Scandal Meets Its Match (The May Flowers #7) - Merry Farmer Page 0,41

of traveling. Her heart wanted to wrap herself in his arms and never let go, but that was as impossible as going home again. Still, she owed him the truth. “I’ve just come over all homesick,” she said, lowering her head and stepping away from him.

“I suppose that’s understandable, all things considered,” he said, following her.

“Phineas! Phineas is home!” a girl’s voice rang out in the night.

“Huzzah!” a second girl cried.

The owners of those voices charged forward as Phin and Lenore neared the house, rocketing themselves toward Phin and throwing themselves at him with abandon. The smaller of the two—who looked to be about nine—leapt straight at him, nearly knocking Phin backwards as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“Where is Lionel?” the younger one asked.

Phin dropped his suitcase to hug her, laughing. “I’m happy to see you too, Amaryllis. And you, Gladys.” He ruffled the hair of the older girl, who looked to be about eleven, as though she were a boy. “Lionel couldn’t come home this time. The queen needed him to advise her on the guest list for a costume ball. But might I introduce you fine ladies to our guest, Miss Lenore Garrett, Princess of Wyoming.”

Twin gasps followed Phin’s introduction. Amaryllis jumped down from Phin’s arms, and the two girls faced Lenore with wide eyes.

“You’re not really a princess, are you?” Gladys asked, narrowing her eyes in a way that reminded Lenore very much of some of Phin’s more circumspect expressions.

Whether it was the deep longing she felt for her own siblings, exhaustion finally turning her brain to mush, or the sly look Phin now wore, Lenore pulled herself to her full height and answered, “Why yes, I am,” with absolute seriousness.

“No!” Amaryllis gasped. “They don’t have princesses in America.”

“Have you ever been to America?” Lenore asked as Phineas gestured for them all to continue on into the house.

“No,” Amaryllis and Gladys answered at the same time.

Lenore shrugged. “Then how do you know whether we have princesses there or not?”

They both blinked at her in awe as they stepped into a well-lit kitchen. Scents of fresh bread and recent cooking filled the air, plucking hard at Lenore’s heartstrings. The kitchen was in cheerful disarray, with pots and dishes waiting to be scrubbed, remnants of supper still on the counter, and what looked like a small pile of laundry that needed to be washed in one corner. The room was instantly crowded as she and Phin and the girls bustled in. It was the first time in over a year that Lenore felt as though she’d entered a home.

“Do you want tea?” Gladys asked when she saw Lenore staring at the stove. “Princesses drink tea, don’t they?”

“Not this late at night,” Phin said, taking Lenore’s bag from her and nodding for her to move on to the hall. “It’s nearly midnight. We should all be in bed, fast asleep by now.”

“Hazel made me move in with Amaryllis so that you can have my room,” Gladys said, frowning for a moment before brightening. “I was so vexed, but to have a real princess sleep in my bed….” She ended with a dreamy sigh.

“There are no peas in it,” Amaryllis assured her. “I know princesses don’t like sleeping in beds with peas.”

Lenore laughed out loud in spite of her conflicted thoughts as they shuffled into a hallway and toward a staircase. The girls were crowding her and Phin didn’t seem to want to move more than a few feet away from her. The result was that they all formed one comical clump as they moved through the house.

At least, until they passed a parlor downstairs that smelled faintly of camphor. Then Phin paused.

“What are you still doing up?” he called into the room in a voice that was as cheerful as it was strained.

That alone would have caught Lenore’s attention, but when he put their cases down and marched directly into the room, her curiosity was piqued enough to follow him.

For the second time that evening, her heart dropped into her gut and she found herself near tears in an instant. Waiting in the parlor was a man with straggly, white hair and a pale, drawn face. He was sitting—or rather, propped—in a chair by the fire and tucked up with quilts and pillows. His stare was blank, and his mouth sagged open. Phin marched right up to the man, taking his handkerchief from his pocket without a second thought and wiping a small trail of saliva from