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 offer 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.”