by Deborah Hale
He wanted to assure Mrs. Cadmore that Grace had nothing to do with the change in his intentions toward her, but that would not be true.
But was it true that Grace Ellerby meant nothing more to him than any other valued employee? Rupert’s conscience demanded an honest answer as he took his leave of Mrs. Cadmore and rode back home.
Certainly he wanted it to be true, especially after their discussion about Grace remaining at Nethercross. The last thing he needed was to lose his heart to a woman he had promised not to subject to any romantic attentions, when she would now surely attract the interest of other men. His only hope of keeping Grace in his household lay in stifling whatever tender feelings sought to take root in his heart. As for other men who might try to steal her away, he must hope her past experiences would make her too wary to encourage them, even if their intentions were honorable.
Somehow it troubled Rupert to think of keeping her at Nethercross, bound by the force of her fears. Much as she obviously cared for his daughters, was it fair to deny her the opportunity to enjoy a home and family of her own?
Those worries continued to nag at him as the weeks passed and Parliament recessed. Like his fellow peers he headed to the country, though not to devote every waking moment to hunting, as many of them would. Instead he looked forward to supervising the harvest and spending more time with his daughters... which meant more time in the company of Grace Ellerby.
He tried to persuade himself it was no different than when she’d first come to Nethercross but soon realized that was not true. Every time she appeared, he had to stifle a gasp of wonder at her delicate, golden beauty and ask himself how he could have been blind to it for so long.
Perhaps because she felt safe and able to be herself, her face had taken on a luminous quality, as if a devoted ray of sunshine followed her everywhere. With her eyes no longer hidden behind those hideous pinched spectacles, Rupert could see they were a soft, winsome blue, like the sky in those first moments after daybreak. When she smiled, as she now did so often, he could not help but admire the generous shape and the ripe color of her lips. How hard she must have worked to hide those attractive features from his notice.
Her looks were not all that had transformed. Her manner took on a sparkle of animation and her voice a sweet lilt. Her laughter set something alight inside Rupert, beckoning him to join in. Yet beneath those superficial changes remained all the fine qualities he had valued in plain, severe Miss Ellerby—a gentleness of spirit, a quick mind and a nurturing heart.
He began to suspect he had been half in love with her long before that fateful masquerade. Had he willfully ignored any fleeting glimpses of her beauty out of a secret fear that it might force him to acknowledge his feelings for what they were?
Now he struggled to fight those feelings, knowing what they could cost him if he allowed them to overwhelm his stubborn will. But every day he lost a bit more ground and some traitorous part of him cheered those small defeats.
Being with her in the company of his daughters was a joy that made his heart swell with new life, but it no longer satisfied his thirst for her companionship. He wanted to spend time alone with Grace Ellerby, learning more about her. He wanted to confide in her and seek her advice. He wanted to learn how she felt and offer his support.
Even as he tumbled down that slippery slope, wondering when he would strike bottom, Rupert knew he did not dare act upon his feelings or he might frighten Grace away. He also knew from bitter experience what that loss would do to him.
Was this how happily ever after was supposed to feel? Grace pondered that question as she and the girls joined their father at the traditional feast he hosted for his tenants to celebrate the harvest. In most ways, the past several weeks had been among the happiest she’d ever experienced. Life at Nethercross had returned to the way it should be—the way it had been before Rupert took the notion to remarry.
For Grace, life was far better because she no longer needed to hide behind that horrid old cap and her father’s spectacles. Rather than stifling her pleasure for fear it would spoil her disguise of plain severity, she could now smile when she felt like smiling, which was a great deal of the time.
The opportunity to be herself without fear of criticism or unwelcome attention was a blessing she had not known since childhood and one for which she would always be grateful. She owed so much to Lord Steadwell—far more than she could ever repay. But she was trying to repay him by approaching her duties in a new way. She had always been diligent in carrying them out, but now she threw herself into her work with zest. More and more she found that teaching was not simply a respectable means to support herself, but a true vocation that brought her enormous fulfillment.
