by Deborah Hale
For so many reasons, the baron could never return her feelings. Even if their backgrounds and positions were not so impossibly far apart, Lord Steadwell had told her in plain terms that he wanted nothing more to do with love. His heart still belonged to his late wife and he refused to risk it again. Instead, he had decided to select a wife using his stubborn head.
Grace had experienced the pain of rejection before—by a man who wanted her favors but not her love. Then at least she had been able to go away and start afresh in a place where she’d been in no danger of encountering the object of her affections. Now, she had come to love Nethercross and the baron’s daughters too much to desert them when they needed her most. Unless she wanted to suffer the torment of living in the same house as the man she secretly cared for when he belonged to another woman, she would have no choice but to root out these improper feelings for her master.
But first she must take up her pen and write a tactful letter of congratulations to Rebecca, with regrets that she could not attend the wedding.
If Grace Ellerby presumed she could make him give up his marriage plans simply by acting cool toward him, she was in for an unpleasant surprise.
As Rupert neared home one day in late June, he strove to keep his mind on more pleasant matters, like the excellent news he was eager to share with his family. Somehow, thoughts of his daughters’ governess kept intruding. That was quite the opposite of how the lady herself had behaved toward him of late. Though she still maintained a polite, professional manner, Miss Ellerby managed to convey the sense that a barrier had risen between them.
When he joined her and his daughters for dinner in the nursery on Fridays, she made every effort to smooth over any awkwardness between him and the girls. Yet once the children had been put to bed for the night, she always had some excuse not to go out for a stroll with him or to discuss how his daughters had got on that week. It came as an unsettling surprise to Rupert how much he missed those conversations.
Surely once he was wed Miss Ellerby would realize his marriage was not the sort of disaster she anticipated. She and the children would adapt to the new situation and she would warm to him again... so far as she was able. In the meantime, he tried not to resent her behavior toward him and her disapproval of his plans. He knew they both sprang from her concern for his daughters. Misplaced though that concern might be, it still touched him.
It was becoming clear that the sooner he and Mrs. Cadmore got married, the better it would be for all concerned. There was no longer any excuse for delay. He had been calling at Dungrove regularly for the past several weeks. Barbara Cadmore could hardly be blind to his intentions. Indeed, she gave every sign of encouraging him. He had allowed his daughters plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea. Too much more might only increase their apprehension. He needed to show them their fears were unfounded. The only way to do that would be to let them experience the new family situation.
The next few weeks would be an ideal time to proceed. It would give everyone a few months to grow accustomed to the change before he was obliged to return to London for the brief autumn session of Parliament. Now that the uncertainty over matters on the Continent had been resolved, this was surely the proper time for new beginnings.
The thought reminded Rupert of the good tidings he had to convey to his family when he reached Nethercross. Though he had tried to conceal the gravity of the situation from his daughters, they knew more about the conflict than he would have liked. No doubt they would be as relieved and happy about the outcome as he.
He managed to keep his mind fixed on that happy thought over the final mile of his journey. His anticipation grew as the familiar fields of Nethercross came in sight and he watched his tenants out making hay.
When his carriage rolled up the lane, he spied his daughters cavorting in the shade of a towering elm tree. Charlotte and Phoebe were batting a shuttlecock back and forth with Sophie and their governess. The girls turned at the sound of his carriage. All three dropped their battledore rackets and ran to greet him.
“Good news!” Rupert cried as he surged out of the carriage. “Wellington and Blücher have put the boots to the French army at a place called Waterloo. Boney has fled and there will finally be lasting peace!”
The girls cheered.
“That is splendid news, Papa!” Charlotte hurled herself into his arms, the warmest embrace she had given him since he’d announced his intention to remarry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert spied Phoebe hugging her governess while Sophie jumped up and down with excitement.
