A Dare to Defy Novel

by Syrie James

  “I will.” With another yawn, Lillie turned and hugged her pillow.

  “Lillie,” Alexandra couldn’t help asking, “will you tell me where you’ve been all day?”

  “Reading,” was Lillie’s only reply as she closed her eyes. In seconds, she was fast asleep.

  When Alexandra arrived in the nursery for breakfast the next morning, she was relieved to see both Julia and Lillie seated at the table, downing their porridge.

  Lillie eagerly jumped up from her chair as Alexandra approached. “Can we get it now, Miss Watson?”

  “If you’re referring to a particular book,” Alexandra answered, taking her seat, “we’ll get to that in good time.”

  “When? You promised.”

  “I mean to keep that promise. But first, let’s begin the day properly. Good morning, Julia. Good morning, Lillie.’”

  The girls returned the sentiment, Julia only a bit less sullenly than the day before.

  “Lillie,” Alexandra said as she took a spoonful of the dreaded porridge, “I was very distressed yesterday when you disappeared.”

  “Why?”

  “I was worried about you. You can’t stay away all day like that.”

  Lillie shrugged. “Nobody cares what I do.”

  “I care. From now on, I expect you to spend your days and evenings with me, and take all your meals here in the nursery.”

  “When can I read Jane Eyre?” Lillie pouted.

  “You may have some free time in the afternoon, and there’s always rest hour.”

  “All right.” Lillie rested her chin on one hand, her expression changing to heavenly bliss. “I cannot think when I have ever read anything so thrilling.”

  “Oh do be quiet!” Julia blurted. “It’s only a book.”

  Alexandra, sensing that Julia felt left out, said, “Julia, would you like to read Jane Eyre? Or I could find another book especially for you from the library.”

  “No thank you.” Julia tossed her head with indifference. But her expression indicated that she was more intrigued than she cared to admit.

  The morning French lesson went well. Lillie proved to be adept with the language. When it came time for manners and etiquette, Alexandra found she didn’t have the stomach for it, and decided to focus instead on geography.

  “That is not on the schedule,” Julia pointed out.

  “It is today,” was Alexandra’s reply.

  She began by asking them to locate particular countries on the globe. It became clear that their knowledge on the subject was limited. So, Alexandra devised a game in which the girls took turns spinning the globe, and with their eyes closed, touched a spot on it with their finger. Alexandra would then tell them something about the country pointed out—its people, history, climate, and landscape.

  They warmed to the game quickly, showing real interest in every new place they discovered. Lillie was so enthralled that she moaned with disappointment when the hour was up.

  “Can we do geography again tomorrow? Please?” Lillie asked.

  “We can,” Alexandra answered, turning to Julia. “Is that okay with you?”

  Julia shrugged, but the half smile beneath her hooded eyes revealed that she was not at all opposed to the idea.

  Lillie was incredibly shy when it came to singing, so Alexandra switched to dancing, which both girls preferred. She worked with them on their waltz steps by partnering with first one and then the other, while the odd girl out played the piano. The lesson ended with them all laughing and breathless.

  After lunch, Alexandra retrieved Volume Two of Jane Eyre from the library, and Lillie eagerly stretched out on the long cushion of her window seat of choice, delving into the story. While Julia went riding, Alexandra strolled in the garden. She tried without success not to think about Lord Longford, or how much she’d enjoyed their conversation in the gardens the day before. He’d said he was visiting tenants today. She hoped he’d finish early and she’d run into him again, but there was no sign of him.

  The afternoon grew blustery and cold. Soon after she returned to the house, it began to rain. Julia came back from her ride damp but exhilarated. That afternoon, while an angry storm pelted the windowpanes of the nursery, they sat cozy and warm by the fire.

  Lillie proved herself to be as competent on the piano as her sister, but just as disinterested. When it came time for needlework, and Alexandra brought out the tin of multicolored thread, Lillie thought it the most exciting idea in the world. She used bright yellow thread for the left side of a letter, and emerald green for the other. Although Julia continued to protest that the whole thing was stupid, Alexandra caught her pupil smiling to herself while she worked, as if what they were doing was delightfully mischievous. During the quiet hour before bed, Lillie was glued to her novel. Alexandra didn’t miss the puzzled but envious glances that Julia, looking up from her magazine, sent her sister’s way.

  Once the girls were tucked into bed for the night, Alexandra was determined to find a book that would capture Julia’s interest.

  The sun had fully set now, the storm wailed, and the house was freezing. Wrapping herself in her shawl, Alexandra took the candle from her room to light the way down the corridor to the library, expecting to find the room dark and silent.

  She entered and stopped short in surprise. Two oil lamps were lit. A fire was burning in the hearth.

  And the Earl of Longford was seated in a wingback chair near the fireplace.

  Her hand went to her chest, beneath which her heart was beating a mile a minute. He glanced at her, mirroring her surprise. A book was open on his lap, and a glass and decanter of amber liquid stood on the end table beside him. He looked elegant and refined in a dark suit, striped shirt, embroidered violet waistcoat, and black tie. It was the first time she’d seen him wearing clothes that weren’t old or shabby, and the effect was dazzling.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Alexandra curtsied. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You are not disturbing me.” He set aside the book, his expression admitting that he was glad to see her.

