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. 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,” 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.
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 leapt 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 no 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 was 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 up 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 afford to leave another position again so soon.
“Of course, sir.” Grace kept her eyes downcast so they would not betray any flash 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 good 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 here and there. Grace spied a scuff of dirt across Phoebe’s shirts at the knee and she appeared 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 wash up and get into your nightclothes, please.”
She 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 the nursery, not certain who he was more vexed with—his middle daughter or Grace Ellerby.
When he’d first arrived to see how the new governess was getting on, he had 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 to have 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 did not realize... I can assure you, it will never 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 criticism. 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 stable boy. 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 decide what he should 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 wash and 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 are talking about you?” Rupert demanded.
Phoebe rolled 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, it 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 tell 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 her presence.
“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 Rupert’s 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. Those eyes were so much like her mother’s that he could not bear to glimpse such an expression in them.
“Miss Ellerby shouldn’t be in trouble,” Phoebe muttered as she retreated toward the nursery. “It was my fault and Mademoiselle’s... and Peter’s, the wretch.”
Before her father could bid her away again, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her, leaving him alone with Miss Ellerby. Though the governess did not move or speak, her silent reproach threatened to deafen him.
Rupert drew a deep breath and forced out the words that fairness demanded he speak. “It seems I was hasty and harsh in my judgment. I owe you an apology, Miss Ellerby.”
She gave a shallow shrug that seemed to accept both his apology and his earlier rebuke. “I should not have let her go, sir, for all the reasons you mentioned.”
Her forbearance should have made him feel less ashamed of the way he’d spoken... but it did not. Quite the opposite in fact. He pictured himself as the cruel tyrant in one of Sophie’s stories. It was not a role he relished. “I should not have expected you to remedy a situation that appears to have been going on for quite some time right under my nose.”
Miss Ellerby flicked a brief glance up at him as if she did not believe what she was hearing. Was it so difficult for her to accept that he was capable of offering an apology when it was clearly warranted?
“It was wrong of me,” he continued, “to assume you would know what I expect of you when we have never discussed the matter.”
“It would help to know what the girls are permitted to do,” she agreed, “and what they are not.”
Somehow, that made him feel better. It might provide him with an opportunity to make up for his unfairness. “In a fortnight, the new session of Parliament begins and I shall be obliged to go to London during the week. It is vital that we are quite clear about my expectations before then. Come down to the drawing room tomorrow evening after you put the girls to bed and we can discuss the matter.”
“As you wish, sir.” Behind those thick, ugly spectacles, Miss Ellerby’s eyes widened as if he had proposed something improper, even dangerous. But that was ridiculous. He must have misinterpreted her expression just as he had misjudged her actions.
This new governess was an exceedingly puzzling creature. Perhaps a meeting or two between them would help him understand her a little better, in addition to helping her understand what was expected of her. “I do wish it, Miss Ellerby. In fact, I insist. For the sake of my daughters, I believe it is vital that we confer.”
He made a polite bow. “Until tomorrow evening, then.”
As he strode away, she called after him in a quiet but insistent voice. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
Rupert halted and turned on his heel.
“Yes?” He could not fully conceal his impatience. He wanted to put this whole awkward incident behind them as soon as possible.
“I thought you wanted to hear the girls’ prayers.”
Behind her dour facade, he sensed Miss Ellerby might be secretly amusing herself at his expense. Tempted as he was to resent her subtle dig, Rupert had to admit he deserved it.
As she watched Lord Steadwell hearing his daughters’ prayers, Grace strove to make sense of what had happened in the past half hour.
She had fully expected Lord Steadwell’s rebuke for letting Phoebe run off to the stables right before bed. Though she wanted to excuse herself on account of her exhaustion and her uncertainty about how much freedom her new pupils were permitted, she knew she had made a serious lapse in judgment. It was a lapse over which her employer had every right to be vexed.
So she had done what she’d learned to do at school whenever one of her teachers scolded her for vanity or laziness or disobedience. She accepted the criticism in meek silence, heeding as much of it as she could bear in an effort to improve herself. But when it got to be more than she could absorb without breaking down in tears, she had imagined herself encased in a thick sheath of ice, which nothing could penetrate to harm her. It muffled the words until they became nothing more than a rumble of noise without any meaning.
She’d soon discovered it was more difficult to reduce Lord Steadwell’s voice to a harmless babble. Its pitch and timber were so very agreeable that she found herself compelled to listen carefully, even when she could not expect to hear anything good.
Phoebe’s sudden appearance had jarred Grace out of her protective trance. The last thing she’d ever expected was for that willful girl to come to her defense at the risk of incurring her father’s wrath. It reminded her of the times at school when Rebecca or Evangeline had stood up for her, deflecting the spiteful anger of their teachers. It made her feel worthy of something better than blame and belittlement.
Yet, as much as Phoebe’s behavior had surprised her, Lord Steadwell’s reaction amazed her even more. Upon hearing what Phoebe had to say, he had not only been diverted from his annoyance with Grace, but also admitted he was wrong to blame her. He’d gone so far as to beg her pardon.
That went contrary to all her previous experience. Even when it was proved that she had been unjustly punished, none of her teachers at the Pendergast School had ever shown the slightest remorse for their mistake. Lord Steadwell’s apology was all the more difficult to fathom because he was not entirely wrong to hold her responsible for what had happened.
If only he had left it at a simple apology.
Grace’s stomach seethed over his suggestion that they meet late in the evening to discuss her duties. She would have preferred he stay vexed with her. At least that might have provided an extra layer of protection against any unwelcome attention from her new employer.
