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

  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 offe
r 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 mu
ch 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.