The Baron's Governess Bride (6 page)

Much as he disliked being wrong, Rupert hoped Phoebe would rise to the occasion and justify Miss Ellerby’s faith in her. For now, he was pleased to enjoy the prospect of renewed closeness with his daughter—a blessing for which he had her governess to thank.

Rupert stole a brief glance from Phoebe to Miss Ellerby, for he sensed the governess did not like being stared at. He glimpsed a softening in the usual tight severity of her features, similar to her fleeting smile the previous night. Why did she seem to guard against such displays when they made her appearance so much more agreeable?

He had no time to ponder that puzzle, for just then the carriage pulled up in front of the parish church. “It seems we will not be late after all. The bells have not begun to toll yet.”

They climbed out of the carriage and headed across the churchyard with Sophie and Charlotte clinging to his hands while Phoebe strode along beside their governess. Rupert bowed and nodded to the neighbors and tenants who greeted him.

He detected a number of curious, disapproving looks cast in Miss Ellerby’s direction and found himself growing indignant on her behalf. Was that why she projected such a grim, forbidding air—because she was accustomed to people judging her harshly on account of her plainness? Now that she was a member of his household, he could not suppress an urge to defend her, even from the silent censure of his fellow parishioners. Christians, of all people, ought to recall that beauty was vain and favor fleeting.

“Yoo-hoo, Lord Steadwell!” A breathless feminine voice jarred Rupert from his thoughts.

He turned to see Mrs. Cadmore and her son hurrying to catch up with his family. The Cadmore estate bordered Nethercross and Rupert had been on cordial terms with its late owner.

“Good morning.” He bowed. “Why, Henry, I believe you have grown an inch in the past fortnight. Soon you will tower over your mother.”

“I fear he is outgrowing his strength,” Mrs. Cadmore declared in a tone of anxious fondness. “That is why I cannot think of sending him back to school next term. Speaking of schooling, I see you have found a replacement for your French governess. I always thought there was something altogether too worldly about her. I hope you were able to engage a proper English governess this time.”

Though Rupert doubted Mademoiselle Audet’s nationality had anything to do with her elopement, he hastened to introduce Miss Ellerby.

Mrs. Cadmore regarded her with a stiff little smile and a rather critical gaze, but in the end she gave an approving nod. “Welcome to our quiet little corner of the kingdom, my dear. You seem just the sort of person his lordship’s delightful daughters require. If you ever find yourself in need of a woman’s advice on child-rearing, I should be only too happy to assist you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Miss Ellerby murmured.

“I doubt she will require much help of that nature.” Rupert was not certain what compelled him to speak as if he were defending her. “Miss Ellerby has been teaching children for nearly as long as you and I have been parents.”

Mrs. Cadmore laughed as if he had made a deliberate jest. “I have no doubt she is well-qualified, but one can scarcely compare the experience of a
paid
governess with that of a devoted mother.”

His pretty neighbor seemed prepared to hold forth on the subject at some length. Fortunately, the peal of the church bell summoned them all to worship.

During brief moments between the various parts of the service, Rupert found his thoughts turning to Barbara Cadmore. Her husband had passed away a little over a year ago, yet she seemed to have put her grief behind her and moved sensibly forward with her life. Part of him envied her peace of mind. A year after Annabelle’s death, the gaping wound in his heart had tormented him even more than in the beginning. Yet, he could not help wondering if his neighbor had recovered much faster from the loss of her husband because she had not cared for him to such a perilous degree.

Rupert shoved that thought to the back of his mind as the congregation rose for one of his favorite hymns.

“I sing the mighty power of God, that made the mountains rise.” The familiar words poured out of him. Truth be told, he often felt closer to his Creator when he watched the first green shoots of corn rise from the earth, or listened to the song of a nightingale on a still spring evening, than in this handsome old building of stone and glass. The parts of the Bible that most stirred his soul were those that spoke of the glories of nature.