The more enthusiasm she brought to her duties, the more her pupils rewarded her efforts with their excellent progress. Charlotte no longer protested that too much learning would hurt her chances of a good marriage, but applied herself to her studies, especially geography and history. Phoebe discovered an interest in subjects other than horses, while little Sophie was proving something of a prodigy in reading and composition.
Delighted as she was by their progress, Grace sought plenty of opportunities for them to enjoy a carefree childhood. Once their father returned home from London, she was willing to drop lessons at a moment’s notice for them to go riding with him or play a game. As the harvest feast approached, the four of them had thrown themselves into preparing one of the cavernous old outbuildings for the festivities.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” asked Rupert as Sophie and Phoebe led him in to view their handiwork before welcoming the neighbors and tenants.
“Not quite yet,” called Charlotte, who led the way arm-in-arm with Grace. “Just another minute. My, but you are impatient.”
The child was in particularly high spirits that evening because Grace had allowed her to wear her hair up. Nearing her fourteenth birthday, she looked quite the young lady.
They were all growing up, Grace acknowledged, stifling a sigh. Even little Sophie had sprouted a full inch since last winter. The time was slipping by happily but all too quickly. That was a bitter dram in her overflowing cup of happiness. One by one the girls would grow up and leave for homes of their own.
Then she would have to depart Nethercross, too. And Rupert would be left all alone.
Would he take the opportunity to remarry then? Grace wondered as she and Charlotte threw open the doors. That thought gave her a pang, though she told herself it was selfish to wish him lonely. Even in the company of his daughters of late she sensed an air of loneliness that he took care to hide from the girls. Had he mistaken his feelings for Mrs. Cadmore? Were they deeper than he had realized... until it was too late?
“Now you can open your eyes, Papa!” Sophie fairly vibrated with excitement, her red-gold curls bouncing around her glowing face.
“What do you think, Papa?” asked Phoebe, in a voice that betrayed her pride in their efforts.
His lordship’s gaze swept the interior of the old building, taking in the bright swaths of bunting, the sheaves of corn and barrels of apples tied up with vibrant lengths of ribbon. Baskets of colorful vegetables studded the trestle tables, trimmed with golden autumn leaves and fat brown acorns. Candles and torches cast a warm, welcoming glow over the scene of rustic plenty.
“Think?” Rupert beamed. “Why, I think it puts Almack’s fussy assembly rooms to shame! It will be the talk of the county to be sure!”
He wrapped his arms around his younger daughters in a proud embrace, then Charlotte.
Caught up in the joyful moment, he turned toward Grace and seemed about to embrace her too. At the last instant he caught himself and only clapped her on the shoulder. “Well done, Miss Ellerby! You quite amaze me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grace felt as if tiny torches had begun to burn in her cheeks. Her shoulder tingled at his touch, so different from the tentative brush of their fingers at the masquerade. “The girls all worked very hard. Charlotte has a fine eye for d
ecorating.”
She would have liked to remain there basking in his admiration, but they were quickly overwhelmed by a flood of guests eager to take advantage of his lordship’s hospitality. While the girls and their father gathered at the entryway to greet their guests, Grace retreated into the shadows, the better to go unnoticed by any men. It also provided an ideal vantage for her to gaze at Rupert all she liked.
Her scrutiny intensified when Mrs. Cadmore arrived in the company of a ruddy, robust gentleman whom she introduced as Admiral DeLancey, newly retired from the Royal Navy. Rupert shook hands with the admiral and professed himself delighted to welcome any particular friend of his good neighbor. Yet Grace thought she glimpsed a hint of wistful longing beneath his cordial greeting. She could not be certain, however, for at that moment he cast a glance in her direction. Hurriedly she looked away, not wanting to be caught staring at him.
