Chapter Seven
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and shot Grace a scowl that seemed more wary and bewildered than angry. “Why do you pretend to be plain and dowdy when you’re... beautiful?”
She sounded reluctant to use that word in reference to the governess she heartily disliked.
It was now evening, several hours after Charlotte had burst in on Grace and Sophie in the dressing room. To her credit, the girl had not yet mentioned the incident to anyone else at Nethercross. But her father would return from London the day after tomorrow and Grace knew better than to hope Charlotte would remain silent then. If something like this had happened at one of her previous posts, Grace would have packed her bags and fled before his lordship’s return. This time she could not bear to give up a position she had come to enjoy so much without making some appeal.
That was why she’d asked to speak with Charlotte after her sisters had gone to sleep. Given the girl’s hostility toward her, Grace doubted any explanation would satisfy Charlotte. But she had to try.
“It is a long story.” Grace pulled off her cap. Lately it had begun to feel stifling and there was no longer any use maintaining her disguise in front of Charlotte. “Suffice to say that your beauty and your sisters’ will be a benefit to you as you grow older. For a woman like me, without fortune or family, attractive looks can be more of a burden.”
As she spoke, Charlotte’s scowl seemed to soften.
“It can make others envious.” Grace continued, determined to tell Charlotte as much of the truth as was proper for her young ears. “It can make them assume I must be vain... selfish... foolish.”
How many times had she been accused of those vices by her teachers? “I cannot claim to be perfect, but I do not believe my appearance makes me a bad person. By making myself look plain, I hoped others might be able to see my character for what it truly is, rather than what they judge it to be based on my looks.”
Grace had expected Charlotte to interrupt her with questions, perhaps contradiction. But even after she’d finished speaking, the child remained silent.
“I wish you would not mention any of this to your father.” Grace hated to beg, but she hated the thought of leaving Nethercross even more. “I’m afraid he might not understand.”
“He would so.” The need to defend her father forced Charlotte to speak. “When you first came here, he told me not to judge you by your looks.”
Part of Grace wanted to believe that Charlotte was right and Lord Steadwell might not be like other men in that respect. But she had been too often mistaken about people in the past to trust that vulnerable hope.
“I believe one of the reasons your father hired me was because I looked plain. If he found out that was not my true appearance, he might suspect I had set out to deceive him.”
But hadn’t she? her conscience whispered. Perhaps, but only as a last resort and not in a way that would do any harm to him or his children.
“Who called you vain?” Charlotte demanded.
Grace hesitated, for this was not a subject she cared to discuss any more than she’d been forced to already. “My stepmother was the first. But not the last or the worst.”
“Who was the worst?”
Why did Charlotte want to know all this? So she could gloat over the governess she detested and now had in her power to destroy?
“My teachers at school,” Grace admitted, uncertain what compelled her to answer. Perhaps it was because she had so little to lose. Or could it be that she was tired of hiding her past and her true self? “And the great girls. That was what we called the older pupils who bullied and tormented us younger ones. I was a favorite target because they envied my looks, I suppose. Or perhaps they could tell I was not very good at standing up for myself.”
Could that be part of the reason she and Charlotte had gotten off on the wrong foot—because Charlotte sensed Grace’s weakness from the beginning?
“That school sounds dreadful.” Charlotte insisted fiercely. “Why didn’t you just go home?”
Grace hesitated, but she could not suppress the truth. “I had no home to go to. The school was an institution for the orphaned daughters of clergymen. My stepmother sent me there after my father died. I doubt she would have taken me back even if I’d wanted to go home... which I did not. Harsh as conditions were at the school, at least there I had a few friends.”
“Is that who you write letters to all the time?” asked Charlotte.
Grace nodded. “We are all scattered about now. I have not seen any of the others since we left school. You are very fortunate to have your sisters so close.”
“Too close sometimes,” Charlotte muttered. “Tell me about these friends of yours.”
Grace was sorely tempted to declare that her friends were none of Charlotte’s business, but she could not risk vexing the child. “Leah Shaw was often up to some bit of mischief to make us laugh. Phoebe reminds me of her. Rebecca Beaton was one of the smallest girls in our year but fierce as a lion if the great girls tried to pick on any of us.”
If Rebecca were here now, she would find a way to keep Charlotte from tattling to Lord Steadwell. But Rebecca was many miles away in the Cotswolds.
Grace did not intend to tell Charlotte too much, but once she began talking about her friends, it seemed to bring them closer. She was in the middle of a funny story about Leah Shaw when she noticed Charlotte trying to smother a yawn.
“That is a great deal more than you wanted to know, I’m sure. You should get to bed.”
Charlotte nodded as she rose from her chair. “I am tired. Good night, Miss Ellerby.”
