by Hale Deborah
* * *
It was clear Lord Steadwell did not altogether trust her. Grace could hardly blame the gentleman for she did not trust him, either.
It surprised her that she had let down her guard enough to fall asleep while the two of them were alone in the carriage. Exhaustion and relief must have overpowered her wariness—that could be the only explanation.
Fortunately for her, the baron had made no effort to take advantage of her vulnerability. Her disguise had protected her from any improper interest, as had an unexpected ally—his lordship’s continued devotion to his late wife. The way he spoke of her, it was clear he cared more for his wife’s memory than he could for any living woman.
Admiration and pity mingled in her heart as she contemplated his lingering grief. Though she knew such feelings would help keep her safe at Nethercross, part of her could not help wishing she had the power to ease them.
An awkward silence fell between her and Lord Steadwell. Grace knew it was no use pretending to sleep. She did not want him staring at her, perhaps seeing through her dowdy facade.
Neither did she want him asking more questions about her past. They roused too many painful memories she preferred to keep locked away. Besides, she could not abide having him know her too well. Once they reached Nethercross, he would become occupied with his duties and his pastimes, leaving the care of his daughters in her capable hands. If he was anything like the fathers of her past pupils, their paths would seldom cross, which was precisely how she wanted it.
For now, however, she would be cooped up in this carriage with him for a little while longer. If she wanted to prevent him quizzing her, then she must turn the tables. “Tell me, Lord Steadwell, are any of your daughters like their mother?”
Her question seemed to catch him off guard, but he soon rallied. “All three remind me of her, each in their own way. I suspect Charlotte will be the very image of her mother when she grows up, though her temperament is more like mine. Phoebe has her mama’s strong will and impulsiveness.”
“And Sophie?” Grace prompted him. The more she heard about the girls, the more anxious she was to meet them. “How is she like her mother?”
“Sophie…” The warmth in Lord Steadwell’s voice when he spoke of his youngest daughter made Grace peep at him over the top of her spectacles. His wide mouth was relaxed into a very appealing smile. “She is most like her mother of all—so full of fancy and curiosity.”
The late Lady Steadwell sounded like a fascinating woman. Filling even part of the void she had left behind at Nethercross would be a daunting task.
Perhaps Lord Steadwell did not care to be further reminded of his loss. He averted his face from her to gaze out the carriage window.
“We are on Nethercross lands now.” His voice rang with pride nearly as great as when he spoke of his children. “These are some of the farthest outlying farms of my tenants.”
Again Grace glanced over her spectacles in order to get a clear view. She could not help but approve of the neat houses and barns, the well laid-out fields, the sturdy cattle and sheep grazing in the pastures. “You have a very fine estate, sir.”
His lordship nodded. “It has been in my family for generations. When I stand in the shadow of one of the great oaks I often wonder which of my ancestors saw it as a sapling.”
It must be a great blessing, Grace reflected as they drove past more snug, well-tended farms, to have such a strong sense of belonging. She knew very little about her ancestors. By the time she’d been old enough to take an interest in such matters, she was quite alone in the world. The only place she’d ever felt she belonged was among her circle of friends at school. They had not been envious of her appearance but understood what a burden it was to her. Rebecca and Marian had been quick to take her part when any of the older girls tried to bully her. Hannah always provided comfort and sympathy while Leah’s high spirits never failed to lift hers.
The carriage soon turned up a long, winding lane with rows of well-grown trees on either side.
“This must be a delightful drive when the trees are green,” Grace murmured. Why was beauty in nature universally admired, while in a woman it provoked envy and lust?
“Delightful indeed,” his lordship agreed. “Only surpassed by that brief period when the lindens are in blossom. Then this lane smells as lovely as it looks. When the time comes, remind me to take you and the girls for a drive through it in an open carriage.”
Grace looked forward to such a treat, though she wondered at the wistful note in Lord Steadwell’s voice when he spoke of it.
That question fled her mind as the house came into view. It was a curious mixture of styles that had clearly been added to over the years. The front had a range of weathered pale stone set with bays of large mullioned windows. It was topped by Dutch gables, a red-tiled roof and clusters of tall chimneys. Beside it stood a quaint hall of checkered white and grey brick with a large stained-glass window.
When the carriage drew to a halt before the vaulted front entrance, Lord Steadwell swiftly alighted and inhaled a deep breath, as if the air of home were the only kind truly worth breathing.
As he helped Grace out, a young boy cantered up on his black pony. “So you found us a governess, did you, Papa? I hope you made a good choice!”
“Phoebe!” His lordship let out a half-stifled groan. “How many times have I told you not to borrow the stable boys’ breeches and ride astride?”
The child laughed. “Counting this one, two hundred and thirty-seven. I keep hoping you will get discouraged and give up.”
Phoebe scrambled down and pulled off her cap, releasing a cascade of dark curls. “You know I hate the side saddle. It’s so much harder to mount and I can’t ride as fast. You wouldn’t want me getting hurt, would you?”
“Of course not.” His lordship pulled her into a warm embrace. “Though I approve of anything that would make you ride a little slower.”
