The Nobleman's Governess Bride (The Glass Slipper Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  “In that case,” he announced. “I am satisfied. The position is yours if you want it.”

  “Do you mean it, sir?” Behind her thick spectacles, Miss Ellerby blinked rapidly. “Just like that?”

  Just like that, indeed. Rupert was not accustomed to making decisions in such haste, but guilt, pity and necessity had conspired to force his hand. He hoped he would not regret it.

  Determined not to betray any sign of uncertainty, he gave a firm nod. “Of course I mean it. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Miss Ellerby gnawed on her lower lip. “I only wondered whether you wish to consult your wife before making your final decision.”

  For quite some time now, Rupert had believed the worst of his grief was over. Life at Nethercross carried on as it had always done... except for Annabelle’s absence. But Miss Ellerby’s casual mention of his late wife, as if she must still be alive, made him fear he might never truly recover from his loss.

  “I do not have a wife,” he snapped then realized how that might sound. “I did once, of course, but she died four years ago.”

  Four years, five months and eleven days. It shocked Rupert to realize he still kept such a close count.

  “I am so sorry!” Miss Ellerby seemed torn between shrinking from his gruff outburst and reaching toward him in sympathy. “You never mentioned... that is, your letter referred to us and we, so I assumed you meant...”

  Rupert shook his head. “I was talking about my daughters and me.”

  It was an understandable mistake, he admitted to himself, and his fault for being so reluctant to mention his widowed state. In those first terrible weeks and months after Annabelle’s death, he’d had a daft fancy that if he did not speak of his loss, it would not be final. Gradually that resistance had settled into a habit.

  Even now, it made him uneasy to talk about his bereavement. That uneasiness compelled him to change the subject as quickly as possible. “So you see, the decision to hire you rests with me alone and I wish to offer you the position. If you are minded to accept, we can start for Nethercross at once.”

  His gaze focused on Miss Ellerby as he awaited her answer. Surely she would accept. She had travelled all this way, after all, on the mere hope of getting the position. She had said herself how much she wanted it.

  What could possibly be making her hesitate?

  Grace stole a wary glance toward the baron as he awaited her answer. She could not possibly join his household under the circumstances... could she?

  In her past positions, she had never received unwelcome advances from the head of the household. Her trouble had been with single gentlemen visiting the family. However, there had been the occasional look or word that made her grateful the master’s marriage vows kept her safe from anything more. With Lord Steadwell, she would have no such protection—only her caution and her disguise.

  His lordship had already startled her with his touch when he’d picked her up and borne her off to the settee. When she’d first roused from her swoon to find him hovering over her, she had barely been able to stifle a scream. Yet she must admit his actions had been prompted by kindness and were not the least bit improper.

  Lord Steadwell cleared his throat. “It occurs to me that if my aim is to find a governess who will stay, I ought to provide some incentive. I believe I mentioned in my letter a salary of twenty-five pounds per annum. I would be willing to offer a rise of one pound per year for each that you remain at Nethercross. Would that be satisfactory, Miss Ellerby?”

  More than satisfactory. Grace ran through the arithmetic in her head. At that rate, if she stayed at Nethercross for ten years, she should be able to put away a modest little nest egg for her later years. Everything she’d managed to save until now had gone to keep her during those uneasy times after she’d bolted from one position until she found another.

  “I did not hesitate in order to drive up the salary, sir.” Much as part of her longed to accept this generous offer, another part resisted. It was all very well to daydream about staying in his lordship’s employ for years and putting money away. But how could she be certain her past troubles would not repeat themselves? Could she maintain her disguise for that long with Lord Steadwell never suspecting her secret?

  “Then why do you hesitate, Miss Ellerby?” Lord Steadwell’s words interrupted the struggle within her. “You seemed eager to secure the position until I offered it to you. Is there some difficulty of which I am unaware?”

  The fear that he might withdraw his offer tipped the balance. “Only that this all seems too good to be true, sir. I did not expect to be offered the position with so little effort and on such generous terms. I have been much more accustomed to ill fortune than good in my life. I mistrust the latter because it is unfamiliar to me. If you had questioned me for hours on end then made me wait several days to learn your decision, I might have been quicker to accept.”

  How perverse her feelings sounded when she tried to put them into words.

  Yet Lord Steadwell listened with an air of sympathy. “Would it help if I assure you this situation will hardly be a dream come true? Though I love my daughters, I am not entirely blind to their imperfections. You will have your hands full with all three to teach. Charlotte thinks herself quite grown up with nothing more to learn. Sophie’s head is so full of imagination she scarcely has room for any knowledge of the real world. And Phoebe... heaven help you keep her still long enough to learn anything.”

  It did sound like a challenge, but one Grace was eager to undertake.

  “And with my wife... gone,” Lord Steadwell continued, though it sounded as if the words came hard to him, “my girls will need more from a governess than book learning alone. For a while at least, they may look to you for the guidance and affection of a mother.”

