by Hale Deborah
Whatever the reason, he had too busy a day ahead to lie about pondering such questions. Rupert climbed out of bed to shave and dress. As he pulled on his clothes, it occurred to him that he ought to have breakfast in the nursery with his daughters. He had to eat somewhere and that would give him an opportunity to spend some time with them.
He arrived to find the girls dressed and having their hair combed.
“Papa, you’re home!” Sophie tore away from Miss Ellerby and hurled herself into his arms. “Did you just get here? Why did you not come last evening?”
“I’m sorry I was late.” Rupert held the child tight as he bent to kiss her sisters who also flocked toward him when he arrived. He explained the circumstances that delayed him. “I looked in on you but you were already asleep. May I stay for breakfast so we can visit before I start to work on estate business?”
He cast a glance toward Miss Ellerby, one eyebrow raised in a silent request for permission. This was her domain, after all.
But before the governess could answer, Charlotte spoke. “Of course, Papa! Why would anyone object to that? We have missed you so much this week.”
Soon they were all squeezed around the nursery table enjoying a hearty country breakfast. Miss Ellerby seemed hesitant to join the girls with their father there, but Rupert insisted. He could not tell whether she was pleased to be included with the family or put out by the disruption he’d created. Perhaps a little of both.
“Where did your poor horse pick up the stone, Papa?” Phoebe seemed much more interested in that than any other part of his account.
Sophie tugged on her father’s coat sleeve as he was relating all the details of the lame horse. “I had a bad dream last night, Papa. But Miss Ella came and made it better.”
Rupert listened attentively as if it was all new to him. Yet he could not help stealing a glance at Miss Ellerby. Somehow he expected her to look or act differently after last night, yet she seemed as guarded as ever. If not for his daughter’s account of what had happened, he might have wondered if he had only dreamed everything he’d overheard.
“There was no need to wake anyone else, Sophie.” Charlotte picked at her breakfast with an offended frown. “You should have come to me if you had a bad dream.”
Sophie shook her head. “I called and called but you didn’t come. Miss Ella did and she told me how to make my bad dream better.”
The child’s explanation did not appear to please Charlotte, who changed the subject abruptly. “Did you have a nice week in London, Papa? What did you do?”
He told them about some of the business before the House of Lords but did not mention any of the worrisome rumors about Napoleon. “And I attended an assembly on Wednesday evening.”
“Did you enjoy it, Papa?” Charlotte perked up. “Was there dancing? Did the ladies have beautiful gowns?”
“There is always dancing at these events.” He had taken a few turns on the floor to be sociable. “And everyone was very well-dressed.”
His daughter managed to coax a few more details out of him but Rupert refrained from mentioning the point of the evening—to scout for a prospective bride. In that respect it had been a disappointment. Everywhere he’d turned, ambitious mothers threw their debutante daughters into his path. He had never met such a lot of tiresome chits in one night—all with their heads full of romantic expectations about marriage. He knew better than to encourage them.
What he needed in a wife was maturity, compatibility and practical willingness to settle for the kind of marriage he could give her. That did not include the deep closeness he and Annabelle had shared. Now that he had poked his nose around the marriage market, he wondered if he was asking too much.
“Tell me about your week,” he urged the girls.
“Nothing exciting happened,” Charlotte muttered, “except we got an invitation from Mrs. Cadmore to visit Dungrove next Thursday. It will be pleasant to visit, though we would much rather go to London with you, Papa.”
“Speak for yourself, Charlotte.” Phoebe pulled a face that made Miss Ellerby bite her lip and raise her teacup for a very long drink. “I’m much happier in the country.”
While the girls bickered over the merits of town versus country, Rupert found himself thinking about Barbara Cadmore. She was a fine-looking woman who possessed most of the qualities he was looking for in a wife. The mother of one child, she was still young enough to have more. A union between them would benefit her, as well. He would be able to help look after Dungrove until young Henry came of age to take over. The more he considered the lady as a matrimonial candidate, the more sensible a choice she seemed.
When his heart protested, he resolutely silenced it.
“Girls,” Miss Ellerby interrupted Charlotte and Phoebe as their argument threatened to escalate to a bitter quarrel. “Kindly make an effort to be civil or your father may be reluctant to join us for meals in the future. Isn’t that so, sir?”
“Definitely.” Even if he had not agreed, Rupert would have felt obliged to support her. “I cannot abide squabbling. I get more than enough of that in Parliament. Enjoy the freedom of the country while you can, Charlotte. All too soon I shall be forced to take you to London to be presented.”
“I thought the week passed quickly.” Phoebe tossed her head in defiance of her elder sister. “I like all the new things Miss Ellerby is teaching us. I learned such a lot.”
A fleeting smile lit the governess’s face before she could prevent it. “I am pleased with their progress. Your daughters are very clever, Lord Steadwell.”
He had once told Miss Ellerby that praising his children was a sure way to win his approval. But he sensed she was sincere, which only made her tribute please him more.