As the second verse began, Rupert became aware of a pure, sweet voice trilling the meaningful words of the hymn. As he listened to Miss Ellerby sing, something stirred within him, just like when he heard a nightingale. For a moment it struck him as ironic that such beautiful music should issue from such a drab source. Then again, he reminded himself, it was not the magnificent peacock or the elegant swan that produced the loveliest songs in nature but little brown larks and thrushes.

That thought made him smile to himself. For a moment, his heart felt whole and lightened in a way it had not for a very long time.

* * *

Lord Steadwell had a fine singing voice. Grace secretly admired it as they joined in the hymn. It had a warm, rich depth that lent the words special meaning. Somehow, it drew her closer to him and his daughters, making her feel more a part of the family than she had in any of her previous positions.

Then the final chords of the hymn died away and that fragile illusion shattered. Phoebe and her father seemed willing to accept Grace, and Sophie might give her a chance…if not for Charlotte. Thinking back over her earlier exchange with Lord Steadwell’s eldest daughter, Grace silently implored the Almighty to give her more patience and help her find a way to gain the child’s respect, if not her affection.

No brilliant revelation came to her, yet she left the service feeling strengthened and encouraged. As the closing words of the hymn had assured her—everywhere she would be in the coming week, God’s presence would be with her.

On the way out of the church, Lord Steadwell introduced her to the vicar, who greeted her cordially. “Ellerby? Not by any chance related to the Reverend Jonah Ellerby, late of Witney?”

“His daughter, sir. Did you know my father?”

The vicar beamed. “We were at school together. He was a fine man and a most inspiring preacher. His passing was a sad loss for the church and his friends. But it is a pleasure to meet his daughter. I must ask my sister to invite you to tea at the vicarage so we may become better acquainted.”

A rare sensation of happiness swelled in Grace’s heart. She could imagine few things more agreeable than the opportunity to converse with an old friend of her father’s.

“Why, thank you, sir!” Grace forgot all about her resolution not to smile in Lord Steadwell’s presence. “I would welcome—”

“That is very kind of you, Vicar,” his lordship interrupted. “Perhaps once Parliament recesses next summer, Miss Ellerby will not have her hands quite so full with my daughters in my absence.”

“Yes, of course.” The vicar offered an apologetic smile. “I should have given thought to your duties, Miss Ellerby. When you are less occupied, perhaps.”

Though she agreed meekly enough, in her heart Grace bristled. Why had his lordship broken in on her conversation in such an imperious manner? Was he trying to imply that one brief visit to the vicarage would interfere with her duties?

She maintained a frosty silence as they crossed the churchyard, but his lordship appeared not to notice or care that she was vexed with him.

Most of the other parishioners had departed for home but Mrs. Cadmore and her son lingered at the gate. She was a handsome woman who looked a few years older than Grace, with abundant dark hair elaborately styled. Her lavender-colored pelisse and elegant grey hat suggested that she had recently emerged from the traditional period of mourning. Her son looked a good deal like her.

Though Mrs. Cadmore had been polite enough, in a rather patronizing way, her manner reminded Grace far too much of her stepmother. She sensed that his lordship’s neighbor only approved of her because she appeared so unattractive. If Grace had attended church that morning without her cap and spectacles and wearing fashionable clothes, she had no doubt Mrs. Cadmore’s response to her would have been very different.

“Oh, Lord Steadwell.” The lady raised one grey-gloved hand and waggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave. “I had a most delightful idea. Now that you have hired a governess, you should bring your daughters to Dungrove for a visit. I know Henry would be pleased to have some company, wouldn’t you, dear?”

The boy nodded, though without any great enthusiasm.

“Can we go, please, Papa?” asked Charlotte.

Lord Steadwell shook his head. “I’m afraid I must go to London next week and I have a hundred tasks to attend to before then. But Miss Ellerby is welcome to take the girls for a visit whenever you wish.”

“That would be…delightful.” Mrs. Cadmore sounded no more pleased at the prospect than Grace felt.

