by Deborah Hale
Again Rupert sensed the lady 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 how he had discouraged her from visiting the vicarage.
“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 up at night.”
“I doubt she was truly angry with you,” Miss Ellerby assured the child. “Some people get out of sorts when they are 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 do it, 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,” the governess advised with gentle patience. “You are just outside the music room and you hear someone playing. But you don’t barge in on them. You knock politely and wait for 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 the child get back to sleep?
“Concentrate on the footsteps,” Miss Ellerby suggested. “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,” the governess 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 planning a concert and you are to be our 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 while you 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 melody.” As she described the scene, Miss Ellerby’s voice grew softer and softer 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 the newest member of his household 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? Grace perched on the edge of the child’s bed listening to her peaceful breathing, hoping the process had begun at least. The fact that Sophie had wanted to include her in the dream with the rest of the family boded well.
Grace shivered and yawned. Now that her small charge had fallen back to sleep, it was time she returned to her own bed. 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 long while since she’d heard from any of her friends. She had written to them all to tell them about 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 other person 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, 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.
His lordship seemed to feel obliged to fill the silence. “I just returned from London and wanted to check that all was well with the girls. I should have made my presence known right away, but I was afraid it would only prevent you from getting Sophie back to sleep.”
It probably would have done, Grace was forced to admit as her jangling nerves began to settle.
“I regret giving you such a shock. Are you feeling faint?” Lord Steadwell must be thinking of their interview at the coffeehouse in Reading. His hand reached out of the darkness, brushed against her a
rm and latched onto it. “Perhaps you should come downstairs and I will fetch a cup of warm milk to soothe your nerves.”
Go downstairs into the light, where he would see her without her spectacles, cap or any of her usual defenses? Perilous as that might be at any time, Grace could least afford to let it happen at this dark hour, in her vulnerable state of undress. “No! Er... thank you, sir. That will not be necessary. I am in no danger... of fainting, I assure you.”
As she forced out those words in a breathless whisper, Grace wrenched her arm from his grasp and stumbled back. Some foolish part of her resisted the necessity of breaking contact with him so abruptly. His touch had not felt the least bit threatening, only concerned and protective. And she had responded to it with something more than panic.
“You do not sound well,” his lordship persisted. “You sound frightened half out of your wits, for which I am to blame. Please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Nothing, sir. I mean... it is not necessary.” She had recovered her breath at last and her heart had slowed to something approaching its usual beat.
Yet her senses all seemed heightened. Even in the darkness she could pick out the contours of Lord Steadwell’s profile. Her ears caught his every breath and her arm tingled with the memory of his touch.
“I know you did not intend to frighten me. I should have heard you come in, but I was so preoccupied with Sophie...”
“You were indeed.” His approving tone promised to satisfy a longing within her if she would let it. “And a fine job you did getting her settled. The next time I wake from a bad dream, I must try your trick of going back and making it come out better.”
“You have bad dreams?” Grace was not certain why that should come as such a surprise. Did she assume because men had so much more power and choice in their lives that they could never fall prey to baffling, baseless fears?
“I wish I did not, but I do,” he admitted. “That dream of Sophie’s is all too familiar to me. I roam through this house, searching for what I have lost and can never recover.”
The edge of that loss was sharp in his voice. He must have loved his late wife very much if he still missed her so keenly. Though that knowledge made Grace feel safer in his company, it also troubled her vaguely.
As flustered by the intimate tenor of their exchange as she had been by his touch, Grace did not know how to reply. Part of her wanted to change the subject—to inquire how his first week back in London had gone. To her surprise, his absence was not as much of a relief as she’d expected. More than once during the week, she’d found herself listening for his footsteps in the hallway at the girls’ bedtime. Now, in spite of the fright he’d given her, she was glad to have him home... for his daughters’ sake, of course. They had missed their father and that feeling seemed to be contagious.
But duty and caution prevented her from indulging in a late-night chat with his lordship that might risk waking his sleeping daughters. “The girls will be very happy to see you tomorrow, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I must retire for the night.”
“Of course, Miss Ellerby. I did not mean to detain you. I hope your dreams will be as pleasant as the ones you helped Sophie to.” He backed away, giving her space to get past him and make her way to her adjoining chamber.
Once there, Grace shut the door quietly behind her and debated whether to bolt it. In the end she decided not to. She was satisfied Lord Steadwell had no interest of that kind in his daughters’ drab, aloof governess. Even if he’d managed to see through her disguise, she was beginning to trust that he would not do anything dishonorable.
What was it about Miss Ellerby that made him feel free to talk about Annabelle? When he woke the next morning after a surprisingly refreshing sleep Rupert reflected on their whispered conversation from the previous night. Could it be because she was a stranger who had never known his late wife? Or was it his sense that she had experienced deep loss in her own life and might understand the feelings that often puzzled him as much as they hurt?
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 had also flocked toward him. 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.
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 anything else he’d had to say. .
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 whether 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 go away.”
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 pushed 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.”
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“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 am 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 into 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 being quite 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 it.”