The Defiant Governess

by Andrea Pickens

  “Peter,” warned Jane.

  “Yes, Miss,” sighed the boy. “Don’t speak ill of your elders.”

  Saybrook threw back his head with a peal of laughter. “Good Lord, I wouldn’t be seven again for all the tea in China!”

  “Then try not to act like it,” she retorted in a low voice as she walked past him into the dining room.

  Saybrook was seated at the head of the table with Jane to his right and Peter to his left. It was an arrangement which had only begun very recently, but Jane noted that it had been good for all concerned. It must have been very austere and lonely for the Marquess to take his meals all by himself in the cavernous room night after night. So when he tentatively suggested that might be good for Peter to become accustomed to an adult table she had enthusiastically endorsed the plan. The boy was delighted with the change and had lost nearly all his shyness around his uncle. In fact, she could see the bond between the two of them growing stronger very day. And just the other day she had realized with a start that the Marquess had been here for weeks and showed no sign of leaving.

  She, too, had to admit that it was pleasant to have stimulating company at meals. Why, she even found herself looking forward to the verbal sparring that took place with Saybrook each evening.

  “What do you think about the latest news of Wellington’s movements in Spain,” she asked after the soup was served. She was curious as to his views on military tactics.

  Saybrook raised an eyebrow at her. “And how do you know anything about Wellington,” he inquired.

  “I read the same papers as you—after you have finished with them of course. Glavin puts them aside for me each night.”

  “I thought it was only proper for ladies to read about fashion and the betrothal notices.”

  Jane felt her temper rising. Why was it men assumed no woman had a brain—or could possibly use one if she had.

  “No doubt you do.” Her voice had an edge to it. “But then I am not a lady, remember? No doubt you feel that ladies would be incapable of comprehending anything more demanding than the newest way to set a piece of lace or the latest on dit. Why, I’m sure your ideal of a lady is sweet, biddable and wouldn’t dream of having an opinion about anything!”

  The Marquess nearly choked on his soup. He lay down his spoon slowly. “No, Miss Langley. I have no interest in vapid, uninteresting ladies, for such is what you describe.”

  Jane smiled to herself, thinking she had caught him out on this exchange. “Well then you must be hard pressed to have an interesting time with the ladies.”

  A glint of amusement lit his eyes. “On the contrary, Miss Langley. But then again, perhaps it is because the ladies I know are proficient in arts other than conversation.”

  Jane face flooded with color. She was about to take him to task for his utter lack of propriety when she noticed Peter’s rapt face taking in the conversation. She set her jaw and put down her own spoon in stony silence.

  “Now, about Wellington...” Saybrook continued as if nothing awkward had happened and launched into a detailed and lengthy assessment of the Spanish situation. Despite her resolve to ignore him for the rest of the meal she couldn’t help being drawn into the discussion, disagreeing with him on some points, nodding in vigorous approval for others. She had just finished explaining why she thought the supply lines should be changed for the Peninsula campaign when she noticed that the last plates had been cleared away and a bottle of brandy had been placed by the Marquess’s side. How long had he been waiting for her and Peter to withdraw?

  “Oh dear,” she trailed off. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten carried away. Peter, come along to the drawing room. Forgive me, sir, for keeping you.”

  “Peter, go along and set up the chess board—you might care to practice your openings,” said Saybrook. He turned to her. “Miss Langley, a moment.”

  She stopped midway in rising from her chair.

  “I’m thoroughly enjoying our conversation. Why should you feel compelled to withdraw because you are a la…woman. Why not join me for a glass of brandy?”

  Jane had never tasted brandy before. She knew she was being reckless but she wasn’t going to back down from the challenge that seemed to come from his eyes.

  “Why not,” she smiled, hoping she sounded more sure of herself than she felt.

  Saybrook pored two glasses and placed one squarely in front of her. He raised his own in toast.

  “To Wellington.”

