Chapter Four

G enevieve had thought she’d be ecstatic if she was offered the position at Lilacfall Abbey. It really was the perfect job. The estate was only three miles from her mother’s home. If her mother felt unwell or needed Genevieve, she could be home within the hour.

Another advantage of the position was the fact that she would only be responsible for one child. Genevieve had cared for as many as four, and while she had enjoyed that challenge, what she wanted now was focus. Clearly, Miss Frances Lumlee needed someone to focus on her.

She had not anticipated the disadvantages of the position. Namely, the large disadvantage standing in front of her. She had heard very little concerning Lord Emory. In her past experiences, she rarely had occasion to interact with the master of the house. Genevieve would have asked the housekeeper about him, but she hadn’t expected to be confronted by him before she’d even been hired. But here he was, ushering her into a parlor of the house and closing the door so they were alone together.

Genevieve turned and looked up at Lord Emory. He was quite tall, by her estimation over six feet. Oh, and he was handsome. She’d noticed that when she first saw him, but now, seeing him in close proximity, she found it difficult to meet his eyes or look at him for very long without feeling slightly breathless. It was no exaggeration to claim that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. It couldn’t even be said that this was a subjective opinion. The man was objectively handsome. Her quick peeks at him showed her his face was perfectly beautiful and symmetrical—straight nose, chiseled cheekbones, square jaw. That jaw had a bit of stubble on it. His hair, dark and thick and somewhat wavy, was quite disheveled as well. He was dressed in breeches and shirt sleeves, which was another indication he’d been abruptly roused from sleep, probably to search for his missing child. No wonder his brows slashed downward over his lovely brown eyes. Were they brown? She blinked. More of a brandy color, really. Frances’s eyes were similar.

And then, because she couldn’t really help herself, she allowed her gaze to drop, just for an instant, to his neck and the V of his shirt. That glimpse of bare skin made her take a quick breath before she clasped her hands together and gave him a pleasant smile. She kept her gaze just below his eyes. Looking into them was a bit too overwhelming. “Will Mrs. Mann be joining us?”

“No,” he said.

“I see.” This was not good news. Titled gentlemen did not discuss compensation or the terms of employment with their servants. Those were the details she sought now. “If I don’t speak with her, how am I to know if I will accept the position or not?”

“You’ll accept,” he said.

Genevieve cocked her head. She didn’t particularly like his tone of voice or the way he spoke as though every word he said was an order. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ll tell her to give you whatever you ask.”

Genevieve blinked.

“Answer me this. How did you get my daughter to go into breakfast?”

Whatever she asked? Any salary she asked for? Surely, he didn’t mean what he’d said. “Breakfast?” she said distractedly. “I told Miss Lumlee her doll was hungry, and after breakfast I would devise an adventure for us.”

Lord Emory put his hands on his hips. “How did you know you’d secure the position?”

Genevieve smiled. “I couldn’t be certain, but if you don’t mind my saying so, your housekeeper looked rather desperate. I understand completely, as I found Miss Lumlee sleeping in the gazebo when I arrived this morning.”

“What the devil?”

His shout made her legs wobble. Everything about him put her off balance. “Miss Lumlee intended to run away. May I sit?”

“Of course.” He motioned toward a chair. “Where was she running to?”

Genevieve sat, gripping the arms of the chair. “I don’t know. Away from here and the ‘cruel prince.’ That’s what she calls you.” She glanced up at him. He was still breathtakingly handsome.

His face darkened, and his scowl deepened at her words. Genevieve rather wished she hadn’t added that last part.

“Don’t take it personally. Many children her age live in a world of their own imagining. Especially after they have been through a difficult time.”

Lord Emory pointed at her. “I don’t need you to tell me about my own child.”

“Very well.” She should have known better than to offer him advice. Gentlemen didn’t want advice, and parents rarely wanted to be told how to deal with their own children, even when Genevieve knew those children much better than they. Difficult as it was, Genevieve kept her gaze locked with his. It was unnerving to have him looking at her so intently. She didn’t think she’d ever had such a handsome man look at her. “Er, what else do you need from me, my lord?”

Now it was his turn to look disconcerted. “I-I don’t know. I suppose I should call for Mrs. Mann.”

Genevieve nodded as his lordship went to the bellpull. Oh my. His backside was as attractive as the front. He turned abruptly, and she quickly looked up at the ceiling, pretending to find it fascinating.

“You will take the position.”

She thought it was supposed to be a question, and she quelled her annoyance by reminding herself a man like him probably wasn’t used to asking questions.

“I will, my lord.”

“Good,” he said. “Then don’t move. Stay right there.”

Genevieve did as she was told, sitting in the room alone for a quarter of an hour before the door opened again and a footman offered to escort her to Mrs. Mann’s quarters.

