The Baron's Governess Bride (7 page)

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?” He must be thinking of their interview at the coffeehouse in Reading. His hand reached out of the darkness, brushed against her arm 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 countered. “You sound frightened half out of your wits, for which I am to blame. Please tell me what I can do to atone.”

“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 to still miss 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, leaving Grace room to get past him and make her way to her adjoining chamber. Once there, she 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. 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 also flocked toward him when he arrived. 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.

But 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 any other part of his account.

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 if 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 better.”

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 threw 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.”

“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’m 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 to 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 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 more.”

“Thank you, Papa!” The child seized his hand and pressed it to her lips. “I won’t let you down.”

“I have every faith in you.” He beamed at his daughter then turned the smile upon her governess, grateful for the way she had handled his rebellious child. It was as if she had managed to gentle a headstrong filly and begun training it to be a champion.

The lady’s gaze skittered away from his, focusing on the children, her breakfast—anywhere but at him. Ah well, he could tolerate her unsociable manner as long as she managed so well with the girls.

“I learned, too, Papa.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled with her mother’s lively intelligence. “I can read twenty new words and find a dozen countries on the globe. I want to visit all of them some day.”

“Don’t be silly,” Charlotte muttered. “When you grow up, you’ll go to London and perhaps a fine country house if your husband has one. You won’t need all this useless information that’s being crammed into our heads.”

Though he hated to contradict his daughter, Rupert felt obliged to point out, “I do not believe any information is entirely useless. Better to be over-informed than ignorant.”

Charlotte paled as if he had struck her, which made Rupert’s stomach contract in a tight ball of guilt. Miss Ellerby was doing so well with the younger girls. What had she done to alienate his eldest? Or was it
his
fault for relying so much on Charlotte after Mademoiselle’s abrupt departure that the child was bound to feel displaced by
any
new governess?

The mantel clock chimed just then, reminding him of his duties as a landowner, which warred with his desire to be an attentive father. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. A great many matters require my attention.”

His daughters’ fallen faces reproached him. “But…perhaps you could come with me. Charlotte and Phoebe can ride their ponies and Sophie can ride with me. Would you like that?”

Phoebe let out a most unladylike whoop of joy while Sophie bobbed her head eagerly. Only Charlotte did not appear eager to accept his invitation. “I would rather stay home and catch up on my needlework. I have had far too little time for it lately.”

“As you wish.” Rupert tried to ignore a pang of disappointment. “Another time perhaps.”

His daughter was growing up far too quickly and he feared he might have accelerated the process. She needed a mother to guide her through these next awkward years to womanhood. They all did.

Perhaps during their travels today, he and Phoebe and Sophie could pay a brief call on the Cadmores.