  Jane followed his example and took a large swallow. She nearly choked on the fiery spirits and had a hard time blinking back the tears that her strangled coughs were causing. Saybrook appeared not to notice as he continued the conversation, this time discussing the merits of the Allied cavalry. Every few minutes he would pause for another sip, and Jane felt compelled to match him.

  Soon both glasses were empty.

  “Would you like another?”

  Jane’s face felt on fire. “N-no, thank you.”

  His lips twitched.

  Suddenly she felt hot all over. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you, my lord. Making fun of…of a Miss Nobody who dares to try and exercise her own power of thought!”

  “No, I am not,” he replied quietly. “The conversation has been more intelligent and enjoyable than many I have had in my clubs—that’s a compliment, Miss Langley, in case you are about to bite my head off. But I hope you have learned a lesson.”

  “And what is that? For someone who has been hired to give lessons in this house, I have, by your account, an inordinate amount of things to learn myself!” Jane hoped her voice didn’t sound as wobbly as her knees felt.

  “You should learn to count to ten,” he countered. “Then perhaps you would learn not to act without thinking—at some point it might land you in serious trouble. Have you ever truly considered that?”

  Jane bit her lip.

  “And furthermore, it is not necessary to insist on doing everything a man does to make your point...”

  “Men never get the point,” she shot back.

  He cocked his head to one side. “I hadn’t thought of it overly much, but I suppose what you say has merit. Things aren’t fair. However, aside from that, you have acted very foolishly.”

  Jane’s chin came up and she opened her mouth to retort.

  “Let me finish,” he said.

  Much to her own surprise, she closed her mouth and leaned back in her chair.

  “Has no one ever told you not to drink spirits with a man, especially alone with a man?” he went on. “Who the devil raised you? Did your father teach you nothing about your own safety, not to speak of propriety? Why, many employers would now have you laying across this table with your skirts up over your head. And there would be nothing—especially in the rather woozy state you are no doubt in—you could do about it!”

  Jane’s mouth dropped in an “o” of shock.

  “Yes, you should be shocked,” he said roughly.

  Jane shrunk even further back in her chair. Why every time he decided to give her a set-down did he have to be right! Both Thomas and her father had cautioned her on much the same thing, though a bit more delicately. She should by all rights acknowledge her folly and thank him for his advice, but the brandy had made her reckless. Instead of contrite words, she blurted out, “Why aren’t you?”

  He looked at her with a strange expression. “I don’t dally with my help.” he answered coldly.

  Jane felt a tightening in her stomach. She should be relieved, but...

  “Peter is waiting for you,” he added. “And ring for the footman to bring some water to the drawing room—you will feel better when you drink a glass.”

  Jane left the room in a whirl of conflicting emotions. She didn’t know whether to be angry or appreciative, insulted or intrigued. Things were not as black and white as she had first supposed with Lord Saybrook. She wished she could understand him—and perhaps herself—better.

  * * * *

  Saybrook pushed his chair back and str
etched his long legs out in front of him. He swirled the brandy absently as he stared at the massive oak table. What in devil’s name had prompted him to say such an improper thing? She was so interesting to talk to that it was easy to forget she was only a green girl of barely twenty, innocent of the cynical mores of the ton. Sighing, he took a long sip of his drink. It was wicked of him, but he did enjoy goading Miss Langley to anger—not that it took much! Her sapphire eyes lit up so intensely, her chin jutted out in such a beguiling way. Why, she looked more than just plain, even with her hair pulled back in such a severe, unbecoming way.

  He found himself wondering just what her figure was like underneath the shapeless, oversized dresses she wore. Were her breasts as firm and shapely as they sometimes seemed through the coarse material? And was her waist as slim as it appeared in her riding habit? What would her willowy form look like in a ball gown, with her shoulders bared. His eyes strayed back to the table... Good God, what was he thinking!

  He slammed the glass down and stalked out of the room.

  * * * *

  Another rainy day. Jane watched the drops trace long, spindly patterns down the glass panes as she sat before the piano. She had felt strangely out of sorts since the evening before. Perhaps it was the result of the brandy, but she didn’t think so. It was just as well that Peter had run off to the stables to help the under groom polish tack, leaving her with a free hour.

