When she thought back on it a full fortnight later, Grace still had trouble believing Lord Steadwell had stood up for her when his daughter all but demanded her dismissal.
Not that his actions signified he had any particular liking for her, she insisted to herself. He had been defending the principle that his daughters should respect the governess he had hired to care for them. No doubt he also recognized that Charlotte needed to learn more consideration for others. All the same, his defense of her gave Grace added confidence in her authority. It made her feel valued at Nethercross in a way she had not in any of her previous positions. If only his lordship’s actions had had as positive an effect upon his daughter.
On the surface, Charlotte appeared to do everything her father had asked. She had not criticized or corrected Grace once since that evening and there had been no more late-night whispers against her. Charlotte seemed to have grown even more protective of Sophie, perhaps to reassure the child that she was not vexed with her. Or could it be a covert tug-of-war for Sophie’s affection? Grace would not have put it past her, for she sensed Charlotte was biding her time, watching for a mistake she could exploit.
For her part, Grace tried not to appear as if she exulted in Lord Steadwell’s confidence. Instead, she made an effort to let bygones be bygones. And every night, she prayed that Charlotte would lower her bristling defenses and give her an opportunity to draw closer.
Hearing the nursery door close softly behind her, Grace spun away from the window, where she had been staring out at the drizzly day brightened here and there by blooming crocuses. The girls had worked so hard of late on their studies that she had promised them a whole afternoon to do as they pleased. She’d hoped the weather would be fine so they could go outdoors, but it had not turned out that way.
Phoebe had gone off to the stables. Charlotte asked politely if she might go to the kitchen for a cookery lesson. Grace consented, though she wondered whether it was only an excuse for Charlotte to get as far away as possible from the nursery. Sophie had not been able to decide what she wanted to do. Or perhaps she refused to say, hoping to steal off on her own.
“Sophie!” Grace scrambled toward the door. She recalled a story Lord Steadwell had told her during their first meeting about how the child had wandered off once before and not been found for hours.
Her heart seemed to seize in her chest when she looked down the corridor and saw no sign of her youngest pupil.
“Where are you off to, Sophie?” she called. “Please let me come with you!”
An instant later, a small fair head popped out from around the corner. “I decided to go exploring. Would you really like to come along?”
“I would.” As Grace advanced toward the child, her pulse gradually slowed. “This is such an interesting old house but I have seen little of it beyond the nursery.”
Sophie seemed pleased with the idea of having a companion for her explorations. She held out her hand to clasp Grace’s. “I can show you heaps of things you’ve never seen before. There are lots of pictures of people. Papa says they’re relations of ours who lived long ago. Some of them wore such odd clothes.”
As the child chattered on, Grace had an idea of how she might teach history to Sophie and her sisters by relating dates and events to their oddly dressed ancestors. No doubt the family had played a part in shaping their times, just as Lord Steadwell did now, faithfully attending Parliament when he would rather have remained in the country with his children. Grace had come to admire his diligence and sense of duty.
Sophie led her along narrow corridors and wider galleries, up unexpected staircases. In one room, Grace marveled at an enormous bed hung with rich brocade draperies.
“Who sleeps here?” she asked Sophie. “Your father?”
His lordship never put on any great display of his wealth. Grace often forgot what an enormous gulf separated her position from his.
“Papa doesn’t sleep here.” Sophie giggled as if her governess had made a deliberate jest. “Nobody does. This is the King’s bed. I can’t remember which king, but one visited Nethercross and slept here long ago. Papa told me. You can ask him.”
“Indeed I shall,” Grace mused. Perhaps his lordship could explain to her how the history of his family connected with that of the kingdom.
“That is my favorite picture.” Sophie pointed to a magnificent portrait that hung above the marble mantelpiece. It showed a lady wearing a coral-colored gown in the style of the Stuart royal court with voluminous skirts and lavishly puffed sleeves. Her dark hair hung in masses of thick ringlets with a fringe of wispy curls over her brow.
“Papa told me her name was Sophia—almost like me. She was my great-great-great-great-great-grandmama.”
Grace smiled as Sophie counted off the number of “greats” on her fingers. Now that Lord Steadwell was away in London so much, she no longer made such an effort to keep from smiling. Nor did she bother to wear her father’s old spectacles during the week. The girls all took it for granted that she was plain and never seemed to notice her appearance any more.
“She is lovely.” Grace noted a strong resemblance to Sophie’s father in the lady’s raven hair, dark eyes and elegant features. “And such a gown. It may look odd to you but I imagine Cinderella might have worn one like it to the prince’s ball in your story.”
“Do you think so?” Sophie’s eyes grew wide. “Would you like to see it?”
“See what?” asked Grace. “I can see the painting already.”
“Not that. The gown.” Sophie seized her hand and drew her into a smaller chamber that must once have been a dressing room.
Two sides of the room were lined with tall cupboards that almost reached the ceiling. A third wall was hung with two large looking glasses. Sophie moved from cupboard to cupboard, peeping inside each.
“I think this is the one,” she announced at last.
“One what?” Grace threw wide the cupboard door to find Sophie lifting the lid of a large trunk. “Careful you don’t jam your fingers. Are you allowed to be in here, going through all these old things?”
“This is it.” Sophie lifted up the bodice of the elaborate lace-trimmed gown from the portrait. “Smell.”
The child inhaled deeply, prompting Grace to do likewise. The wholesome sweetness of dried lavender wafted up from the open trunk along with the faint pungency of cedar, which must have kept the moths at bay all these years.
“It is very fine.” Grace took one of the sleeves between her fingers and caressed the rich fabric. “Just imagine wearing something like this.” Her voice trailed off in a wistful sigh.
“You don’t need to imagine,” Sophie thrust the gown toward Grace. “Put it on.”
Grace drew back in shock as if she’d been invited to commit murder. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?” The child looked perplexed.