With his arm draped around his daughter’s shoulders, Lord Steadwell turned toward Grace. “This is indeed your new governess. You and your sisters may judge how well I have chosen. I hope Miss Ellerby will have better luck taming you than poor Mademoiselle Audet.”
“I hope she doesn’t.” Phoebe pulled a face but thrust out her hand in a frank, eager fashion to shake Grace’s. “Welcome to Nethercross. If you don’t natter on at me about behaving like a proper young lady, we should get on very well.”
Though she did not relish the idea of being put in the middle of a clash of wills between Phoebe and her father, Grace could not resist the girl’s refreshing, forthright air. Even if they had their differences, she sensed Phoebe would take her own part rather than complain to her father.
“I expect you to mind Miss Ellerby,” Lord Steadwell warned his daughter. “Now, go stable your pony and come inside. The next time I see you, it had better be in proper attire for a young lady.”
“Yes, Papa.” Phoebe rolled her eyes, forcing Grace to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.
Lord Steadwell appeared not to notice or pretended he didn’t. “Come inside, Miss Ellerby. I will show you to the nursery and you can meet the other girls.”
He held open one of a pair of thick, old doors that rose to a point in the middle. Then he ushered her into a high-ceilinged entry hall with a wide oak staircase running up the right-hand wall. The moment they entered, Grace heard footsteps descending—one set very light and quick, the other slower.
“Not so fast, Sophie.” A girl’s voice drifted down. “If you fall and break your neck I shall get the blame for it.”
“I won’t fall,” came Sophie’s breathless reply. “I want to see Papa and Mamzell.”
“We talked about this, remember?” replied the other girl who must surely be Charlotte. “Papa is not bringing—”
Before Charlotte could finish, Sophie rounded the final landing and flew down the last flight of stairs. Grace had a fleeting impression of dainty features, wide-set eyes and a billow of ginger hair.
“Papa!” The child flung herself down the last few steps.
If her father had not caught her, she might have taken a nasty fall. But he managed to seize hold of her and clutch her to his heart. An instant later, Charlotte appeared. Apart from her darker auburn hair, she looked like an older version of her little sister. Though her mouth was tightened in an expression of annoyance, it was clear she would grow up to be a beauty.
Grace’s first impulse was to pity the child on that account, though perhaps her looks would not be such a burden for a girl from a good family.
“You should listen to your sister, monkey!” Lord Steadwell scolded his youngest daughter fondly. “Stairs are not for running.”
“But I wanted to see you, Papa.” The child peppered his cheek with kisses. “I missed you! I was afraid you might get caught by a troll from under a bridge. I wanted to see her, too!”
Sophie left off kissing her father long enough to crane her neck and scan the entry hall.
Grace permitted herself a faint smile. She did not want her severe appearance to frighten the child.
But Sophie looked past her as if she were not there. “Where is she, Papa?”
Before her father could answer Charlotte piped up. “Our new governess is right there, you silly thing. I tried to tell you.”
The child’s gaze swung back to Grace and fixed on her with unnerving intensity.
“Good afternoon, Sophie…and Charlotte.” Grace nodded to each of the girls in turn. “I am Miss Ellerby. Your father has told me quite a lot about you, and I look forward to learning more as we become better acquainted.”
“Welcome to Nethercross, Miss Ellerby.” Charlotte made a dignified curtsy. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.”
“Quite pleasant, thank you.” Grace had the uncomfortable feeling she was addressing a superior. “This is beautiful country.”
She glanced back toward Sophie hopefully, but the child promptly burst into tears and buried her head in her father’s shoulder. “She isn’t Mamzell. I don’t want her! Send her away, Papa, and fetch Mamzell back!”
Grace’s spirits sank. She feared Lord Steadwell’s daughters were far less eager than he to have her as their governess.
* * *
Had he been wrong to choose his daughters a governess so different from their previous one? Rupert pondered that question as little Sophie pressed her face into his shoulder and wept with a fierce mixture of sorrow and frustration.
The child was not only sad over losing her beloved Mamzell, but also vexed that her world had been turned upside down. Rupert suspected she might also feel a sense of helplessness at having no control over the situation.
He could sympathize, for Sophie’s feelings mirrored his when her mother had been snatched away from them with such brutal suddenness.
“Hush now.” He held the child close to let her know she still had him…and to satisfy his need to cling to the one part of Annabelle he had left. “I explained to you why Mademoiselle Audet could not be your governess anymore. She is married to Captain Rundell now and she will have her own family to look after. If you loved her as you claim, you should try to rejoice in her happiness.”
Rupert glanced over Sophie’s head toward the new governess. The poor creature looked painfully out of place in this elegant entry hall as Sophie tearfully protested her coming and Charlotte sized her up with a cool stare.
Was he a hypocrite for expecting his small daughter to accept this new situation with good grace after he had resented every well-intentioned effort to console him over the loss of his wife?
At least he could offer Sophie a crumb of hope. “You may still see Mademoiselle again, you know. Perhaps she and her husband will come for a visit and she’ll pay a call on us.”
