“Did you enjoy it, Papa?” Charlotte perked up. “Was there dancing? Did the ladies have beautiful gowns?”
“There is always dancing at these events.” He had taken a few turns on the floor to be sociable. “And everyone was very well-dressed.”
His daughter managed to coax a few more details out of him but Rupert refrained from mentioning the point of the evening—to scout for a prospective bride. In that respect it had been a disappointment. Everywhere he’d turned, ambitious mothers pushed their debutante daughters into his path. He had never met such a lot of tiresome chits in one night—all with their heads full of romantic expectations about marriage. He knew better than to encourage them.
What he needed in a wife was maturity, compatibility and practical willingness to settle for the kind of marriage he could give her. That did not include the deep closeness he and Annabelle had shared. Now that he had poked his nose around the marriage market, he wondered if he was asking too much.
“Tell me about your week,” he urged the girls.
“Nothing exciting happened,” Charlotte muttered, “except we got an invitation from Mrs. Cadmore to visit Dungrove next Thursday. It will be pleasant to visit, though we would much rather go to London with you, Papa.”
“Speak for yourself, Charlotte,” Phoebe pulled a face that made Miss Ellerby bite her lip and raise her teacup for a very long drink. “I am much happier in the country.”
While the girls bickered over the merits of town versus country, Rupert found himself thinking about Barbara Cadmore. She was a fine-looking woman who possessed most of the qualities he was looking for in a wife. The mother of one child, she was still young enough to have more. A union between them would benefit her as well. He would be able to help look after Dungrove until young Henry came of age to take over. The more he considered the lady as a matrimonial candidate, the more sensible a choice she seemed.
When his heart protested, he resolutely silenced it.
“Girls,” Miss Ellerby interrupted Charlotte and Phoebe as their argument threatened to escalate into a bitter quarrel. “Kindly make an effort to be civil or your father may be reluctant to join us for meals in the future. Isn’t that so, sir?”
“Definitely.” Even if he had not agreed, Rupert would have felt obliged to support her. “I cannot abide squabbling. I get more than enough of that in Parliament. Enjoy the freedom of the country while you can, Charlotte. All too soon I shall be forced to take you to London to be presented.”
“I thought the week passed quickly.” Phoebe tossed her head in defiance of her elder sister. “I like all the new things Miss Ellerby is teaching us. I learned such a lot.”
A fleeting smile lit the governess’s face before she could prevent it. “I am pleased with their progress. Your daughters are very clever, Lord Steadwell.”
He had once told Miss Ellerby that praising his children was a sure way to win his approval. But he sensed she was being quite sincere, which only made her tribute please him more.
“Besides being an attentive student,” the governess continued, “Phoebe has faithfully followed your instructions about going to the stables. I believe she has earned a longer visiting time.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” Rupert reached over and gave his daughter’s shoulder an affectionate pat. In this case he did not mind being proved wrong. “Very well, Miss Ellerby. If you reckon Phoebe has shown sufficient responsibility to merit more time, then she shall have it.”
“Thank you, Papa!” The child seized his hand and pressed it to her lips. “I won’t let you down.”
“I have every faith in you.” He beamed at Phoebe then turned the smile upon her governess, grateful for the way she had handled his rebellious middle daughter. It was as if she had managed to gentle a headstrong filly and begun training it to be a champion.
The lady’s gaze skittered away from his, focusing on the children, her breakfast—anywhere but at him. Ah well, he could tolerate her unsociable manner as long as she managed so well with the girls.
“I learned too, Papa.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled with her mother’s lively intelligence. “I can read twenty new words and find a dozen countries on the globe. I want to visit all of them some day.”
“Don’t be silly,” Charlotte muttered. “When you grow up, you’ll go to London and perhaps a fine country house if your husband has one. You won’t need all this useless information that’s being crammed into our heads.”
Though he hated to contradict his daughter, Rupert felt obliged to point out, “I do not believe any information is entirely useless. Better to be over-informed than ignorant.”
Charlotte paled as if he had struck her, which made Rupert’s stomach contract in a tight ball of guilt. Miss Ellerby was doing so well with the younger girls. What had she done to alienate his eldest? Or was it his fault for relying so much on Charlotte after Mademoiselle’s abrupt departure that she was bound to feel displaced by any new governess?
The mantel clock chimed just then, reminding him of his duties as a landowner, which warred with his desire to be an attentive father. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. A great many matters require my attention.”
His daughters’ fallen faces reproached him. “But... perhaps you could come with me. Charlotte and Phoebe can ride their ponies and Sophie can ride with me. Would you like that?”
Phoebe let out a most unladylike whoop of joy while Sophie bobbed her head eagerly. Only Charlotte did not appear eager to accept his invitation. “I would rather stay home and catch up on my needlework, Papa. I have had far too little time for it lately.”
“As you wish.” Rupert tried to ignore a pang of disappointment. “Another time perhaps.”
His daughter was growing up far too quickly and he feared he might have accelerated the process. She needed a mother to guide her through these next awkward years to womanhood. They all did.
Perhaps during their travels today, he and Phoebe and Sophie could pay a brief call on the Cadmores.
Chapter Six
WOULD CHARLOTTE EVER accept her?
Grace heaved a sigh and dipped the tip of her pen in the ink well to begin a letter to her friend Hannah Fletcher. Having put the girls to bed not long ago, she was now free to indulge in the pleasure of correspondence. Only yesterday she had received a long letter from Hannah, every word of which seemed to reach across the miles that separated them with tender concern and sympathy. It was not the same as being able to sit down for a long heart-to-heart talk, but it was the closest thing they had.