  That possibility did not discourage Grace either. She had long yearned for a closer bond with her young pupils. But the women she’d worked for previously had often seemed jealous of any attachment she tried to cultivate with her charges. They sought to secure their children’s affection by indulging their every whim, leaving it up to her to exert discipline. If her pupils misbehaved, their mothers took her to task for failing in her duties. Yet if she tried to exercise control over them, the children knew they had only to complain to their mothers to escape punishment. Such a system had made her pupils resent her and she them.

  Despite the hazards of teaching in a motherless household, Grace recognized there might also be some advantages.

  “Besides those difficulties,” his lordship concluded, “Nethercross is rather isolated and I am not in the habit of taking my family to town for the Season. We are near enough to London that I can go there through the week when my attendance is required in the House of Lords. I fear you may find little to amuse you on your half-days.”

  So his lordship would be away from home for a great part of the time through the spring and fall? Perhaps there was less to fear from this situation than she’d supposed. “That is no hardship for me, sir. My chief amusements are reading, writing letters and going for solitary walks in fine weather.”

  Lord Steadwell heaved an exaggerated sigh. “In that case, I fear Nethercross will seem like a paradise. I hope it will not discourage you further from joining my household.”

  His wry levity was difficult to resist. “No sir, it will not. Nor will any of your other dire warnings. If you are still prepared to hire me, I would be pleased to accept.”

  Had she made the right decision? The moment the words were out of Grace’s mouth, doubts returned to assail her.

  The position in Lord Steadwell’s household promised greater security than she had known in many years—but not without a subtle threat of danger.

  Chapter Two

  THERE WAS SOMETHING distinctly odd about the new governess he’d hired. As they drove back to Nethercross that afternoon, Rupert stared at the woman sitting across from him, her head lolled to one side in sleep.

  Somehow she looked younger and mor
e appealing than when she was awake. Her dreadful little spectacles had slipped down her nose and her features relaxed into a less forbidding expression. Her pale complexion benefited from the faint flush of sleep. Innocent as she looked, he could not escape the feeling that Miss Ellerby was hiding something. But that was ridiculous surely. What could a woman like her have to hide?

  Her air of vulnerability made his chivalrous nature want to protect her... even from his own doubts.

  But he had his daughters to consider. Their well-being mattered far more to him than that of a woman he’d just met. Miss Ellerby had never explained why she’d moved so often from one post to another, allowing him to draw his own conclusions, which might not be correct. There was also her curious hesitation about whether she wanted to work for him. At first she’d seemed so eager, almost desperate to secure the position. But when he offered it to her, she’d been suddenly reluctant. Was it truly because she could not believe her good fortune?

  Their situations were quite opposite in that respect. For most of his life, he had known nothing but good fortune until Annabelle had been taken from him with such cruel suddenness. Miss Ellerby’s past experiences made her reluctant to trust any boon that came too easily. Had his loss made him cling too tightly to the things and people he treasured, for fear they would be stolen away too?

  He chided himself for offering Miss Ellerby the position so quickly then insisting she accept when she’d hesitated. Rupert blamed it on his stubborn streak. He had come to Reading with the intention of hiring the least attractive applicant and he could not bring himself to deviate from that plan, even when questions arose regarding her suitability.

  Rupert was so absorbed in his contemplation of the lady that he had no idea how long they’d been driving until his carriage turned off Bath Road and headed north, skirting Ashley Hill. This road was rougher than the main one, making the carriage bump and sway. Its jolting soon woke Grace Ellerby.

  Her eyes flew open and her gaze immediately collided with his. Shame slithered through him, as if he’d been caught doing something improper. She gasped and her hand jerked up to push her spectacles back in place.

  “Do not be alarmed, Miss Ellerby.” He shifted in his seat, drawing back his outstretched legs. “You fell asleep for a while, which is just as well. The longest part of our journey is behind us now. A few more miles will bring us to Nethercross.”

  She peered out the carriage window. Rupert wondered if it was only to avoid looking at him. “This is lovely countryside. No wonder you are reluctant to leave it.”

  Her eyesight must be worse than he thought. Rupert glanced out at the damp, dingy fields and the bare trees under a weepy, gray sky. “If you think it looks lovely now, you are in for a pleasant surprise over the next few weeks. When the trees unfurl their spring leaves and bluebells carpet the woodland hereabouts, it is a wondrous sight. It is kind of you to praise the beauty of Berkshire. I would have thought you spoiled for scenery, coming from the North Country.”

  Miss Ellerby shook her head. “The moors and dales can be quite breathtaking, but they are too wild and forbidding for me. I prefer gentler country like this. It reminds me of my old home in Oxfordshire.”

  Oxfordshire? That explained another minor mystery that had stirred Rupert’s suspicion—how a woman from Lancashire could speak with so little trace of the broad northern accent. Perhaps there were equally innocent explanations for all his other questions about her, which he would discover in time if he was patient.

  “You should feel quite at home at Nethercross, Miss Ellerby. Oxfordshire is but a short distance upriver. What part of that county do you hale from?”

  She offered him a grudging answer, as if he were a highwayman demanding her prized jewelry. “I was raised in Witney, where my father was vicar.”