Clearly Lord Steadwell was the guest for whom her invitation had been intended. That notion irritated Grace, though she could not decide why. She had never considered the possibility that his lordship might remarry at some point. Prudence told her such an event would be to her advantage. Yet she was becoming accustomed to serving in a household with no mistress and found it suited her better than she’d expected. Hopefully once Lord Steadwell returned to Parliament, her situation would improve even further. For several days a week, she would have sole charge of the girls. Perhaps that would encourage Charlotte and Sophie to accept her as an inevitable part of their lives.

Besides, having suffered a most disagreeable stepmother in her youth, she would not wish such a trial upon Lord Steadwell’s daughters.

Not even Charlotte.

Chapter Five

H
ow had the girls fared in his absence? Rupert wondered as he drove home after his first week back in the House of Lords.

It had been a busy one with a good deal of new legislation pending now that the war
was
over…if, indeed, it was over. There were disturbing rumors circulating that Bonaparte had slipped away from the island of Elba. How on earth the Royal Navy had permitted that to happen, Rupert could not fathom. What confounded him even more was how few people seemed to regard the news as cause for alarm. He certainly did, though for the moment his thoughts turned to a potential conflict of more intimate scale.

It had not been easy to bid his daughters goodbye when he departed for London. Sophie had clung to him in tears, begging him not to go, while Charlotte had urged him to take them with him. Only Phoebe seemed resigned to his departure, though she bid him farewell with a more affectionate embrace than she’d given him in quite a while. He hoped Miss Ellerby had not let the child run wild, while being too strict with her sisters. During his last week at Nethercross, the new governess seemed more tight-lipped and steely-eyed than ever.

Once again Rupert questioned whether it might have been a mistake to choose a governess for his daughters based principally on her being unmarriageable. Recalling how much attention the vicar had paid Miss Ellerby, it seemed he could not even rely upon that. Perhaps it was not romantic interest—the man was old enough to be her father. Yet all the more reason the vicar could not afford to be particular if he was looking for a wife.

Caution had urged Rupert to discourage any closer acquaintance between the two. If Miss Ellerby needed adult companionship, she would do better to cultivate Mrs. Cadmore, who seemed to have taken a liking to her.

As he stared out at the darkened countryside, a faint scowl tightened Rupert’s features. The Lords had been late to adjourn and one of the carriage horses had picked up a stone near Slough. The delays had sunk his hope of reaching home in time to see the girls off to bed and hear all the news about their week.

Of course he could always visit with his daughters tomorrow, but he would have a busy day conferring with his steward about the spring planting and riding out to check on the progress of some improvements he was making to the estate. Part of him envied his fellow peers, who could swan off to London for months at a time, leaving the management of their lands entirely to hirelings. That had never been his family’s practice.

When his carriage pulled up in front of Nethercross, Rupert could not help glancing toward the nursery windows, even though he knew it was far too late. Perhaps the girls had begged to wait up past their usual bedtime to welcome him home.

But the nursery windows were dark.

Rupert stifled a pang of disappointment. Had his daughters doubted he would return home tonight? Had they gone to bed feeling he’d let them down? Dependability was a quality he prized in others and strove to cultivate in himself. It would grieve him if his daughters viewed him otherwise.

As he climbed out of the carriage and quietly entered the house, a more palatable possibility occurred to him. What if the girls had expected him to return tonight but Miss Ellerby had disregarded their pleas, sending them to bed at the usual hour? That seemed far more likely. The new governess struck him as strict and rigid, without a proper appreciation for the sensitive feelings of children. He would have to speak to her about that. At Nethercross, he expected healthy routine and discipline to be tempered with understanding and kindness.

Rupert mulled over those thoughts as he climbed the stairs and strode down the dim corridor to the nursery. He would not dream of disturbing his daughters if they were asleep, yet he still felt compelled to look in on them.

With slow, patient stealth, he let himself into the nursery then stood silent, listening for the tranquil drone of the girls’ breathing to assure him all was well. Instead, the first sound he heard was a sniffle from the direction of Sophie’s bed. It seemed to reach into his chest and give his heart a hard squeeze.

But before he could fly to her bedside, another sound stopped him.

