The Nobleman's Governess Bride (The Glass Slipper Chronicles Book 1)

by Deborah Hale

  As Grace settled in the seat beside Phoebe, she braced for Lord Steadwell’s rebuke.

  Instead his lordship cast Charlotte a warm smile as he sat beside her and took Sophie onto his lap. “That was good of you to help Miss Ellerby out.”

  Grace could barely contain a sputter. Did he not realize that assisting her was the furthest thing from his daughter’s mind?

  “Thank you, Papa,” Charlotte replied with feigned sweetness and a triumphant smirk. “You can always rely on me.”

  That much was true, Grace reflected bitterly. They could rely on Charlotte to undermine her authority at every turn and report every mistake she committed.

  It seemed his daughters were as divided in their opinions of their new governess as he was. Rupert reflected as they drove to church that morning.

  Sophie still clearly missed Mademoiselle Audet and clung to Charlotte, who seemed to resent Miss Ellerby’s presence. Would she have felt the same way about anyone he’d hired, or had the new governess done something particular to provoke his daughter’s aversion? Phoebe, however, seemed to have taken a liking to Miss Ellerby after years of giving Mademoiselle nothing but trouble.

  The child sat beside her new governess looking thoroughly pleased with herself and the world. “I want to thank you, Papa. Miss Ellerby told me what you decided about my visiting Jem. I will do everything you asked, I promise. I’ll prove I can be responsible.”

  “I shall be happy if you do.” He now understood what had placed Miss Ellerby in Phoebe’s good graces. But the reason did not trouble him. This was such an agreeable change from the usual rebelliousness of his middle daughter. He only hoped it would last. “I cannot deny I had some reservations. But I thought it was good of you to speak up on Miss Ellerby’s behalf the other evening. That demonstration of character persuaded me you deserve an opportunity to prove yourself further.”

  Phoebe’s eyes glowed with affection, the likes of which she usually reserved for her pony. Since her mother’s death, she and Rupert had been at odds more often than he cared to recall. She was so different from her sisters—so impulsive and willful. He did not love her any less for it. But he feared for her and felt compelled to protect her from her own recklessness. Had she mistaken his efforts for disapproval or oppression?

  Much as he disliked being wrong, Rupert hoped Phoebe would rise to the occasion and justify Miss Ellerby’s faith in her. For now, he was pleased to enjoy the prospect of renewed closeness with his daughter—a blessing for which he had her governess to thank.

  Rupert stole a brief glance from Phoebe to Miss Ellerby, for he sensed the governess did not like being stared at. He glimpsed a softening in the usual tight severity of her features, similar to her fleeting smile the previous night. Why did she seem to guard against such displays when they made her appearance so much more agreeable?

  He had no time to ponder that puzzle, for just then the carriage pulled up in front of the parish church. “It seems we will not be late after all. The bells have not yet begun to toll.”

  They climbed out of the carriage and headed across the churchyard with Sophie and Charlotte clinging to his hands while Phoebe strode along beside their governess. Rupert bowed and nodded to the neighbors and tenants who greeted him.

  He detected a number of curious, disapproving looks cast in Miss Ellerby’s direction and found himself growing indignant on her behalf. Was that why she projected such a grim, forbidding air—because she was accustomed to people judging her harshly on account of her plainness? Now that she was a member of his household, he could not suppress an urge to defend her, even from the silent censure of his fellow parishioners. Christians, of all people, ought to recall that beauty was vain and favor fleeting.

  “Yoo-hoo, Lord Steadwell!” A breathless feminine voice jarred Rupert from his thoughts.

  He turned to see Mrs. Cadmore and her son hurrying to catch up with his family. The Cadmore estate bordered Nethercross and Rupert had been on cordial terms with its late owner.

  “Good morning.” He bowed. “Why, Henry, I believe you have grown an inch in the past fortnight. Soon you will tower over your mother.”