“D-do you think she w-will?” Sophie responded to the possibility by quieting to a series of wet hiccoughs punctuated by sniffles. “Wh-when?”
Not any time soon. Rupert knew better than to voice such an opinion in Sophie’s hearing. The young captain’s family made no secret of being disgraced by his elopement with a French governess. It was also clear they held Rupert responsible for introducing Mademoiselle Audet into the neighborhood.
“I cannot predict when she might visit, so it will be a lovely surprise. In the meantime, we must all do our best to make Miss Ellerby welcome. She has come a very long way, you know. Let us show her to the nursery.” He did not wait for Sophie to respond but pretended to take her agreement for granted. “This way, Miss Ellerby.”
Still cradling Sophie in his arms, he strode toward the staircase. Charlotte hurried to catch up with him.
“Really, Papa,” she chided him in a whisper. “Did you have to hire the homeliest dowdy you could find?”
He silenced her with a sharp look then cast a glance back, hoping Miss Ellerby was too far behind to have overheard. Satisfied that she was, he pitched his reply very low, for his daughters’ ears alone. “In fact, I did, as you should well appreciate. The last thing I want is a repetition of recent events.”
Sophie could not possibly understand his reasons for engaging Miss Ellerby, but he hoped Charlotte would.
“Besides,” he murmured, “you should not judge by appearances. She may turn out to be very amiable and you’ll all become fond of her.”
Charlotte expressed her doubts with a muted sniff.
He wasn’t setting much of an example in making the new governess welcome, Rupert realized with a prickle of guilt. Deliberately slowing his steps so she could catch up, he raised his voice to include her in the conversation. “Only a little farther, Miss Ellerby. I hope you will not find Nethercross too old and gloomy after some of the other houses in which you have lived.”
For him, the dark paneled walls and parquet floors had a special beauty born of familiarity. But he could not expect a newcomer to regard them as he did. Even Annabelle had not appreciated the subtle delights of his beloved home at first.
Miss Ellerby’s answer surprised him. “On the contrary, sir, this house has an air of having been well lived in and well loved for many years. The greatest fortune and the best architect in the world cannot duplicate that.”
Perhaps there was hope for the new governess after all. “You have discovered half the secret of winning my approval, Miss Ellerby—sincere appreciation of my home.”
“And the other half, sir?” Spoken in a different tone, by an altogether different type of woman, her question might have sounded flirtatious. But from Miss Ellerby it was severely earnest. “Do you intend to tell me or must I discover that for myself?”
Still her remarks amused him. “I doubt it will take you long to discover that I am well-disposed toward anyone who praises my children.”
That might prove more difficult for the new governess, given what she had seen of his daughters so far. Fortunately, their arrival at the nursery prevented her from having to answer.
“This will be your realm, Miss Ellerby.” He ushered her through the door Charlotte had opened. “Provided things are running smoothly, I will not interfere in your management of it.”
Rupert kept his eye on the lady as she inspected the spacious area that served as the girls’ playroom and schoolroom. Annabelle had insisted on papering over the wood paneling with a light, floral pattern. Entering this room from the dark corridor gave the impression of emerging into a sunny garden. It flustered him to realize how much he cared about Miss Ellerby’s reaction to the place.
To his relief, it seemed favorable.
She did not smile. Rupert wondered whether she knew how. But her head moved up and down in one slow, continuous nod.
“There is plenty of room, and the windows are oriented to provide a great deal of light in the morning but falling dark earlier in the evening. One might suppose the whole house had been arranged to the advantage of your nursery.”
“It may have been.” Her approval pleased Rupert, perhaps because he sensed she was not easily impressed. “Children have long been the treasure of Nethercross.”
Through his aunts, great aunts and back through the generations, his family was connected with several of the most powerful dynasties in the kingdom. Though not as well-dowered as some, the Kendrick ladies had been sought-after brides for their looks, character and ability to bear sons. The direct line had never lacked for male heirs…until now.
Rupert shuddered to think of Nethercross falling into the hands of some distant cousin who might not appreciate its history and traditions as he did. It was his duty to remarry and sire a son or two. For the past few years he had permitted his grief to get in the way of that duty.
Now, for the sake of Nethercross and his young daughters, he must begin his search for a suitable bride.
Chapter Three
“Come girls, it is time for bed.” Grace strove to keep her voice from betraying her bone-deep weariness.
It felt like several days since she’d woken at the inn in Reading when it had been only that morning. Her nap during the carriage ride to Nethercross had not helped to blunt her exhaustion. To make matters worse, her head ached from wearing those beastly spectacles.
The more she saw of Nethercross, the more it felt like the kind of sanctuary she’d been seeking. But her first few hours with her new pupils had made her fear she might lose this position if she failed to win their approval. It was clear Lord Steadwell doted on his daughters to an uncommon degree. Eager as he had been to engage her services, Grace had no illusions that he would continue to employ her against the protests of his children.
In reply to her mention of bedtime, Charlotte announced, “We are accustomed to staying up later than this.”
