The Defiant Governess

by Andrea Pickens

  He shot her a penetrating look, as if trying to fathom her feelings. “It was not…” he began, then stopped abruptly. His face resumed its rigid lines. The moment was past.

  “Where did you learn to play? You have some skill. It is not something I would expect from someone of your background.”

  Jane’s spine stiffened. So he was back to insulting her. Odious man!

  “No, of course you wouldn’t, You have made it quite clear what you think of governesses.” She noted he had the grace to color slightly at having his own bad manners flung back at him. “I became childhood friends with a squire’s daughter, an only child, and was fortunate enough to be invited to share lessons with her. Her father taught us both to play, but only I had the inclination to continue. I dare say I learned a few things from him.”

  “I see. And what family was that?”

  Jane had decided on the story of the squire’s family to answer any questions about her background. It was safest to stay close to the truth, and the story was true for Miss Langley. However she hadn’t expected any real probing.

  “A minor family,” she said quickly. “Younger son…never goes to London... And now, I you will excuse me, sir, I would like to retire.”

  He raised an eyebrow but made no comment. He merely gave a short nod.

  * * * *

  Saybrook pored himself another brandy after Jane had left, then settled into a comfortable wing chair near the fire. Stretching out his long legs, he stared into the flames while letting the amber spirits warm his insides. Why was it he always seemed to feel so cold here? He looked at his glass. He was drinking more than was good for him, he mused. He should watch himself—but it seemed to be the only thing that dulled the pain.

  He let his mind wander back over the day’s events. What had possessed him to allow that impertinent slip of a governess to stay on rather than sending her packing without references. He shook his head. He had been furious, but had also felt a grudging admiration for the spirit and courage it took for her to speak, knowing full well that it meant instant dismissal. He had also known that her anger had stemmed from concern for Peter. For that he was sincerely grateful.

  And she had been right. That he could not argue, he told himself with brutal honesty. He had been behaving dismally, no matter that there were... He took another deep swallow of brandy.

  In any case, he wouldn’t dismiss a servant for speaking the truth, no matter how much it stung. And then suddenly, he nearly shouted with laughter—she had threatened to horsewhip him, the impudent chit! It was truly outside of enough.

  Miss Jane Langley. Her story explained why her bearing and demeanor were unlike that of a simple farm girl. Still, he had the feeling there was more to the story than she had let on. His eyes fell half-closed as he regarded the flames. But why was he even thinking of a sharp-tongued governess, one who seemed to make sparks fly whenever he got near her.

  It was well enough to know that Peter was in good hands. He could leave Highwood with a clear conscience.

  Givens entered the room, then stopped short when he saw Saybrook was sprawled in a chair. “Your pardon, my lord. I didn’t realize you were still up. Shall I stoke the fire for you?”

  “No, Givens. You may retire. I shall see to things myself.”

  “But sir,” remonstrated the butler.

  “I am perfectly capable of banking a fire and carrying my own candle upstairs.” Saybrook smiled at the old retainer. “Off to bed with you, and that is an order.”

  “Yes, Mister Edward,” replied Givens fondly. “Though I daresay you should sleep yourself.” He looked with concern at the glass in Saybrook’s hand, making him feel as if he were seven years old again.

  “I will,” replied the Marquess though it was another few hours and glasses of brandy before he headed to his own chambers.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Jane slipped into the stables and smiled a greeting at the young groom mucking out stalls. “Mister Henry ‘as ‘er all saddled up fer ye, Miss,” he piped. A mist still lay over the fields. The early morning sun was not yet strong enough to penetrate its hazy whiteness and coolness hung in the air, though summer was fast approaching. Dew clung to the grass and leaves, dampening the sounds of the birds and crickets.

  Jane loved the stillness of this time of day, the feeling of peace and solitude. Almost more than anything else, it was the luxury of being alone that she missed. As a servant, she had precious little time for herself. She was lucky that Henry seemed to understand this need of hers and made no objection to her riding early in the morning before anyone else was up.

