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heroine eventually found security, success and love. It was pleasant to believe such wonders could come true against all odds. For herself, Grace had far more modest dreams.
    The sound of the nursery door opening made all three of them look up. Grace was about to inform Phoebe that her time in the stables had made her miss the story when she realized it was not the child at all, but her father who had entered.
    “Papa!” cried Sophie as both girls bounded up to greet him. “Miss Ellerby is reading us ‘The Little Glass Slipper.’”
    With a stab of panic, Grace remembered her spectacles. Rummaging in her apron pocket, she thrust them on, knocking the book from her lap onto the floor. She leaped from the settee to retrieve it, scooping up the fallen volume with one hand. With the other, she fumbled around the edge of her cap to check that no telltale wisps of hair had slipped free.
    “G-good evening, sir.” Her greeting emerged in a breathless rush, with no more warmth of welcome than Charlotte had shown her earlier. “I was about to put the girls to bed. Is there something I can do for you?”
    It was his house, of course, she reminded herself. Lord Steadwell was free to go where and when he chose. But, in spite of his devotion to his daughters, Grace had hoped she might see little more of him in the nursery than she had any of her past employers…especially in the evenings.
    What if he insisted on staying to speak with her after the girls went to bed?
    “Not you, Miss Ellerby.” His lordship scooped up Sophie in one arm and wrapped the other around Charlotte’s shoulders. “I came to tuck my daughters in for the night…and hear their prayers.”
    He made it sound as if that were a nightly ritual at Nethercross.
    “Have you, Papa?” Sophie flung her arms around his neck. “That would be lovely!”
    The child’s eager response made it clear her father’s sudden appearance was an unexpected pleasure. What was the true reason he’d come?
    Grace could guess. He was checking on her.
    His mistrust sent a wave of scalding indignation surging through her. What had he expected to catch her doing to his precious daughters? Criticizing and ridiculing them? Sending them to bed hungry? Whipping them? Having suffered all those punishments and worse at the Pendergast School, Grace had vowed never to inflict them on her own pupils, no matter how disagreeable. It offended her to be suspected of such behavior!
    If Lord Steadwell meant to make a habit of these surprise visits to the nursery, he would be worse than a hundred meddling mothers. It was going to be difficult enough getting his daughters to accept her without his constant vigilance. Charlotte was bright enough to soon guess that her father did not trust Grace—which would further erode her authority.
    But what choice did she have other than accept the situation and try to make the best of it? Practicality won out over indignation. She could not afford to leave another position again so soon.
    “Of course, sir.” Grace kept her eyes downcast so they would not betray any glint of irritation.
    “We have to hear the end of the story first, Papa,” Sophie insisted. “Sit down beside Miss Ella and hold me on your knee.”
    “Very well.” Though his lordship did not sound eager to do as his daughter bid, he was obviously accustomed to indulging her.
    Grace was no happier than Lord Steadwell about the prospect of sitting next to him. When he bore Sophie to the settee and sank down on one end, she retreated to the other, leaving room for Charlotte in the middle.
    His lordship seemed relieved, but Sophie would have none of it. “You must sit in the middle, Miss Ella, so I can see the words in the book. I know how to read some of them already.”
    Grace would rather have snuggled up to a snarling mastiff, but she could think of no excuse to object. Gingerly, she budged to the middle of the settee, every muscle as stiff as buckram while her stomach seethed and her