The Baron's Governess Bride

by Hale Deborah

  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 affo
rd 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?

  * * *

  What was the use of having a governess who looked strict and severe if she meant to let the girls do whatever dangerous thing they fancied? Rupert stalked out of his daughters’ nursery, not certain who he was more vexed with—Phoebe or Grace Ellerby.

  When he first arrived to see how the new governess was getting on, he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover a cozy domestic scene with her reading his daughters a bedtime story. For a moment he’d felt almost guilty for his vague suspicions and tried to justify his presence with an excuse that fooled no one.

  Phoebe’s abrupt return had changed all that. Clearly he’d been right in his doubts about Miss Ellerby after all.

  Hearing the nursery door close behind them, he swung around to confront the new governess. “What on earth possessed you to let my daughter run off to the stables at this hour?”

  He expected her to offer some excuse for her actions, which he could refute, going back and forth until he’d relieved his feelings and impressed upon Miss Ellerby the error of her ways.

  But she refused to be drawn.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Keeping her mouth set in a tight line, she avoided his direct gaze. “I didn’t realize… I can assure you, it will not happen again.”

  “It certainly must not.” Rupert felt daft repeating himself but he could not help it. Miss Ellerby’s flat apology had denied him the desired opportunity to vent his feelings. “Stables can be dangerous places. Horses are large, unpredictable beasts and you may have noticed that Phoebe tends to be impulsive and heedless. Without proper supervision, she could be badly injured.”

  Miss Ellerby made no effort to deny it but accepted his rebuke with sullen self-restraint that made him suspect she was well accustomed to censure. That thought nearly silenced him but he had more that needed to be said. “My daughter’s physical safety is not the half of it. There may be an even greater threat to her future reputation if she makes a habit of such behavior. Today it was a harmless spat with a stableboy. Five years hence it could be altogether more serious.”

  That possibility had never occurred to Miss Ellerby. Rupert could tell by the way she flinched when he mentioned it. Subtle though her reaction was, it somehow satisfied him that he had impressed upon her the gravity of her lapse in judgment.

  The instant he was certain of that he began to have second thoughts. Had he been wrong to rebuke the new governess? It was a serious matter, but this was only her first day. Besides, he had not given her any clear instructions as to what was expected of her. He’d assumed that with her years of experience she would know better than he what she should do. Now he found himself questioning whether that was fair.

  Still Miss Ellerby remained mute.

  While Rupert tried to think what to say next, the nursery door swung open and Phoebe charged out. She was clad in her nightdress with her hair sloppily braided for the night.

  “What are you doing out here, young lady?” He tried to maintain a frosty frown, but she looked so much younger than her years just then. “As I recall, you were ordered to bed.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she replied in a tone that was not insolent, only stating a plain fact. “Miss Ellerby said I should put on my nightclothes, which I did. Neither of you forbade me to come out here. Since you’re talking about me, I reckon I should be here.”

  “What makes you so certain we’re talking about you?” Rupert demanded.

  Phoebe ro
lled her eyes. “You have been, though, haven’t you?”

  She had him there. Rupert shuddered to think what a formidable adversary she might become in another few years—a proper little rebel over whom he might have no control. “If you have been the subject of our conversation, that is between Miss Ellerby and me. You must get to bed at once.”

  The child stood her ground. “It wasn’t Miss Ellerby’s fault that I ended up in the stables. I didn’t ask her permission. I just told her I was going and went. I’ve been going out to bid Jem good-night for weeks now, even before Mademoiselle went away.”

  Rupert almost staggered. Phoebe’s imprudent behavior had been going on all this time without him ever suspecting? He was torn between indignation at the former governess and vexation with himself for having permitted it to happen.

  “What on earth possessed Mademoiselle Audet to let you do that?” Once the question was out of his mouth, he realized it was the same one he’d put to Miss Ellerby a few moments ago. She’d remained so quiet and still since his daughter’s sudden appearance he had almost forgotten she was there.

  “I knew something about Mademoiselle,” Phoebe admitted in a guilty mutter. “I saw her once on her half day, meeting that man—the one she ran away to marry.”

  “You blackmailed your governess?” This was far worse than he’d expected.

  “I didn’t!” Phoebe insisted. “I wouldn’t have tattled on her the way Charlotte does. I didn’t even know she was doing something she oughtn’t. But after that she let me do whatever I wanted.”

  Could he believe her? Recent events had shaken his faith in womankind, even his young daughter. What else had been going on in the Nethercross nursery without his knowledge?

  “I have heard quite enough.” With a flick of his hand he gestured toward the nursery door. “To bed with you, young lady. I will deal with you later.”

  The child’s lips set in a rebellious frown, but a look of hurt flickered in her eyes. Eyes so much like Annabelle’s that he could not bear to glimpse such an expression in them.