“God bless Papa.” A fervent note in Sophie’s small voice made it clear she believed she was speaking directly to her Heavenly Father, who listened with perfect attention, as ready to grant her requests as her doting Papa. “And God bless Charlotte and Phoebe and Mamzell“
When Sophie paused, her father leaned close and whispered something in her ear, after which she continued, “God, bless Miss Ella and help us behave well so she will want to stay at Nethercross. Amen.”
Did his lordship truly believe she might leave because his daughters behaved badly? If only he knew she was far more concerned about his behavior. Not that he had given her any reason to be… yet.
“Sleep well.” Sophie’s father tucked the bedclothes around her then pressed a kiss on her forehead. “And sweet dreams.”
“Thank you, Papa.” The child replied in a drowsy murmur. “Will you come and hear our prayers again tomorrow night?”
His lordship flinched slightly at his daughter’s request and cast a furtive glance toward Grace. “Perhaps I will. I reckon I should visit the nursery more often. At least until Miss Ellerby grows more accustomed to our ways.”
Much as Grace wished he would keep his distance, she knew she should welcome his presence for the sake of his young daughters. It would not be easy for them when their father went away to London for days at a time, while they tried to become accustomed to a new governess.
When Lord Steadwell bid her good-night, Grace bobbed a curtsey and wished him the same. The instant the door closed behind him, she pulled off her spectacles and rubbed her tired eyes. Would she ever get used to wearing this dowdy disguise? She comforted herself with the reminder that his lordship would soon be away from Nethercross during the week. She would not need to maintain such a heightened state of vigilance then.
Eager to get to bed after her long day, Grace checked to make certain the girls were settled for the night. She found Phoebe faced toward the wall, though she sensed the child was not asleep. For a moment she stood quietly watching and listening until a heave of Phoebe’s shoulders and a covert sniffle betrayed the child’s distress. Grace recognized the signs all too well. How often had she shed a few tears at the end of a hard day at school, forced to muffle her sobs from a dormitory full of girls?
Though part of her wanted to respect Phoebe’s privacy, the need to relieve the child’s misery was far stronger.
She settled herself on the edge of Phoebe’s bed. “It was very brave of you to speak to your father on my behalf. Very brave and very kind.”
The bedclothes over Phoebe’s shoulder rippled as she gave a shrug. “I wish I didn’t have to. Now Papa will never let me go say good-night to Jem. The last one he sees will always be P-Peter. My pony will think he belongs to the stable boy and not to m-me!”
“What made you speak up then, if you knew there might be such unpleasant consequences?” Grace’s gratitude was mixed with puzzlement.
Another shrug. “I knew Papa would put a stop to my stable visits anyway once he found out. And it wasn’t fair for you to get in trouble for what I did. I’m sorry I made Papa angry with you on your first day here.”
“Apology accepted.” Grace ran a hand over the child’s shoulder in a sympathetic caress. Already she felt more attached to Phoebe than to any of the children she’d taught before. None of them would have hesitated to make her the scapegoat for their misbehavior. “I understand how your feelings for your pony made you do what you might not have otherwise.”
“You do?” Phoebe gave a loud sniffle.
“Yes.” Much as she’d feared getting into trouble at school, Grace had broken a number of rules over the years for the sake of her friends. “I cannot promise anything, but I will speak to your father about finding a way to let you spend more time with Jem.”
“You will? Why?” The child rolled toward Grace. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen and her hair a horrible tangle. Somehow it was a more endearing sight than any pampered, perfectly groomed youngster. “And why did you try to take part of the blame after I told Papa the truth?”
“For the same reason as you, I suppose—because it was fair and true.” A thought popped into Grace’s mind of a lesson she’d learned at school—one the teachers had surely not intended to instill. “And perhaps because I thought your father could not be quite so angry at either one of us if he was angry at both.”
Phoebe seemed intrigued by that notion. “It worked... a little at least. Do you reckon you can persuade Papa about Jem?”
“I’m not certain.” The last thing Grace wanted to do was disappoint the child. “Your father seems to be a very strong-willed man with firmly fixed ideas—especially when it comes to the welfare of you and your sisters. But I will try.”
“Papa treats me as if I’m no older than Sophie,” Phoebe grumbled, “when I’m almost eleven.”
Brooding on grievances against her father would not help the child sleep well.
“Why don’t you sit up and let me fix your hair,” Grace suggested. “I’m sure you will rest much more comfortably if it is a bit neater.”
Phoebe heaved herself up, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her nightdress while Grace fetched a hairbrush. “I hope you will not be like Mademoiselle, always harping at me about my looks. There are lots more important things.”
“There are, indeed,” Grace agreed fervently as she brushed out the girl’s wild dark locks and twined them into a pair of neat braids. “All I will ask is that you try to keep tidy. You wouldn’t want to have your pony going about with his coat uncurried and his mane and tail all matted, would you?”
Phoebe shook her head violently as she lay back down. “Then people might think I didn’t take proper care of Jem.”
“Just so.” Grace tucked the bedclothes around her new pupil. “I know I would hate to have people think I did not take proper care of you and your sisters—your father especially. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Phoebe gave a vague murmur of agreement.
“I thought you would.” Grace had an urge to kiss the child good-night but sensed it might be too soon for such familiarity. Instead, she settled for resting her hand on Phoebe’s head. “That is the good sense I would expect from a young lady of nearly eleven.”
Her comment seemed to please Phoebe, who snuggled into her pillow with a little grin.
As Grace retired to her own quarters and began to unpack her meager possessions, she congratulated herself on having made progress with at least one of Lord Steadwell’s daughters. She knew better than to suppose the other two would be so easy to win over.
As for their father, she would feel a great deal more comfortable at Nethercross once he went away to London.