by Deborah Hale
“Did you have a good week, Papa?” Charlotte rested her head against his arm, alarming him with the realization of how much taller she’d grown over the winter. “Is there any more news from abroad?”
Rupert winced at her mention of the renewed conflict in Europe. He had tried to keep that worrisome news from his daughters but it had proved impossible because several of the servants had relatives in uniform. “Troops are massing at the French borders preparing to invade. No doubt Wellington will make quick work of it.”
“We’ve been busy, Papa.” Sophie gazed up at him with such an endearing smile that he could not resist hoisting her into his arms.
He only regretted that Charlotte and Phoebe had grown too big to carry. “What have you been busy doing? Much more agreeable occupations than mine, I dare say.”
Phoebe chimed in with an answer. “Miss Ellerby has brought us outdoors to sketch. Wait until you see the one I drew of Jem.”
“Her work is very good.” The governess took a few steps closer to Rupert and his daughters. “I believe it deserves to be framed and put on display. I hope you don’t mind my bringing the girls outside for their lessons, sir. The weather has been so fine and the grounds of Nethercross are lovely at this time of year.”
“Mind?” Rupert shook his head. “I heartily approve. They are shut indoors for too much of the year. I reckon country air, sunshine and the beauties of nature are essential to children’s health and happiness. Besides, it does not sound as if you have neglected their studies. What book are you reading them?”
She clutched the brown leather-covered volume in her arms. “Gulliver’s Travels, sir.”
“Have you read it, Papa?” asked Phoebe. “It is such an exciting adventure!”
“And so fan-tast-ical.” Sophie glowed with pride at having produced that impressive word. “I like it almost as much as Mother Goose.”
“It is an excellent work,” he agreed. “No doubt Phoebe will enjoy the part where Gulliver visits the land of the horse-people.”
An excited squeal from his daughter confirmed that guess.
Miss Ellerby held out the book. “Would you care to join us and read the rest of this chapter to the girls?”
“Would you like me to?” Rupert asked his daughters.
They responded with unanimous approval.
“That settles it then.” Rupert set Sophie back on her feet and took the book from Miss Ellerby.
They sank onto the picnic rug, the girls snuggled close around him.
“You too, Miss Ella.” Sophie bounded up and seized her governess by the hand.
“There is not enough room,” she protested.
“We can budge up.” Phoebe squeezed closer to her father. “And you can take Sophie on your lap.”
Seeing the girls were determined to include her in their tight little family group, Miss Ellerby gave in with obvious reluctance.
Rupert began to read about how Gulliver was bought by the giant queen of Brobdingnag and became her favorite. As he read, he found himself aware of Miss Ellerby so nearby. Her presence seemed to restore the family circle that had been shattered so painfully. But she was only a hired member of his staff. Surely a wife and mother would be even better.
When he concluded the chapter, the girls all pleaded for “just one more.”
Their governess’s response was kind but firm. “It will soon be time for dinner. But if you come quietly, your father might agree to read you another chapter before you go to bed.”
Both Rupert and his daughters agreed to that suggestion.
He dined with them in the nursery, as had become his custom on Friday evenings.
“What would you say to joining me for dinner tomorrow evening?” he asked as they ate with hearty appetites of which he approved. “I have invited Mrs. Cadmore and Henry to dine with us.”
Phoebe and Sophie were quick to say yes, but Charlotte asked, “Why did you invite them, Papa?”
“They are our neighbors and Mrs. Cadmore did invite you girls to Dungrove.”
By the way Charlotte stared at him, Rupert wondered if she guessed there was something more behind his invitation.
When Lord Steadwell had first gone off to London to attend Parliament, Grace was relieved to hear his carriage drive away very early on Monday mornings. As Friday approached, she’d grown more anxious, anticipating his return. But lately that pattern had begun to reverse itself. The girls were so happy to have their father home and Grace had come to care for them so much, she could not dislike anything that pleased them.
At least that was what she told herself whenever she reflected on the change in her attitude.
“With your permission, Miss Ellerby,” said his lordship as they finished their supper in the nursery, “I should like the girls to have an early bedtime tonight—”
His request was interrupted by groans of protest, Phoebe’s loudest of all.
“Because,” he continued, fixing the girls with a firm look, “they shall be staying up later tomorrow night when we dine with the Cadmores. I do not want them to be tired and ill-humored with our guests.”
“What about Jem?” Phoebe demanded before Grace could answer. “He looks for me to say good-night to him now. I can’t disappoint him.”
“Go then.” His lordship nodded toward the door. “But for this one evening, try to keep it brief.”
“Thank you, Papa!” The child jumped up and gave him a vigorous kiss on the cheek before dashing away.
As the nursery door banged shut behind Phoebe, her father glanced at Grace with a rueful grin. “I beg your pardon, Miss Ellerby. I should not have presumed you would grant my request.”
“There is no need to apologize, sir,” she replied. “This is your house and these are your daughters. Unless you propose something that might harm them, you may always take my approval for granted.”
