“I regret giving you such a shock. Are you feeling faint?” Lord Steadwell must be thinking of their interview at the coffeehouse in Reading. His hand reached out of the darkness, brushed against her arm and latched onto it. “Perhaps you should come downstairs and I will fetch a cup of warm milk to soothe your nerves.”
Go downstairs into the light, where he would see her without her spectacles, cap or any of her usual defenses? Perilous as that might be at any time, Grace could least afford to let it happen at this dark hour, in her vulnerable state of undress. “No! Er... thank you, sir. That will not be necessary. I am in no danger... of fainting, I assure you.”
As she forced out those words in a breathless whisper, Grace wrenched her arm from his grasp and stumbled back. Some foolish part of her resisted the necessity of breaking contact with him so abruptly. His touch had not felt the least bit threatening, only concerned and protective. And she had responded to it with something more than panic.
“You do not sound well,” his lordship persisted. “You sound frightened half out of your wits, for which I am to blame. Please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
“Nothing, sir. I mean... it is not necessary.” She had recovered her breath at last and her heart had slowed to something approaching its usual beat.
Yet her senses all seemed heightened. Even in the darkness she could pick out the contours of Lord Steadwell’s profile. Her ears caught his every breath and her arm tingled with the memory of his touch.
“I know you did not intend to frighten me. I should have heard you come in, but I was so preoccupied with Sophie...”
“You were indeed.” His approving tone promised to satisfy a longing within her if she would let it. “And a fine job you did getting her settled. The next time I wake from a bad dream, I must try your trick of going back and making it come out better.”
“You have bad dreams?” Grace was not certain why that should come as such a surprise. Did she assume because men had so much more power and choice in their lives that they could never fall prey to baffling, baseless fears?
“I wish I did not, but I do,” he admitted. “That dream of Sophie’s is all too familiar to me. I roam through this house, searching for what I have lost and can never recover.”
The edge of that loss was sharp in his voice. He must have loved his late wife very much if he still missed her so keenly. Though that knowledge made Grace feel safer in his company, it also troubled her vaguely.
As flustered by the intimate tenor of their exchange as she had been by his touch, Grace did not know how to reply. Part of her wanted to change the subject—to inquire how his first week back in London had gone. To her surprise, his absence was not as much of a relief as she’d expected. More than once during the week, she’d found herself listening for his footsteps in the hallway at the girls’ bedtime. Now, in spite of the fright he’d given her, she was glad to have him home... for his daughters’ sake, of course. They had missed their father and that feeling seemed to be contagious.
But duty and caution prevented her from indulging in a late-night chat with his lordship that might risk waking his sleeping daughters. “The girls will be very happy to see you tomorrow, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I must retire for the night.”
“Of course, Miss Ellerby. I did not mean to detain you. I hope your dreams will be as pleasant as the ones you helped Sophie to.” He backed away, giving her space to get past him and make her way to her adjoining chamber.
Once there, Grace shut the door quietly behind her and debated whether to bolt it. In the end she decided not to. She was satisfied Lord Steadwell had no interest of that kind in his daughters’ drab, aloof governess. Even if he’d managed to see through her disguise, she was beginning to trust that he would not do anything dishonorable.
What was it about Miss Ellerby that made him feel free to talk about Annabelle? When he woke the next morning after a surprisingly refreshing sleep Rupert reflected on their whispered conversation from the previous night. Could it be because she was a stranger who had never known his late wife? Or was it his sense that she had experienced deep loss in her own life and might understand the feelings that often puzzled him as much as they hurt?
Whatever the reason, he had too busy a day ahead to lie about pondering such questions. Rupert climbed out of bed to shave and dress. As he pulled on his clothes, it occurred to him that he ought to have breakfast in the nursery with his daughters. He had to eat somewhere and that would give him an opportunity to spend some time with them.
He arrived to find the girls dressed and having their hair combed.
“Papa, you’re home!” Sophie tore away from Miss Ellerby and hurled herself into his arms. “Did you just get here? Why did you not come last evening?”
“I’m sorry I was late.” Rupert held the child tight as he bent to kiss her sisters who had also flocked toward him. He explained the circumstances that delayed him. “I looked in on you but you were already asleep. May I stay for breakfast so we can visit before I start to work on estate business?”
He cast a glance toward Miss Ellerby, one eyebrow raised in a silent request for permission. This was her domain, after all.
Before the governess could answer, Charlotte spoke. “Of course, Papa! Why would anyone object to that? We have missed you so much this week.”
Soon they were all squeezed around the nursery table enjoying a hearty country breakfast. Miss Ellerby seemed hesitant to join the girls with their father there, but Rupert insisted. He could not tell whether she was pleased to be included with the family or put out by the disruption he’d created. Perhaps a little of both.
“Where did your poor horse pick up the stone, Papa?” Phoebe seemed much more interested in that than anything else he’d had to say. .
Sophie tugged on her father’s coat sleeve as he was relating all the details of the lame horse. “I had a bad dream last night, Papa. But Miss Ella came and made it better.”
Rupert listened attentively as if it was all new to him. Yet he could not help stealing a glance at Miss Ellerby. Somehow he expected her to look or act differently after last night, yet she seemed as guarded as ever. If not for his daughter’s account of what had happened, he might have wondered whether he had only dreamed everything he’d overheard.
“There was no need to wake anyone else, Sophie.” Charlotte picked at her breakfast with an offended frown. “You should have come to me if you had a bad dream.”
Sophie shook her head. “I called and called but you didn’t come. Miss Ella did and she told me how to make my bad dream go away.”
The child’s explanation did not appear to please Charlotte, who changed the subject abruptly. “Did you have a nice week in London, Papa? What did you do?”
He told them about some of the business before the House of Lords but did not mention any of the worrisome rumors about Napoleon. “And I attended an assembly on Wednesday evening.”