“Besides being an attentive student,” the governess continued, “Phoebe has faithfully followed your instructions about going to the stables. I believe she has earned a longer visiting time.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” Rupert reached over and gave his daughter’s shoulder an affectionate pat. In this case he did not mind being proved wrong. “Very well, Miss Ellerby. If you reckon Phoebe has shown sufficient responsibility to merit more time, then she shall have more.”
“Thank you, Papa!” The child seized his hand and pressed it to her lips. “I won’t let you down.”
“I have every faith in you.” He beamed at his daughter then turned the smile upon her governess, grateful for the way she had handled his rebellious child. It was as if she had managed to gentle a headstrong filly and begun training it to be a champion.
The lady’s gaze skittered away from his, focusing on the children, her breakfast—anywhere but at him. Ah well, he could tolerate her unsociable manner as long as she managed so well with the girls.
“I learned, too, Papa.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled with her mother’s lively intelligence. “I can read twenty new words and find a dozen countries on the globe. I want to visit all of them some day.”
“Don’t be silly,” Charlotte muttered. “When you grow up, you’ll go to London and perhaps a fine country house if your husband has one. You won’t need all this useless information that’s being crammed into our heads.”
Though he hated to contradict his daughter, Rupert felt obliged to point out, “I do not believe any information is entirely useless. Better to be over-informed than ignorant.”
Charlotte paled as if he had struck her, which made Rupert’s stomach contract in a tight ball of guilt. Miss Ellerby was doing so well with the younger girls. What had she done to alienate his eldest? Or was it his fault for relying so much on Charlotte after Mademoiselle’s abrupt departure that the child was bound to feel displaced by any new governess?
The mantel clock chimed just then, reminding him of his duties as a landowner, which warred with his desire to be an attentive father. “I
’m afraid I must be on my way. A great many matters require my attention.”
His daughters’ fallen faces reproached him. “But…perhaps you could come with me. Charlotte and Phoebe can ride their ponies and Sophie can ride with me. Would you like that?”
Phoebe let out a most unladylike whoop of joy while Sophie bobbed her head eagerly. Only Charlotte did not appear eager to accept his invitation. “I would rather stay home and catch up on my needlework. I have had far too little time for it lately.”
“As you wish.” Rupert tried to ignore a pang of disappointment. “Another time perhaps.”
His daughter was growing up far too quickly and he feared he might have accelerated the process. She needed a mother to guide her through these next awkward years to womanhood. They all did.
Perhaps during their travels today, he and Phoebe and Sophie could pay a brief call on the Cadmores.
Chapter Six
Would Charlotte ever accept her?
Grace heaved a sigh and dipped the tip of her pen in the ink well to begin a letter to her friend Hannah Fletcher. Having put the girls to bed not long ago, she was now free to indulge in the pleasure of correspondence. Only yesterday she had received a long letter from Hannah, every word of which seemed to reach across the miles that separated them with tender concern and sympathy. It was not the same as being able to sit down for a long heart-to-heart talk, but it was the closest thing they had.
How Grace longed to see her friends again! After leaving school, she had never found another person in whom she could confide so freely. Governesses lived in a twilight position, beneath the families who employed them yet above the servants. Any familiarity between the two was frowned upon. She had not minded a great deal, until recently.
But now she found herself growing to care for Phoebe and Sophie Kendrick more deeply than she had for any of her past pupils. Was that because they were growing up without a mother, as she had? She sensed what they needed and longed to supply it. She would like to have done the same for Charlotte, if only the girl would let her. But the harder she tried, the tighter Charlotte closed herself off. Perhaps Hannah would have some advice on how to handle the situation. She’d always had a sensible head on her shoulders.
Writing feverishly, pouring out her frustration, Grace reminded herself she ought to be grateful that she had won over two of the girls. She had also been fortunate to gain their father’s support, though she was not certain how far that might extend.
The nib of her pen scratched softly over the paper as she wrote about the day Charlotte had coldly refused to ride around the estate with her father and sisters.
Later I heard muffled weeping and found Charlotte curled up on the window seat watching the rest of the family ride off. I spoke to her as gently as I could and asked if she had changed her mind about going.
She jumped up with such a glare I feared she might strike me. Then she replied that her feelings were none of my concern and demanded to be left alone. Yet, much as her harshness vexed me, I was moved by the hurt and sadness in her eyes. I believe the poor child makes herself more miserable than anyone with her spite against me.
Ever since that day, she and Charlotte seemed to be in a state of armed truce that threatened to erupt in open warfare at any moment—rather like the tense situation in Europe as Napoleon returned to power. Grace did not want war to come again so soon. She thought of Hannah, whose master was an officer recently returned home after years of service in the cavalry. Neither did she want hostilities with Charlotte to escalate. But she could not purchase peace at the cost of her authority over the Nethercross nursery.
As Grace paused to let the ink dry she heard faint sounds from the nursery. Ever since Sophie’s nightmare, she had left her bedroom door slightly ajar at night in case the child called out for her.
