In reply to her mention of bedtime, Charlotte announced, “We are accustomed to staying up later than this.”
Phoebe headed for the nursery door. “I’ll go straight to bed as soon as I make sure Jem is settled for the night.”
Before Grace could forbid her, the girl was gone. Though her manner had been more cheerful and cooperative than her sisters’, it was clear Phoebe did not intend to let a new governess stand in the way of her beloved pony’s well-being.
Sophie said nothing at all but peered out at Grace from behind Charlotte’s skirts as if the new governess were a child-eating beast who might attack at any moment. Grace was not certain which bothered her more—Sophie’s excessive fear, Phoebe’s breezy indifference or Charlotte’s constant contradictions. None was conducive to a well-run nursery and a mixture of all three would be a recipe for disaster.
Thrusting those tormenting spectacles into her apron pocket, Grace rubbed her throbbing temples. “Ten minutes more. That should give Phoebe time enough to bid her pony good-night.”
“It might if that is all she would do.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around Sophie as if to protect the child. “But Phoebe usually wants to curry Jem one last time and feed him an apple. I doubt she’ll be back in less than an hour. Then she’ll stink of the stables.”
It would have been helpful to know that before she let the child dash away. “In that case, I will speak to Phoebe when she returns. I expect the two of you to begin preparing for bed in ten minutes.”
“I told you.” Charlotte stroked Sophie’s hair. “We are accustomed to staying up later.”
“And I am accustomed to having my bidding obeyed by my pupils,” Grace replied, more sharply than she intended.
All the changes of the day seemed to have caught up with her at once. She wanted nothing more than to retire to her own quarters and rally her composure.
Sophie gave a choked little sob and clung tighter to Charlotte, making Grace feel like a perfect ogre.
This was a major change for the children too, she reminded herself—a change that had been inflicted upon them by the actions of others. Though experience had taught her it was best to establish her authority early if she hoped to have any control over her pupils, she wondered if a gentler approach might work better in this case.
“Perhaps a compromise is in order,” she suggested, deliberately softening her tone. “If the two of you get ready for bed now, I will read to you until your sister returns.”
Charlotte gave a doubtful frown but Sophie responded swiftly. “What story will you read to us?”
Once the words were out of her mouth, the child seemed to realize she had spoken directly to her new governess for the first time. She hid her face against her sister once more, then peeped timidly back at Grace.
Recalling what his lordship had told her about his youngest daughter’s active imagination, Grace hoped it might provide a way to reach the child. “I will leave the choice of story to you, Sophie. Do you have a particular favorite?”
The child gave an eager nod and the beginnings of a smile curled one corner of her mouth upward. “‘The Little Glass Slipper.’ Do you know that one? It is in our Tales of Mother Goose book.”
Grace shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the story, but if you have the book, I would be happy to read it to you.”
“We have the book.” Sophie wriggled out of her sister’s arms. “Come, Charlotte. Help me find Mother Goose for Miss... Miss...?”
“Miss Ellerby.” Grace allowed herself a brief smile, hoping to reassure the child she was not as severe as her appearance might suggest.
“Oh, very well.” Charlotte heaved an exasperated sigh. “But I know that story by heart after all the times you made Mademoiselle read it to us. I could recite it to you.”
“How fortunate,” Grace said. “If I make a mistake, I can rely on you to correct me.”
She tried to make it sound as if the girl would be doing her a favor. Perhaps that might make Charlotte a bit less eager to find fault with her at every opportunity.
As the girls headed off to get ready for bed, she called after them. “Charlotte.”
The girl turned. “Yes. What is it?”
Grace struggled to subdue her impatience with Charlotte’s attitude and focus on something positive instead. “Sophie is very fortunate to have such a kind, capable sister to help her through this time of change. When I was her age, I often wished I had an elder sister to look out for me.”
Grace’s comment seemed to take Charlotte aback. Two bright spots flared in her fair cheeks. “Someone had to take her in hand. It was no use expecting Phoebe to. She doesn’t care about anything unless it has hooves and neighs.”
She spun away again, fussing over Sophie more like a mother than a sister.
A short while later, the three of them huddled on the nursery settee while Grace made an effort to read Sophie’s favorite story in the way the girls were accustomed to hearing it. The tale itself appealed to her—it was about an orphan persecuted by her hard-hearted stepmother who was jealous of the girl’s beauty. Though treated as the humblest of servants, the heroine eventually found security, success and love. It was pleasant to believe such wonders could come true against all odds. For herself, Grace had far more modest dreams.
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?