*

Rory stood at his library window and peered out into the back garden. Miss Brooking and Frances had been playing back there for over an hour. At first, he’d tried to ignore their shouts and giggles and focus on his ledgers, but when the sound of a dog barking joined the noise they were making, he rose.

He didn’t recognize the dog, but he assumed the hound belonged to one of the groundskeepers, as the older man stood off to one side and smiled while Frances threw a piece of rope for the dog and then, after it was fetched, played tug with the animal. The dog would refuse to give the toy up, and Frances would pull hard, and just when she was pulling her hardest, the dog would let go, and Frances would fall on her bottom. Then the dog would lick her face, and Frances would dissolve into giggles. Miss Brooking was laughing too. She had a deeper laugh, not infectious like Frances’s, but one that made his belly do a slow roll.

He should call for Mrs. Mann and see on what terms the governess had been hired. She would probably fleece him, and it would be his own fault for offering her the moon and the stars. But he didn’t regret it. Not when he saw his daughter laughing like that. He was embarrassed to admit that he’d not thought about his daughter very much in the seven years since her birth. He’d wanted his child to be a boy, of course. He didn’t need an heir, but every man wanted a son, didn’t they? It seemed when Harriet gave birth to a daughter, she disappointed him yet again. He hadn’t even come home to meet the child. All he’d thought was that now they would have to have another child, and he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

He hadn’t wanted to make the effort. Instead, Rory settled in at Lilacfall Abbey, and Harriet had stayed in Town. When Rory had gone to Town, he either stayed with one of his friends or took rooms at the Clarendon Hotel.

Rory thought that if Frances had been a boy he might have taken more of an interest. But he wasn’t needed in the rearing of a girl. Harriet could deal with that—with her.

Well, now she was his to deal with, and his child was a savage. Once in a while, Rory saw a little girl at a park or out on the streets of London. These children were dressed in frilly white dresses and blue bows. Their hair was curled and shiny under their caps. He’d imagined his own daughter looked the same.

But when she was thrust upon him the other day, she’d been wearing an ill-fitting black dress, and her hair was a mass of tangles. She was skinny, tanned, and freckled. What had the Dowlings been doing with her?

Well, he had a governess in his employ now, and Miss Brooking seemed to know how to deal with the child. Soon enough Frances would be in white dresses and bows. Then he wouldn’t have to think about her again. He told himself he could step away from the window and return to his work, but he couldn’t seem to make himself do so. There was something about that laugh, something about his daughter that made him smile, and it had been a very long time since he’d smiled.

“I can see why you hired that one,” Notley said.

Rory turned. He hadn’t even heard his friend enter the library. Now Notley came to stand beside him at the window. “She’s a plum piece. I do love a ginger.”

“No,” Rory said, surprised at how quickly he bristled at the thought of his friend touching Miss Brooking. “She is in my employ. You won’t touch her.”

Notley frowned at him. “You’re saving her for yourself?”

“She is in my employ.”

Notley went to a cabinet with a decanter on top and poured himself a generous glass of port. “If you don’t want her, then—”

“ No, ” Rory said definitively.

Notley held up both hands. “Fine. Hands off the governess. But you can’t expect me to live like a monk. We’ve been half a week, I and haven’t left the house. Let’s go into the village tonight.”

Rory nodded. “Fine.” A few drinks and a quick tumble with a barmaid were just what he needed. His gaze strayed from his laughing daughter to Miss Brooking. Why had he reacted so negatively when Notley admired her? He would never take advantage of a woman in his employ, and he knew Notley well enough to know he wouldn’t force a woman who wasn’t willing. What did it matter if Notley flirted with the governess or stole a kiss? She wasn’t a child. In fact, his mother would say she was decidedly on the shelf . Clearly, she was old enough to make her own decisions.

Quite suddenly, Rory realized he didn’t want kissing Notley to be one of her decisions. He didn’t want to share her—which was ridiculous, because she wasn’t even his. Equally ridiculous was the fact that he was never proprietary about women. Once or twice, he’d heard rumors that Harriet had lovers after they’d separated. The rumors had never been substantiated, but even if they’d been true, Rory wouldn’t have cared as long as she didn’t flaunt them in front of his face.

But that was after he’d fallen out of love with Harriet. What about before? Rory couldn’t remember ever worrying about Harriet even looking at another man before they’d wed. He’d been so sure of her affections, and he’d been so hopelessly besotted that he wouldn’t have dreamed of looking at another woman.

What a fool.

Rory closed the curtains on Miss Brooking and Frances and the barking dog and sat at his desk again, thumbing through the ledger and sighing at the lines and lines of entries.

“Country life is so tedious,” Notley said. “What do people do all day?”