When Charlotte released him to hug Miss Ellerby, Sophie ran over and took her sister’s place in his arms. The round of joyful embraces continued among the five of them until suddenly Rupert found his arms around Grace Ellerby, not quite certain how it had happened. The governess seemed equally astonished. After a convulsive squeeze, they sprang apart as if the physical contact burned them.
Rupert’s pulse thundered in his ears and his cheek tingled where that ugly cap of hers had brushed against it. He found himself wishing he could see her hair just once or her face without those wretched spectacles. For someone who seemed to resent being judged by her appearance, she did nothing to make herself look more attractive. Did she think it would be futile?
“There is great rejoicing in London over the news, as you can imagine.” His tongue tripped over itself in his haste to distract attention—not least his own—from what had just happened. “People are planning all manner of celebrations. Before I left London, I received an invitation from the Countess of Maidenhead to a grand masked ball at Winterhill the week after next. What sort of costume do you think I should wear?”
He usually wore the same costume to every masquerade he attended, but perhaps the time had come for a change.
“You could go as a prince!” squealed Sophie, more excited by the notion of a masquerade than the great military victory it was meant to celebrate.
Rupert shook his head with an indulgent smile. “The Prince Regent might be among the guests. I fear he would take it ill if I try to rival him.”
“What about Robin Hood, then?” Sophie countered. “Or a pirate?”
Rupert did not fancy himself an outlaw, either, not even a heroic one. He glanced toward his elder daughters, hoping they might be able to offer some additional suggestions. Instead, he caught Charlotte and Phoebe exchanging a worried look.
“I’m certain Papa means to propose to Mrs. Cadmore at that masked ball,” Charlotte announced for the tenth time since her father had returned to London earlier in the week.
Grace and the girls had just returned from a boat ride on the river. On fine days, she liked to keep them out of doors as much as possible. Physical activity was much better than their studies for keeping their minds off the worrisome subject of their father’s remarriage. Grace found it a welcome distraction from her own thoughts about Lord Steadwell.
Ever since she’d realized the perilous direction in which her feelings for him were moving, she had tried to reverse course or, at the very least, keep her heart from becoming any more engaged. She might as well have tried to walk against a violent wind or swim free of a powerful current.
Again and again she reminded herself that he had no intention of losing his heart again. Instead he wanted a marriage of convenience with Mrs. Cadmore. Even if he did not love his new wife, their union would bind him to her for the rest of their days.
If Grace remained at Nethercross while continuing to cherish this futile fancy for him, she would make herself more miserable than she had ever been at the school or after her father’s remarriage. It would be even worse if his lordship’s union proved unhappy, as she feared it might. She would long to offer him comfort, but that would be improper, if not downright wicked.
“Stop saying that, Charlotte.” Phoebe picked up a stone and sent it skipping over the water. “There’s no use talking about it if there is nothing we can do to stop Papa.”
“We just hav
en’t come up with the right idea yet.” Charlotte tried to skip a stone but it hit the water and sank with a loud plop. “If we stop thinking about it, we never will.”
“I’ve had all sorts of good ideas,” Phoebe grumbled as she searched the riverbank for another stone. “But everyone keeps finding fault with them.”
“If we cannot stop Papa,” Charlotte mused, “we must try to delay him. Give him time to come to his senses.”
Sophie had been unusually quiet during her sisters’ exchange but now she piped up, “Whose carriage is that coming up the lane? It can’t be Papa. Today is only Wednesday.”
“Is it the Cadmores?” Charlotte peered toward the lane. “If it is, I’m going to hide so I don’t have to speak to her. I hate the way she looks the house over as if she can’t wait to change things around, and the way she coos over us as if we’re babies!”
“Charlotte, come back!” Grace called as she moved toward the approaching carriage, beckoning Phoebe and Sophie to join her. “You cannot afford to antagonize Mrs. Cadmore.”
Charlotte paid no heed.
“I don’t think it is the Cadmores,” said Phoebe. “I saw a man looking out of the carriage window and a lady I didn’t recognize.”