“That is most obliging of you.” The sincere respect and gratitude in Lord Steadwell’s tone warmed her. “But I meant what I said when you first came here, about the nursery being under your authority. I do not wish to trespass upon that authority, especially considering what a fine job you have done.”
“Thank you, sir.” His praise flustered her, but not in the way a compliment on her appearance would have done. “It is not difficult to succeed with such clever, agreeable pupils and with the support I have received from you. It is an excellent idea for the girls to retire early so they will be fresh and rested for when they dine with guests. I should have thought of it myself.”
“Will you still read to us before bed, Papa?” Sophie begged.
“Of course.” His lordship ruffled the child’s red-gold hair. “As soon as you are ready we can begin.”
Charlotte and Sophie had scarcely finished changing into their nightclothes when Phoebe returned from the stables. Her father greeted her with an approving smile.
When his daughters were snuggled on either side of him on the nursery settee, Lord Steadwell read them more about Gulliver’s adventures in the land of the giants.
Grace resisted the girls’ entreaties to join them. That afternoon on the picnic rug had been as close to Lord Steadwell as she could bear to be for one day, even though he’d behaved with perfect propriety. It was nothing he had done that made her uneasy but rather her own bewildering feelings.
Now as he read to the girls, Grace moved quietly about the nursery, putting everything in order. Yet she was acutely conscious of his lordship’s deep, smooth voice and his strong masculine presence in this feminine domain. His devotion to his daughters was so strong it seemed to envelop her, like the scent of fresh-baked bread or the warmth of a glowing fire. It promised to restore something lost long ago and deeply missed ever since.
Once his lordship had finished reading the chapter, then heard his daughters’ prayers and tucked them into bed, he approached Grace. To bid her good-night, she assumed, and perhaps leave instructions on dressing the girls for tomorrow’s dinner.
But his words surprise
d her. “I pride myself on keeping my promises, Miss Ellerby, and I promised you a ride down the lane under the linden trees once they blossomed.”
Had he? Grace recalled him saying something to that effect on the winter day she’d arrived at Nethercross. Looking back now, it felt like years ago rather than months.
“That is kind of you, sir.” His invitation made her pulse race. “But you must have better things to do with your brief time at home. I would not think of holding you to an offer made so long ago.”
“I cannot deny there are other things I might be doing.” His smile was too appealing to resist. “But would they be better use of my time than savoring the beauty of nature at its best? It seems to me that failing to admire God’s exquisite handiwork would be ungrateful.”
His comment about admiring God’s handiwork made Grace consider her appearance in a way she never had before. For most of her life, other people had made her feel ashamed of her beauty and view it as a burden she ought to hide. Yet she admired beauty in nature and other people as much as anyone. Perhaps it was not vain to be grateful for the form and features with which she’d been blessed.
“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” She risked raising her downcast gaze and was rewarded with a glimpse of satisfaction in the dark depths of his eyes. “Are you this persuasive when you speak in Parliament?”
He shook his head. “I am not much of a speechmaker. But if I have persuaded you, then come along while there is still light for us to see the trees.”
“Yes, sir.” Grace hastened to fetch her cloak and bonnet.
While tying the ribbons of her unflattering bonnet, she glanced into the small looking glass behind her washstand. She recalled the much different reflection of herself she had glimpsed on the day she’d played dress-up for Sophie. Part of her wished Lord Steadwell could see her like that, making the most of her God-given appearance rather than hiding her light under pinched spectacles and drab clothes.
Her deeply ingrained sense of caution put a stop to such thoughts. His lordship might understand her reasons for deceiving him, but Grace could not be certain. She had grown too fond of Nethercross and her young pupils to risk losing her safe, congenial position.
The spring daylight was quickly fading when she and Lord Steadwell emerged from the house.
“As I recall, I promised you a drive under the lindens, Miss Ellerby. But I fear by the time a gig is harnessed, we may be too late to see much. Would you mind if we went on foot instead?” He offered her his arm.
Grace hesitated, but her inclination overcame her misgivings. With the lightest of touches, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I would not mind at all. If we walk, it will give us more time to savor the experience.”
“Very sensible.” His lordship set off down the lane at a stiff pace, forcing Grace to scurry to keep up. But once they reached the tree-lined avenue, he slowed to a leisurely stroll. For several moments, Grace became less aware of his nearness and the light, chaste contact between them. For the past several days, she had seen the blossoming trees from a distance. But that was nothing compared to walking beneath them
Gazing up at the vault of white and yellow blossoms, she gave a gasp of wonder. That intake of breath carried the scented air deep into her lungs. The aroma of the linden blossoms was one of the sweetest she had ever smelled, yet it had a mellow warmth and freshness that prevented it from cloying.
Her fears were no match for this banquet for the senses. Her lips blossomed into a smile of profound enjoyment.
“Do you suppose this is a foretaste of heaven?” The question came straight from her heart, without conscious thought.
“I hope so.” His lordship gave a soft sigh that whispered of loving sorrow untainted by regret. “It would comfort me to think of Annabelle in a place like this.”