Was it her imagination, or did the child’s tone sound more amiable? Probably the former because Charlotte had given no promise that she intended to keep Grace’s secret.
Something had changed this week while he’d been in London. As Rupert stood at the window of his study staring down toward the river, he was not certain what had changed or how it had come about, yet he sensed the altered atmosphere. In general, he mistrusted change. Its results could be positive, but all too often they were not. It remained to be seen which result this change would yield.
He had left London early on Friday because there was no pressing legislation before the House of Lords. After his talk with Charlotte the previous week, he wanted to make certain she was giving her governess the cooperation he’d insisted upon. When he reached home, he’d found all three girls busy with their lessons.
To his surprise, Phoebe was engrossed in a book on a mild afternoon that would have been perfect for riding. Sophie was not off in some daydream world, but eagerly relating a story that the governess copied down for her. Charlotte seemed too absorbed in a composition she was writing to cause Miss Ellerby any trouble.
All three girls started up with ready smiles when he appeared.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” he begged their governess. “After getting home so late the other week, I wanted to make it up to my daughters at the first opportunity.”
“You needn’t apologize, sir.” Miss Ellerby fiddled with her spectacles, which he could have sworn she had not been wearing a moment ago. “The girls have been working very hard at their studies. They deserve some time away from their books to be with you.”
“That’s the second time this week we’ve had a break from lessons,” cried Phoebe.
The governess winced at the child’s words, as if she expected Rupert to chide her for neglecting her duty. In fact, he could not be better happier with her work. Though Phoebe still talked constantly of her pony, she often mentioned new things she’d learned in a tone that conveyed enthusiasm for her studies. Sophie seemed happier than she had been since Mademoiselle Audet left. Charlotte was quieter than usual and not so quick to boss her younger sisters.
At first Rupert wondered if she might still be vexed with him for insisting she obey Miss Ellerby. But she seemed affectionate enough, in spite of her subdued manner. Perhaps she was simply maturing—discovering that he could question her behavior yet still love her as much as ever.
The thought of his daughters growing up triggered an insistent voice in the back of Rupert’s mind. It urged him to get busy courting Barbara Cadmore. The lady was out of mourning and eligible to remarry without violating propriety. She was a handsome woman of property and still relatively young. If he did not soon signal his intentions, some other suitor might steal the march on him.
Though he knew it was the sensible course of action, part of him remained reluctant. The same part that mistrusted change, no doubt.
As he passed several pleasant hours in the nursery with his daughters, Rupert sensed a change in Miss Ellerby as well. She seemed more guarded and aloof, less like the sensitive, nurturing lady he’d glimpsed of late.
The girls were delighted when he suggesting dining with them in the nursery. While Rupert quizzed them about the things they’d done that week, their governess perched on the edge of her seat, as if she expected disaster to befall at any moment.
After he’d helped her settle his daughters for the night, Rupert drew Miss Ellerby aside for a quiet word. “Charlotte hasn’t given you any more trouble, has she?”
“Not in the least, sir,” she replied in a tone that sounded sincere in spite of the uneasy glance she cast toward his daughter’s bed.
“I hope not.” He pitched his voice lower still to be certain Charlotte would not overhear. That meant he had to draw closer to Miss Ellerby. “If she is, I will back you up in whatever measures you see fit to take. If you think it would help, I can have another talk with her.”
“That will not be necessary, sir,” the governess assured him in a tight, emphatic whisper. “But I thank you for your concern. Whatever happens, I shall always be grateful for your support.”
With that, she slipped away, leaving Rupert to wander back to his study, more puzzled than ever. What had she meant by whatever happens? Would he ever be able to understand this enigmatic woman who shared his home and cared for his children?
As he stared out his study window over the darkening countryside, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He recognized Miss Ellerby walking along the footpath by the river. What was she doing out at this hour? Not sneaking off to meet some man, surely. Somehow that suspicion did not seem quite as ridiculous as when he’d first hired her. Or might there be a more ominous explanation that also accounted for the changes he’d sensed at Nethercross?
Could his daughters’ governess be so unhappy here that she wanted to do herself harm? Difficult as it had been for the girls to lose their first governess in the way they had, he could not bear for them to lose a second so soon under tragic circumstances.
But it was not only the well-being of his children that propelled Rupert out of his study, down a flight of stairs and through a side door that opened onto the garden. He also felt responsible for the woman he had hired, perhaps for the wrong reasons, and then discouraged from socializing outside his household. He should have taken more care to ensure that she was settling in well at Nethercross.
By the pale light of the rising moon, he picked his way through the flowerbeds toward the footpath where he had spied the governess.
“Miss Ellerby!” he called out, rushing toward her.
She jumped back with a cry of alarm when he came bounding out of the shadows. “Sir, you startled me!”
“Forgive me. I saw you from my study and wondered what brought you out here at this hour.”