  Today she had her favorite mount, a spirited filly, full in the chest, who loved to run all out if given her head. It was all Jane could do to check her eagerness until they came out of the wooded trail and into rolling pasture land, where the ground was still redolent with the sweet smell of freshly cut hay. The clouds were beginning to break up and the scattered patches of blue promised a glorious day. Jane smiled as the filly tossed her head again, tugging impatiently at the reins.

  “Alright, Bodicea,” she murmured. “Let’s fly!” Putting her heels to the horse’s flanks, she let the animal have her head.

  The wind whipped at her face and hair. Jane felt like shouting for the sheer pleasure of it. She bent low in the saddle and urged her mount on. Faster, faster. The hooves pounded in a staccato rhythm on the earth.

  Suddenly she was aware of something odd. A new sound had joined in, an accompanying pounding. Puzzled, she was about to pull up and look around for its source when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a black shape shooting up to her. Then an arm shot out, grabbing her bridle and wrenching her filly to an easy trot, then a walk.

  “Are you alright?” snapped a by now familiar voice. She felt the sea green eyes looking her up and down—seemingly satisfied that she was not injured, the voice continued. “What in Devil’s name do you think you are doing riding such a horse. You could have been killed! Has Henry no more sense than to allow you to...”

  “The only danger, sir, was in your reckless grabbing at a galloping horse,” she interrupted. “I was in perfect control.”

  Saybrook looked momentarily taken aback.

  “And Henry knows perfectly well that I am capable of riding her, or any other horse in your stable, so you needn’t ring a peal over his head.” Jane was furious that her morning had been so rudely interrupted.

  “It did not appear so,” replied Saybrook stiffly. “I was merely trying to prevent an accident.”

  “Well, what you have managed to do is ruin a lovely morning. Besides,” she added waspishly, “why you should care if I choose to break my own neck is beyond me.”

  “I don’t. But it is my horse—and a valuable one at that.”

  Jane bit her lip. Once again she had forgotten herself. How absurd she must seem to him. She ventured a glance at his face to see how angry he was at her impertinence. It was impassive except for what she thought was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  All at once she saw the humor of the situation too. “Of course. I forgot,” she managed to say, trying to stifle a giggle. It was no use. It really was too silly for words. Her hand flew to her mouth but she couldn’t hold back. A peal of laughter filled the air.

  Saybrook stared at her for a moment. Then he, too, began to laugh, softly at first, then a rich baritone sound that complemented hers.

  After a minute or two, Jane managed to stop and wipe the tears from her eyes. “Oh, how ridiculous! I don’t know why it is that you seem to bring out the worst in me, my lord. I apologize for my rudeness. I assure you that I do not start out intending to speak thus, it’s just that...”

  “…that my selfish, arrogant character is too much to bear,” he finished.

  Jane could feel the heat rising in her face. She lowered her eyes to the pommel of her saddle.

  “I, too, apologize—for ruining your morning,” he continued. “Perhaps we could start afresh. Since you appe
ar to enjoy a gallop, Miss Langley, would you care to race to the far oak?”

  Jane’s head popped up. “Hardly a fair match,” she said, eyeing the powerful flanks of his black stallion. “I suggest a ten yard head start for my mount.”

  “Agreed.”

  She gathered her reins and coaxed the filly in line with Saybrook’s stallion.

  “At your pleasure,” he called.

  Jane touched her heels to the horse’s side while at the same time urging it forward with her voice. Still full of energy, the filly bolted forward, elated to be given her head. Jane bent low over his streaming mane. She kept her hands soft and her seat firm. As the wind whipped around her she cursed her flapping skirts. If only she had a proper riding habit!

  The oak was coming closer and closer. But then, on her right, moving almost effortlessly appeared the black stallion. For a moment they were abreast of each other and Jane noted how Saybrook was nearly one with the animal, so well did he ride. Then the two of them pulled ahead, beating Jane and her filly by a length.