  How many clergymen’s daughters ended up as governesses? Rupert had never given it much thought. Quite a number, he imagined. They would have the proper education and breeding for the task, while needing some respectable means of providing for themselves.

  “Does your family still live in Oxfordshire?” he asked. “How did you come to take employment so far north?”

  Again she answered reluctantly. “After my father died, I was sent to the Pendergast School, which was founded to educate the orphaned daughters of clergymen.”

  “Ah.” Rupert wished he’d curbed his curiosity. But he could not help himself. The woman’s air of mystery challenged him to discover all he could about her. “I am very sorry.”

  “There is no need, sir,” she murmured. “It all happened long ago.”

  “Perhaps.” He could not excuse himself so easily for prying into her past and dredging up unhappy memories. “But there is some grief no amount of time can heal completely.”

  A faint sigh escaped her lips. “That is true.”

  This new governess was a very singular creature, Rupert reflected as they drove the last few miles to Nethercross. One minute she roused his suspicion and the next his sympathy. Just now he’d been tempted to confide in her more than anyone since his wife’s death. But for the sake of his daughters, he could not afford to let down his guard too easily.

  He must keep a close watch on Miss Ellerby until he was certain she could be trusted.

  It was clear Lord Steadwell did not altogether trust her. Grace could hardly blame the gentleman for she did not trust him either.

  It surprised her that she had let down her guard enough to fall asleep while the two of them were alone in the carriage. Exhaustion and relief must have overpowered her wariness—that could be the only explanation.

  Fortunately for her, the baron had made no effort to take advantage of her vulnerability. Her disguise had protected her from any improper interest, as had an unexpected ally—his lordship’s continued devotion to his late wife. The way he spoke of her, it was clear he cared more for his wife’s memory than he could for any living woman.

  Admiration and pity mingled in her heart as she contemplated his lingering grief. Though she knew such feelings would help keep her safe at Nethercross, part of her wished she had the power to ease them.

  An awkward silence fell between her and Lord Steadwell. Grace knew it was no use pretending to sleep. She did not want him staring at her, perhaps seeing though her dowdy façade.

  Neither did she want him asking more questions about her past. They roused too many painful memories she preferred to keep locked away. Besides, she could not abide having him know her too well. Once they reached Nethercross, he would become occupied with his duties and his pastimes, leaving the care of his daughters in her capable hands. If he was anything like the fathers of her past pupils, their paths would seldom cross, which was precisely how she wanted it.

  For now, however, she would be cooped up in this carriage with him for a little longer. If she wanted to keep him from quizzing her further, then she must turn the tables. “Tell me, Lord Steadwell, are any of your daughters like their mother?”

  Her question seemed to catch him off-guard, but he soon rallied. “All three remind me of her, each in their own way. I suspect Charlotte will be the very image of her mother when she grows up, though her temperament is more like mine. Phoebe has her Mama’s strong will and impulsiveness.”

  “And Sophie?” Grace prompted him. The more she heard about the girls, the more anxious she was to meet them. “How is she like her mother?”

  “Sophie...” The warmth in Lord Steadwell’s voice when he spoke of his youngest daughter made Grace peep at him over the top of her spectacles. His wide mouth was relaxed into a very appealing smile. “She is most like her mother of all—so full of fancy and curiosity.”

  The late Lady Steadwell sounded like a fascinating woman. Filling even part of the void she had left behind at Nethercross would be a daunting task.

  Perhaps Lord Steadwell did not care to be further reminded of his loss. He averted his face from her to gaze out the carriage window.

  “We are on Nethercross lands now.”
His voice rang with pride nearly as great as when he spoke of his children. “These are some of the furthest outlying farms of my tenants.”

  Again Grace glanced over her spectacles in order to get a clear view. She could not help but approve of the neat cottages and barns, the well laid-out fields, the sturdy cattle and sheep grazing in the pastures. “You have a very fine estate, sir.”

  His lordship nodded. “It has been in my family for generations. When I stand in the shadow of one of our great oaks I often wonder which of my ancestors saw it as a sapling.”

  It must be a great blessing, Grace reflected as they drove past more snug, well-tended farms, to have such a strong sense of belonging. She knew very little about her ancestors. By the time she’d been old enough to take an interest in such matters, she was quite alone in the world. The only place she’d ever felt she belonged was among her circle of friends at school. They had not been envious of her appearance but understood what a burden it was to her. Rebecca and Evangeline had been quick to take her part when any of the older girls tried to bully her. Hannah always provided comfort and sympathy while Leah’s high spirits never failed to lift hers.

  The carriage soon turned up a long, winding lane with rows of well-grown trees on either side.

  “This must be a delightful drive when the leaves come out,” Grace murmured. Why was beauty in nature universally admired, while in a woman it provoked envy and lust?

  “Delightful indeed,” his lordship agreed. “Only surpassed by that brief period when the lindens are in blossom. Then this lane smells as lovely as it looks. When the time comes, remind me to take you and the girls for a drive through it in an open carriage.”

  Grace looked forward to such a treat, though she wondered at the wistful note in Lord Steadwell’s voice when he spoke of it.