When Lord Steadwell had first gone off to London to attend Parliament, Grace was relieved to hear his carriage drive away very early on Monday mornings. As Friday approached, she’d grown more anxious, anticipating his return. But lately that pattern had begun to reverse itself. The girls were so happy to have their father home and Grace had come to care for them so much, she could not dislike anything that pleased them.
At least that was what she told herself whenever she reflected on the change in her attitude.
“With your permission, Miss Ellerby,” said his lordship as they finished their supper in the nursery, “I should like the girls to have an early bedtime tonight—”
His request was interrupted by groans of protest, Phoebe’s loudest of all.
“Because,” he continued, fixing the girls with a firm look, “they shall be staying up later tomorrow night when we dine with the Cadmores. I do not want them to be tired and ill-humored with our guests.”
“What about Jem?” Phoebe demanded before Grace could answer. “He looks for me to say good-night to him now. I can’t disappoint him.”
“Go then.” His lordship nodded toward the door. “But for this one evening, try to keep it brief.”
“Thank you, Papa!” The child jumped up and gave him a vigorous kiss on the cheek before dashing away.
As the nursery door banged shut behind Phoebe, her father glanced at Grace with a rueful grin. “I beg your pardon, Miss Ellerby. I should not have presumed you would grant my request.”
“There is no need to apologize, sir,” she replied. “This is your house and these are your daughters. Unless you propose something that might harm them, you may always take my approval for granted.”
“That is most obliging of you.” The sincere respect and gratitude in Lord Steadwell’s tone warmed her. “But I meant what I said when you first came here, about the nursery being under your authority. I do not wish to trespass upon that authority, especially considering what a fine job you have done.”
“Thank you, sir.” His praise flustered her, but not in the way a compliment on her appearance would have done. “It is not difficult to succeed with such clever, agreeable pupils and with the support I have received from you. It is an excellent idea for the girls to retire early so they will be fresh and rested for when they dine with guests. I should have thought of it myself.”
“Will you still read to us before bed, Papa?” Sophie begged.
“Of course.” His lordship ruffled the child’s red-gold hair. “As soon as you are ready we can begin.”
Charlotte and Sophie had scarcely finished changing into their nightclothes when Phoebe returned from the stables. Her father greeted her with an approving smile.
When his daughters were snuggled on either side of him on the nursery settee, Lord Steadwell read them more about Gulliver’s adventures in the land of the giants.
Grace resisted the girls’ entreaties to join them. That afternoon on the picnic rug had been as close to Lord Steadwell as she could bear to be for one day, even though he’d behaved with perfect propriety. It was nothing he had done that made her uneasy but rather her own bewildering feelings.
Now as he read to the girls, Grace moved quietly about the nursery, putting everything in order. Yet she was acutely conscious of his lordship’s deep, smooth voice and his strong masculine presence in this feminine domain. His devotion to his daughters was so strong it seemed to envelop her, like the scent of fresh-baked bread or the warmth of a glowing fire. It promised to restore something lost long ago and deeply missed ever since.
Once his lordship had finished reading the chapter, then heard his daughters’ prayers and tucked them into bed, he approached Grace. To bid her good-night, she assumed, and perhaps leave instructions on dressing the girls for tomorrow’s dinner.
But his words surprised her. “I pride myself on keeping my promises, Miss Ellerby, and I promised you a ride down the lane under the linden trees once they blossomed.”
Had he? Grace recalled him saying something to that effect on the winter day she’d arrived at Nethercross. Looking back now, it felt like years ago rather than months.
“That is kind of you, sir.” His invitation made her pulse race. “But you must have better things to do with your brief time at home. I would not think of holding you to an offer made so long ago.”
“I cannot deny there are other things I might be doing.” His smile was too appealing to resist. “But would they be better use of my time than savoring the beauty of nature at its best? It seems to me that failing to admire God’s exquisite handiwork would be ungrateful.”
His comment about admiring God’s handiwork made Grace consider her appearance in a way she never had before. For most of her life, other people had made her feel ashamed of her beauty and view it as a burden she ought to hide. Yet she admired beauty in nature and other people as much as anyone. Perhaps it was not vain to be grateful for the form and features with which she’d been blessed.
“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” She risked raising her downcast gaze and was rewarded with a glimpse of satisfaction in the dark depths of his eyes. “Are you this persuasive when you speak in Parliament?”
He shook his head. “I am not much of a speechmaker. But if I have persuaded you, then come along while there is still light for us to see the trees.”
“Yes, sir.” Grace hastened to fetch her cloak and bonnet.
While tying the ribbons of her unflattering bonnet, she glanced into the small looking glass behind her washstand. She recalled the much different reflection of herself she had glimpsed on the day she’d played dress-up for Sophie. Part of her wished Lord Steadwell could see her like that, making the most of her God-given appearance rather than hiding her light under pinched spectacles and drab clothes.
Her deeply ingrained sense of caution put a stop to such thoughts. His lordship might understand her reasons for deceiving him, but Grace could not be certain. She had grown too fond of Nethercross and her young pupils to risk losing her safe, congenial position.
The spring daylight was quickly fading when she and Lord Steadwell emerged from the house.
“As I recall, I promised you a drive under the lindens, Miss Ellerby. But I fear by the time a gig is harnessed, we may be too late to see much. Would you mind if we went on foot instead?” He offered her his arm.