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 fa?ade.
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.