It was a low, comforting murmur. “I’m here, Sophie. Everything will be all right. You had a bad dream. I know they can be frightening, but I promise they aren’t real.”

Could that be the child’s stern governess?

“It f-felt real,” Sophie’s plaintive whimper made Rupert long to wrap her securely in his arms and never let her go.

But it sounded as if his daughter was being comforted quite well without him.

“Perhaps it would help if you tell me about your dream,” Miss Ellerby urged her. “Then you might see that it could not possibly be true.”

Sophie hesitated a moment then began to speak. Already her voice sounded less tearful—as if the effort to recall her dream helped release her from its dark thrall. “I was exploring the house, looking for everyone, but some of the rooms didn’t belong. What should have been the drawing room looked like the inside of the church and Papa’s study looked like a shop in the village. I didn’t know how they could have got into Nethercross.”

“They couldn’t, could they?” Miss Ellerby sounded nothing like he had ever heard her before…except when she’d sung hymns on Sundays. “That means none of it could be real.”

“I called for Mamzell and Papa,” Sophie continued. “I thought I heard their voices behind the doors. But when I opened them, the rooms were always empty.”

He’d had a dream like that. As Rupert listened to what Sophie told her governess, the frustration and disappointment came flooding back to overwhelm him. Wandering through an empty house searching in vain for Annabelle, sometimes he caught a tantalizing whisper of her voice from behind a closed door. But when he opened it, she would always be gone save for a distant echo of footsteps to beckon him on.

“That must have frightened you.” Miss Ellerby’s voice held a note of deep understanding, as if she too had been lost in that baffling, lonely dream. “No one wants to be all alone without the people we love.”

Again he sensed Miss Ellerby spoke from painful experience. She was all alone in the world and had been for many years. How old had she been when she lost her parents—Charlotte’s age? Sophie’s? Hard as it had been to endure his own bereavement, the loss had been compounded by his daughters’ grief for their mother. Rupert had faith enough not to fear death on his own account. But he could not bear the thought of leaving his girls orphaned. Even then, at least they would have each other. Grace Ellerby had no one.

Was it any wonder she seemed so secretive and solitary? Perhaps she was afraid to let anyone too close for fear of losing them. He could understand that self-protective instinct all too well. A pang of regret nagged at him when he recalled discouraging her from visiting the vicarage.

“But you are not alone, Sophie,” Miss Ellerby crooned. Rupert could vaguely make out her shape, hovering over his daughter, perhaps smoothing back her hair or caressing her cheek. “Your father will soon be home. Charlotte and Phoebe are asleep nearby and I am right here with you. I will stay for as long as you need me.”

“You will?” Sophie sniffled again. “Mamzell used to get cross with me when I woke her in the night.”

“I doubt she was truly angry with you,” Miss Ellerby assured the child. “Some people get out of sorts when they’re woken suddenly.”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes. But not tonight and not ever when you need me. Now would you like to hear what I do to help me get back to sleep after I’ve had a bad dream?”

Sophie must have nodded because her governess continued, “I close my eyes and imagine myself back in my dream. Only this time, I am still a little awake, so I can make it come out the way I choose.”

“You can?” His daughter sounded doubtful. Rupert could not blame her. “But I don’t want to go back to that dream.”

“I know, but if you try, I promise it will make you feel much better. Just listen to my voice and picture what I tell you. I’m certain you can because you are very good at imagining. Think of it like one of your Mother Goose tales. Only this time, the story is about you instead of Cinderella or Puss in Boots.”

“All right,” Sophie murmured after a hesitant pause. “I’ll try.”

“Brave girl.” The reassuring fondness in Miss Ellerby’s voice made Rupert smile to himself in the darkness.

“Now picture yourself in one of those rooms. Which one will you choose?”

Sophie thought for a moment. “The music room. I’m outside the door and someone is playing the pianoforte. It’s a piece Mamzell used to play. But when I open the door, no one is there.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now. You are just outside the music room and you hear someone playing. You don’t barge in. You knock politely and wait a moment.”

