The Baron's Governess Bride (17 page)

“You cannot blame people for being attracted to such a lovely appearance.” He raised the hand that had so recently pressed against hers to graze her cheek with a stroke no heavier than the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “From what I can tell, you are every bit as beautiful inside as out.”

Her lips parted slightly to release a quivering sigh. Perhaps he could care for her in a way no other man had—merging his respect and sympathy for Miss Ellerby with his attraction to the masked lady.

“There is something I must tell you.” Grace wished she could see his eyes, to judge his reaction. But they were obscured by his mask in the moonlight.

“Speak then.” His fingers glided over her cheek again. “You have my complete attention.”

Grace gathered her breath and her courage.

Then suddenly the night sky erupted in a thunderous explosion of light and color. Grace recoiled as she might from a nearby musket shot—and with just cause. The fireworks aroused all her fears to a shrieking pitch that was impossible to ignore.

In a few moments Rupert would remove his mask to reveal his identity and he would expect her to do the same. Would he recognize her then? Or would the moonlight, the shadows and his refusal to think of his daughters’ governess in a romantic way all conspire to keep him blind? Grace could not bear that, for it would make a cruel mockery of his claim to admire her for more than her appearance. And it would destroy her belief that he was different from those other men who’d pursued her.

And what if he did realize that the object of his fancy was the same woman who had lived under his roof and raised his daughters for the past several months? Would the revelation delight him as she’d hoped, or would he react with shock and suspicion? As the fireworks splashed across the night sky in all their violent splendor, Grace pictured Lord Steadwell demanding answers and questioning her motives for coming here tonight.

Might he accuse her of spying on him? And if he did, could she truthfully deny it? Worse yet, he might suspect she had attended the ball with the deliberate intention of luring him away from the woman he’d planned to marry.

The raging colors overhead bathed his white mask in lurid shades of red and orange. Grace could picture his dark brows hunched over blazing eyes, his upper lip wrinkled in scorn. She recalled such looks all too well from other men when she had denied them what they wanted from her. Their reactions had made her fear for her safety and her virtue, yet they were nothing compared to the damage this man could wreak upon her heart if he chose. Her feelings for Rupert Kendrick armed him with a powerful weapon—one perhaps capable of destroying her.

The sound of the fireworks drew many of the masquerade guests out to the garden. Before long a substantial crowd had gathered around the little bridge. While Rupert’s gaze was fixed upward at the spectacle unfolding above them, Grace seized her chance to protect her heart and the happiness she had found in her present position. She slipped between a pair of tall revelers, then ducked behind the shrubbery. Once out of sight of Lord Steadwell, she plucked up the front of her skirts and fled the garden as fast as she could run.

Only when she was quite certain he could not easily track her down did Grace pause to wonder how she would get home. Nethercross was only a few miles away from Winterhill, but it was not a distance to walk in such an elaborate old gown and a pair of borrowed slippers that were beginning to pinch. But neither did she dare accept the offer of a drive from anyone except Rebecca and her husband.

Thinking of her friends gave Grace an idea, though she feared it might be in vain. On the unlikely chance that Lord and Lady Benedict were still at the party, she checked the spot where they had parked their carriage. If it was still there, she could take refuge inside until they were ready to leave.

To her surprise, the carriage stood exactly where they had left it. Not only that, their coachman lingered nearby rather than gathering with the others around a small fire some distance away.

“Miss, it’s you!” he cried when she appeared. “I was beginning to worry. Her ladyship felt unwell and they couldn’t find any sign of you so they borrowed another carriage to take them back to the inn. His lordship said you’d likely come back here sooner or later and I should fetch you home.”

“I looked for them, too,” Grace announced in a breathless rush as he helped her into the carriage. “We must have missed one another in the crowd. I only wish I’d thought to check here sooner.”

But then she might have missed out on her innocent tryst with Rupert, Grace reflected as the driver climbed onto his perch and the carriage rolled away. Though she dared not risk her future on what had passed between them this evening, she would remember it always.

* * *

Bright fire soared across the sky, bursting into a shimmer of falling stars. At the same time, vivid emotions lit up Rupert’s heart with forgotten wonder.

It was the sort of night when nursery tales might come true with their promises of
love at first sight
and
happily ever after
. Of course he did not love the woman he had only met that evening and whose name he still did not know. But he had been in love before and knew his feelings already went deeper than a superficial attraction to her looks alone. How much stronger those feelings would grow as he came to know her better, he could only guess.

Breathtaking as the fireworks were, Rupert doubted they would hold a candle to his companion’s beauty once her face was unmasked. Then he would know for certain if they had a previous acquaintance.

He glanced back down at her, intending to draw her close in case she felt threatened by the surge of other guests surrounding them. But when his gaze fell to the spot where she had been standing only a moment ago, the lady was no longer there.