  Both horses shone with sweat and their riders slowed them to a walk. Jane, too, was breathless with exertion and elation.

  “What a magnificent animal, sir!’

  “Yes,” replied Saybrook as he patted the horse’s neck. “He’s a Nonpareil, aren’t you, Hero.” There was a short pause. “And did you learn to ride like that from your Squire as well?”

  “Y-yes,” stammered Jane. She thought quickly. “And we always had horses around the farm.”

  “I see. So you learned on…a plowhorse?” His tone was bantering but he looked at her quizzically.

  “The squire had a few blood horses.” She quickly changed the subject. “Do you race Hero?”

  Saybrook gave a slight smile. He didn’t press her further but followed her lead.

  “No, I have not considered it.”

  “Well, I’m sure he would do handsomely at Newcastle.”

  Again he gave her a questioning look. “And how would know that, Miss Langley?”

  “Just from what I manage to read,” she answered lamely, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid. The heat of the race must have affected her judgment. She stole a sideways glance to see if he was still studying her face. Thankfully, his attention was the upcoming woods.

  She couldn’t help but notice how well he looked in his buckskins and topcoat. His long hair was tousled about his ears and collar, making him look younger, more carefree. His expression also seemed more relaxed. It was as if for the moment he was allowing himself to put aside his usual hauteur. A curious feeling squeezed at her stomach. She felt almost giddy. Then she shook her and looked away. So what if he was damnably attractive at times?

  They rode along in silence for a time.

  “Do you ride every morning?” asked Saybrook as they came to a narrow lane used by farmcarts.

  “It is before my duties with Peter begin,” she said a bit defensively. “Henry did not think you would object...”

  “Miss Langley, I would take it kindly if you would not regard a simple question as if I am trying to bite your head off—no doubt your assessment of my character is such that you feel it necessary, but I’m not quite the monster you think.”

  Jane hung her head in shame. “Yes, sir. That is, yes, I try to ride every morning.”

  “Have you taken out Agrippa?”

  “Indeed not, my lord. I did not mean to imply earlier that Henry would let anyone ride your prime stallions...”

  “I should think you would find him to your liking. Henry will have him ready tomorrow. I should like to hear what you think of him. Good day, Miss Langley.”

  They had reached the elm lined drive leading to the manor house and he spurred forward at a sharp canter leaving Jane speechless.

  Never had she known a gentleman to offer one of his stallions to a lady, much less care about her opinion of his merits! Even those friends who knew she was a bruising rider were loath to admit she might know as much as they about horseflesh. So lost in thought did she become that it took Henry’s cheery good morning for her to realize she had arrived back at the stables.

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon, when lessons were finished, Peter rushed off to the stables to meet Saybrook for a ride through the southern part of the estate. The Marquess was taking more and more interest in his ward and it showed in the boy’s demeanor. There was a cheerfulness about him that was missing before and his eyes no longer had that wary look.

  With the remainder of the afternoon free, Jane decided to write a note to Mary in the privacy of her own room. It was way past due—she had no idea how the time had seemed to fly by! Her friend deserved a few words to let her know that things were alright, nothing that might give Jane away if others saw the note but enough to assure Mary that their plans had not gone astray.

  Engrossed with the task of composing the letter in her head, she entered her room with nary a glance around and began rummaging around for some paper and ink in her bureau. Only when she went to sit on the bed did she notice the dress.

  It was a riding habit of deep navy, outdated in fashion but of fine fabric and detailing—an obviously costly dress. Jane stared at it for a moment, unable to figure out where it had possibly come from or what it was doing in her room. She put aside her writing material and left to find Mrs. Fairchild.

  In the hallway, the upstairs maid was sweeping the floor. “Polly,” questioned Jane. “There is a dress in my room that does not belong to me. Do you know what it is doing there?”

  “Oh yes, Miss Jane. I was told to put it there. It’s from the attics, I think.”

