The Defiant Governess

by Andrea Pickens

  Lost in thought, she turned the corner around a high hedge of yews and nearly tripped over a pair of long legs thrust out into the middle of the path.

  “Oh, your pardon,” she exclaimed, then fell into confused silence when she looked up at who it was.

  Saybrook sat on a stone bench. He was dressed casually, a silk dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, a heavy greatcoat draped over his shoulders for protection from the cool breeze. His face was still pale, accentuating the shade of his eyes, but a touch of color was returning to his cheeks. The stubble was gone and his long hair was combed neatly off his forehead. To her dismay, she felt a stab of excitement at seeing him.

  “I’m…so sorry, my lord,” she faltered. “I didn’t know you... I hope I haven’t jostled you.”

  “Forgive me for startling you.” His words sounded cool and stilted. “The air is refreshing, is it not, after being confined to a sickroom?”

  Jane nodded, not daring to meet his eyes. Saybrook’s hands rested on the chaised silver knob of an ebony cane and they tightened imperceptibly.

  “I am in your debt, Miss Langley,” he continued stiffly, “for your competence and fortitude in caring for Peter—and myself, though I know how unpleasant it must have been for you.”

  “I was merely doing what was right, sir.” Her words sounded horribly trite to her own ears.

  “Yes, I know what a refined sense of duty and responsibility you have. Though why you felt it was due...” He let it trail off.

  Jane made no reply.

  “Well.” It sounded like a dismissal and Jane began to move away, still not looking at his face.

  “A moment, if you please.”

  She halted.

  “I should like to know, that is, I was delirious at times, I believe, and don’t recall what was a dream and what was...” He hesitated. “I mean to say...”

  Jane looked up at him. “If you mean to ask, sir, whether you told me about Elizabeth, and that Peter is indeed your son—yes, you did.”

  It was Saybrook’s turn to look away. His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “Ah. Well, you see you were quite right to find my company abhorrent. But you, at least, have escaped with your virtue intact.”

  “I…” she began, furrowing her brow. She stopped for a moment. “It is only yourself who judges so harshly,” she finished.

  He looked surprised and confused. It appeared he was about to speak further when the tramp of boots on gravel announced the arrival of someone else.

  “Beg pardon, my lord.” William Coachman bobbed his head. “Mrs. Fairchild thought you were out here and I wanted to inform you that Miss Jane”—he glanced in her direction—“has requested the carriage to take her to Hinchley in the morning.”

  Saybrook’s eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion, but his voice was cool. “Of course. Miss Langley has leave to do as she pleases. See to her wishes.” He rose slowly from the bench, steadying himself with the cane, and began a labored walk back to the manor house by himself.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Jane felt a lurch in her heart as the hired post chaise turned into the magnificent park. The stately chestnut trees lining the drive were just beginning to take on the burnishings of fall and the air was redolent with the last cutting of hay. Every bend, every tree was achingly familiar, yet seemed somehow different. Had it really been only five months that she had been away? It felt like a lifetime, perhaps because she knew she was not the same person who had slipped away in the middle of the night.

  The cart crested the hill and Avanlea Hall came into view. It was an imposing sight. The white limestone facade gleamed in the afternoon sun, its well-proportioned lines set off to perfection by the copse of ancient oak and elm that rose to a soaring height behind the formal gardens. Jane took a deep breath. Her reaction to coming home was always the same—how wonderful it looked!

  A groom—it was Joseph—was leading a horse towards the main entrance. A large hound padded alongside him, wagging its tail furiously in its eagerness to be off.

  “Why, Glory be—it’s Lady Jane!” he cried as Jane descended from the open cart herself.

  The front door flung open and Thomas emerged, dressed impeccably for riding in tight-fitting buckskins, gleaming Hessians and a snug coat of navy superfine. He froze in mid-stride and his mouth dropped in astonishment. Then, before Jane could utter a word, he sprang forward and gathered her up in his arms. “Thank God you are well,” he murmured in her ear as he spun her around. He relaxed his embrace and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you!” His eyes took in the nondescript, ill-fitting dress, the darkened hair twisted in a tight bun. “What the devil…” he began, but stopped at the pleading look on her face. “Oh, I daresay I shall hear about it soon enough.” His hands kept a tight grasp on her shoulders. “But I should shake you until your teeth rattle! Have you any idea what you have put us through? Not knowing whether you were lying dead in some ditch...”

  “Please don’t ring a peal over my head just yet,” she begged. “I am tired. I am hungry... Is Papa here?”

  “Indeed he is,” replied Thomas, throwing one arm over her shoulder. “Forgive me. It’s just that I’ve been so worried about you.” He grinned. “And I’ve found that I missed you for our curricle races—no one else can drive my greys as well!”

  She hugged him. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Well, shall we seek the bear in his den? Or do you wish to change first?”

  “I think it would be best to get it over with,” she sighed.

  * * * *

  The Duke was so engrossed with his correspondence that he didn’t hear them enter. Jane was shocked to see how much he had aged, how careworn he looked.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Papa, someone wishes an audience.”

  “I’m very busy. Tell them to come back at decent visiting hours,” groused the Duke. Then he looked up.

  He half rose in his chair, then fell back, clutching at the arms until his knuckles turned white. A wave of emotion washed over his face, and it took him a moment to compose himself. “Well, missy. So you have seen fit to come back to us?” His tone was gruff but there were tears in his eyes.

  “Oh, Papa.” She rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He stroked her hair over and over. “So am I.”

  * * * *

  Jane reined Midnight to a halt at the crest of the ridge. Her face was tinged a rosy color from the brisk gallop in the crisp morning air and puffs of vapor followed each breath. The big horse stamped at the ground, impatient to be off again, but Jane lingered, taking in the view of the freshly mown field and stretches of forest already turning a rich autumnal hue.