His first impulse was to call her name at the top of his lungs, but that was impossible since he did not know it. Instead he peered this way and that, searching desperately for a glimpse of pink skirts or golden curls. In more than one direction his view was blocked by clusters of guests, staring skyward and exclaiming over each new burst of color. Rupert no longer cared about the fireworks. They were nothing but a loud, gaudy distraction from his search.

He pushed his way through one knot of spectators, ignoring their indignant protests. He scarcely thought of them as people—neighbors, political allies, perhaps even relatives. To him they were only animated statues that got in the way of what he was trying to do. Surrounded by people he’d never felt more alone—just as his companion had observed.

He latched onto someone’s arm. “Have you seen a lady in a pink gown? She was here just a moment ago.”

The owner of the arm pushed him away roughly with a curse he probably deserved.

“Please.” Rupert tried someone else, forcing himself to show better manners. He repeated his question.

“She brushed past me,” came the reply, shouted to carry over the noise of the fireworks and the crowd. “Headed back toward the house, I think.”

Rupert shouted his thanks and plunged off through the press of revelers, craning his neck and hoping for a glimpse of the lady.

With one final ear-splitting flare the fireworks display ended and guests began removing their masks. Rupert threw off his hat, whipped back his cowl and tore the white mask from his face.

Where was the lady in pink and why had she disappeared so abruptly?

He ran through the house, which was now nearly deserted. He peered into every room, but with no more success than he’d had out in the garden.

She must be there somewhere. Rupert plowed his fingers through his hair. He must find her to make certain she was not in any difficulty and to demand an explanation for her sudden disappearance. Did she think he would not notice her absence or not care that she had abandoned him without a word? If so, she was wrong on both counts.

He had noticed and he did care. He cared far more than he had expected—far more than he’d wanted to. Especially in light of the manner in which she’d slipped away. One moment she’d been there by his side with everything ahead of them. The next, she was gone without an explanation or even a proper goodbye.

Was he thinking of his mysterious companion or his late wife? Rupert wondered as anger and a sense of abandonment warred within him. Though he knew Annabelle had never intended to desert him, he could not deny the effect of her death upon him. Tonight’s events echoed it far too closely for his peace of mind.

Determined to get some answers, he stationed himself outside the front entrance of the Maidenhead’s country house and kept watch for the lady. By the time the last few stragglers departed in the early hours of the morning, it was clear to him that she had long since gone. If he had not been such a practical man, Rupert might have questioned whether he had imagined his whole encounter with the masked lady.

Now he could only wonder what had made her take flight. The timing suggested she did not want him to discover her identity. What reason could she have for that unless there was something more than her face she wished to hide? Could she have been a married woman dallying with his affections for an evening’s amusement?

In the midst of so many unanswered questions, there were two things he knew for certain. The first was that he’d been a fool to throw his accustomed caution to the winds and pursue a deceitful stranger. The other was that he had been right in seeking to choose a wife with his sensible head rather than his foolish heart. This incident renewed his intention to propose to Barbara Cadmore at the earliest opportunity.

Chapter Thirteen

G
race stood in a moon-dappled garden with Rupert Kendrick. He had removed his white mask, allowing her to look into his eyes. There she glimpsed a soft glow of admiration and a tantalizing glimmer of attraction. They echoed the very feelings that swelled in her heart for him. He raised his hand to caress her cheek…or so she expected. Instead his fingers clutched the corner of her mask and tore it from her face. Recognition dawned upon him, extinguishing all the light and warmth with which he had regarded her only a moment before. In their place glittered cold disdain and suspicion.

With a rough jolt, Grace woke from her disturbing dream. Her eyes flew open and she gasped to find a pair of round blue eyes staring at her.

“Good morning, Miss Ella,” Sophie chirped. “Did you have a nice time at the ball last night? I hope you didn’t lose a slipper.”

For a moment Grace was too disoriented to make sense of what was clearly intended as a jest. Then she understood. “Like Cinderella, you mean? I am happy to report I returned home with both of the slippers Lady Benedict was kind enough to loan me.”

She
had
fled the ball at midnight, but Grace did not intend to mention that to her imaginative young pupil.

The sound of their conversation drew Charlotte and Phoebe from the nursery.

“What happened last night, Miss Ella?” asked Charlotte. “Did Papa try to propose to Mrs. Cadmore? Were you able to stop him?”

“I was not obliged to.” Grace sat up, stretched and yawned. “Mrs. Cadmore was not able to attend the masquerade after all.”

The girls gave a cheer and clambered onto her bed. Though Grace knew it might be a mistake to encourage such familiarity, she could not bring herself to order them off. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Sophie’s shoulders and cast a smile at the older girls. It was good to see them all looking so relieved and happy.

