“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.
That question fled her mind as the house came into view. It was a curious mixture of styles that had clearly been added to over the years. The front had a range of weathered pale stone set with bays of large mullioned windows. It was topped by Dutch gables, a red-tiled roof and clusters of tall chimneys. Beside it stood a quaint hall of checkered white and grey brick with a large stained-glass window.
When the carriage drew to a halt before the vaulted front entrance, Lord Steadwell swiftly alighted and inhaled a deep breath, as if the air of home were the only kind worth breathing.
As he helped Grace out, a young boy cantered up on his black pony. “So you found us a governess, did you, Papa? I hope you made a good choice!”
“Phoebe!” His lordship let out a half-stifled groan. “How many times have I told you not to borrow the stable boys’ breeches and ride astride?”
The child laughed. “Counting this one, two hundred and thirty-seven. I keep hoping you will get discouraged and give up.”
Phoebe scrambled down and pulled off her cap, releasing a cascade of dark curls. “You know I hate the side saddle. It is so much harder to mount and I cannot ride as fast. You wouldn’t want me to take a fall, would you?”
“Of course not,” his lordship pulled her into a warm embrace. “Though I approve of anything that would make you ride a little slower.”
With his arm draped around his daughter’s shoulders, Lord Steadwell turned toward Grace. “This is indeed your new governess. You and your sisters may judge how well I have chosen. I hope Miss Ellerby will have better luck taming you than poor Mademoiselle Audet.”
“I hope she doesn’t.” Phoebe pulled a face but thrust out her hand in a frank, eager fashion to shake Grace’s. “Welcome to Nethercross, Miss Ellerby. If you don’t natter on at me about behaving like a proper young lady, we should get on very well.”
Though she did not relish the idea of being put in the middle of a clash of wills between Phoebe and her father, Grace could not resist the girl’s refreshing, forthright air. Even if they had their differences, she sensed Phoebe would take her own part rather than complain to her father.
“I expect you to mind Miss Ellerby,” Lord Steadwell warned his daughter. “Now, go stable your pony and come inside. The next time I see you, it had better be in proper attire for a young lady.”
“Yes, Papa.” Phoebe rolled her eyes, forcing Grace to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.
Lord Steadwell appeared not to notice or pretended he didn’t. “Come inside, Miss Ellerby. I will show you to the nursery so you can meet the other girls.”
He held open one of a pair of thick, old doors that rose to a point in the middle. Then he ushered her into a high-ceilinged entry hall with a wide oak staircase running up the right-hand wall. The moment they entered, Grace heard footsteps descending the stairs, one set very light and quick, the other slower.
“Not so fast, Sophie.” A girl’s voice drifted down. “If you fall and break your neck I shall get the blame for it.”
“I won’t fall,” came Sophie’s breathless reply. “I want to see Papa and Mamzell.”
“We’ve talked about this, remember?” replied the other girl who must surely be Charlotte. “Papa is not bringing—”
Before Charlotte could finish, Sophie rounded the final landing and flew down the last flight of stairs. Grace had a fleeting impression of dainty features, wide-set eyes and a billow of ginger hair.
“Papa!” The child flung herself down the last few steps.
If her father had not caught her, she might have taken a nasty fall. But he managed to seize hold of his youngest daughter and clutch her to his heart. An instant later, Charlotte appeared. Apart from her darker auburn hair, she looked like an older version of her little sister. Though her mouth was tightened in an expression of annoyance, it was clear she would grow up to be a beauty.
Grace’s first impulse was to pity the child on that account, though perhaps her looks would not be such a burden for a girl from a good family.
“You should listen to your sister, monkey!” Lord Steadwell scolded his youngest daughter fondly. “Stairs are not for running.”
“But I wanted to see you, Papa.” The child peppered his cheek with kisses. “I missed you! I was afraid you might get caught by a troll from under a bridge. I wanted to see her too!”
Sophie left off kissing her father long enough to crane her neck and scan the entry hall.
Grace permitted herself a faint smile. She did not want her severe appearance to frighten the child.
But the little girl looked past her as if she were invisible. “Where is she, Papa?”
Before Lord Steadwell could answer, Charlotte piped up. “Our new governess is right there, you silly thing. I tried to tell you.”
The child’s gaze swung back to Grace and fixed on her with unnerving intensity.
“Good afternoon, Sophie... and Charlotte.” Grace nodded to each of the girls in turn. “I am Miss Ellerby. Your father has told me quite a lot about you, and I look forward to learning more as we become better acquainted.”
“Welcome to Nethercross, Miss Ellerby.” Charlotte made a dignified curtsey. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.”
“Quite pleasant, thank you.” Grace had the uncomfortable feeling she was addressing a superior. “This is beautiful country.”
She glanced back toward Sophie hopefully, but the child promptly burst into tears and buried her head in her father’s shoulder. “She isn’t Mamzell. I don’t want her! Send her away, Papa and fetch Mamzell back!”
Grace’s spirits sank. She feared Lord Steadwell’s daughters were far less eager than he to have her as their governess.
Had he been wrong to choose his daughters a governess so different from their previous one? Rupert pondered that question as little Sophie pressed her face into his shoulder and wept with a fierce mixture of sorrow and frustration.
The child was not only sad over losing her beloved Mamzell, but also vexed that her world had been turned upside down. Rupert suspected she might also feel a sense of helplessness at having no control over the situation.