Page 27 of In a Lavender Daze

Marianne's forehead puckered thoughtfully. "Why do Henry and I call Mama 'Mama,' and you call Mama Lydia?"

Gemma smiled. It was not the first time she'd been asked. "Because Lydia came to Hartwell as my governess. I called her Miss Lydia then and just Lydia after she and Papa married."

Marianne nodded. "Oh." They walked a few more paces before Marianne spoke again. "So when our new governess comes..." She frowned as she worked through the problem. "Will Papa have to marry her too?"

Gemma laughed. "No. Papa didn't marry Lydia because she was my governess. He married her because he loved her."

Marianne was quiet for a moment. "Oh."

"Gentlemen can only have one wife at a time," Gemma explained. "And Papa already has the only wife he wants."

"I think Mama likes that."

Gemma smiled. "I think she does, too."

The garden path curved toward the terrace where Lydia and Grandmama sat together beneath the striped awning overlooking the lawns. A basket of tiny garments rested between them, each woman occupied with a needle though neither seemed particularly concerned whose work belonged to whom. Gemma was glad they had finally managed to come to an accord with one another. Grandmama had been coming to Hartwell rather a lot of late. She always claimed she meant to remain only a day or two, but there was invariably some fresh reason to prolong her stay. Though she'd never admit it, Gemma thought Grandmama was a bit worried about Lydia. She'd heard enough whispered conversations to know that, at thirty-five, many people thought Lydia was at an age where having another baby could be very dangerous. As if having babies weren't dangerous enough at any age!

Lydia looked up first. "There you are. I had begun to wonder whether Henry had succeeded in bringing something dreadful into the house."

"He found a frog," Gemma replied.

Grandmama peered over the top of her spectacles. "And did the poor creature survive?"

"Barely."

"I should have thought it rather the other way around," Lydia said with a laugh.

"So did I," Gemma replied, remembering how the frog had puffed up, ready to do something dastardly in self-defense.

As though determined to prove he had no intention of reforming, Henry came charging around the hedge.

"I found a beetle!"

Gemma sighed. "Outside?"

Henry looked scandalized. "Of course outside."

"Let us all hope it remains there," Grandmama murmured.

Lydia laughed, and to Gemma's satisfaction, Grandmama laughed as well.

Before Henry could explain precisely what made this beetle so remarkable, the sound of approaching hoofbeats drifted across the afternoon air.

"Papa!"

Henry flew across the lawn without another word, Marianne hurrying after him as quickly as her little legs would carry her. Gemma started after them, then checked herself. Henry and Marianne always reached Papa first, and she rather thought they both deserved to.

Oliver had scarcely swung down from the saddle before Henry threw himself against his legs with enough enthusiasm to make him stagger a step. Marianne arrived a heartbeat later, wrapping herself around one boot and insisting she ought to be picked up first. Laughing, Oliver lifted her into one arm while ruffling Henry's hair with his free hand.

Even from where she stood, Gemma fancied she could smell the lavender clinging to his coat. Harvest had begun only days before, and at this time every year Papa seemed to carry the fragrance of the fields home with him.

As though sensing her watching, he looked over Henry's tousled head and caught her eye. Then, without a word, he winked.

Gemma smiled. He always knew.

Only after Henry had breathlessly recounted the frog's adventure—embellished considerably by Marianne—did Oliver make his way toward the terrace. Lydia started to rise as he approached, but before she could, he rested a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Stay where you are."

She looked up at him with amused resignation but settled back into her chair without protest. Since learning another babywas on the way, Papa had become almost absurdly protective. He was forever insisting Lydia rest, refusing to let her carry so much as a basket of sewing, and looking altogether too pleased with himself whenever he managed to prevent her from standing.

"I was only going to greet my husband."

"You've done so."

He bent to kiss her anyway, lingering just long enough to make Gemma wrinkle her nose. They were always kissing one another when no one was looking. And at times, they did so even when someone was looking... such as that very moment. But while she found it rather bothersome to see her parents do such a thing—and even if she wasn't Mama to Gemma, Lydia was still her parent—there was a part of Gemma that wondered if someday she might be lucky enough to have someone who looked at her the way her parents looked at one another. But that was not something to worry about in the immediate future. Henry was off, chasing some unlucky creature through the garden. And that would keep her well occupied for a time.