Grace could not decide how she felt about the events of the previous night. Though she feared she had taken a terrible risk for nothing, she could not bring herself to be sorry she had shared a moonlit evening of chaste intimacy with Rupert. It was an encounter she would remember and treasure always.

“Did Papa go to the masquerade?” Phoebe’s nose wrinkled in a doubtful frown. “Perhaps he went to Dungrove instead and proposed to her there.”

Grace shook her head emphatically. “Your father was at the masquerade all evening. I spoke with him.”

“And he didn’t know you?” asked Charlotte. “Or recognize the dress from the painting? I told you men never notice clothes.”

“What did the two of you talk about?” Sophie demanded.

“This and that.” Not eager to dwell on the subject, Grace scrambled out of bed. “He said I looked familiar, but he could not think who I might be. Now we all need to get dressed and you must help me put that pink gown back to its trunk before anyone else sees it. We don’t want your father to know I was there keeping watch on him.”

Her words drove any further questions from the children’s minds. They bounded off her bed and away to get dressed.

As Grace donned her ugliest dress and hid her hair beneath her most unflattering cap she recalled how pleasant it had been last evening to wear a becoming gown and to feel the breeze whisper through her curls. But after last night she would have to take special care to look as unattractive as possible so Rupert… Lord Steadwell would have no cause to suspect she might be the lady from the masquerade.

Still all the risk and the need for added caution would be worthwhile if their encounter had persuaded him that his heart was not as dead to romantic feelings as he tried to pretend. Grace hoped their conversation might make him reconsider the wisdom of settling for a marriage of mutual convenience.

She and the girls bolted a quick breakfast then set off to smuggle the pink gown back to its rightful resting place. Charlotte and Sophie went ahead to scout the route and warn their governess if anyone was coming. Phoebe was assigned to bring up the rear in case anyone approached from behind them.

As it turned out their carefully laid plans were not necessary. They reached the State Apartment without meeting a single soul. As Grace wrapped the pink gown back in its swath of linen, she fancied it let out a rustling sigh of satisfaction that it had been brought out one last time to be worn and admired.

“That was exciting,” Sophie announced as she skipped down the gallery on their way back to the nursery. “I wish we could do secret things like that more often.”

The child’s remark smote Grace with a pang of conscience. It was her job to bring up Sophie and her sisters as well-educated, accomplished young ladies of good character. Teaching them to sneak about, keeping secrets from their father hardly qualified as the latter.

Sophie’s skipping drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps until suddenly Lord Steadwell’s valet rounded the corner moving faster than Grace had ever seen him. He almost collided with the child, who sought refuge in Grace’s arms. They all started in a guilty fashion.

“I beg your pardon.” The valet seemed very flustered about something more than nearly charging into them. “I did not expect to meet anyone in this part of the house. What are you doing here?”

Tempted as Grace was to resent his accusing tone, she had to admit the man had reason to be suspicious.

Phoebe came to the rescue. “Papa likes us to learn about our family history. All the oldest paintings are in these rooms.”

Both statements were perfectly true and the child had not actually claimed that’s what they were doing. Still Grace felt she was setting a very poor example for her impressionable young pupils.

“Back to the nursery, girls.” She shooed them on their way then fixed the valet with a questioning gaze. “Is something the matter, Mr. Willis? You don’t seem quite yourself.”

‘It’s the master who’s not himself,” muttered the valet, who was ordinarily the soul of discretion. “He’s in a foul humor this morning. If he wasn’t the most temperate gentleman I ever served, I would swear he was suffering from a bad
morning after
.”

“That doesn’t sound like his lordship at all,” Grace agreed, trying not to show how much the news troubled her. “Perhaps he did not sleep well after all the excitement last evening.”

Mr. Willis did not look as though he gave her explanation much credence. “Lord Steadwell sent me to tell the cook we might have guests for dinner.
Might,
indeed! The cook will give me the sharp edge of her tongue over that, you can be certain.”

“Did his lordship say who might be dining with him?” Grace did not like the sound of his plans, tentative though they were.

“Mrs. Cadmore and her son, if the boy has recovered from whatever was ailing him,” Mr. Willis replied. “I’m to deliver the invitation to Dungrove as soon as I’ve spoken to the cook. If you’ll excuse me, I had better be on my way or he’ll have my head, the black humor he’s in.”

“Yes, of course.” Grace was sorry to have detained the poor man, though she appreciated the information. If only she knew what it meant.

After the attention he’d shown her last night, why was his lordship inviting Mrs. Cadmore to dine? Grace pondered that question as the valet hurried off. Had the baron meant nothing he’d said last night? Had he only been flirting with her from behind the safety of his mask?

No! Rupert Kendrick was not that kind of man—she would stake her life on it. But if he was sincere, how might he have reacted to her abrupt disappearance? Not knowing who she was, he could not begin to guess her motives for running off. Did he assume she had deserted him? Could that be what had put him in a foul mood this morning and perhaps driven him back to Mrs. Cadmore?