Though that was not what Grace heard now, she wondered if it might be Sophie murmuring in her sleep, begging those she had lost to come back. Laying aside her pen, Grace rose and crept toward the door, her ears straining to make sense of the whispers drifting in from the nursery.
It wasn’t Sophie talking, at least not only her. All three of the girls seemed to be carrying on a hushed but emphatic conversation that was growing louder than they could have intended. Grace was about to call out for them to get to sleep when she suddenly picked out a familiar word from the girls’ furtive exchange. That seemed to be the key, making the rest come clear.
“…must stand up to Miss Ellerby,” Charlotte urged her sisters in a fierce whisper that carried clearly to Grace’s ears. Was the child so intent on making her point that she did not notice her voice had risen? Or did she not care if the governess overheard her? “Otherwise she’ll do just as she likes and turn Papa against us.”
“You’re just put out,” Phoebe countered, “because Papa sided with her the other day and because he’s pleased with me instead of you for a change.”
“I didn’t care for Miss Ella at first.” Sophie scarcely bothered to lower her voice at all. “But I do now. She understands about things.”
“You two are impossible!” Charlotte hissed. “She’s turned you against me, as well.”
“She has not,” Phoebe snapped. “You’re doing that all by yourself.”
“I’m not against you, Charlotte.” Sophie’s plaintive little voice sounded choked with tears. “Why are you so angry with me? I’ll try not to like Miss Ella if you don’t want me to.”
Grace had heard quite enough. She’d overlooked Charlotte’s criticism and insolence, hoping to win her cooperation with kindness. Clearly that had not worked. Grace was not about to let the child take out her frustration upon her sisters.
Striving to sound more confident and controlled than she felt, Grace pushed open her door and strode into the nursery. “Girls, I’m afraid your whispering has grown too loud to ignore.”
She headed straight toward Sophie’s bed and put her arms around the tearful child. “Charlotte, I am not prepared to tolerate any more of your troublemaking. I know you do not want me at Nethercross, but that is your father’s decision, not yours. You are wrong if you suppose I am trying to turn him against you.”
The child did not argue with her openly as Phoebe would have done. Instead, she retreated into petulant silence that seemed to crackle like thin ice beneath Grace’s feet.
“Hush, Sophie.” Grace stroked the child’s hair. “Your sister is not angry at you and I’m certain she did not mean to upset you. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”
After a long, fraught moment, Charlotte spoke. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I know you aren’t against me.”
“No one is against you, Charlotte,” Grace insisted as she continued to comfort Sophie. “But I must insist you give me your obedience and respect. Otherwise, I shall not be able to take you with us when we visit the Cadmores.”
She tried to keep her voice calm, so as not to provoke the child or further distress her sister. But her statement of the consequences Charlotte would suffer for her continued insolence roused the girl from her petulant silence. “Keep me home from the Cadmores? You wouldn’t dare! I would tell Papa the instant he returns from London and he would dismiss you at once for treating me like that.”
Might this action cost her the position she was coming to enjoy more every day? Charlotte’s threat made Grace hesitate. Up to this point Lord Steadwell had been surprisingly supportive. But that support must have limits. Past experience warned Grace that parents always came to the defense of an aggrieved child, without a thought for how difficult it made her job. Why should her new employer be any different?
Yet she could not bring herself to back down. She was not asking anything unreasonable, after all. Charlotte’s attitude was not only causing trouble for Grace, but also upsetting her sisters. It was also for her own good. If Charl
otte continued on, expecting to have her own way without regard for the feelings of others, she would one day find herself much worse off.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Grace chose her words with care. “But I must stand firm. I do not mean this as a punishment but a choice you are free to make through your actions. If you wish to accompany us to the Cadmores, I have made clear what sort of behavior I expect from you. I hope you will make the wise choice.”
Charlotte gave an angry “Hmph!” Then she pitched down onto her bed and turned her back on Grace with as much noise as possible.
“That didn’t sound very promising, did it?” Grace whispered to Sophie.
The child shook her head.
“Thank you for speaking up for me,” Grace pressed a kiss upon Sophie’s forehead. “That was kind and brave of you.”
First Phoebe, now Sophie—not since her friends at school had others come to her defense like that. Surely she owed them and herself the same. She only hoped that standing up to Charlotte would not cost her this opportunity to care for children she was rapidly coming to love.
* * *
After a tumultuous week in Parliament, Rupert was more eager than ever to get back to the peace of the countryside and the loving company of his children. Having ignored the danger of Napoleon’s return to power, the government had finally come to its senses and committed to putting troops in the field. Rupert feared their reluctance to act might have given the little tyrant a worrisome advantage.
As his carriage drew up to the house, he spied Charlotte waiting by the front door. She must have been watching for his arrival so she could come out to meet him, bless her heart.
When he climbed out of the carriage, however, he was not greeted with the warm smile he expected but by a pale countenance and flashing eyes.