His inquiry seemed to catch her off-guard, as if she’d expected him to say something else. “The evening is mild and the hyacinths are in bloom, so I thought I would take a walk in the fresh air before I retire, to help me sleep.”
That sounded reasonable, yet Rupert sensed she had other motives. “Have you had difficulty sleeping?”
“A little in the past few days.” She began to walk away slowly.
Rupert fell in step with her. “When I saw you out here, I was worried something might be troubling you.”
“You were worried... about me?” Miss Ellerby sounded as if she could scarcely believe it. Then she inhaled sharply and her tone grew brusque. “You need not, sir. I am quite well. I told you at the beginning of our acquaintance that I enjoy solitary walks.”
Now that she mentioned it, he did recall. But was her mention of solitary walks a hint that he was trespassing on her cherished privacy? “I fear this may not be the safest time or place to walk alone, Miss Ellerby.”
“Are you ordering me back inside?”
“No.” Rupert chose his next words with care. “I am only offering to accompany you, if that would not be too disagreeable.”
The governess ignored his final question, perhaps because she did not dare give an honest answer. “But would I not be taking you away from your own pursuits? You spend all week in London attending to the business of the nation then you come home to be with your daughters and tend your estate. That leaves little time for activities you enjoy.”
What pursuits did he enjoy? Rupert could scarcely recall. Anything in the company of his late wife—riding around the estate, playing backgammon by the fire on a winter evening, reading aloud to her while she did needlework. They had brought him a sense of sweet contentment.
Rupert tried to ignore a pang that skewered his heart. “The time I spend with my children is not a duty, Miss Ellerby. I only wish I had more time to be with them.”
“Have you considered taking them to London with you?” The governess asked. Before he could protest, she rushed on. “Not all the time. I understand why you want them to be at Nethercross. But a week now and then would do them no harm, surely? Perhaps you could take them to places of interest in the city. I am certain it would please Charlotte. She is eager to see more of the world. Would it not be better for her to do that under your supervision? Otherwise I fear she may come to think of Nethercross as captivity she needs to escape.”
“For someone with whom my daughter has not gotten on, you seem to understand her very well, Miss Ellerby.”
His rueful jest seemed to fluster her. “I believe I could understand Charlotte better if she would let me.”
Did Miss Ellerby think he was criticizing her for failing to gain his eldest daughter’s confidence as quickly as she had that of the other girls?
“Do not give up on Charlotte.” Rupert advised his daughters’ governess. “She will come around in time. I fear she is too much like me in that respect, taking a while to trust new acquaintances. Once we do, I can assure you we make loyal friends.”
“Does that mean you will consider my latest suggestion, sir?”
“I suppose I will have to, won’t I?” Rupert pretended to be disgruntled. “Do you reckon you have developed a knack for managing me, Miss Ellerby? I must warn you, I do not care to be managed.”
“Not at all, sir,” she protested. “You are a perfect enigma to me. I have never met a man quite like you before.”
Did she mean that as a compliment, Rupert wondered, or a criticism? He could not be certain. He only knew he felt flattered.
His lordship was quite unlike most other men she’d known, Grace reflected as they continued their walk on that mild spring evening.
His sudden appearance had alarmed her but once she collected her wits, she’d braced to hear that Charlotte had revealed her secret. She expected Lord Steadwell to demand an explanation, perhaps even her resignation. Instead, he’d expressed concern for her welfare and offered to keep her company.
After her experiences with men, his offer had made her uneasy. But as the minutes wore on and Lord Steadwell kept his distance, she began to relax. Of course no man would think of making advances to plain, prim Miss Ellerby, she reminded herself. Yet, the better she came to know his lordship, the more she began to think he might be a man she could trust.
Even with the truth of her appearance? A reckless impulse urged her to confess and hope he might understand the reasons for her ruse. But caution was far stronger in her than courage. If she held her tongue, it was possible Charlotte might not betray her. But if she confessed, there was no way of predicting what the consequences might be.
“How did you spend your week?” his lordship asked. “Is my daughter correct that nothing exciting ever happens at Nethercross?”
Grace thrust her uncertainty to the back of her mind, determined to savor a few moments of adult conversation. “I suppose it depends upon what one considers exciting. I find it exciting that spring arrives earlier here than in Lancashire. I find it exciting that you have so many fine portraits of your ancestors. It gave me an idea for how I might make the study of history more meaningful to your daughters.”
“Pray, tell me this idea,” he urged. “I suffered far too many tiresome lectures on the subject at school. Anything that promises to spare my daughters that drudgery will have my full support.”
Pleased to hear him sound so receptive, Grace explained her plan to make the connection between his ancestors and the times in which they lived.
“A fine idea!” he declared when she had finished. “My grandfather told me many stories about the people in those portraits. I never thought of them in connection with all those dry dates and battles and kings my history masters droned on about.”