The carriage came to a halt and a man climbed out. Grace did not recognize him either. The lady he helped out of the carriage box was another matter. Though she wore a fashionable blue travelling dress rather than the drab garb of a charity pupil, Grace would have known her friend Rebecca Beaton anywhere.
No longer Rebecca Beaton, she reminded herself, but Lady Benedict. Seeing her dear friend again made a lump rise in Grace’s throat that prevented her from speaking.
But Rebecca showed no sign of recognizing Grace.
“I beg your pardon,” she called, as if to a perfect stranger. “Is this the estate of Lord Steadwell?”
“Yes it is,” Sophie replied before Grace had a chance to recover her voice. “Who are you and what do you want with my Papa?”
“Sophie, mind your manners.” Grace shushed the child.
But Lord and Lady Benedict gave an indulgent chuckle.
“It is not your Papa we came to call upon, Sophie, but your governess.” Rebecca bent down closer to the child’s level. “Where might I find Miss Ellerby?”
Sophie’s features clenched in a puzzled frown.
“This is Miss Ella.” She pointed to Grace. “What do you want with her?”
Rebecca started up from her crouch. Her eyes grew wide with astonishment then narrowed as she peered at her old friend, seeking some familiar feature. “Grace, is that truly you?”
“It is.” Grace pulled off her cap and took a few stumbling steps toward her friend. “What brings you to Nethercross, Rebecca? It is so good to see you again!”
She’d had no idea what a jolt of joy it would bring to see one of her school friends in the flesh again after so many years.
“Grace, it is you!” At last, a smile of recognition lit Rebecca’s features.
The two friends fell into an affectionate embrace.
When at last they pulled apart, Rebecca introduced her new husband. “It is thanks to Sebastian that I am here. I was disappointed that none of my school friends could come to our wedding, though I quite understood your reasons. Sebastian suggested we take our bridal tour through the kingdom and call upon each of you. It was the most thoughtful wedding present he could have given me.”
Grace smiled at Viscount Benedict without the slightest qualm. His obvious devotion to Rebecca made it safe for her to indulge in that innocent pleasantry without worrying where it might lead.
But she addressed her words to her friend. “You seem to have found as kind a husband as I could wish for you. I did so long to attend your wedding, but I had my responsibilities.”
She drew the girls forward. “This is Phoebe and Sophie. Their elder sister is around somewhere. Phoebe, will you go find Charlotte and tell her who is here?”
“Yes, Miss Ella.” Phoebe dashed off in the direction her sister had gone.
“Charming children.” Lord Benedict winked at Sophie. “Miss Ellerby, you appear to have done as fine a job raising them as my dear Rebecca did with her charge, who is now my sister-in-law.”
It pleased Grace to hear his lordship praise Hermione, with whom she felt well-acquainted from Rebecca’s letters over the years. “I cannot take nearly as much credit for my pupils, sir. I have only been at Nethercross a few months, whereas your wife spent many years at Rose Grange.”
“But I had only one pupil to your three,” Rebecca protested. “It is obvious the children like you very much, even after such a short time. Isn’t that right, Sophie?”
The child gave a vigorous nod. “Miss Ella doesn’t get cross when I wake up with bad dreams. She rubs my head and helps me get back to sleep.”
“She used to do the same thing for me when we were at school,” said Rebecca. “Even then she had a tender heart for anyone who was upset or lonely.”
Her friend’s praise touched Grace deeply. “It was the least I could do after the number of times you and the others stuck up for me.”
Rebecca grew pensive. “Can you imagine what our old teachers would say if they knew I wed had such a fine husband? After all their efforts to impress upon us that we were too poor and plain to aspire to marriage. I’m certain they thought you were the only one of us with the beauty to attract a husband.”
Her friend’s kindly-meant remark stung Grace. Her looks had never secured her the sincere regard Lord Benedict clearly felt for Rebecca. And no wonder. Superficial charms were only capable of attracting superficial interest.