  The air between them seemed to flicker with some unseen force. She found her voice again. “I have come in search of a book. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. You may borrow any book you like, anytime.”

  A slight shiver danced down her spine; whether it was from the frigid air in the room, or being in his presence, she wasn’t certain.

  “You are cold,” he noticed. Gesturing toward a second wingback chair beside him, he added, “Please, come sit by the fire.”

  She hesitated, then moved to the chair he’d indicated. Rain pattered against the library windows, but the flames from the nearby hearth cocooned the area in which they sat with light and heat.

  “Would you care for a brandy? I can get another glass.”

  “No thank you.”

  “On a cold, dark evening such as this, a brandy can warm the soul.”

  The fire’s glow shone like twin beacons in his brown eyes, and brought out the highlights in his golden hair. “My father also likes his brandy,” she murmured.

  “Your father?” He regarded her with interest. “I believe you mentioned that your parents live in New York? Are they comfortable with you working overseas?”

  Why did I mention my father? Alexandra chastised herself. Not wanting to lie, she answered, “I hope they are.”

  “Please feel free to write to them as often as you like. I am happy to provide letter-writing paper and the cost of postage.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What is your father’s occupation, if I may ask?”

  “He . . . works in the banking industry.”

  He paused, then said delicately, “A very volatile industry. Investments can go south with uncommon rapidity.” The sympathy in his gaze made it clear he presumed this to be the reason for her present financial problems.

  “They can indeed.” A true statement, even if it didn’t apply to Alexandra, or her father, whose invest
ments over the past decade had born fruit exponentially. Desperate to change the subject, she went on, “By the way, I borrowed a book yesterday for Lillie. I used it to coax her out of hiding.”

  “What book was that?”

  “Jane Eyre.”

  “Ah, yes. Quite the gothic page-turner, as I recall. But is it not a bit advanced for Lillie?”

  “Not at all. I first read it at age eleven, and she’s twelve.” She waited, but he said nothing further. “Aren’t you the least bit curious where she was hiding?”

  “Where was she hiding?”

  “In a window seat in the gallery, behind the curtains. I suspect it’s a favorite spot of hers.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Today, she actually graced us with her presence, and joined us for lessons.”

  “Congratulations. It sounds as if you are making headway.”

  “We are.”

  “The book you came in search of tonight—is it for you?”

  “No, for Julia.”

  “Julia?” He made a scoffing sound. “An optimistic gesture, Miss Watson.”

  “Why?”

  “Julia never reads anything but fashion magazines.”

  The comment made Alexandra’s dander rise. “Julia is a capable and intelligent girl. If she doesn’t read books, it’s because she’s never been encouraged to do so.”

  “And you plan to encourage her?”

  “I do,” she said heatedly, sitting forward in her chair. “Julia mentioned the kinds of books her previous governesses have forced upon her and Lillie. All odious morality texts and childish drivel. The right novel could change her opinion on the subject forever. I hope to open up her mind, introduce her to the world of glorious stories that await.”

  A smile crept across his face. “Bravo, Miss Watson. Forgive me if I sounded dubious. If you can convince Julia of the merits of such a pursuit, I should be most gratified.”

  “Would you?” His expression was so good-natured, it gave Alexandra the courage to continue. “In that case, there is something else I wish to say. May I speak plainly?”

  “Please.”

  “It’s about the curriculum I’m apparently expected to teach.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you really want the girls to fritter away the best years of their youth engaged in nothing more edifying than embroidering samplers, conjugating French verbs, playing the piano, and dancing the waltz?”

  “Is that not what girls of their age are supposed to be learning?”

  “No! At least, not the only things. Yet that’s the schedule of instruction I found in the nursery. Julia insists it’s all that’s required, that she needs nothing more because her goal is just to prepare for marriage.”

  “As the daughter of an earl, marriage is her future.”

  “I respect that. But there’s no guarantee she or Lillie will marry. Even if they do, it would benefit them both then and now to learn more than these purely feminine pursuits. Don’t you want them to have more interesting things to think and talk about than the latest fashions from Paris, what’s to be on the dinner menu, or which glasses, forks, and spoons are to be used with which course?”

  “What would you have them study?”

  “At their age, I was immersed in a wealth of subjects: history, world events, reading, writing, mathematics, physical science, geography, and other languages, like Italian and German. Studies that fed my brain as well as my soul.”

  “That may be all well and good for an American girl, Miss Watson, but it’s different in this country, particularly for girls like Julia and Lillie. They must be correctly prepared if they are to be proper wives and mothers, to run a household like Polperran. At least, the way Polperran used to be,” he finished.