  She thumbed restlessly through a sheaf of music but nothing appealed to her. Finally she settled on a waltz. Perhaps its lilting melody would serve to lift her spirits. Her fingers started slowly, grudgingly, picking up the tempo as she went along. Indeed, it was hard to remain blue deviled while playing such a piece.

  So caught up was she in the music that she was unaware of Saybrook until he leaned casually over the piano, his elbows resting on the polished wood. Her fingers came to a stop. He reached down and began playing where she had left off.

  “Have you ever waltzed?” he asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  “Now what do you think, my lord,” she answered evasively. “Though it must be rather fun.” She thought longingly of the few dances she had been allowed to have after being approved by the Patronesses at Almack’s.

  “So it is.” He kept playing. “Would you care to try?”

  “Good Heavens, of course not. It would not be proper!”

  “Ah, haven’t been approved by the Dragons at Almack’s?” he teased. “No matter. The rules are always more relaxed at a country home. Come, I hadn’t thought you so poor-spirited as to be afraid of trying something new.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she mumbled, turning away from him.

  “Good!”

  He stopped playing but kept humming the tune in his rich baritone. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her out to the middle of the floor.

  “Now put your hand on my shoulder like this,” he said as his arm slipped around her waist. The steps are rather simple—just follow me.”

  He began humming again, his mouth close to her ear. She could feel the heat from his chest against hers, and the light pressure of his hand on the small of her back. He moved with a natural grace that made the dance seem effortless. Their steps flowed together as if they were one. She relaxed, letting herself draw closer to him. Gradually he picked up the tempo and they swirled around the room. As if by magic, she could hear violins and piano, feel the layered silk of an evening gown, see the glittering of candles and crystal, smell the fragrance of orange blossoms and roses. When she chanced to look up, she found him smiling at her, a strange warmth in his sea green eyes. Shyly, she smiled back.

  “Miss Jane! Uncle Edward! What are you doing?” Peter was standing in the doorway, watching them quizzically.

  The spell was broken. Jane dropped her arm and pulled quickly away from the Marquess. To her dismay, she could feel a deep blush creeping up her face.

  “I am showing Miss Langley a waltz, imp,” called Saybrook.

  “Can I learn, too?”

  Saybrook laughed. “When you are older.”

  “Are you ready for your lesson?” Jane smoothed at her skirts trying to hide her embarrassment.

  Peter scampered towards the instrument, but Saybrook took Jane’s arm as she turned to go. He was still smiling. “You dance very well, Miss Langley. You must promise me the first waltz if by chance we meet at a ball.”

  “What fustian, sir. You are teasing me again.”

  “Indeed I am not. Come, give me your promise.”

  Instead of lessening, the color in her face deepened. “Oh, very well,” she breathed, in order to make him release her arm. His touch was beginning to make her feel lightheaded. “Though you are being quite ridiculous, you know.”

  Saybrook bowed to her in mock solemnity and left the room, the smile still on his lips.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Peter struggled with the heavy wicker basket, refusing Jane’s help even though it knocked him in the shin with every step. “I’m not a baby,” he insisted. “And a gentleman always carries a parcel for a lady.”

  Jane refrained from smiling and wondered where he had picked up that nugget of information.

  “Very well,” she said. “I think we have picked a glorious day for our outing.”

  The morning light was a rich gold, playing off the hints of color in the oaks and maples near the stables. The air was getting crisper, hinting at a change of season, but the cloudless sky promised that by noon the day would be deliciously warm. Jane had looked outdoors when she rose and suddenly decided to declare a holiday from the schoolroom. Instead, they would take a long ride to visit the Abbey ruins that lay not more than eight miles from Highwood. She had been meaning to take Peter there—it was a good history lesson she assured herself. And one should not waste such a glorious day!

