by Hale Deborah
Rupert did not believe she was referring to him when she spoke of people judging by appearance. Yet his conscience troubled him for failing to look deeper to the strong, fine woman she was at heart. He reminded himself that if it were not for her drab appearance, he might never have brought her into his home and permitted the comradeship between them to grow as close as it had. That would have been a grave misfortune for him and for his daughters.
Seeing him grow so thoughtful must have given Miss Ellerby hope. “Has hearing of my experiences persuaded you to reconsider your decision, sir?”
Much as he hated to disappoint her, Rupert could not deceive her. “I am sorry that you have distressed yourself in vain, but I am as determined as ever to proceed with my plans.”
After all she had put herself through, Miss Ellerby deserved an explanation. “You must see that my daughters’ situation is quite different from yours. I believe the potential benefits of my remarriage, to them and to Nethercross, outweigh any risk.”
He spoke in a firm tone to assure her of his resolve in the matter. The sooner she accepted the inevitable, the better it would be for his daughters. At the same time, he strove to infuse his words with warmth so she would know he did not resent her for making the effort.
“I appreciate that you want to protect my daughters from what you consider a threat. But I believe the kindest service you can do is to help them understand why I must remarry and urge them to accept it. Can I rely on you to do that, for their sake and for mine?”
“I will try, sir.” A faint sigh escaped her. “That is the best I can promise you.”
Rupert patted her hand, which had come to rest on the arm of the chair. “That will be good enough for me.”
Would it, though? He sensed that Miss Ellerby was still not convinced he was doing the right thing. He feared that when it came to his daughters’ well-being, their unassuming governess might be almost as stubborn as he.
* * *
“Can you try speaking to Papa again, Miss Ella?” Charlotte pleaded as she and her sisters practiced sketching in the garden on a sunny afternoon late in May.
“He’s been to visit her every week since the end of April.” Phoebe frowned at her sketching pad. “If we don’t put a stop to it soon, I’m afraid he will propose to her. Then there will be nothing we can do.”
Grace gave a rueful shrug. “I would try if I thought it might do any good. But you know better than I, your father can be a very stubborn man. Especially when he believes he is acting in the best interests of those he loves.”
She had kept her promise to his lordship by explaining his reasons for wanting to remarry and trying to persuade the girls to accept the situation. But they seemed no more inclined to heed her than their father was. It could not help that they seemed to sense her misgivings.
“If he won’t listen to you, then we must take drastic action,” said Charlotte.
“I know!” said Phoebe. “Why don’t we invite Mrs. Cadmore to Nethercross while Papa is in London and behave abominably? We could run about and pretend to quarrel at the top of our lungs. Then she won’t want to marry Papa and have to live with us.”
“We could throw food at teatime,” suggested Sophie, entering into the spirit of her sister’s plan, “and slide down the stairs on a big silver tray. I’ve always wanted to do that!”
“No!” Grace burst out before Charlotte could suggest further misbehavior. “You must not think of such a thing! Your father would be very cross with you when he learned what you had done. And you do not want to prejudice Mrs. Cadmore against you in case she does become your stepmother. She could make your lives quite miserable.”
“Let her try,” grumbled Charlotte. “Papa would not allow it.”
“If she stayed at Nethercross through the week while he went to London, you would be at her mercy for five days out of seven.”
Sophie dropped her sketching pencil and ran to Grace. “You won’t let her be cruel to us, will you, Miss Ella?”
It had taken weeks to persuade the child that her future stepmother would not force her to sweep the cinders and sleep in the cellar.
“Of course not.” Grace caught Sophie in a comforting embrace. “But if you behave as badly as you plan, she might persuade you father to dismiss me because I’d let you run wild.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. If we must have a stepmother, we do not want to lose you, Miss Ella.” Phoebe’s features clenched in a look of intense concentration, then after a moment she snapped her fingers. “I know! What if we tell Mrs. Cadmore that Papa drinks a great deal of brandy? I heard our cook tell Bessie no sensible woman would marry a man who drinks.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t tell such lies about Papa.”
Phoebe crumpled onto the grass. “What can we do then?”
“We have to keep thinking,” Charlotte tried to encourage her.
“In the meantime,” suggested Grace, “you might as well put your sketching materials away. It does not appear to be holding your interest. Perhaps a game of pall mall would suit you better.”
The girls could take out their frustration on wooden balls with their mallets. It might be less hazardous than Phoebe’s schemes to disrupt her father’s courtship.
A short while later, Grace sat in the shade of a towering old elm tree, watching the girls play. On her lap lay a letter which had arrived that morning from her friend Rebecca. She was still trying to digest the astonishing news it contained.
Rebecca was engaged to be married. And her betrothed was not a humble clerk or curate to which a penniless governess might aspire but a wealthy viscount! The last Grace had heard from her friend, Viscount Benedict had been trying to break an engagement between his half brother and the young lady Rebecca served as companion. Though Grace had suspected her friend liked the gentleman far better than she would admit, it had never occurred to her their acquaintance might blossom into a romantic attachment.
