, once the vows were spoken, she’d turned her head or behaved like a cold fish when he tried to kiss her.

He’d been fooled before.

He wouldn’t be fooled again.

*

Frances ran through the house, stopping whenever she spotted something she had not seen before. She was amazed at the details of the medallions on the ceiling. The ceiling in the foyer had been so high she hadn’t been able to see the plasterwork on it. Now, she studied the elaborate scrolls and curlicues and marveled. Then she ran upstairs and into the nursery. She was familiar with the room, but everything was clearer. Everything seemed in focus. She removed her glasses, and the room went just a little fuzzy. She put them on again, and she could clearly see the expression on Harriet’s face, even though the doll was across the room on the bed. Frances went to the window then and looked out.

The rain was not so hard that she could not see the green grass and the lilac bushes in all their purple glory. Before all the colors had run together, like paint if she spilled water on a canvas. Now they took on shape and dimension. She looked in the distance at the trees and the woods beyond the lawn. All of that had looked like a ball of green and brown yarn before. Now she could see the tree trunks and even leaves.

Frances went to a mirror and stared at herself. She looked different with spectacles. She thought she might look older. They certainly didn’t make her look prettier. But then, she wasn’t a pretty girl to begin with. She had freckles, and skinny arms and legs, and her hair was an unremarkable brown. Her mother had had such beautiful golden hair, and Frances had always envied it.

Now she could see that her hair was tangled and her freckles far more prominent than she’d thought. Frances turned away from the mirror and saw Miss Genevieve standing in the doorway. “You don’t like them,” she said.

“I look ugly.”

“The spectacles don’t make you look any different. I think they are a nice shape for your face, and the gold looks pretty against your skin.”

Frances shook her head. “I don’t mean because of the spectacles. I mean, now that I see myself clearly, I’m uglier than I thought.”

“You’re not ugly at all.”

“I am,” Frances said. “My freckles stand out, and I’m too skinny, and my hair is not pretty like Mama’s.”

Miss Genevieve opened her arms, and Frances ran into them and cried against her shoulder. The spectacles became foggy, so she removed them. Miss Genevieve took them and held them in her hand. Somehow Miss Genevieve knew not to gainsay Frances. She didn’t argue that Frances was beautiful or there was nothing wrong with freckles—though she might have, as the governess had them herself, and Frances thought she was sort of pretty. Not as pretty as Mama, of course. Miss Genevieve just held her and stroked her back until Frances felt a little better.

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 them returned her to that kiss. Why had she done it? And why could 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. “I really am 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 him Rory in 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 mother was vastly 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 out of 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.”

Genevieve smiled. “He seems to. Of course, he argued with me initially, but he is more reasonable than he seems.”

“He doesn’t seem unreasonable to me, simply proud and in pain. Of course he would be grieving after losing his wife.”

Genevieve took another sip of water. “I do think he grieves, but I’m not so sure he grieves his wife. My understanding is they had been somewhat estranged.”

“It’s not unusual for members of their class to live apart. They do not marry for love. You may not know that it was her money they used to buy Lilacfall Abbey. Her family is quite wealthy, and she had a large dowry. He was a younger son and, if not for his fortuitous marriage, would have had to go into the army or the clergy.”

“And yet I do not have the impression he married her for her dowry. I think he loved her. I do not think she loved him back.”

Mama set her cup on the table. “When you were last here, you told me you were the governess to the little girl and the father was not your concern. Do you remember what I said?”

“Not to forget that fact.”

“Have you forgotten?”

“Not exactly.” Genevieve sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I have tried to keep my distance, but it’s difficult.”

“Because he is so handsome?”

“That certainly does not help, but also because he is so kind and thoughtful when I don’t expect it. Take the spectacles, for example.” She opened her eyes and stared out at the garden where she had argued with him over the spectacles. “When I first suggested them, he said the most pigheaded rubbish about Frances not needing to see. He said girls only need to be able to embroider and play the piano. As though women were only meant to be ornaments.”

“That’s not a surprising attitude, given his class. Ladies of his station are mostly ornamental.”

“I argued with him, which was like arguing with a rock, and gave the cause up as lost.”

“Ha! If I know my daughter, you would have brought it up again as soon as the opportunity presented itself.”

Genevieve smiled. “Well, I never had the chance, because yesterday the doctor came and fitted Frances with spectacles. That’s not all.”

She told her mother about Lady Emory’s handkerchiefs and the dinner together and the game of hide-and-seek—omitting the kiss, of course.

“He is making an effort to become a father to the child.” Mama reached over and touched Genevieve’s arm. “And touching your heart in the process, I see.”

Genevieve gave her mother a sharp look. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me. I doubt it would be to anyone who doesn’t know you very well. But Genevieve, you must move past these feelings. He is the son of a duke, and your employer.”

“I know, Mama. And I truly do not know what’s come over me. I’ve never felt like this for any of my other employers, and some of the fathers were decent men who cared for their children. There’s something different about Lord Emory.”

“He’s undoubtedly a hundred times more handsome than any of those men.”

“That’s true, but I do hope you don’t believe me that shallow.”

“Perhaps you mistake your empathy for his loss and grief for feelings of affection.”

Genevieve nodded, but she was no young girl who could not sort her feelings. She knew the difference between feeling sympathy and the first stirrings of caring for someone. She also knew the difference between simple admiration of a handsome face and desire for the person beneath it.

“I kissed him,” she said abruptly.

“What?”

Genevieve put her face in her hands. “I know. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to.”

“What were you thinking? And how was the kiss? Did he kiss you back?” Her mother leaned forward, looking half shocked and half intrigued.

“Well, I was not thinking,” Genevieve said, raising a finger. “We were playing hide-and-seek—I told you about that—and we ended up both hiding in a closet. We were pressed together, and I don’t know what happened. One moment we were standing there, and the next we were kissing.”

“He did kiss you back, then?”

“He did. Nothing wild or salacious. It was a gentle kiss, and sweet, but I sensed some emotion behind it.”

“Or did you only want there to be emotion behind it?”

Genevieve shrugged. “I’d have to repeat the kiss to be certain, and I cannot do that.”

“But you want to. I can see it in your face.”

“It was a very good kiss.”

Her mother blew out a breath. “A man like that has probably had quite a bit of practice. You are correct in one thing—you cannot repeat the kiss.”

“I won’t. I apologized, and he said we should put it behind us and not mention it again.”

“Very reasonable. I think that’s a sound plan. Unless…”

Genevieve frowned. “Unless?”

“He feels something for you too.”

“I’m sure he sees me as nothing more than another member of his staff.” But even as she said it, she was remembering the kiss and the hint of passion and something more behind it. He hadn’t kissed her like she was his valet or footman. He’d kissed her like she was a woman he desired.

“Just be careful. He has a questionable reputation already, and if you’re dismissed from his employment, you might not find a decent position again.”

“You’re right, Mama. I know you will always put things in perspective for me.” And she did have clarity now. A kiss was enjoyable, but certainly not worth losing her position and her good name.