The Baron's Governess Bride (3 page)

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

“C
ome 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.”

Phoebe headed for the nursery door. “I’ll go straight to bed as soon as I make sure Jem is settled for the night.”

Before Grace could forbid her, the girl was gone. Though her manner had been more cheerful and cooperative than her sisters’, it was clear Phoebe did not intend to let a new governess stand in the way of her beloved pony’s well-being.

Sophie said nothing at all but peered out at Grace from behind Charlotte’s skirts as if she were a child-eating beast who might lunge at her any moment. Grace was not certain which bothered her more—Sophie’s excessive fear, Phoebe’s breezy indifference or Charlotte’s constant contradictions. None was conducive to a well-run nursery and a mixture of all three would be a recipe for disaster.

Thrusting those tormenting spectacles into her apron pocket, Grace rubbed her throbbing temples. “Ten minutes more. That should give Phoebe time enough to bid her pony good-night.”

“It might if that is all she would do.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around Sophie as if to protect the child. “But Phoebe usually wants to curry Jem one last time and feed him an apple. I doubt she’ll be back in less than an hour and then she’ll stink of the stables.”

It would have been helpful to know that before she let the child dash away. “In that case, I will speak to Phoebe when she returns. I expect the two of you to begin preparing for bed in ten minutes.”

“I told you.” Charlotte stroked Sophie’s hair. “We are accustomed to staying up later.”

“And I am accustomed to having my bidding obeyed by my pupils,” Grace replied, more sharply than she intended.

All the changes of the day seemed to have caught up with her at once. She wanted nothing more than to retire to her own quarters and rally her composure.

Sophie gave a choked little sob and clung tighter to Charlotte, making Grace feel like a perfect ogre.

This was major change for the children, too, she reminded herself—a change that had been inflicted upon them by the actions of others. Though experience had taught her it was best to establish her authority early if she hoped to have any control over her pupils, she wondered if a gentler approach might work better in this case.

“Perhaps a compromise is in order,” she suggested, deliberately softening her tone. “If the two of you get ready for bed now, I will read to you until your sister returns.”

Charlotte gave a doubtful frown but Sophie responded swiftly. “What story will you read to us?”

Once the words were out of her mouth, the child seemed to realize she had spoken directly to her new governess for the first time. She hid her face against her sister once more, then peeped timidly back at Grace.

Recalling what his lordship had told her about his youngest daughter’s active imagination, Grace hoped it might provide a way to reach the child. “I will leave the choice of story to you, Sophie. Do you have a particular favorite?”

The child gave an eager nod and the beginnings of a smile curled one corner of her mouth upward. “‘The Little Glass Slipper.’ Do you know that one? It is in our
Tales of Mother Goose
book.”

Grace shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the story, but if you have the book, I would be happy to read it to you.”

“We have the book.” Sophie wriggled out of her sister’s arms. “Come, Charlotte. Help me find
Mother Goose
for Miss…Miss…?”

“Miss Ellerby,” Grace allowed herself a brief smile, hoping to reassure the child she was not as severe as her appearance might suggest.

“Oh, very well.” Charlotte heaved an exasperated sigh. “But I know that story by heart after all the times you made Mademoiselle read it to us. I could recite it to you.”

“How fortunate. If I make a mistake, I can rely on you to correct me.” Grace made it sound as if the girl would be doing her a favor. Perhaps that would make Charlotte a bit less eager to find fault with her at every opportunity.

As the girls headed off to get ready for bed, she called after them, “Charlotte.”

The girl turned. “Yes. What is it?”

Grace struggled to subdue her impatience with Charlotte’s attitude and focus on something positive instead. “Sophie is very fortunate to have such a kind, capable sister to help her through this time of change. When I was her age, I often wished I had an elder sister to look out for me.”

Grace’s comment seemed to take Charlotte aback. Two bright spots flared in her fair cheeks. “Someone had to take her in hand. It was no use expecting Phoebe to. She doesn’t care about anything unless it has hooves and neighs.”

She spun away again, fussing over Sophie more like a mother than a sister.

A short while later, the three of them huddled on the nursery settee while Grace made an effort to read the story in the way the girls were accustomed to hearing it. The tale itself appealed to her—it was about an orphan persecuted by her hard-hearted stepmother who was jealous of the girl’s beauty. Though treated as the humblest of servants, the heroine eventually found security, success and love. It was pleasant to believe such wonders could come true against all odds. For herself, Grace had far more modest dreams.

The sound of the nursery door opening made all three of them look up. Grace was about to inform Phoebe that her time in the stables had made her miss the story when she realized it was not the child at all, but her father who had entered.

“Papa!” cried Sophie as both girls bounded up to greet him. “Miss Ellerby is reading us ‘The Little Glass Slipper.’”

With a stab of panic, Grace remembered her spectacles. Rummaging in her apron pocket, she thrust them on, knocking the book from her lap onto the floor. She leaped from the settee to retrieve it, scooping up the fallen volume with one hand. With the other, she fumbled around the edge of her cap to check that no telltale wisps of hair had slipped free.

“G-good evening, sir.” Her greeting emerged in a breathless rush, with no more warmth of welcome than Charlotte had shown her earlier. “I was about to put the girls to bed. Is there something I can do for you?”