Fortunately she was spared the necessity of answering when Phoebe returned with Charlotte. Grace introduced Lord Steadwell’s eldest daughter to her guests.
“Will Lord and Lady Benedict stay to tea, Miss Ella?” The tone of Charlotte’s question was more like a hint.
Grace realized how long she had kept the Benedicts standing outdoors. She hoped they would not feel unwelcome. However, she felt awkward offering them the hospitality of a house that was not hers.
Once again Charlotte came to her rescue. “I hope they will. I should like to hear how you became friends at school and about the others in your circle.”
That was all the reassurance Grace needed. With Lord Steadwell away in London, Charlotte was lady of the house. Her wish to have their visitors stay to tea gave Grace the authority to extend an invitation, which was readily accepted.
“Splendid.” Charlotte looked in better spirits than she had for weeks. Perhaps Rebecca’s visit was just the diversion she and her sisters needed to take their minds off their father’s marriage plans. “I’ll go along and tell Cook.”
“I hope you will tell us all about your wedding,” Grace begged Rebecca as they made their way into the house.
While her friend described her joyous nuptials, Grace pulled on her unbecoming cap with a faint stab of regret. It had been such a pleasant sensation to feel the summer breeze ruffle her hair. But she hoped none of the servants had spied her from the house. The last thing she needed was to become the subject of gossip that might reach the ears of Lord Steadwell.
As Grace replaced her cap, Rebecca shot her a questioning glance. Grace replied with a subtle shrug to communicate that she would explain later if they could find a private moment.
The six of them enjoyed a convivial tea. Lord Benedict seemed a trifle awkward to be the only gentleman among five females, but the girls soon drew him out, asking where he lived, how he had come to meet his bride and how many horses he owned. Under cover of their lively conversation, Rebecca and Grace were able to exchange a few quiet words—enough for Grace to learn that her friend was deeply in love with her new husband.
“Every morning I’m afraid I will open my eyes to discover all this happiness is only a dream,” Rebecca whispered. “But I am always grateful to find it is true. Even when I was at odds with Sebastian over his brother’s engagement, I could tell wha
t a good man he was. I never imagined he would think of someone like me for a wife.”
“I believe Lord Benedict is fortunate to have you.” Grace reached under the table to give her friend’s hand a warm squeeze. “I am delighted he recognizes his good fortune and makes you so happy.”
Her friend’s joy in her marriage forced Grace to acknowledge a yearning for that sort of connection. Though she must admit there was only one man she thought of in that way. Unfortunately, he had no interest in any relationship that might put his heart at risk.
After tea, Lord and Lady Benedict took their leave.
“I know you have your duties,” said Rebecca as they departed, “but I hope we can see each other as much as possible while I am in the neighborhood. Would you and the girls care to take a carriage ride with us tomorrow?”
She went on to suggest a number of other outings to which Charlotte, Phoebe and Sophie responded eagerly.
“Don’t forget Lord Maidenhead’s masquerade,” Rebecca’s husband reminded her. “We took the liberty of securing you an invitation, Miss Ellerby.” The earl reached into his pocket and drew out a handsomely engraved card.
When he offered it to her, Grace drew back as if he were trying to give her a giant spider. “That is kind of you, Lord Benedict but I could not possibly attend.”
“Why not?” Phoebe snatched the invitation from Lord Benedict’s hand.
When Grace cried out the child’s name in a sharp tone, Charlotte sprang to her sister’s defense. “Phoebe is right, Miss Ella. You must go to the ball!”
Grace could tell by the looks they exchanged that they had some scheme in mind—one that would involve her.
Chapter Eleven
“YOU HAVE TO go to that ball, Miss Ella!” The girls’ pleas grew more and more insistent as the week wore on. “In case Papa tries to propose to Mrs. Cadmore, you can stop him.”
“How do you expect me to do that?” Grace tried to resist, though the prospect of dressing up and attending a masquerade tempted her far more than she dared admit. “And how will I even recognize them?”
