“That is not true!” she burst out at last. “I have no intention of leaving Nethercross unless you wish me to go.”
She sounded sincere, but when he tried to seek the truth in her eyes, Miss Ellerby scowled and looked away—the very picture of a guilty conscience. It was bad enough if she meant to leave. That she would lie to him about it grieved Rupert beyond measure.
“Of course I do not wish you to go. But if you cannot trust me with the truth and I cannot trust what you tell me...” His words trailed off with a weary shrug and a sigh.
He did not mean it as a threat. Even if he had, his plea seemed to have no effect on Miss Ellerby. Her lips remained stubbornly shut, imprisoning any words she might have confided in him.
“Then perhaps it is just as well for me to wed Mrs. Cadmore as soon as possible.” He flung the news of his decision at her. “If she and her son can dine with us tonight, I mean to propose. Please make certain the girls are prepared and warn them to mind their tongues around the lady who will be their new mother.”
With that he spun on his heel and stalked off, his spirits sinking lower with every step.
“But you said everything went well at the ball last night!” cried Charlotte, when Grace informed the girls of their father’s plans. “What changed his mind? Was it seeing those friends of yours?”
“Don’t be silly, Charlotte.” Phoebe scowled at no one in particular. “How could that make any difference about Papa and Mrs. Cadmore? We’re going to have to get used to the idea of having a stepmother, that’s all.”
Grace wished what Phoebe said was true but she feared it was not. This was her fault as Charlotte had implied. Her cowardly flight from the ball must have made Rupert want a woman who would remain with him—even if the motive for her constancy was not love.
“I won’t ever get used to it!” Sophie wailed. “I don’t want a stepmother!”
“Nor do I.” Charlotte stooped and wrapped her arms around her little sister. “Especially not Mrs. Cadmore.”
“I don’t care for her either.” Phoebe flung herself onto one of the nursery chairs. “But if Papa is determined to marry, we could do even worse.”
Grace did her best to soothe the girls as she helped dress and groom them for dinner. But how could she hope to persuade them all would be well when she was more certain than ever their father was making a grave mistake—one into which she had pushed him?
“P-please, Miss Ella,” Sophie sniffled as Grace brushed her hair. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Was there? Grace’s conscience demanded even as she tried to pretend otherwise.
One possibility did suggest itself, though she quailed at the thought. Lord Steadwell had already hinted that he might dismiss her, and the action she contemplated taking would make it certain.
But if he married Mrs. Cadmore, Grace feared he would end up every bit as miserable as his children. She could not bear for that to happen, even if her effort to stop him made it impossible for her to remain at Nethercross.
“Hush now.” She wiped Sophie’s streaming eyes and pressed a soft kiss upon her forehead. “Perhaps there is something I can do to help. But I will need you to be on your best behavior at dinner and act as if nothing is wrong. Can you do that for me?”
The child gave a brave nod and her lips spread into an unsteady smile.
“Did you mean that?” whispered Charlotte as Grace looked her over. “Or did you only say it to keep Sophie from blubbering all through dinner and making Papa angry?”
“A little of both,” Grace admitted. “I don’t want her making this evening any worse. But there is one last thing I mean to try. I don’t know if it will work, but I cannot stand by and do nothing.”
In spite of the doubt she had expressed, a hopeful glimmer kindled in Charlotte’s eyes.
“Thank you for trying at least!” She threw her arms around Grace’s neck.
A lump rose in Grace’s throat as she soaked up the encouraging warmth of Charlotte’s embrace and exchanged a fond smile with Phoebe. She had come to feel so much more for these three dear girls than she had for any of her other pupils. Though she did not know how she could bear to be parted from them, she would rather do that than stay and see their family become as wretched as hers had been. The anguish of witnessing their unhappiness would be made doubly bitter by the knowledge that she might have been able to prevent it, if only she’d dared try.
“There now, you look lovely, as usual.” Grace could not resist bestowing a little touch upon each of the girls—smoothing hair, adjusting a ribbon, plumping a sash. “Bessie, will you kindly escort the girls down to the dining room? And please ask his lordship if I might have a brief word with him before dinner on an urgent matter.”
“Yes, Miss,” replied the nursery maid with a puzzled look as she ushered the girls off. “Is everythin’ all right? You’re not ill are you?”
Grace shook her head. Not ill—only sick with fear. Her instinctive response to that feeling was to run away and hide. It was what she’d been doing all her life. But now she must stand firm and throw off her protective disguise.
Turning toward the looking glass, she removed her father’s spectacles and her starched white cap with its unbecoming lappets. Then she picked up the brush and began to dress her hair in a style that complimented her appearance.
A while later, she stood outside the dining room, her hands clasped in front of her in an effort to still their trembling. She tried to draw slow calming breaths, but each one exhaled as a quivering sigh. If Lord Steadwell did not appear soon, she feared she would turn tail and scurry back to the nursery.
So taut were her nerves that the faint rattle of the door opening nearly made her scream. She stifled the sound while it was still only a squeak.
“What is it you wish to tell me, Miss Ellerby?” his lordship demanded in an impatient grumble as he closed the dining room door behind him. “I hope you will keep it brie—”
His sentence halted abruptly as he got a proper look at her. His mouth fell slack and his eyes widened. “Good heavens!”
The first shock was followed by one even greater. Grace feared his eyes might bulge out of their sockets. “Good heavens!” he repeated. “You!”
Chapter Fourteen
WHAT IN BLAZES did Miss Ellerby have to say to him now that she could not have said earlier when he’d confronted her in the lane?
Rupert’s daughters and guests were already seated when Bessie relayed the message.