  As they reached the stables, Saybrook walked out from among the stalls. He had just returned from an early morning excursion with his steward to inspect a broken millstone. His coat of black superfine was draped over one arm and his cambric shirt was open at the neck, revealing a few curls of dark hair. The breeze had ruffled his locks and they fell rakishly across his forehead. Jane couldn’t help but notice the way the light filtered through the thin material of his shirt, outlining the broad shoulders and narrow waist. The shirt was neatly tucked into skintight breeches which were immaculate even though his Hessians were spattered with mud.

  “Uncle Edward, Uncle Edward! We are going on a picnic. Look! Cook has picked this whole basket and I carried it all by myself.”

  “Well done, imp.” Saybrook took the basket in one hand and swung the boy up on his shoulder. He fell in step with Jane. “A splendid day for a ride. Where do you go?”

  “To Salston Abbey,” she replied.

  “Would you like to come too?” chirped the boy.

  Saybrook cocked an eye at Jane. “I haven’t been invited.”

  “Of course you are more than welcome to join us, my lord, if you don’t think you would be too bored.” Her mood suddenly felt even lighter. “Cook had prepared more than enough food.”

  “Oh please, sir!” added Peter, who seemed unwilling to unwind his small arms from around Saybrook’s neck until he got a satisfactory answer. In consequence, the Marquess’s collar was twisted and the top few buttons of his shirt had been pulled undone.

  “If you leave off strangling me, brat, I shall finish my business here and join you on the way. Hero could use a rousing gallop.”

  “Hooray!” cried the boy as he slid to the ground, half pulling Saybrook’s shirt from his breeches.

  Jane couldn’t help giggling. “Let us be off, sir, while you are still in one piece.”

  He returned her grin and raised his eyes in mock apprehension. “Yes, I fear my valet will ring a peal over me, won’t he.”

  A groom brought out the horses and Saybrook helped Jane to mount, then handed her the basket.

  “I hope Peter has not ruined your day,” she said in a low voic
e. “If you are too busy...”

  “On the contrary, Miss Langley.” His eyes had an expression she couldn’t fathom. “I look forward to a most pleasant day.” He glanced at the fast disappearing figure of Peter and his pony. “You had best be off too, before he lands in some mischief.

  As Jane urged her horse forward, she couldn’t help but wonder why it was that her stomach suddenly was feeling all aflutter.

  The Marquess was as good as his word. Well before they reached the Abbey the sound of galloping hooves announced the arrival of Hero and his master. As Saybrook reined the big stallion into an easy walk, Jane noticed that he, too, was carrying a basket. Surely Cook could not have sent more food! Her questioning glance went from it to Saybrook’s face, but aside from a smug smile, he ignored her look and began to chat blandly about the weather and the prospects of the coming harvest.

  Peter was less patient. After several minutes he could no longer contain his curiosity.

  “What have you got in the basket, Uncle Edward?”

  “You shall see later.”

  “But I want to know now.”

  “No.”

  The boy was silent for a bit. Then he spoke up again. “Miss Jane could make you tell me,” he challenged.

  “Miss Jane could do no such thing,” answered Saybrook coolly. He turned a challenging gaze towards her.

  He had never spoken her name before. Jane’s stomach gave an odd little lurch—she didn’t understand what was the matter with her today. For some reason she found it impossible to meet his look.

  “Peter,” she admonished, in order to hide her confusion. “You mustn’t be impertinent to...”

  “And just why do you think Miss Jane could make me tell you?” Saybrook asked the boy. Though his face was serious, the twinkle in his eyes gave hint that he was enjoying himself immensely. “I’m quite curious.”

  The boy thought for a moment. “Miss Jane has a way of looking at you that makes you feel you have to do what she says without any argument,” he said. “And I heard Cook say so to Mrs. Fairchild as well. Mrs. Fairchild said yes, it seemed that any difficulty that arose, one had only to apply to Miss Jane and she would settle it because no one dared argue with her. The she said…” the boy paused. “I think she said there was an air about Miss Jane, as if she was to the manor born—what air can be around Miss Jane that isn’t around us?”