by Deborah Hale
That question fled her mind as the house came into view. It was a curious mixture of styles that had clearly been added to over the years. The front had a range of weathered pale stone set with bays of large mullioned windows. It was topped by Dutch gables, a red-tiled roof and clusters of tall chimneys. Beside it stood a quaint hall of checkered white and grey brick with a large stained-glass window.
When the carriage drew to a halt before the vaulted front entrance, Lord Steadwell swiftly alighted and inhaled a deep breath, as if the air of home were the only kind worth breathing.
As he helped Grace out, a young boy cantered up on his black pony. “So you found us a governess, did you, Papa? I hope you made a good choice!”
“Phoebe!” His lordship let out a half-stifled groan. “How many times have I told you not to borrow the stable boys’ breeches and ride astride?”
The child laughed. “Counting this one, two hundred and thirty-seven. I keep hoping you will get discouraged and give up.”
Phoebe scrambled down and pulled off her cap, releasing a cascade of dark curls. “You know I hate the side saddle. It is so much harder to mount and I cannot ride as fast. You wouldn’t want me to take a fall, would you?”
“Of course not,” his lordship pulled her into a warm embrace. “Though I approve of anything that would make you ride a little slower.”
With his arm draped around his daughter’s shoulders, Lord Steadwell turned toward Grace. “This is indeed your new governess. You and your sisters may judge how well I have chosen. I hope Miss Ellerby will have better luck taming you than poor Mademoiselle Audet.”
“I hope she doesn’t.” Phoebe pulled a face but thrust out her hand in a frank, eager fashion to shake Grace’s. “Welcome to Nethercross, Miss Ellerby. If you don’t natter on at me about behaving like a proper young lady, we should get on very well.”
Though she did not relish the idea of being put in the middle of a clash of wills between Phoebe and her father, Grace could not resist the girl’s refreshing, forthright air. Even if they had their differences, she sensed Phoebe would take her own part rather than complain to her father.
“I expect you to mind Miss Ellerby,” Lord Steadwell warned his daughter. “Now, go stable your pony and come inside. The next time I see you, it had better be in proper attire for a young lady.”
“Yes, Papa.” Phoebe rolled her eyes, forcing Grace to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.
Lord Steadwell appeared not to notice or pretended he didn’t. “Come inside, Miss Ellerby. I will show you to the nursery so you can meet the other girls.”
He held open one of a pair of thick, old doors that rose to a point in the middle. Then he ushered her into a high-ceilinged entry hall with a wide oak staircase running up the right-hand wall. The moment they entered, Grace heard footsteps descending the stairs, one set very light and quick, the other slower.
“Not so fast, Sophie.” A girl’s voice drifted down. “If you fall and break your neck I shall get the blame for it.”
“I won’t fall,” came Sophie’s breathless reply. “I want to see Papa and Mamzell.”
“We’ve talked about this, remember?” replied the other girl who must surely be Charlotte. “Papa is not bringing—”
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 his youngest daughter 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 the little girl looked past her as if she were invisible. “Where is she, Papa?”
Before Lord Steadwell 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 curtsey. “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 with all of Sophie’s feelings for they mirrored his when her mother had been snatched away from them with such brutal swiftness.
“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 cannot be your governess anymore. She is married to Captain Rundell now and she will have her own family to look after. If you love her as you claim, you should try to rejoice for 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, when 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 back to Berkshire for a visit and she will pay a call on us.”
“D-do you think she w-will?” Sophie responded to his suggestion by quieting to a series of wet hiccoughs punctuated with sniffles. “W-when?”
Not any time soon, though 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 will 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 stranger 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? Do you intend to tell me or must I discover that for myself?” Spoken in a different tone, by an altogether different type of woman, her question might have sounded flirtatious. From Miss Ellerby it was severely earnest.
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, her attitude 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 beauty, 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
“COME 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’d 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 the new governess were a child-eating beast who might attack at 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. 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 a 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. D
o 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,” Grace said. “If I make a mistake, I can rely on you to correct me.”
She tried to make it sound as if the girl would be doing her a favor. Perhaps that might 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 Sophie’s favorite 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.