It was his house, of course, she reminded herself. Lord Steadwell was free to go where and when he chose. But, in spite of his devotion to his daughters, Grace had hoped she might see little more of him in the nursery than she had any of her past employers…especially in the evenings.

What if he insisted on staying to speak with her after the girls went to bed?

“Not
you,
Miss Ellerby.” His lordship scooped up Sophie in one arm and wrapped the other around Charlotte’s shoulders. “I came to tuck my daughters in for the night…and hear their prayers.”

He made it sound as if that were a nightly ritual at Nethercross.

“Have you, Papa?” Sophie flung her arms around his neck. “That would be lovely!”

The child’s eager response made it clear her father’s sudden appearance was an unexpected pleasure. What was the true reason he’d come?

Grace could guess. He was checking on her.

His mistrust sent a wave of scalding indignation surging through her. What had he expected to catch her doing to his precious daughters? Criticizing and ridiculing them? Sending them to bed hungry? Whipping them? Having suffered all those punishments and worse at the Pendergast School, Grace had vowed never to inflict them on her own pupils, no matter how disagreeable. It offended her to be suspected of such behavior!

If Lord Steadwell meant to make a habit of these surprise visits to the nursery, he would be worse than a hundred meddling mothers. It was going to be difficult enough getting his daughters to accept her without his constant vigilance. Charlotte was bright enough to soon guess that her father did not trust Grace—which would further erode her authority.

But what choice did she have other than accept the situation and try to make the best of it? Practicality won out over indignation. She could not afford to leave another position again so soon.

“Of course, sir.” Grace kept her eyes downcast so they would not betray any glint of irritation.

“We have to hear the end of the story first, Papa,” Sophie insisted. “Sit down beside Miss Ella and hold me on your knee.”

“Very well.” Though his lordship did not sound eager to do as his daughter bid, he was obviously accustomed to indulging her.

Grace was no happier than Lord Steadwell about the prospect of sitting next to him. When he bore Sophie to the settee and sank down on one end, she retreated to the other, leaving room for Charlotte in the middle.

His lordship seemed relieved, but Sophie would have none of it. “You must sit in the middle, Miss Ella, so I can see the words in the book. I know how to read some of them already.”

Grace would rather have snuggled up to a snarling mastiff, but she could think of no excuse to object. Gingerly, she budged to the middle of the settee, every muscle as stiff as buckram while her stomach seethed and her heart hammered so hard she feared his lordship would hear it.

Charlotte flounced down on Grace’s other side with a sulky air, perhaps because of all the attention her father was paying Sophie.

Grace tried to ignore Lord Steadwell’s nearness but how could she when part of her was so preoccupied with keeping her arm from accidentally brushing against his? Even with no actual contact between them, she was intensely aware of his resolute strength tempered with deep devotion to his children.

Determined to get the story over with a soon as possible, Grace read quickly, her tongue tripping over the words in her haste. “The guards at the palace gate were asked if they had not seen a princess go out. They replied they had seen nobody but a young girl, very meanly dressed, who had more the air of a poor country girl of—”

“Wait a minute.” Lord Steadwell interrupted her. “I am one daughter short. Where is Phoebe?”

Before Grace could stammer a reply, the nursery door flew open and Phoebe rushed in. She looked more like a scarecrow than a nobleman’s daughter. Her ribbons had come undone, leaving her hair hanging in a wild tangle with bits of straw sticking out. Grace spied a scuff of dirt across her skirts at the knee and she seemed to have lost a button off her spencer. Charlotte had been right about her smelling of the stables.

At the sight of them staring at her, Phoebe froze and glanced down as if noticing her disheveled appearance for the first time. “Hullo, Papa. What are you doing here?”

“He came to say good-night and hear our prayers,” Sophie piped up. “Isn’t that nice?”

Grace sensed his lordship squirm a little on the settee beside her. Phoebe’s question confirmed her suspicion that this bedtime nursery visit was an unusual occurrence.

“Why I am here matters a great deal less than why you were
not,
young lady,” he snapped. “I hope you are prepared to give a good account of your whereabouts and why you have returned in this sorry state.”

“It was that horrid stable boy, Peter.” Phoebe scowled. “He acts as if Jem belongs to him instead of me. Just because he gets to spend so much more time with Jem. That’s not my fault.”

From her tone, it was clear she envied the stable boy and would have traded places with him in an instant.

“What did the lad do to you?” Lord Steadwell slid Sophie off his lap and surged to his feet. His voice fairly crackled with protective outrage. “If he dared lay a hand on my daughter, I’ll—”

“He didn’t!” Phoebe shook her head so hard it sent her hair into worse disarray. “I meant to box
his
ears for answering me back so impudently. But he kept dodging me until I fell down. Then he ran off, the beast.”

“I see.” His lordship sounded vexed at losing a target for his anger. “That does not explain what you were doing in the stables all alone at this hour.”

He spun around to glower at Grace. “May I have a word with you in private, Miss Ellerby?”

As she rose from the settee, Grace tried not to look as guilty and intimidated as she felt. “Phoebe, go get into your nightclothes.”

Grace turned and handed the book to Charlotte. “Will you please read Sophie the rest of the story? I reckon you will do a better job of it than I.”

Keeping a tight hold on her emotions, she followed Lord Steadwell out into the corridor. Was he going to dismiss her on her very first day at Nethercross?