The Baron's Governess Bride (10 page)

Rupert tried to ignore a pang that skewered his heart. “The time I spend with my children is not a duty, Miss Ellerby. I only wish I had more time to be with them.”

“Have you considered taking them to London with you?” Before he could protest, she rushed on. “Not all the time. I understand why you want them to be at Nethercross. But a week now and then would do them no harm, surely? Perhaps you could take them to places of interest in the city. I am certain it would please Charlotte. She is eager to see more of the world. Would it not be better for her to do that under your supervision? Otherwise I fear she may come to think of Nethercross as captivity she needs to escape.”

“For someone with whom my daughter has not gotten on, you seem to understand her very well, Miss Ellerby.”

His rueful jest seemed to fluster her. “I believe I could understand Charlotte better if she would let me.”

Did Miss Ellerby think he was criticizing her for failing to gain his eldest daughter’s confidence as quickly as she had that of the other girls? “Do not give up on Charlotte. She will come around in time. I fear she is too much like me in that respect, taking a while to trust new acquaintances. Once we do, I can assure you we make loyal friends.”

“Does that mean you will consider my latest suggestion, sir?”

“I suppose I will have to, won’t I?” Rupert pretended to be disgruntled. “Do you reckon you have developed a knack for managing me, Miss Ellerby? I must warn you, I do not care to be managed.”

“Not at all, sir,” she protested. “You are a perfect enigma to me. I have never met a man quite like you before.”

Did she mean that as a compliment, Rupert wondered, or a criticism? He could not be certain. He only knew he felt flattered.

* * *

His lordship was quite unlike most other men she’d known, Grace reflected as they continued their walk on that mild spring evening.

His sudden appearance had alarmed her but once she collected her wits, she’d braced to hear that Charlotte had revealed her secret. She expected Lord Steadwell to demand an explanation, perhaps even her resignation. Instead, he’d expressed concern for her welfare and offered to keep her company.

After her experiences with men, his offer had made her uneasy. But as the minutes wore on and Lord Steadwell kept his distance, she began to relax. Of course no man would think of making advances to plain, prim Miss Ellerby, she reminded herself. Yet, the better she came to know his lordship, the more she began to think he might be a man she could trust.

Even with the truth of her appearance? A reckless impulse urged her to confess and hope he might understand the reasons for her ruse. But caution was far stronger in her than courage. If she held her tongue, it was possible Charlotte might not betray her. But if she confessed, there was no way of predicting what the consequences might be.

“How did you spend your week?” his lordship asked. “Is my daughter correct that nothing exciting ever happens at Nethercross?”

Grace thrust her uncertainty to the back of her mind, determined to savor a few moments of adult conversation. “I suppose it depends upon what one considers exciting. I find it exciting that spring arrives earlier here than in Lancashire. I find it exciting that you have so many fine portraits of your ancestors. It gave me an idea for how I might make the study of history more meaningful to your daughters.”

“Pray, tell me this idea,” he urged. “I suffered far too many tiresome lectures on the subject at school. Anything that promises to spare my daughters that drudgery will have my full support.”

Pleased to hear him sound so receptive, Grace explained her plan to make the connection between his ancestors and the times in which they lived.

“A fine idea!” he declared when she had finished. “My grandfather told me many stories about the people in those portraits. I never thought of them in connection with all those dry dates and battles and kings my history masters droned on about.”

“To my mind, history
is
those stories of people from bygone days, all woven together into a grand tapestry.” Grace looked forward to teaching the subject that way to his daughters. “It would be a great help to me, sir, if you would share those stories with me, so I can place them in their proper historical perspective.”

“There was Augustus Kendrick.” His lordship sounded as eager to tell his stories as she was to hear them. “He was a courtier of James I. You may have noticed his portrait in the Great Parlor. He even played host to the king at Nethercross on one occasion. The bed His Majesty slept in remains in the State Apartment in the west range.”

Grace was on the verge of telling him she had seen the King’s bed when she caught herself. Such an admission could lead to awkward questions.

“When I was Phoebe’s age,” he continued, “I slept on it one night, just so I could say I had. But between the protests of my guilty conscience and the musty smell of the bed curtains, I did not get much rest.”

Grace knew all about the pangs of a guilty conscience.

“Then there was Augustus Kendrick’s grandson, James,” his lordship continued. “He smuggled supplies to the Royalists during the Siege of Reading by floating them downstream in baskets after dark. His portrait hangs in the entry hall.”

“The man with the enormous hat?” asked Grace.

“And the nose to match.” Lord Steadwell chuckled. “Thank goodness I did not inherit that along with the estate.”

Grace could not suppress a bubble of laughter. She thought his lordship had a fine nose—straight and well-proportioned to the rest of his features. He was a most handsome man, though his looks mattered far less to her than his character, which appealed to her more and more.

“What about the other portrait in the entry hall—the auburn-haired lady? Was she his wife?”

“No, indeed. That is the notorious Lady Althea. She was married to James Kendrick’s grandson.”

“Notorious?” Grace could not recall the last time she had been so well entertained in conversation. “What did she do?”

“It is said Lady Althea took a violent fancy to my great-grandfather Rupert. She challenged him to a duel unless he married her. I cannot imagine why she felt driven to such lengths to secure him when it was an advantageous match. She brought a very generous dowry and added some fine property to the estate.”

Of course families like the Kendricks must keep dynastic considerations in mind when they wed, Grace reminded herself. “Were they happy together, after all that?”

“They were for as long as their marriage lasted.” His tone grew subdued. “My great-grandfather died twelve years later. Lady Althea survived him by another forty years. She never remarried, though she had a number of suitors.”