  “I can prepare them. But I also want to empower and educate them. You run this estate, my lord, yet you went to Oxford. Why should boys learn all there is to know, but girls be kept in the dark? They ought to be equally challenged, or they’ll grow up to be vacuous women, bored out of their skulls, knowing nothing more about the world than the tiny sphere in which they live. Only today, we had a lesson in geography. You should have seen the excitement in their eyes when I showed them where Turkey and India were on the globe, and described something of the people who live there, the foods they eat, and the types of animals they encounter! Julia was full of questions I couldn’t answer, and I wished I had illustrations to show them. I need more books. And permission to teach more diverse and interesting subjects than those currently allowed.”

  Alexandra caught her breath, forcing herself to stop, hoping she hadn’t irritated him by her passionate diatribe. But glancing at his face, she saw only thoughtful introspection, along with a sparkle in his eyes suggesting he was more impressed than offended.

  “I see the influence of your Vassar education in all of this, Miss Watson.”

  “I’ve been fortunate to be well educated. I’d like to see that privilege extended to girls of every age and station in life.” She waited, her stomach tensing, wondering what his verdict would be.

  “I admit,” Longford said after a pause, “you make a compelling case. We have never had a governess qualified to teach the subjects you propose. As you are here, I suppose we ought to take advantage of it.” He gave her a slow smile. “You may feel free to teach any subject you feel is of value and importance, Miss Watson.”

  Alexandra’s heart leapt. “Thank you.”

  “For continuity’s sake, I hope you will also give a modicum of time to the ‘feminine pursuits,’ as you call them.” Looking around the room, he added, “The books you need—can you find them here in this library?”

  “I will take a look. Most of the books I’ve seen, however, are rather old, and may not be suited to teaching young minds.”

  “Give me a list of what you require. I make no promises, but I can look for a few new schoolbooks when I return to London.”

  “Excellent.” Alexandra was thrilled. It meant a great deal to her that he’d listened to what she had to say, and actually gave credence to her opinions. “Thank you again.” She rose.

  Disappointment flooded his face. “You are going so soon?”

  It was flattering that he wished her to stay longer. She wished it, too. “It’s getting late.” Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and rain still pummeled the house. “I should let you get back to your reading.”

  “I prefer your company to a book.”

  He stood and his eyes met hers. Alexandra read there admiration, respect, and something else. Something unexpected, that looked very much like affection. Her pulse quickened. It was a quality she’d never observed in the eyes of any man in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of New York or London. There, she’d been a cash cow, the human embodiment of her father’s fortune. Here, stripped of the title of heiress, she was being seen and appreciated for the first time as herself. It warmed Alexandra’s heart, meant more to her than she could have expressed.

  “I’m flattered that you should say so.”

  “I do not say it to flatter you. As you once said to me in London: I say it because it is the truth.”

  Truth. There was that word again. Alexandra felt a hot rush of guilt rise to her cheeks, freshly aware of the truth that was missing from this conversation. She was perpetrating a fraud. Pretending to be an experienced governess. Allowing him to believe that she was impoverished and friendless. Her scheme was helping her to escape from an unthinkable fate. Still, she felt terrible.

  If only she could tell him the truth. But if she dared to blurt it out at this moment, she knew all the warmth and admiration would instantly vanish from his eyes. He would, no doubt, be angry to learn of her deception. And he would send her back to London, to her mother.

  Suddenly desperate to flee the room, she said quickly: “Thank you. But I really must go. I bid you good night.”

  “Wait. What about the book you came for?”

  “Oh yes. I’ll fetch it.”


  “May I be of assistance? What are you looking for?”

  She started for the bookcase that had been her object when she first entered the library. “I’m looking for Miss Austen. And I know just where to find her.”

  He accompanied her as she crossed to the short flight of library stairs, waited while she climbed to the top step and retrieved the volume she sought. She turned to find him standing immediately below, reaching up a hand to her. She took hold of it. The strong press of his warm fingers against hers sent a jolt up her arm as she moved down the steps. In seconds, she stood before him at floor level, their bodies barely a foot apart. Her breath quickened at his nearness. He made no move to step back or to release her hand.

  “What did you choose?”

  She gave the book to him.

  “Ah. Pride and Prejudice.”

  “It’s a particular favorite.”

  He set the book down on a step of the ladder. “A favorite of mine as well.” The way he was looking at her, it was unclear if he was referring to the book or her. “‘I have been meditating,’” he said softly, quoting Austen, “‘on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’”

  If Alexandra had been affected before by the affection in his gaze, what she read there now made her feel weak in the knees. It was the heat of desire, so combustible it threatened to set her on fire. Never had any man looked at her with the undisguised yearning she saw in Lord Longford’s eyes.

  “I . . .” she began, but could go no further. She trembled, felt her shawl slip from her shoulders to the floor.

  Still clasping her right hand in his left, he reached up to cup her chin with his other hand, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek, an action that caused a zing of electricity to shoot through her. “I have tried to stay away from you, Miss Watson. But you always seem to find me. And now, I find I cannot help myself.”

  He lowered his face toward hers until his mouth was so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her own lips. He smelled wonderful and masculine: a hint of something woodsy combined with the sharp, fruity tang of brandy.