“You still miss her very much.” Grace wished it was in her power to restore what he and the girls had lost. Even though it would diminish her position at Nethercross. Even though it would mean she could not be here with him like this, tasting a flavor of happiness unlike any she’d known before.
Grace did not expect Lord Steadwell to answer, but he did.
“Miss my wife? Oh, yes. Sometimes more than I did at first, when disbelief numbed the worst of it. When I experience something that might have pleased her, I would give anything to share it with her. When I see our daughters growing and learning, I want her to share my pride in them.”
Grace’s hand pressed against his arm in an attempt to offer comfort, though she knew it would be in vain. At the same time, her heart ached with a hollow pang almost like grief. She wished someone could care for her the way Rupert Kendrick loved his late wife, with tenderness that survived longer than life itself.
“And yet,” he mused in a voice that seemed to come from deep within him, “those feelings are not so raw and bitter as they once were. I do not know how it came about, but it is a blessing for which I am grateful beyond measure.”
The words had scarcely left his mouth before a shudder ran through his frame. “Forgive me, Miss Ellerby. I did not invite you here to depress your spirits with such sad talk. Tell me, how are my daughters enjoying your history lessons?”
For his sake more than hers, Grace went along with his abrupt change of subject. “They seem to like it very well. They ask many questions that are quite perceptive for their ages. By the time we are finished, I reckon they will know at least as much history of the past few centuries as any boy from a good school.”
“And a great deal more than most.” Lord Steadwell gave a rumbling chuckle. “Myself included. Once Parliament recesses, I may have to join my daughters in their history lessons to learn what I missed at school.”
Though Grace knew he was only in jest, she could not help imagining with pleasure what it might be like to have him as her pupil. “As a practice in composition I asked your daughters to write down those family stories so they can be preserved for future generations at Nethercross. I wonder if you might look the compositions over to make certain the information is accurate?”
She had thought her project would please him, but his reply sounded preoccupied. “Yes... of course. I should be happy to assist you in any way.”
Having strolled to the end of the tree-lined lane, they turned and started back toward the house in the falling darkness. The lights in the windows beckoned Grace with a promise of home and belonging she had not known for many years.
Though she and Lord Steadwell continued to talk about his daughters, Grace could not help feeling his thoughts were elsewhere. What could she have said to affect him so? Was it her mention of heaven that had provoked thoughts of his late wife? In spite of his claim that the anguish of his grief had eased of late, she sensed his heart would always belong to the mother of his daughters.
When Saturday evening arrived, Charlotte, Phoebe and Sophie were all dressed, groomed and on their best behavior. Despite the short notice, the cook had risen valiantly to the occasion and prepared a fine dinner. Mrs. Cadmore and Henry seemed pleased with the invitation and determined to enjoy this family evening out.
Yet even as Rupert strove to make polite conversation and put everyone at ease, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of the previous evening. Watching Miss Ellerby’s wonder as they strolled beneath the arch of blossoming trees, he’d felt almost as if he were experiencing it for the first time. Why had he spoiled it by raising the morbid subject of his grief? Could it have been a qualm of guilt that for the first time in four years, he had enjoyed a pleasant experience without immediately wishing Annabelle was there to share it?
Perhaps that was a natural development, fostered by the kindness of time. Rupert knew he should be grateful for anything that made it easier for him to move on with his life and fulfill his duty to Nethercross and his daughters. Yet it still felt disloyal to the memory of his late wife and the love they’d shared.
Talking about Annabelle to Miss Ellerby had helped soothe his confl
icted feelings, though he regretted casting a shadow over what was meant to be a pleasant outing for her. His attempt to recapture their initial enjoyment had worked for a while, until she mentioned handing down the history of Nethercross to future generations. Her words reminded him that if he failed to produce a male heir, his title and estate would go to distant cousins who knew nothing of country life or the proud traditions of his family.
With a start, Rupert roused from his abstraction to realize Mrs. Cadmore had just spoken to him. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“I was saying what a credit your lovely daughters are to you.” She practically shouted down the table. “You have done an excellent job of rearing them. I look to you as an example of how to bring up children without a spouse.”
It irked him that she should raise the subject in front of the youngsters. His girls had been without their mother long enough that this reminder of their loss might not trouble them greatly, but her son had lost his father little more than a year ago.
“I have been fortunate to have such able assistance in raising my daughters. Their governesses deserve more credit than I for how well they have turned out.” He looked around the table at his girls, casting a warm smile to thank them for their exemplary behavior.
Mrs. Cadmore chuckled as if he had made a jest. “However excellent a governess, they are surely no substitute for a mother. When I think how that French chit up and deserted you without—”
“That was regrettable,” Rupert interrupted. Her mention of their late mother might not bother his daughters, but Mademoiselle Audet had only been gone a few months. Somehow it seemed a great deal longer. “But I have no fear of a repetition with Miss Ellerby.”
“I should think not!” The lady laughed again, even louder. “You were wise to hire such a plain mouse who would pose no danger of attracting secret suitors.”
