“Because... it doesn’t belong to me.”
“You aren’t going to steal it,” Sophie persisted. “And nobody has worn it for years and years. Poor gown! Imagine how sad it must have been to lie in a trunk all this time, even if it does smell nice.”
Grace tried to return the gown to its proper resting place, but her hands refused to cooperate. “Sophie, you know gowns aren’t living things with thoughts and feelings.”
“I know.” The child did not sound persuaded. “But I wonder what it might be like if they did. What if the gown remembered being worn and taken out places? Wouldn’t that make a good story?”
Such were Sophie’s powers of invention that Grace fancied she could hear the rustling pleas of the old gown, begging to be worn and admired one more time, if only for a few moments. What would it hurt, after all, to indulge the child’s harmless whim?
“Very well, then,” she murmured. “I will put it on, but only for a few moments over the dress I’m wearing.”
As it turned out, that looked ridiculous—the tight, long sleeves and prim neck of her rust-brown dress protruding from that luxurious confection of damask and lace. The gown might as well have stayed in its trunk as be worn that way. At Sophie’s urging, Grace slid off the bodice of her dress and let it fall around her hips, hidden by the volume of the old-fashioned skirts.
“Kneel down,” said Sophie. “I’ll fasten your hooks.”
Though part of her protested, Grace obeyed.
“Look in the glass.” Sophie clapped her hands as Grace rose from the floor. “You are like Cinderella. That means I must be your godmother.”
Grace turned and looked at the reflection of a woman she barely recognized. The vivid coral hue of the fabric brought out the color of her eyes and brightened her complexion, making it look more like fresh cream than cold wax. The delicacy of the lacework highlighted her fine features. The unexpected pleasure she found in her appearance made her eyes sparkle and her lips relax into a winsome smile.
Was it wicked vanity, as she’d so often been told, to be pleased by her reflection in the glass? It did not feel wicked. It felt joyful and free, as if she had been released from a tight, dingy prison.
Her fragile bubble of happiness did not last long.
“Do you hear footsteps?” She spun toward the door, her heart hammering so hard it made the lace trim around the gown’s neckline tremble. “Someone is coming. I must get out of this!”
How could she have forgotten the danger of casting off her protective disguise?
“I don’t hear anything. And your cap doesn’t look right with that gown.” Before Grace could stop her, the child reached up and grasped one of the long white lappets. Then she pulled it off, bringing down Grace’s tightly-pinned hair in the process.
“Sophie!” she cried in dismay.
“Sophie?” another voice echoed. “Are you in there?”
Panic froze Grace to the spot as the door swung open and Charlotte rushed in.
The instant she caught sight of Grace, her eyes bulged and she let out a piercing scream. Grace’s nerves were wound so tight, she screamed too.
“Run, Sophie!” Charlotte tried to drag her sister toward the door. But Sophie dug her feet in.
“What’s wrong with you, Charlotte? It’s only Miss Ella. I think she looks as pretty as a princess, don’t you?”
Charlotte peered at Grace in stunned disbelief. “Miss... Ellerby?”
“That’s right.” Grace snatched up her cap from the floor and tried to cover her hair with it again.
If she had been caught committing a dreadful crime, she could not have been more consumed with shame or fear for her future. She had no doubt Charlotte would seize this opportunity to get rid of her.
Chapter Seven
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and shot Grace a scowl that seemed more wary and bewildered than angry. “Why do you pretend to be plain and dowdy when you’re... beautiful?”
She sounded reluctant to use that word in reference to the governess she heartily disliked.
It was now evening, several hours after Charlotte had burst in on Grace and Sophie in the dressing room. To her credit, the girl had not yet mentioned the incident to anyone else at Nethercross. But her father would return from London the day after tomorrow and Grace knew better than to hope Charlotte would remain silent then. If something like this had happened at one of her previous posts, Grace would have packed her bags and fled before his lordship’s return. This time she could not bear to give up a position she had come to enjoy so much without making some appeal.
That was why she’d asked to speak with Charlotte after her sisters had gone to sleep. Given the girl’s hostility toward her, Grace doubted any explanation would satisfy Charlotte. But she had to try.
“It is a long story.” Grace pulled off her cap. Lately it had begun to feel stifling and there was no longer any use maintaining her disguise in front of Charlotte. “Suffice to say that your beauty and your sisters’ will be a benefit to you as you grow older. For a woman like me, without fortune or family, attractive looks can be more of a burden.”
As she spoke, Charlotte’s scowl seemed to soften.
“It can make others envious.” Grace continued, determined to tell Charlotte as much of the truth as was proper for her young ears. “It can make them assume I must be vain... selfish... foolish.”
How many times had she been accused of those vices by her teachers? “I cannot claim to be perfect, but I do not believe my appearance makes me a bad person. By making myself look plain, I hoped others might be able to see my character for what it truly is, rather than what they judge it to be based on my looks.”
Grace had expected Charlotte to interrupt her with questions, perhaps contradiction. But even after she’d finished speaking, the child remained silent.
“I wish you would not mention any of this to your father.” Grace hated to beg, but she hated the thought of leaving Nethercross even more. “I’m afraid he might not understand.”
“He would so.” The need to defend her father forced Charlotte to speak. “When you first came here, he told me not to judge you by your looks.”
Part of Grace wanted to believe that Charlotte was right and Lord Steadwell might not be like other men in that respect. But she had been too often mistaken about people in the past to trust that vulnerable hope.
“I believe one of the reasons your father hired me was because I looked plain. If he found out that was not my true appearance, he might suspect I had set out to deceive him.”
But hadn’t she? her conscience whispered. Perhaps, but only as a last resort and not in a way that would do any harm to him or his children.
“Who called you vain?” Charlotte demanded.
Grace hesitated, for this was not a subject she cared to discuss any more than she’d been forced to already. “My stepmother was the first. But not the last or the worst.”