When the feast commenced, the girls insisted Grace must join them and their father at the head table with the vicar and his sister and the local magistrate’s family. Cook and her helpers had outdone themselves with a fine feast—great joints of beef and lamb, game pies, succulent sausages and roast potatoes, all washed down with cider from the Nethercross orchards. But Grace’s appetite could not do any of it justice. The more she dwelled upon Rupert’s recent demeanor, the more she feared he might be pining for his lost chance at happiness with Mrs. Cadmore.
If so, she was responsible for his unhappiness. Had she truly tried to keep them apart for the sake of the children? Or, as Phoebe had suggested, was it because she’d wanted him all to herself, if only as governess of his motherless daughters? Had Rupert been right in believing the girls would have accepted his remarriage if she had encouraged them rather than poisoning their minds against wicked stepmothers?
After everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the floor was cleared and a group of local musicians struck up their pipes and fiddles for a lively evening of country dancing. The girls were excited to have their father’s permission to stay up long past their bedtime. Unlike the night of Lady Maidenhead’s elegant masquerade, Rupert took an active part in the dancing, drawing partners from among his tenants’ wives, the vicar’s sister and Mrs. Cadmore.
When the vicar invited Grace to dance, she was about to decline out of habit until she realized she had nothing to fear from a man of the cloth on such an occasion. She enjoyed the opportunity to dance more than she expected. It diverted her thoughts from regrets about her actions and the growing conviction that she did not deserve any of the blessings she now enjoyed. Once the ice was broken, she accepted an invitation from Rupert’s valet, then the admiral.
She was about to sit out the next set when a familiar voice from behind made her heart beat wildly. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Ellerby?”
“L-lord Steadwell,” her voice emerged in a nervous squeak. “I did not think you cared for dancing.”
Immediately she chided herself for referring to their encounter on the night of the masquerade. That was best forgotten... if only she could. She also hoped Rupert would not take her reply as a refusal to dance with him. The prospect of being his partner, even for one brief dance, elated her.
To her relief, Rupert gave a low chuckle. “As I believe I mentioned, I have no objection to socializing in small numbers and more familiar surroundings. I also enjoy less formality.”
Perhaps he was only asking her because he felt it was his duty as host to dance with as many of the ladies as possible. Yet a flicker of eagerness in his dark eyes suggested something more.
Grace acknowledged his invitation with a curtsy. “In that case, I should be pleased to accept, sir.”
“Capital.” He offered her his hand and they hurried to take their places as the music commenced.
Until now the musicians had played brisk, lively tunes, well suited to the high spirits of the guests and the rustic setting. But the melody for this dance was slower with a faintly wistful air. The steps were an easy succession of siding, back to back and turning, with the head couple gradually moving down the line of dancers. Grace particularly enjoyed the turn, when she and Rupert joined hands and circled with a skipping step. Every time they came to that figure, her heart seemed to skip along with her feet. When the music faded at last, she made her final curtsy with a pang of regret that it could not have gone on longer.
At that moment Mrs. Cadmore and the admiral passed by conversing in a flirtatious tone. Rupert’s smile faltered and he excused himself abruptly to seek out the next partner on his duty list. Grace was soon besieged with invitations but declined them all with the excuse that she must keep watch on the girls, all three of whom were enjoying the festivities immensely.
Sophie raced around the edge of the dance floor in some sort of game with a few of the tenants’ children. Meanwhile Charlotte was dancing with Henry Cadmore and Phoebe with her old nemesis, Peter the stable boy. As she watched them, Grace sipped cider and tapped her toes to the music, often scanning the crowd for a glimpse of their father. All evening the baron kept up a convivial facade. But every now and then his crisp features would settle into an expression of restless sadness. Whenever she glimpsed that look, it brought Grace a sharp pang.
As the evening wore on, Sophie came and snuggled on Grace’s lap. Later Phoebe sat down beside them.
“I believe Sophie has gone to sleep, Miss Ella.” The child yawned and rested her head against Grace’s arm.