“All right. I’ve knocked.”

“Very good.” A suppressed chuckle bubbled beneath Miss Ellerby’s reply. “Now the pianoforte goes quiet and you hear footsteps coming toward the door. Can you hear them?”

“I think so.” Sophie ended her answer with a yawn.

Might her governess’s unorthodox idea actually help Sophie get back to sleep?

“Are they light, graceful footsteps like Charlotte’s or running steps like Phoebe’s or—”

“They’re Papa’s steps,” Sophie sounded surprised at the details her imagination could produce. “Heavier than the girls but still quiet and not too fast.”

That
was
his accustomed tread, Rupert realized—measured and muted.

“Excellent.” Miss Ellerby’s voice grew quieter. “Listen to the footsteps. They’re coming closer. Now the door swings open and there is your Papa, looking very handsome in his blue coat and black breeches.”

The lady considered him handsome? Rupert stood a little taller and his chest expanded.

“He smiles at you,” Miss Ellerby continued, “and his dark eyes sparkle. He holds out his hand and says,
Sophie, thank goodness you are here at last. I was about to come looking for you. We are having a little concert and you are the guest of honor.
”

“I am?” Sophie asked in a drowsy murmur. Rupert sensed she was speaking to her vision of him.

“But of course.”
Miss Ellerby provided his answer
. “Come in and sit on my lap and listen to the music. Afterward we will retire to the dining room for cake and punch.”

“Will Miss Ella sing, too?” asked Sophie. She sounded half asleep.

“Would you like her to?” The governess inquired, so softly Rupert had to strain to catch her words. Did he detect a catch of emotion in her voice?

“Oh, yes.” Sophie yawned again. “I like her singing.”

“Then we must send for her to join us. Phoebe, go fetch Miss Ellerby. Sophie wishes to hear her sing.”
When the governess spoke for him, Rupert fancied he could hear the words in his own voice.

“You take your Papa’s hand and step into the music room. Mademoiselle smiles at you from the pianoforte and begins to play your favorite tune.” As she described the scene, Miss Ellerby’s voice grew quieter and quieter until Rupert could no longer make out her words. Soon, even the low murmur of her voice died away. He had no doubt Sophie must have gone back to sleep.

Miss Ellerby’s idea seemed to have worked perfectly. Who would have thought the lady had such a capacity for comfort and nurturing?

Not he, Rupert acknowledged to his chagrin. Instead, he had done precisely what he’d cautioned Charlotte against—judging her governess based on appearances. After tonight, he doubted he would ever look at Miss Ellerby in quite the same way again.

* * *

Had she won Sophie over? As Grace perched on the edge of the child’s bed listening to her peaceful breathing, she hoped the process had begun at least. The fact that Sophie had wanted to include her in the dream with her family boded well.

Grace shivered and yawned. Now that her small charge had fallen back to sleep, it was time she returned to her bed and tried to get some rest. But something made her linger near the sleeping child, savoring the memory of holding Sophie in her arms. Even as it helped to fill a void within her heart, it reminded her that such emptiness existed—something she had tried very hard to deny.

With the latest upheaval in her life it had been a great while since she’d heard from any of her friends. She had begun writing to them all with news of her new position and where they could reach her, but it was still too soon to expect answers. Now she yearned for any scrap of news of their doings or fond greetings to let her know they still cared about her after so many years apart.

Gingerly, so as not to disturb her young pupil’s rest, Grace dropped a whisper-light kiss on Sophie’s forehead. Then she rose quietly from her perch to steal back to her own bed. She had only gone a few steps when a large, dark form reared up from the shadows in her path.

A strangled scream caught in her throat as she jumped back.

The form started, too, and issued an urgent whisper. “Forgive me, Miss Ellerby! I did not mean to give you a fright.”

Whether he’d meant to or not, that was what Lord Steadwell had done. Grace’s heart beat at such a wild gallop that she feared it would run away with her. She gasped in shallow snatches of air that never seemed to be enough. She could spare no breath to speak, which was just as well perhaps, for she feared what words might spurt out.