Rebecca deserved all the happiness and security such a fine match would provide for she was one of the kindest, most loyal souls Grace had ever known. She also had the proper background to be the wife of a peer, for she came from aristocratic stock on her mother’s side. Still it was a long way from the Pendergast School to a viscount’s mansion.
“We have set the date for the final week of June,” Rebecca wrote in her familiar neat hand. “It would make me so very happy if you could come to the wedding. I long to see you and our other school friends again.”
Much as Grace wished she could go to the Cotswolds to attend Rebecca’s wedding, and perhaps visit with some of their other friends, she feared it would be impossible. With their father’s courtship moving relentlessly toward a betrothal, her young pupils needed her more than ever to keep their spirits up and prevent them from taking any reckless action to keep his lordship from marrying Mrs. Cadmore.
As she pictured herself in the Cotswold church watching Rebecca’s nuptials, Grace found her daydream changing until the bride looked like Mrs. Cadmore and the groom like Lord Steadwell. The imagined sight provoked an intense pang. That must be on account of what such a marriage would mean for her dear pupils…mustn’t it? Somehow the sensation felt even more personal and painful than that.
It couldn’t be! Surely not! Grace struggled to catch her breath, which that alarming possibility had snatched away. What she felt for Lord Steadwell could not be that perilous emotion she refused to name, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. It was nothing like the thrilling romantic fancy she’d once conceived for Captain Townsend.
Upon the stern inquisition of her conscience, Grace had to admit her feelings toward Lord Steadwell ran deeper than those she’d once had for the charming, dishonorable captain. What started out as wariness and fear had mellowed into gratitude, admiration and eventually trust. Because those feel
ings had ripened so slowly from such an unpromising beginning, she had only dimly suspected they might be straying in a dangerous direction.
Was it too late to root them out, like weeds that threatened to grow into pernicious vines, capable of twining around her heart and strangling it? She must try, for the consequences of permitting them to flourish did not bear thinking of.
For so many reasons, the baron could never return her feelings. Even if their backgrounds and positions were not impossibly far apart, he had told her in plain terms that he wanted nothing more to do with love. His heart still belonged to his late wife and he refused to risk it again. He had decided to select a wife with his stubborn head rather than with his wounded, wary heart.
Grace had experienced the pain of rejection before—by a man who wanted her favors but not her love. Then at least she had been able to go away and start afresh in a place where she’d been in no danger of encountering the object of her affections. Now, she had come to love Nethercross and the baron’s daughters too much to desert them when they needed her most. Unless she wanted to suffer the secret torment of living in the same house as the man she cared for when he belonged to another woman, she would have no choice but to root out these improper feelings for her master.
But first she must take up her pen and write a tactful letter of congratulations to Rebecca, with regrets that she could not attend the wedding.
* * *
If Grace Ellerby presumed she could make him give up his marriage plans simply by acting cool toward him, she was in for an unpleasant surprise.
As Rupert neared home one day in late June, he strove to keep his mind on more pleasant matters, like the excellent news he was eager to share with his family. Somehow, thoughts of his daughters’ governess kept intruding. That was quite the opposite of how the lady herself behaved toward him of late. Though she still maintained a polite, professional manner toward him, Miss Ellerby managed to convey the sense that a barrier had risen between them.
When he joined her and his daughters for dinner in the nursery on Fridays, she made every effort to smooth over any awkwardness between him and the girls. Yet once the children had been put to bed for the night, she always had some excuse not to go out for a stroll with him or to discuss how his daughters had got on that week. It came as an unsettling surprise to Rupert how much he missed those innocent conversations.
Surely once he was wed Miss Ellerby would realize his marriage was not the sort of disaster she anticipated. She and the children would adapt to the new situation and she would warm to him again…so far as she was able. In the meantime, he tried not to resent her behavior toward him and her disapproval of his plans. He knew they both sprang from her concern for his daughters. Misplaced though that concern might be, it still touched him.
It was becoming clear that the sooner he and Mrs. Cadmore got married, the better it would be for all concerned. There was no longer any excuse for delay. He had been calling at Dungrove regularly for the past several weeks. Barbara Cadmore could hardly be blind to his intentions. Indeed, she gave every sign of encouraging him. He had allowed his daughters plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea. Too much more might only increase their apprehension. He needed to show them their fears were unfounded. The only way to do that would be to let them experience the new family situation.
The next few weeks would be the ideal time to proceed. It would give everyone a few months to grow accustomed to the change before he was obliged to return to London for the brief autumn session of Parliament. Now that the uncertainty over matters on the Continent had been resolved, this was surely the proper time for new beginnings.
The thought reminded Rupert of the good tidings he had to convey to his family when he reached Nethercross. Though he had tried to conceal the gravity of the situation from his young daughters, they knew more about the conflict than he would have liked. No doubt they would be as relieved and happy about the outcome as he.