“You could read a book.”

“Gives me a headache.”

Rory found the page where he’d left off and began reading through his steward’s notes. So far everything looked on the up and up, but he shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. His father always said that a steward was no replacement for the landowner. Rory didn’t have tenant farmers, but Lilacfall Abbey still needed managing, especially if he were to sell it.

That had been the plan when he’d returned. He’d begin the process of selling the estate and help his friends King and Henry with their problems. Then he could go away again.

But how could he go away now that he had his daughter to think about? What if the Dowlings wouldn’t take her back?

“Take a walk on the grounds,” Rory said to his friend. “I pay a fortune to keep them looking like this.” The numbers certainly indicated his groundskeepers were paid well, and yet the grounds weren’t as well kept as they had been before. Now that he was home, he wanted everything neat and tidy. “The weather is still remarkably warm for this late in the year,” he added.

“There’s a bright yellow thing in the sky,” Notley said. “I don’t like it.”

Rory smiled and closed the ledger.

Notley’s brows went up. “I say now. That’s a good sign. To the village?”

“To the village. The work will be here when I return.”

Notley put an arm around him. “Oh, I’ll make sure you’re far too foxed to even think about work. Let’s be off.”

*

Frances looked up as the cruel prince sped away in his gleaming black carriage. The dog, whose name was Admiral, had gone off with Mr. Bloom. Miss Genevieve had just remarked that Bloom was the perfect name for a groundskeeper, especially one at an estate with so many blooms.

That was when she’d heard the carriage and looked up. The cruel prince hadn’t even turned his head to look at her as he drove past. The other man in the coach had waved, but not the prince.

“Frances? Did you hear me?” Miss Genevieve asked.

Frances shook her head, anger boiling up in her. Quite suddenly, she wanted to run away again. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I asked if you were ready for our tea party. Harriet looks thirsty.” Miss Genevieve smiled.

“Harriet is just a dumb doll,” Frances said, throwing it on the ground. “She doesn’t get thirsty.”

Miss Genevieve blinked but didn’t look particularly shocked at Frances’s outburst. Somehow, that reaction was worse than if the governess had been taken completely aback. “Earlier you seemed excited about a tea party with your doll. What’s happened? Is it because your father—”

“No. I don’t have a father. I just don’t want to go to a silly tea party.”

“Fine. Then we’ll have tea and no party.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am. A proper young lady learns to think of others. Besides, you’ll feel better if you eat something.”

“I feel fine now.” Frances stamped her foot.

“You’re cross. If you don’t want to tell me why, that’s fine, but you will come inside with me.” Frances set her jaw, and Miss Genevieve set hers as well. “Frances, I think we had better have a talk.”

Oh dear. Frances knew that tone.

“Now that I’ve been hired as your governess, there are certain rules I expect you to follow. First of all, there will be no more running away. Secondly, when I ask you to do something, you will obey.”

Frances nodded. She’d been expecting this, and she liked Miss Genevieve and didn’t want her to go away like the other governesses.

“Now, what are your rules?”

Frances blinked. “ My rules?”

“I’ve told you the two most important of my rules. What are your rules for me?”

Frances shook her head. “I’ve never had to give any rules before.”

“Oh, I create rules all the time. It’s quite simple. I think about what scares me, and I make a rule to avoid that. For example, I’m scared of your being hurt or lost, so I made a rule that you aren’t to run away. That’s the reason I made the rule that you must obey me too. I want to keep you safe and healthy. What are you afraid of?”

Frances looked at the ground. She didn’t want to say what she was truly afraid of. Instead, she said the closest thing. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then you should make a rule that I can’t run away either. Is that your rule?”

“Yes. No running away on your part.”

Miss Genevieve stuck out her hand, and Frances shook it. Then the governess bent and picked up Harriet, and Frances saw that the doll had a smudge of dirt on her face now.

“Oh!” She reached for Harriet and wiped at the dirt with her apron. “It won’t come off!” Tears pricked behind her eyes.

“I can clean that off in a snap. I know just the thing,” Miss Genevieve said, her voice kind, though Frances knew the dirt was her own fault. She burst into tears, and Miss Genevieve didn’t ask why. She just pulled Frances into an embrace and held her until she had sobbed so much, she didn’t have any more tears left.

“Feel better?” Miss Genevieve asked, looking down at her after Frances had quieted.

“No,” Frances said. “I’m thirsty.”

“Let’s go inside, then.” Miss Genevieve straightened and held her hand out. Frances took it, and together they started back toward the house. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder one last time, because the fear hadn’t disappeared with the tears.

Her father had left her, and he wouldn’t like being given a rule not to run away. And even if he did agree to that rule, no rule could prevent an accident. What if his coach overturned? What if, like Mama, he never came back?