“To my mind, history is those stories of people from bygone days, all woven together into a grand tapestry.” Grace looked forward to teaching the subject that way to his daughters. “It would be a great help to me, sir, if you would share those stories with me, so I can place them in their proper historical perspective.”
“There was Augustus Kendrick.” His lordship sounded as eager to tell his stories as she was to hear them. “He was a courtier of James I. You may have noticed his portrait in the Great Parlor. He even played host to the king at Nethercross on one occasion. The bed His Majesty slept in remains in the State Apartment in the west range.”
Grace was on the verge of telling him she had seen the King’s bed when she caught herself. Such an admission could lead to awkward questions.
“When I was Phoebe’s age,” he continued, “I slept on it one night, just so I could say I had. But between the protests of my guilty conscience and the musty smell of the bed curtains, I did not get much rest.”
Grace knew all about the pangs of a guilty conscience.
“Then there was Augustus Kendrick’s grandson, James,” his lordship continued. “He smuggled supplies to the Royalists during the Siege of Reading by floating them downstream in baskets after dark. His portrait hangs in the entry hall.”
“The man with the enormous hat?” asked Grace.
“And the nose to match.” Lord Steadwell chuckled. “Thank heaven I did not inherit that along with the estate.”
Grace could not suppress a bubble of laughter. She thought his lordship had a fine nose, straight and well-proportioned to the rest of his features. He was a most handsome man, though his looks mattered far less to her than his character, which appealed to her more and more.
“What about the other portrait in the entry hall—the auburn-haired lady? Was she his wife?”
“Heavens, no. That is the notorious Lady Althea. She was married to James Kendrick’s grandson.”
“Notorious?” Grace could not recall the last time she had been so well entertained in conversation. “What did she do?”
“It is said Lady Althea took a violent fancy to my great-grandfather Rupert. She challenged him to a duel unless he married her. I cannot imagine why she felt driven to such lengths to secure him when it was an advantageous match. She brought a very generous dowry and added some fine property to the estate.”
Of course families like the Kendricks must keep dynastic considerations in mind when they wed, Grace reminded herself. “Were they happy together, after all that?”
“They were for as long as their marriage lasted.” His tone grew subdued. “My great-grandfather died twelve years later. Lady Althea survived him by another forty years. She never remarried, though she had a number of suitors.”
His voice trailed off on a wistful note. Clearly he sympathized with his great-grandmother, who had also lost a beloved spouse at a young age. Grace wished she had never mentioned Lady Althea.
That regret made her aware of her surroundings. A breeze had picked up, bringing a chill to the unseasonably mild night.
A shiver ran through her. “This has been an enjoyable stroll, sir, but we should be getting back. I hope I can prevail upon you to tell me more family stories when I have the means at hand to copy them down.”
Her request seemed to rouse his lordship from the melancholy musing into which he had slipped. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Ellerby.”
He led her back to the house by a route that brought them to the front entrance. Grace knew the entry hall was always well lit until the butler locked up for the night. Not expecting to encounter Lord Steadwell on her stroll, she had left her spectacles back on her dressing table. The night air would surely have brought color to her cheeks, perhaps teasing wisps of hair out from under her cap. She mustn’t let his lordship see her like this or it might not matter whether Charlotte kept her secret.
“Thank you for accompanying me on my walk, sir.” She spoke in a high-pitched rush. “Good night.”
When he opened the door for her, Grace bolted inside and darted up the stairs as fast as her feet would carry her. She resisted the dangerous urge to indulge in a quick glance back at his lordship.
The nursery was dark and peaceful when she stole in, with only the crackle of embers in the hearth and the faint drone of the girls’ breathing. When she tiptoed into her chamber, Grace found a piece of paper pinned to her pillow. What could it be and who could have left it there?
She lit a candle and examined the page more closely. The words on it were written in Charlotte’s hand. It must be the composition over which the child had labored the past few days. But why had she not simply handed it over during study hours?
As Grace read, she began to understand. In her composition, Charlotte apologized for making her governess’s job so difficult since she’d come to Nethercross. Apparently the things she’d learned about Grace’s past had brought about a profound change of heart.
“I did not know how cruelly you had been persecuted by your horrid stepmother and all those beastly teachers and ‘great girls’ at your school. I would never want to be like them. You have my word I will say nothing to my father or anyone.”
With touch of adolescent melodrama she closed, “I will keep your secret until my dying breath. I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive one who has wronged you but now repents it bitterly. Your respectful and affectionate pupil, C.K.”
A deep sigh of relief gusted out of Grace. It appeared her place at Nethercross was safe now and all would be well.
Yet even as she knelt by her bed to offer a prayer of thanks, the harsh experiences of a lifetime made Grace fear her good fortune could not last.