“So she has,” Grace murmured. “And so will you soon, I expect. I wish I’d thought to take her back to the nursery while she was capable of walking on her own. She is too heavy for me to carry all that way but I fear she will put up a fuss if I wake her now.”
“Give her to me, then.”
Grace started when the children’s father appeared, as if summoned by her need for assistance. A sleepy-looking Charlotte followed him.
“I know it is far past their bedtime,” he continued in an apologetic tone, holding out his arms to receive his youngest daughter. “But they all seemed to be enjoying themselves so much.”
“An occasional late night should not do the girls any harm.” Grace hoisted Sophie into her father’s arms with a faint pang of envy. How pleasant it must be to rest safe in his strong arms, head lolling against his broad shoulder. “I shall let them sleep in tomorrow morning.”
“Come then, girls.” Rupert glanced at Charlotte and Phoebe and nodded toward the door. “Before you two fall asleep as well.”
To Grace’s surprise neither of them protested but followed along on either side of her, yawning now and then. Once they reached the nursery, all three were tucked up and asleep in no time.
“I should get back to the party,” Rupert made a vague gesture in that direction, “to bid my guests good-night.”
The guard on Grace’s tongue seemed to have fallen asleep along with the children. “Before you go, sir, there is just one thing, if I may.”
She must speak now, while they had a moment of privacy, a rare occurrence of late. Besides, if she waited any longer, Grace feared her feelings for him would grow too deep to let her say what she must.
“I should not linger.” He seemed uncomfortable in her presence and eager to escape, yet he responded to her beseeching look. “Go on then. What is it?”
Grace steeled herself and plunged ahead. “Sir, I could not help noticing that you seem... unhappy of late. I know it is not my place but I beg you to tell me what is wrong. Perhaps I can help.”
“You are mistaken, Miss Ellerby.” He backed away from her shaking his head. “I assure you I am quite... content.”
Before he could make his escape, Grace tried again. “So you say, but your tone contradicts you. Sir, I promised I would be honest with you. Pray do me that same courtesy.”
He froze as if pulled in two different directions at once by equally strong forces. His tongue seemed paralyzed too.
“Is it Mrs. Cadmore?” Grace prompted him. “Was I mistaken about your feelings for her
? Do you care for her more than you realized? Do you pine for her company and wish I had not forced you to give up your marriage plans?”
Rupert seemed to be trying to muster a reply he could not yet manage. Perhaps he needed to know her thoughts in the matter.
“If that is the case, I am very sorry to have come between you.” Grace struggled to keep her voice low so as not to disturb the children, while still infusing it with sincere conviction and concern for him. “Perhaps it is not too late. If you want to ask Mrs. Cadmore for her hand, I will do everything in my power to persuade the girls to accept her. It was wrong of me to do otherwise!”
The tension within Rupert seemed to break under pressure like a bow string suddenly released.
“I don’t care for her!” The words erupted from his lips as if propelled by a force much greater than his will—a force that his will had perhaps struggled to contain. “I care for you, Grace Ellerby!”
His abrupt, unexpected declaration made Grace’s heart bound in a mixture of elation and disbelief. At the same time, past experience made her shrink from his fierce tone.
Chapter Sixteen
HE SHOULD HAVE held his tongue and kept his feelings to himself as he’d promised Grace he would.
Rupert’s spirits plummeted as he watched the woman he cared for cower from him. He had tried so hard these past weeks to resist his growing feelings for her. When that became impossible he had hidden them instead, which proved equally difficult.
This evening had been worse than ever, for it reminded him of the one they had shared at Lady Maidenhead’s masquerade. In so many ways his harvest feast was better. At the masquerade ranks and titles had been concealed but taken for granted. Tonight they were acknowledged but set aside as everyone celebrated the harvest that crowned a year of common endeavor. On such an evening, the master of Nethercross might dance with a farmer’s wife or his daughters’ governess and no one would think it amiss.