Just then Sophie appeared at the end of the gallery, her hands planted on her hips in a perfect imitation of the cook when she was vexed. “Aren’t you
ever
coming, Miss Ella?”

“Yes, of course, my dear.” Grace followed Sophie back to the nursery, her head spinning with worries and regrets.

“Gather your sketching boxes, girls,” she bid them. “Let us go outdoors and find some flowers to draw.”

She wanted to be out of the house in case Lord Steadwell decided to visit the nursery. But she did not want the children making a racket that might disturb their father if he were trying to rest.

The air was warm, still and heavy when they ventured outside. A light haze veiled the sky. Though many garden plants were in bloom, Grace suggested they walk down the lane in search of wild flowers. The farther they stayed from the house the better.

Just beyond the rows of linden trees the girls found plenty of scope for their artwork—daisies, betony, red campion and heartsease. They did some fine sketching and were beginning to tire of it when Lord Benedict’s carriage turned down the lane and drew to a halt nearby.

Grace flew toward it, casting a guilty glance in the direction of the house. “Rebecca, how are you feeling today? I was sorry to hear you were taken ill last night.”

Her friend waved away her concern, ever stoic as their time at the Pendergast School had taught her to be. “It was only a digestive upset, probably from eating richer food than I am used to. I felt so badly for leaving you behind. I was relieved to hear that you had the presence of mind to look for our carriage.”

“It was my own fault,” Grace assured her friend. “I should not have wandered off while you were dancing.”

“But you enjoyed yourself, I hope.” Rebecca searched Grace’s eyes for the truth. “You were by far the most beautiful lady at the masquerade. I overheard more than one gentleman asking who you might be.”

The interest of those
gentlemen
did not flatter Grace—quite the contrary. There had been only one man present whose admiration mattered to her. But at the moment, she could only fear that he might look out a window and spy Lord Benedict’s carriage.

As if he had read her thoughts, the viscount spoke. “We are on our way to London and from there to visit Miss Fletcher in Kent. I thought I might pay my compliments to Lord Steadwell before we leave. I have long admired the diligence with which he undertakes his duties in the House of Lords. I only wish there were more peers like him.”

Much as Grace would have liked to grant Rebecca’s husband his wish, she feared a meeting between the two gentlemen might expose her growing cache of secrets.

She ventured a furtive glance back toward the house. Was it only her guilty imagination or was someone looking out from an upstairs window?

“I’m certain Lord Steadwell would be honored by your praise, sir. But I am afraid this would not be a good time for him to receive visitors.” She cast Rebecca a look that pleaded for understanding.

“Very well.” The viscount seemed disappointed and perhaps even a trifle offended. “If he is indisposed, I do not wish to disturb him.”

Rebecca and Grace parted with rather strained goodbyes. “Please give my best wishes to our other friends. Perhaps one day we may all get together.”

To her relief the Benedict’s coachman managed to turn their vehicle in close quarters without going all the way to the house and rousing unwelcome questions.

As Grace and the girls waved to her departing friends she could not help thinking what an exhausting and worrisome business it was to maintain her pretense. More and more she wished she could tell the truth and be herself. If only there was not so much at stake… .

* * *

Who in blazes was Miss Ellerby talking to down at the end of the lane? From his bedchamber window Rupert could only glimpse bits of the distant figures partially shielded from sight by the linden trees. He could see enough of the vehicle to recognize it as a traveling carriage of the kind he used to get back and forth to London.

What was it doing here, lingering so long in the distance rather than coming straight down to the house? Had the people lost their way perhaps and stopped to ask directions? The more time that passed, the less likely that explanation seemed. They could have gotten directions all the way to Dover in the time they spent talking to Miss Ellerby.

When at last the carriage made a tight turn and drove away, Rupert’s curiosity and suspicion had been roused to a keen pitch. He donned his coat and strode off in search of answers.

He found his daughters and their governess at the end of the lane sketching wildflowers. The girls did not call out and run toward him as they usually did, and Miss Ellerby seemed to shrink from his approach. Did he look so formidable?

Perhaps so, he acknowledged ruefully, making a determined effort to relax his severe frown, stiff stride and arms clenched behind his back. It was not easy after the events of last night.

“Sketching again, are you?” He glanced over at Sophie’s drawing with an approving nod. “Very good. Perhaps later you could go over it with your watercolors.”

“I think I will, Papa.”

He wandered past his two older daughters, casting admiring glances at their work. They seemed to concentrate very hard on what they were doing—too hard to make eye contact with him.

Their governess kept her gaze downcast and seemed to brace herself as he approached. Rupert had never seen anyone look so transparently guilty. What she might be guilty of, he had no idea. But he intended to find out.