The more enthusiasm she brought to her duties, the more her pupils rewarded her efforts with their excellent progress. Charlotte no longer protested that too much learning would hurt her chances of a good marriage, but applied herself to her studies, especially geography and history. Phoebe discovered an interest in subjects other than horses, while little Sophie was proving something of a prodigy in reading and composition.
Delighted as she was by their progress, Grace sought plenty of opportunities for them to enjoy a carefree childhood. Once their father returned home from London, she was willing to drop lessons at a moment’s notice for them to go riding with him or play a game. As the harvest feast approached, the four of them had thrown themselves into preparing one of the cavernous old outbuildings for the festivities.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” asked Rupert as Sophie and Phoebe led him in to view their handiwork before welcoming the neighbors and tenants.
“Not quite yet,” called Charlotte, who led the way arm-in-arm with Grace. “Just another minute. My, but you are impatient.”
The child was in particularly high spirits that evening because Grace had allowed her to wear her hair up. Nearing her fourteenth birthday, she looked quite the young lady.
They were all growing up, Grace acknowledged, stifling a sigh. Even little Sophie had sprouted a full inch since last winter. The time was slipping by happily but all too quickly. That was a bitter dram in her overflowing cup of happiness. One by one the girls would grow up and leave for homes of their own.
Then she would have to depart Nethercross, too. And Rupert would be left all alone.
Would he take the opportunity to remarry then? Grace wondered as she and Charlotte threw open the doors. That thought gave her a pang, though she told herself it was selfish to wish him lonely. Even in the company of his daughters of late she sensed an air of loneliness that he took care to hide from the girls. Had he mistaken his feelings for Mrs. Cadmore? Were they deeper than he had realized... until it was too late?
“Now you can open your eyes, Papa!” Sophie fairly vibrated with excitement, her red-gold curls bouncing around her glowing face.
“What do you think, Papa?” asked Phoebe, in a voice that betrayed her pride in their efforts.
His lordship’s gaze swept the interior of the old building, taking in the bright swaths of bunting, the sheaves of corn and barrels of apples tied up with vibrant lengths of ribbon. Baskets of colorful vegetables studded the trestle tables, trimmed with golden autumn leaves and fat brown acorns. Candles and torches cast a warm, welcoming glow over the scene of rustic plenty.
“Think?” Rupert beamed. “Why, I think it puts Almack’s fussy assembly rooms to shame! It will be the talk of the county to be sure!”
He wrapped his arms around his younger daughters in a proud embrace, then Charlotte.
Caught up in the joyful moment, he turned toward Grace and seemed about to embrace her too. At the last instant he caught himself and only clapped her on the shoulder. “Well done, Miss Ellerby! You quite amaze me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grace felt as if tiny torches had begun to burn in her cheeks. Her shoulder tingled at his touch, so different from the tentative brush of their fingers at the masquerade. “The girls all worked very hard. Charlotte has a fine eye for decorating.”
She would have liked to remain there basking in his admiration, but they were quickly overwhelmed by a flood of guests eager to take advantage of his lordship’s hospitality. While the girls and their father gathered at the entryway to greet their guests, Grace retreated into the shadows, the better to go unnoticed by any men. It also provided an ideal vantage for her to gaze at Rupert all she liked.
Her scrutiny intensified when Mrs. Cadmore arrived in the company of a ruddy, robust gentleman whom she introduced as Admiral DeLancey, newly retired from the Royal Navy. Rupert shook hands with the admiral and professed himself delighted to welcome any particular friend of his good neighbor. Yet Grace thought she glimpsed a hint of wistful longing beneath his cordial greeting. She could not be certain, however, for at that moment he cast a glance in her direction. Hurriedly she looked away, not wanting to be caught staring at him.
When the feast commenced, the girls insisted Grace must join them and their father at the head table with the vicar and his sister and the local magistrate’s family. Cook and her helpers had outdone themselves with a fine feast—great joints of beef and lamb, game pies, succulent sausages and roast potatoes, all washed down with cider from the Nethercross orchards. But Grace’s appetite could not do any of it justice. The more she dwelled upon Rupert’s recent demeanor, the more she feared he might be pining for his lost chance at happiness with Mrs. Cadmore.
If so, she was responsible for his unhappiness. Had she truly tried to keep them apart for the sake of the children? Or, as Phoebe had suggested, was it because she’d wanted him all to herself, if only as governess of his motherless daughters? Had Rupert been right in believing the girls would have accepted his remarriage if she had encouraged them rather than poisoning their minds against wicked stepmothers?
After everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the floor was cleared and a group of local musicians struck up their pipes and fiddles for a lively evening of country dancing. The girls were excited to have their father’s permission to stay up long past their bedtime. Unlike the night of Lady Maidenhead’s elegant masquerade, Rupert took an active part in the dancing, drawing partners from among his tenants’ wives, the vicar’s sister and Mrs. Cadmore.
When the vicar invited Grace to dance, she was about to decline out of habit until she realized she had nothing to fear from a man of the cloth on such an occasion. She enjoyed the opportunity to dance more than she expected. It diverted her thoughts from regrets about her actions and the growing conviction that she did not deserve any of the blessings she now enjoyed. Once the ice was broken, she accepted an invitation from Rupert’s valet, then the admiral.
She was about to sit out the next set when a familiar voice from behind made her heart beat wildly. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Ellerby?”
“L-lord Steadwell,” her voice emerged in a nervous squeak. “I did not think you cared for dancing.”
Immediately she chided herself for referring to their encounter on the night of the masquerade. That was best forgotten... if only she could. She also hoped Rupert would not take her reply as a refusal to dance with him. The prospect of being his partner, even for one brief dance, elated her.
To her relief, Rupert gave a low chuckle. “As I believe I mentioned, I have no objection to socializing in small numbers and more familiar surroundings. I also enjoy less formality.”
Perhaps he was only asking her because he felt it was his duty as host to dance with as many of the ladies as possible. Yet a flicker of eagerness in his dark eyes suggested something more.
Grace acknowledged his invitation with a curtsy. “In that case, I should be pleased to accept, sir.”