  “I fear he is outgrowing his strength,” Mrs. Cadmore declared in a tone of anxious fondness. “That is why I cannot think of sending him back to school next term. Speaking of schooling, I see you have found a replacement for your French governess. I always thought there was something altogether too worldly about her. I hope you were able to engage a proper English governess this time.”

  Though Rupert doubted Mademoiselle Audet’s nationality had anything to do with her elopement, he hastened to introduce Miss Ellerby.

  Mrs. Cadmore regarded her with a stiff little smile and a rather critical gaze, but in the end she gave an approving nod. “Welcome to our quiet little corner of the kingdom, my dear. You seem just the sort of person his lordship’s delightful daughters require. If you ever find yourself in need of a woman’s advice on child-rearing, I should be only too happy to assist you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Miss Ellerby murmured.

  “I doubt she will require much help of that nature.” Rupert was not certain what compelled him to speak as if he were defending her. “Miss Ellerby has been teaching children for nearly as long as you and I have been parents.”

  Mrs. Cadmore laughed as if he had made a deliberate jest. “I have no doubt she is well-qualified, but one can scarcely compare the experience of a paid governess with that of a devoted mother.”

  His pretty neighbor seemed prepared to hold forth on the subject at some length. Fortunately, the peal of the church bell summoned them all to worship.

  During brief moments between the various parts of the service, Rupert found his thoughts turning to Barbara Cadmore. Her husband had passed away a little over a year ago, yet she seemed to have put her grief behind her and moved sensibly forward with her life. Part of him envied her peace of mind. A year after Annabelle’s death, the gaping wound in his heart had tormented him even more than in the beginning. Yet, he could not help wondering if his neighbor had recovered much faster from the loss of her husband because she had not cared for him to such a perilous degree.

  Rupert shoved that thought to the back of his mind as the congregation rose for one of his favorite hymns.

  “I sing the mighty power of God, that made the mountains rise.” The familiar words poured out of him. Truth be told, he often felt closer to his Creator when he watched the first green shoots of corn rise from the earth, or listened to the song of a nightingale on a still spring evening, than in this handsome old building of stone and glass. The parts of the Bible that most stirred his soul were those that spoke of the glories of nature.

  As the second verse began, Rupert became aware of a pure, sweet voice trilling the meaningful words of the hymn. As he listened to Miss Ellerby sing, something stirred within him, just like when he heard a nightingale. For a moment it struck him as ironic that such beautiful music should issue from such a drab source. Then again, he reminded himself, it was not the magnificent peacock or the elegant swan that produced the loveliest songs in nature but little brown larks and thrushes.

  That thought made him smile to himself. For a moment, his heart felt whole and lightened in a way it had not for a very long time.

  Lord Steadwell had a fine singing voice. Grace secretly admired it as they joined in the hymn. It had a warm, rich depth that lent the words special meaning. Somehow, it drew her closer to him and his daughters, making her feel more a part of the family than she had in any of her previous positions.

  Then the final chords of the hymn died away and that fragile illusion shattered. Phoebe and her father seemed willing to accept the new governess, and Sophie might give her a chance... if not for Charlotte. Thinking back over her earlier exchange with Lord Steadwell’s eldest daughter, Grace silently implored the Almighty to give her more patience and help her find a way to gain the child’s respect, if not her affection.

  No brilliant revelation
came to her, yet she left the service feeling strengthened and encouraged. As the closing words of the hymn had assured her—everywhere she would be in the coming week, God’s presence would be with her.

  On the way out of the church, Lord Steadwell introduced her to the vicar, who greeted her cordially. “Ellerby? Not by any chance related to the Rev. Jonah Ellerby, late of Witney?”

  “His daughter, sir. Did you know my father?”

  The vicar beamed. “We were at school together. He was a fine man and a most inspiring preacher. His passing was a sad loss for the church and his friends. But it is a pleasure to meet his daughter. I must ask my sister to invite you to tea at the vicarage so we may become better acquainted.”

  A rare sensation of happiness swelled in Grace’s heart. She could imagine few things more agreeable than the opportunity to converse with an old friend of her father’s.