  More perplexed than ever, Jane kept up her search for the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Fairchild was having her tea in a small study that served as her sitting room. Jane repeated her question concerning the dress.

  “Oh yes, that. His Lordship asked that I get a riding habit from the attic. It was his sister’s—Miss Sarah’s. Her things are stored up there.”

  “But why?” exclaimed Jane.

  Mrs. Fairchild thought for a moment. “Well he did mention something about how if you meant to ride every day perhaps you shouldn’t spook the horses with—I believe he put it—those ghastly flapping skirts.”

  Jane gritted her teeth. Infuriating man. Only he would be able to show some thoughtfulness, then color it with a casual insult. She had a good mind to tell him to take his dress to the devil!

  Mrs. Fairchild was watching her face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all. How very…thoughtful of Lord Saybrook.”

  “He always has been, you know, even as a boy. Not a tenant on his lands wants for warm clothing and enough food. Takes care of his own, he does.”

  “Well, I’m not his,” she muttered.

  “What was that, dear?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Pardon me for interrupting your tea. I think I shall return to my room until supper.”

  “Enjoy the dress,” called Mrs. Fairchild. “Mister Edward thinks it should only need a little altering in the bodice.”

  Jane nearly choked in anger. How dare he scrutinize her thus! He must consider himself quite well acquainted with the female form to make such a comment. Well, she had heard not a whisper to indicate that he was one of those gentlemen who sought to dally with his servants—but if he thought a dress would sweeten her up... She slammed her door with vehemence. The sound was startling, even to herself and she hoped no one else had overheard such a fit of pique.

  She looked at the dress again. With a pang of guilt she realized she wanted to keep it very much. How wonderful it would be to ride properly decked out! Well, keep it she would, she decided as she fingered the soft material. And just let him try to claim any advantage of it. Her chin jutted forward. She almost looked forward to thanking him.

  * * * *

  Her chance came later that evening. After reading to Peter, she came back downstairs to fetch a fresh candle for her room and passed the library. The door was h
alf open and she could see Saybrook reading by the fire, his long legs stretched out to catch the flickering warmth. He had removed his coat and sat in his shirtsleeves, cravat loosened and hair falling low over his forehead. Impulsively, she knocked on the door—rather loudly it seemed to her own ears.

  Saybrook called for her to enter without looking up from his book. Even as she approached the fire he didn’t so much as turn his head. It was only when she cleared her throat in impatience that he raised his eyes from the pages.

  “Yes, Miss Langley?” His face was expressionless, only the eyebrows slightly arched in question.

  “I... ” Jane was flustered by his quiet demeanor. If he had looked at all smug or had smirked knowingly, she would have verbally boxed his ears. But this...

  “I…” she began again.

  “Yes?”

  “I wish to thank you for the riding habit. It was very…generous of you.” The words came out sounding more stilted than she meant.

  “Actually it was very selfish.”

  It was Jane’s turn to look questioningly.

  “Couldn’t abide the sight of those flapping, drab skirts,” he continued. “Likely to spook my horses and cause serious injury.”

  Jane felt a burn of indignation rise inside of her. “You don’t approve of my dress?”

  He looked her slowly up and down, pointedly taking in the shapeless mouse-brown dress buttoned to the neck and the severe bun with nary a ringlet to soften the effect. Then satisfied that he’s seen enough, he began reading again. “Hideous,” he murmured.

  “It is proper dress for a governess,” she retorted.

  “Is it? Well, why those of your profession insist on dressing in such a dowdy, unflattering manner is no concern of mine.”

  “There are reasons, sir, that it is considered proper.”

  “No doubt.” He still didn’t look up. “But you needn’t fear for your virtue in this house, I assure you.”

  Jane was left feeling she was coming out decidedly the worse in this encounter. Summoning what little dignity she had remaining, she turned with a swish of her skirts.

  “Good night sir. Let me not keep you from your reading—it appears most engrossing,” she called as she stalked from the room.