His voice trailed off on a wistful note. Clearly he sympathized with his great-grandmother, who had also lost a beloved spouse at a young age. Grace wished she had never mentioned Lady Althea.

That regret made her aware of her surroundings. A breeze had picked up, bringing a chill to the unseasonably mild night.

A shiver ran through her. “This has been an enjoyable stroll, sir, but we should be getting back. I hope I can prevail upon you to tell me more family stories when I have the means at hand to copy them down.”

Her request seemed to rouse his lordship from the melancholy musing into which he had slipped. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Ellerby.”

He led her back to the house by a route that brought them to the front entrance. Grace knew the entry hall was always well lit until the butler locked up for the night. Not expecting to encounter Lord Steadwell, she had left her spectacles back on her dressing table. The night air would surely have brought color to her cheeks, perhaps teasing wisps of hair out from under her cap. She mustn’t let his lordship see her like this or it might not matter whether Charlotte kept her secret.

“Thank you for accompanying me on my walk, sir.” She spoke in a high-pitched rush. “Good night.”

When he opened the door for her, Grace bolted inside and darted up the stairs as fast as her feet would carry her. She resisted the dangerous urge to indulge in a quick glance back at his lordship.

The nursery was dark and peaceful when she stole in, with only the crackle of embers in the hearth and the faint drone of the girls’ breathing. When she tiptoed into her chamber, Grace found a piece of paper pinned to her pillow. What could it be and who could have left it there?

She lit a candle and examined the page more closely. The words on it were written in Charlotte’s hand. It must be the composition over which the child had labored the past few days. But why had she not simply handed it over during study hours?

As Grace read, she began to understand. In her composition, Charlotte apologized for making her governess’s job so difficult since she’d come to Nethercross. Apparently the things she’d learned about Grace’s past had brought about a profound change of heart.

“I did not know how cruelly you had been persecuted by your horrid stepmother and all those beastly teachers and ‘great girls’ at your school. I would never want to be like them. You have my word I will say nothing to my father or anyone.”

With touch of adolescent melodrama she closed, “I will keep your secret until my dying breath. I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive one who has wronged you but now repents it bitterly. Your respectful and affectionate pupil, C.K.”

A deep sigh of relief gusted out of Grace. It appeared her place at Nethercross was safe now and all would be well.

Yet even as she knelt by her bed to offer a prayer of thanks, the harsh experiences of a lifetime made Grace fear her good fortune could not last.

Chapter Eight

I
t had taken some time, but domestic arrangements at Nethercross were finally back in order. As April swathed the Berkshire countryside in spring blossoms, Rupert reflected on the situation with satisfaction.

To be sure, the new governess was a rather odd creature—solemn and aloof at times and strangely engaging at others. But his daughters were growing more devoted to Miss Ellerby by the day, especially Charlotte, who had been the last of the three to come around. They were all learning a great deal, on their way to becoming clever and accomplished young ladies. Rupert congratulated himself on having made such an excellent choice in Grace Ellerby.

Gratified by that success, he knew he must move forward with the next step of his plan—courting Mrs. Cadmore. He sensed she would be receptive. She always made a point of speaking to him at church and praising his daughters. She had asked his advice about a minor matter regarding her son’s estate and mentioned her regret that Henry was growing up without a father’s guidance.

As he drove home from London, Rupert’s resolve overcame his unaccountable hesitation. Knocking on the carriage ceiling he ordered his coachman to make a brief stop at Dungrove.

“Upon my word, Lord Steadwell,” Mrs. Cadmore cried when he was ushered into her sitting room, “to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit?”

Rupert tried to concentrate on how attractive she looked in a yellow day dress with her dark hair elaborately styled and not how her effusive manner grated on his nerves. “I stopped on my way home to inquire if you and Master Henry might care to dine at Nethercross tomorrow evening. Or is it too late notice? Perhaps next Saturday would be better.”

“Tomorrow would be perfectly convenient.” Mrs. Cadmore flashed a delighted smile. “Henry and I live so quietly. I have only begun accepting invitations again. I am certain the dear boy will be pleased to spend time with your charming daughters. It was kind of you to think of him.”

“Capital.” Though he sensed she would like him to stay longer, Rupert was anxious to get home. “Until tomorrow evening, then.”

With a polite bow and a sense of duty done, he took his leave.

When his carriage rolled down the lane toward Nethercross a short while later, he noticed the linden trees on either side had burst into bloom. Rupert recalled the promise he’d made to take Miss Ellerby for a ride beneath that blossoming archway. Perhaps the experience might coax forth one of her rare smiles.

He could not fathom why the thought of showing the linden lane to his daughters’ plain, solitary governess appealed to him more than the prospect of dining with the Cadmores. Perhaps because it was not burdened with any expectations for the future, only an opportunity to enjoy the fleeting delights of springtime.

He was about to enter the house when the sound of girlish laughter drew his attention toward the riverbank. Rupert could make out his daughters and Miss Ellerby sitting on the ground.

Sophie spied him and cried out, “Papa!”

All three girls scrambled up from the picnic rug where they’d been clustered around their governess. They ran toward him, throwing their arms around him at various heights while he tried to distribute kisses and endearments equally among them. During all this commotion, he was vaguely aware of Miss Ellerby rising to her feet and adjusting her spectacles as she watched the girls’ demonstrative greeting.

“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 his 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 to 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 had 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, 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 surprised her. “I pride myself on keeping my promises, Miss Ellerby, and I promised you a ride down the lane under the linden trees when 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 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.