  “Why thank you, sir!” She forgot all about her resolution not to smile in Lord Steadwell’s presence. “I would welcome—”

  “That is very kind of you, Vicar,” his lordship interrupted. “Perhaps once Parliament recesses next summer, Miss Ellerby will not have her hands quite so full with my daughters in my absence.”

  “Yes, of course.” The vicar offered an apologetic smile. “I should have given thought to your duties, Miss Ellerby. When you are less occupied, perhaps.”

  Though she agreed meekly enough, in her heart Grace bristled. Why had his lordship interrupted her conversation in such an imperious manner? Was he trying to imply that one brief visit to the vicarage would interfere with her duties?

  She maintained a frosty silence as they crossed the churchyard, but his lordship appeared not to notice or care that she was vexed with him.

  Most of the other parishioners had departed for home but Mrs. Cadmore and her son lingered at the gate. She was a handsome woman who looked a few years older than Grace, with abundant dark hair elaborately styled. Her lavender-colored pelisse and elegant grey hat suggested that she had recently emerged from the traditional period of mourning. Her son looked a good deal like her.

  Though Mrs. Cadmore had been polite enough in a rather patronizing way, her manner reminded Grace far too much of her stepmother. She sensed that his lordship’s neighbor only approved of her because she appeared so unattractive. If Grace had attended church that morning without her cap and spectacles and wearing fashionable clothes, she had no doubt Mrs. Cadmore’s response to her would have been very different.

  “Oh, Lord Steadwell.” The lady raised one grey-gloved hand and waggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave. “I had a most delightful idea. Now that you have hired a governess, you should bring your daughters to Dungrove for a visit. I know Henry would be pleased to have some company, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  The boy nodded, though without any great enthusiasm.

  “Can we go, please, Papa?” asked Charlotte.

  Lord Steadwell shook his head. “I’m afraid I must go to London next week and I have a hundred tasks to attend to before then. But Miss Ellerby is welcome to take the girls for a visit whenever you wish.”

  “That would be... delightful.” Mrs. Cadmore sounded no more pleased at the prospect than Grace felt.

  Clearly Lord Steadwell was the guest for whom her invitation had been intended. That notion irritated Grace, though she could not decide why. She had never considered the possibility that his lordship might remarry at some point. Prudence told her such an event would be to her advantage. Yet she was becoming accustomed to serving in a household with no mistress and found it suited her better than she’d expected. Hopefully once Lord Steadwell returned to Parliament, her situation would improve even further. For several days a week, she would have sole charge of the girls. Perhaps that would encourage Charlotte and Sophie to accept her as an inevitable part of their lives.

  Besides, having suffered a most disagreeable stepmother in her youth, she would not wish such a trial upon Lord Steadwell’s daughters.

  Not even Charlotte.

  Chapter Five

  HOW HAD THE girls fared in his absence? Rupert wondered as he rode home after his first week back in the House of Lords.

  It had been a busy one with a good deal of new legislation pending now that the war was over... if, indeed, it was over. There were disturbing rumors circulating that Bonaparte had slipped away from the island of Elba. How on earth the Royal Navy had permitted that to happen, Rupert could not fathom. What confounded him even more was how few people seemed to regard the news as cause for alarm. He certainly did, though for the moment his thoughts turned to a potential conflict of more intimate scale.

  It had not been easy to bid his daughters goodbye when he departed for London. Sophie had clung to him in tears, begging him not to go, while Charlotte had urged him to take them along. Only Phoebe seemed resigned to his departure, though she’d bid him farewell with a more affectionate embrace than she had given him in quite some time. He hoped Miss Ellerby hadn’t let the child run wild, while being too strict with her sisters. During his last week at Nethercross, she had seemed more tight-lipped and steely-eyed than ever.

  Once again Rupert questioned whether it might have been a mistake to choose a governess for his daughters based principally on her being unmarriageable. Recalling how much attention the vicar had paid Miss Ellerby, it seemed he could not even rely upon that. Perhaps it was not romantic interest—the man was old enough to be her father. Yet all the more reason the vicar could not afford to be particular if he was looking for a wife.

