The thought reminded Rupert of the good tidings he had to convey to his family when he reached Nethercross. Though he had tried to conceal the gravity of the situation from his daughters, they knew more about the conflict than he would have liked. No doubt they would be as relieved and happy about the outcome as he.
He managed to keep his mind fixed on that happy thought over the final mile of his journey. His anticipation grew as the familiar fields of Nethercross came in sight and he watched his tenants out making hay.
When his carriage rolled up the lane, he spied his daughters cavorting in the shade of a towering elm tree. Charlotte and Phoebe were batting a shuttlecock back and forth with Sophie and their governess. The girls turned at the sound of his carriage. All three dropped their battledore rackets and ran to greet him.
“Good news!” Rupert cried as he surged out of the carriage. “Wellington and Blücher have put the boots to the French army at a place called Waterloo. Boney has fled and there will finally be lasting peace!”
The girls cheered.
“That is splendid news, Papa!” Charlotte hurled herself into his arms, the warmest embrace she had given him since he’d announced his intention to remarry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert spied Phoebe hugging her governess while Sophie jumped up and down with excitement.
When Charlotte released him to hug Miss Ellerby, Sophie ran over and took her sister’s place in his arms. The round of joyful embraces continued among the five of them until suddenly Rupert found his arms around Grace Ellerby, not quite certain how it had happened. The governess seemed equally astonished. After a convulsive squeeze, they sprang apart as if the physical contact burned them.
Rupert’s pulse thundered in his ears and his cheek tingled where that ugly cap of hers had brushed against it. He found himself wishing he could see her hair just once or her face without those wretched spectacles. For someone who seemed to resent being judged by her appearance, she did nothing to make herself look more attractive. Did she think it would be futile?
“There is great rejoicing in London over the news, as you can imagine.” His tongue tripped over itself in his haste to distract attention—not least his own—from what had just happened. “People are planning all manner of celebrations. Before I left London, I received an invitation from the Countess of Maidenhead to a grand masked ball at Winterhill the week after next. What sort of costume do you think I should wear?”
He usually wore the same costume to every masquerade he attended, but perhaps the time had come for a change.
“You could go as a prince!” squealed Sophie, more excited by the notion of a masquerade than the great military victory it was meant to celebrate.
Rupert shook his head with an indulgent smile. “The Prince Regent might be among the guests. I fear he would take it ill if I try to rival him.”
“What about Robin Hood, then?” Sophie countered. “Or a pirate?”
Rupert did not fancy himself an outlaw, either, not even a heroic one. He glanced toward his elder daughters, hoping they might be able to offer some additional suggestions. Instead, he caught Charlotte and Phoebe exchanging a worried look.
“I’m certain Papa means to propose to Mrs. Cadmore at that masked ball,” Charlotte announced for the tenth time since her father had returned to London earlier in the week.
Grace and the girls had just returned from a boat ride on the river. On fine days, she liked to keep them out of doors as much as possible. Physical activity was much better than their studies for keeping their minds off the worrisome subject of their father’s remarriage. Grace found it a welcome distraction from her own thoughts about Lord Steadwell.
Ever since she’d realized the perilous direction in which her feelings for him were moving, she had tried to reverse course or, at the very least, keep her heart from becoming any more engaged. She might as well have tried to walk against a violent wind or swim free of a powerful current.
Again and again she reminded herself that he had no intention of losing his heart again. Instead he wanted a marriage of convenience with Mrs. Cadmore. Even if he did not love his new wife, their union would bind him to her for the rest of their days.
If Grace remained at Nethercross while continuing to cherish this futile fancy for him, she would make herself more miserable than she had ever been at the school or after her father’s remarriage. It would be even worse if his lordship’s union proved unhappy, as she feared it might. She would long to offer him comfort, but that would be improper, if not downright wicked.
“Stop saying that, Charlotte.” Phoebe picked up a stone and sent it skipping over the water. “There’s no use talking about it if there is nothing we can do to stop Papa.”
“We just haven’t come up with the right idea yet.” Charlotte tried to skip a stone but it hit the water and sank with a loud plop. “If we stop thinking about it, we never will.”
“I’ve had all sorts of good ideas,” Phoebe grumbled as she searched the riverbank for another stone. “But everyone keeps finding fault with them.”
“If we cannot stop Papa,” Charlotte mused, “we must try to delay him. Give him time to come to his senses.”
Sophie had been unusually quiet during her sisters’ exchange but now she piped up, “Whose carriage is that coming up the lane? It can’t be Papa. Today is only Wednesday.”
“Is it the Cadmores?” Charlotte peered toward the lane. “If it is, I’m going to hide so I don’t have to speak to her. I hate the way she looks the house over as if she can’t wait to change things around, and the way she coos over us as if we’re babies!”
“Charlotte, come back!” Grace called as she moved toward the approaching carriage, beckoning Phoebe and Sophie to join her. “You cannot afford to antagonize Mrs. Cadmore.”
Charlotte paid no heed.
“I don’t think it is the Cadmores,” said Phoebe. “I saw a man looking out of the carriage window and a lady I didn’t recognize.”
The carriage came to a halt and a man climbed out. Grace did not recognize him either. The lady he helped out of the carriage box was another matter. Though she wore a fashionable blue travelling dress rather than the drab garb of a charity pupil, Grace would have known her friend Rebecca Beaton anywhere.
No longer Rebecca Beaton, she reminded herself, but Lady Benedict. Seeing her dear friend again made a lump rise in Grace’s throat that prevented her from speaking.
But Rebecca showed no sign of recognizing Grace.
“I beg your pardon,” she called, as if to a perfect stranger. “Is this the estate of Lord Steadwell?”
“Yes it is,” Sophie replied before Grace had a chance to recover her voice. “Who are you and what do you want with my Papa?”
“Sophie, mind your manners.” Grace shushed the child.
But Lord and Lady Benedict gave an indulgent chuckle.
“It is not your Papa we came to call upon, Sophie, but your governess.” Rebecca bent down closer to the child’s level. “Where might I find Miss Ellerby?”
Sophie’s features clenched in a puzzled frown.