He managed to keep his mind fixed on that happy thought over the final mile of his journey. His anticipation grew as the familiar fields of Nethercross came in sight and he watched his tenants out making hay.
When his carriage rolled up the lane, he spied his daughters cavorting in the shade of a towering elm tree. Charlotte and Phoebe were batting a shuttlecock back and forth with Sophie and their governess. The girls turned at the sound of his carriage, dropped their battledore rackets and ran to greet him.
“Good news!” Rupert cried as he surged out of the carriage. “Wellington and Blucher have put the boots to the French army at a place called Waterloo. Boney has fled and there will finally be lasting peace!”
The girls cheered.
“That is splendid news, Papa!” Charlotte hurled herself into his arms, the warmest embrace she had given him since he’d announced his intention to remarry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert spied Phoebe hugging her governess while Sophie jumped up and down with excitement.
When Charlotte released him to hug Miss Ellerby, Sophie ran over and took her sister’s place in his arms. The round of joyful embraces continued among the five of them until suddenly Rupert found his arms around Grace Ellerby, not quite certain how it had happened. The governess seemed equally astonished. After a convulsive squeeze, they sprang apart as if the physical contact burned them.
Rupert’s pulse thundered in his ears and his cheek tingled where that ugly cap of hers had brushed against it. He found himself wishing he could see her hair just once or her face without those wretched spectacles. For someone who seemed to resent being judged by her appearance, she did nothing to make herself look more attractive. Did she think it would be futile?
“There is great rejoicing in London over the news, as you can imagine.” His tongue tripped over itself in his haste to distract attention—not least his own—from what had just happened. “People are planning all manner of celebrations. Before I left London, I received an invitation from the Countess of Maidenhead to a grand masked ball at Winterhill the week after next. What sort of costume do you think I should wear?”
He usually wore the same costume to every masquerade he attended, but perhaps the time had come for a change.
“You could go as a prince!” squealed Sophie, more excited by the notion of a masquerade than the great battle victory it was meant to celebrate.
Rupert shook his head with an indulgent smile. “The Prince Regent may be among the guests and take it ill if I try to rival him.”
“What about Robin Hood, then?” Sophie countered. “Or a pirate?”
Rupert did not fancy himself an outlaw, either, not even a heroic one. He glanced toward his elder daughters, hoping they might be able to offer some additional suggestions. Instead, he caught Charlotte and Phoebe exchanging a worried look.
* * *
“I’m certain Papa means to propose to Mrs. Cadmore at that masked ball,” Charlotte announced for the tenth time since her father had returned to London earlier in the week.
Grace and the girls had just returned from a boat ride on the river. On fine days, she liked to keep them out of doors as much as possible. Physical activity was much better than their studies for keeping their minds off the worrisome subject of their father’s remarriage. Grace found it a welcome distraction from her own thoughts about Lord Steadwell.
Ever since she’d realized the perilous direction in which her feelings for him were moving, she had tried to reverse course or, at the very least, keep her heart from becoming any more engaged. She might as well have tried to walk against a violent wind or swim free of a powerful current.
Again and again she reminded herself that he had no intention of losing his heart again. Instead he wanted a marriage of convenience with Mrs. Cadmore. Even if he did not love his new wife, their union would bind him to her for the rest of their days.
If Grace remained at Nethercross while continuing to cherish this futile fancy for him, she would make herself more miserable than she had ever been at the school or after her father’s remarriage. It would be even worse if his lordship’s union proved unhappy, as she feared it might. She would long to offer him comfort, but that would be improper, if not downright wicked.
“Stop saying that, Charlotte.” Phoebe picked up a stone and sent it skipping over the water. “There’s no use talking about it if there is nothing we can do to stop Papa.”
“We just haven’t come up with the right idea yet.” Charlotte tried to skip a stone but it hit the water and sank with a loud plop. “If we stop thinking about it, we never will.”
“I’ve had all sorts of good ideas,” Phoebe grumbled as she searched the riverbank for another stone. “But everyone keeps finding things wrong with them.”
“If we cannot stop Papa,” Charlotte mused, “we must try to delay him. Give him time to come to his senses.”
Sophie had been unusually quiet during her sisters’ exchange but now she piped up, “Whose carriage is that coming up the lane? It can’t be Papa. Today is only Wednesday.”
“Is it the Cadmores?” Charlotte peered toward the lane. “If it is, I’m going to hide so I don’t have to speak to her. I hate the way she looks the house over as if she can’t wait to change things around, and the way she coos over us as if we’re babies!”
“Charlotte, come back!” Grace called as she moved toward the approaching carriage, beckoning Phoebe and Sophie to her. “You cannot afford to antagonize Mrs. Cadmore.”
Charlotte paid no heed.
“I don’t think it is the Cadmores,” said Phoebe. “I saw a man look out of the carriage window and a lady I didn’t recognize.”