  Caution had urged Rupert to discourage any closer acquaintance between the two. If Miss Ellerby needed adult companionship, she would do better to cultivate Mrs. Cadmore, who seemed to have taken quite a liking to her.

  As he stared out at the darkened countryside, a faint scowl tightened Rupert’s features. The Lords had been late to adjourn and one of the carriage horses had gotten a stone wedged in its hoof during the journey. Those delays had sunk his hope of reaching home in time to see the girls off to bed and hear all the news about their week.

  Of course he could always visit with his daughters tomorrow. But he expected to have a busy day conferring with his steward about the spring planting and riding out to check on the progress of some improvements being made to the estate. Part of him envied his fellow peers, who could swan off to London for months at a time, leaving the management of their lands entirely to hirelings. That had never been his family’s practice.

  When his carriage pulled up in front of Nethercross, Rupert could not help glancing toward the nursery windows, though he knew it was far too late. Perhaps the girls had begged to wait up past their usual bedtime to welcome him home.

  But the nursery windows were dark.

  Rupert stifled a pang of disappointment. Had his daughters doubted he would return home tonight? Had they gone to bed feeling he’d let them down? Dependability was a quality he prized in others and strove to cultivate in himself. It would grieve him if his daughters viewed him otherwise.

  As he climbed out of the carriage and quietly entered the house, a more palatable possibility occurred to him. What if the girls had expected him to return tonight but Miss Ellerby had disregarded their pleas, sending them to bed at the usual hour? That seemed far more likely. The new governess struck him as strict and rigid, without a proper appreciation for the sensitive feelings of children. He would have to speak to her about that. At Nethercross, he expected healthy routine and discipline to be tempered with understanding and kindness.

  Rupert mulled over those thoughts as he climbed the stairs and strode down the dim corridor to the nursery. He would not dream of disturbing his daughters if they were asleep, but he still felt compelled to look in on them.

  With slow, patient stealth, he let himself into the nursery then stood silent, listening for the tranquil drone of the girls’ breathing to assure him all was well. Instead, the first sound he heard was a sniffle from the direction of Sophie’s bed. It seemed to reach into his chest and give
his heart a hard squeeze.

  But before he could fly to her bedside, another sound stopped him.

  It was a low, comforting murmur. “I’m here, Sophie. Everything will be all right. You had a bad dream. I know they can be frightening, but I promise they are not real.”

  Could that be the child’s stern governess?

  “It f-felt real,” Sophie’s plaintive whimper made Rupert long to wrap her securely in his arms and never let her go.

  But it sounded as if his daughter was being comforted quite well without him.

  “Perhaps it would help if you tell me about your dream,” Miss Ellerby urged her. “Then you might see that it could not possibly be true.”

  Sophie hesitated a moment then began to speak. Already her voice sounded less tearful, as if the effort to recall her dream helped release her from its dark thrall. “I was exploring the house, looking for everyone, but some of the rooms didn’t belong. What should have been the drawing room looked like the inside of the church and Papa’s study looked like a shop in the village. I didn’t know how they could have got into Nethercross.”

  “They couldn’t, could they?” Miss Ellerby sounded nothing like Rupert had ever heard her before... except when she’d sung hymns on Sundays. “That means none of your dream could be real.”

  “I called for Mamzell and Papa,” Sophie continued. “I thought I could hear their voices behind the doors. But when I opened them, the rooms were always empty.”

  He’d had a dream like that. As Rupert listened while Sophie confided in her governess, the frustration and disappointment came flooding back to overwhelm him. Wandering through an empty house searching in vain for Annabelle, sometimes he caught a tantalizing whisper of her voice from behind a closed door. But when he opened it, she would always be gone, leaving only a distant echo of footsteps to beckon him onward.

  “That must have frightened you.” Miss Ellerby’s voice held a note of deep understanding, as if she too had been lost in that kind of baffling, lonely dream. “No one wants to be all alone without the people we love.”