The girls could take out their frustration on wooden balls with their mallets. It might be less hazardous than Phoebe’s schemes to disrupt her father’s courtship.
A short while later, Grace sat in the shade of a towering old elm tree, watching the girls play. On her lap lay a letter which had arrived that morning from her friend Rebecca. She was still trying to digest the astonishing news it contained.
Rebecca was engaged to be married. And her betrothed was not a humble clerk or curate to which a penniless governess might aspire, but a wealthy viscount! The last Grace time heard from her friend, Viscount Benedict had been trying to break an engagement between his half-brother and the young lady to whom Rebecca acted as companion. Though Grace had suspected her friend liked the gentleman far better than she would admit, it had never occurred to her their acquaintance might blossom into a romantic attachment.
Rebecca deserved all the happiness and security such a fine match could provide for she was one of the kindest, most loyal souls Grace had ever known. She also had the proper background to be the wife of a peer, for she came from aristocratic stock on her mother’s side. Still it was a long way from the Pendergast School to a viscount’s mansion.
“We have set the date for the final week of June,” Rebecca wrote in her familiar neat hand. “It would make me so very happy if you could come to the wedding. I long to see you and our other school friends again.”
Much as Grace wished she could go to the Cotswolds to attend Rebecca’s wedding, and visit with some of their other friends, she feared it would be impossible. With Lord Steadwell’s courtship moving relentlessly toward a betrothal, her young pupils needed her more than ever to keep their spirits up and prevent them from taking any reckless action to avert the marriage.
As she pictured herself in the Cotswold church watching Rebecca’s nuptials, Grace found her daydream changing until the bride looked like Mrs. Cadmore and the groom like Lord Steadwell. The imagined sight provoked an intense pang. That must be on account of what such a marriage would mean for her dear pupils... mustn’t it? Somehow the sensation felt even more personal and painful than that.
It couldn’t be! Surely not! Grace struggled to catch her breath, which that alarming possibility had snatched away. What she felt for Lord Steadwell could not be that perilous emotion she refused to name, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. It was nothing like the thrilling romantic fancy she’d once conceived for Captain Townsend.
Upon the stern inquisition of her conscience, Grace had to admit her feelings toward Lord Steadwell ran deeper than those she’d once had for the charming, dishonorable captain. What started out as wariness and fear had mellowed into gratitude, admiration and eventually trust. Because those feelings had ripened so slowly from such an unpromising beginning, she had only dimly suspected they might be straying in a dangerous direction.
Was it too late to root them out, like weeds that threatened to grow into pernicious vines, capable of twining around her heart and strangling it? She must try, for the consequences of permitting them to flourish did not bear thinking of.
For so many reasons, the baron could never return her feelings. Even if their backgrounds and positions were not so impossibly far apart, Lord Steadwell had told her in plain terms that he wanted nothing more to do with love. His heart still belonged to his late wife and he refused to risk it again. Instead, he had decided to select a wife using his stubborn head.
Grace had experienced the pain of rejection before—by a man who wanted her favors but not her love. Then at least she had been able to go away and start afresh in a place where she’d been in no danger of encountering the object of her affections. Now, she had come to love Nethercross and the baron’s daughters too much to desert them when they needed her most. Unless she wanted to suffer the torment of living in the same house as the man she secretly cared for when he belonged to another woman, she would have no choice but to root out these improper feelings for her master.
But first she must take up her pen and write a tactful letter of congratulations to Rebecca, with regrets that she could not attend the wedding.
If Grace Ellerby presumed she could make him give up his marriage plans simply by acting cool toward him, she was in for an unpleasant surprise.
As Rupert neared home one day in late June, he strove to keep his mind on more pleasant matters, like the excellent news he was eager to share with his family. Somehow, thoughts of his daughters’ governess kept intruding. That was quite the opposite of how the lady herself had behaved toward him of late. Though she still maintained a polite, professional manner, Miss Ellerby managed to convey the sense that a barrier had risen between them.
When he joined her and his daughters for dinner in the nursery on Fridays, she made every effort to smooth over any awkwardness between him and the girls. Yet once the children had been put to bed for the night, she always had some excuse not to go out for a stroll with him or to discuss how his daughters had got on that week. It came as an unsettling surprise to Rupert how much he missed those conversations.
Surely once he was wed Miss Ellerby would realize his marriage was not the sort of disaster she anticipated. She and the children would adapt to the new situation and she would warm to him again... so far as she was able. In the meantime, he tried not to resent her behavior toward him and her disapproval of his plans. He knew they both sprang from her concern for his daughters. Misplaced though that concern might be, it still touched him.
It was becoming clear that the sooner he and Mrs. Cadmore got married, the better it would be for all concerned. There was no longer any excuse for delay. He had been calling at Dungrove regularly for the past several weeks. Barbara Cadmore could hardly be blind to his intentions. Indeed, she gave every sign of encouraging him. He had allowed his daughters plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea. Too much more might only increase their apprehension. He needed to show them their fears were unfounded. The only way to do that would be to let them experience the new family situation.
The next few weeks would be an ideal time to proceed. It would give everyone a few months to grow accustomed to the change before he was obliged to return to London for the brief autumn session of Parliament. Now that the uncertainty over matters on the Continent had been resolved, this was surely the proper time for new beginnings.