  “Oh, how wonderful to be back at Avanlea,” she sighed, though deep down she knew a twinge of sadness kept her joy from being complete.

  Thomas had halted beside her. “So, when am I to hear the full story? Just where did you sojourn over these past months?

  She shook her head as she stroked Midnight’s mane. “Not now. Maybe later...”

  “You’ve always confided in me about everything,” he exclaimed, a hurt look in his eye. “Every adventure, every childish prank—”

  “Perhaps I have changed. Perhaps I am not a child anymore.”

  He regarded her sharply. “Very well.” He gathered his reins. “Are you, by any chance, in love?”

  “Whatever do you mean!” she cried as he prepared to ride off. “What makes you...”

  “Oh come now, do you take me for such an addlepated fellow? I know you better than anyone! You’re right—you have changed. You stare into the fire sadly when you think no one is watching. You have to be spoken to twice to catch your attention—your thoughts are far from here.”

  She blushed and hung her head, unable to answer.

  “You can talk to me, you know. I won’t breath a word to anyone—especially Papa,” he continued. Is it…an impossible match? Or is he—God forbid—
married?”

  He cleared his throat. “I hope you haven’t been rash enough….”

  Her head shot up. “Thomas! How could you think such a thing!”

  It was his turn to color. “I only…I didn’t…” he stammered. “Dash it all, I’m sorry!”

  Jane reached over and patted his arm. “Thank you, I know you mean well. But there is nothing for you to do.”

  “If it is an unequal match, perhaps I can talk to Papa for you. Despite what has happened, he only wants for you to be happy, as do I. If he truly felt the two of you would suit, I think he would give his blessing, despite a difference in rank or fortune. I just hope,” he added, “that it is not a groom or footman. That may be beyond even my powers of persuasion.”

  Jane smiled in spite of herself. “You have changed, too. I hadn’t realized I had such a protective big brother—you are usually the one encouraging me to land in the suds.”

  “A country curate?” he probed, refusing to be distracted.

  “There is nothing to talk to Papa about. There is no match, intended or otherwise. Please forget about where I have been. It is what I intend to do. And now, I promised Nanna I’d bring her some of Mrs. Hawley’s horehound drops.” With that, she spurred her mount towards her old nurse’s cottage, leaving her brother to canter back to the manor house on his own, a pensive look on his face.

  * * * *

  The Duke regarded his two children over a glass of vintage port. The two of them were sitting side by side on one of the drawing room couches, laughing over the latest fashions in the London Gazette.

  “Pray, do not tell me that Althea Westcott appeared at Almack’s in that!” laughed Jane. “Why, Lady Jersey must have had an attack of vapors.”

  It did him good to see his daughter in such a lighthearted mood. She had seemed much more serious since her return, so much so that he was concerned. She still would not tell him anything of her time away—what had happened to make her change so? It was a mystery to him. He took a swallow of his drink.

  “Jane, you must look to having some new dresses made for yourself. Especially a ballgown.”

  “A ballgown!” exclaimed both of them in unison. “Why, whatever for,” added Jane. “Surely you cannot be thinking of going to Town during hunting season?”

  “Your aunt has been pestering me to throw a ball to announce Annabelle’s engagement. With you away I wouldn’t consider it, but now, well, I think it might enliven the place, don’t you agree?” Though it would certainly please his sister, it was his daughter the Duke was concerned about. A grand party of young people might be just the thing to bring back her former high spirits.

  “How nice,” answered Jane without enthusiasm.

  “A splendid idea!” added Thomas, with considerable more élan than his sister. “It can be dashed dull here in the country.”

  “Especially if Miss Livesey and her Mamma spend all their time in Town,” said Jane with a flicker of a smile.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Good Lord, that was last spring! Though I admit I would not be adverse to having Miss Weston and her family included in the invitations.”

  Jane laughed aloud. “Why Thomas, I seem to remember that you thought her a shrinking violet and put a frog in her sewing basket to give her a fright when we visited Overleigh some years ago.”

  Her brother stiffened. “I should appreciate it if you would not remind her of such childish pranks,” he muttered.

  The teasing interplay suddenly reminded her of other recent evenings. She rose. “I think I shall leave you two to your port and retire. I’m feeling a bit fatigued.”

  Her father got up. Motioning at Thomas to remain, he followed his daughter to the door. “I shall see you up, my dear. I, too, am feeling a bit fagged.”

  As they climbed the broad staircase, the Duke studied his daughter’s profile in the flickering candlelight. “Missy,” he began hesitantly. “Is everything alright? I have not wanted to press you, but I cannot help but notice that you seem blue deviled—you haven’t been your old self since coming home.” He put a hand on her arm. “And I fear that you may feel you cannot talk to me anymore since—dash it, that damned Aunt of yours. I never should have listened to her! I promise you I shall never try to force you into a match you don’t wish. I…I was wrong.”

  Jane paused in front of her bedchamber door and patted his hand. “And so was I, Papa. I know you meant well. If I had more of Mamma’s temperament, it would have rubbed along fine. But unfortunately I am much too much like you.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “You mustn’t worry about me. You see, I am not my old self. I think, perhaps, I have grown up.” With that she entered her bedchamber, leaving her father to stare after her thoughtfully.

  * * * *

  “May I remind you I am not up for sale at Tattersall’s,” hissed Saybrook through gritted teeth. Doctor Hastings finished his proddings and looked up with a slightly reproachful look on his face. “My lord, I’m sorry for causing you any discomfort, but one cannot be too careful. Especially,” he added pointedly, “when one’s patient refuses to rest properly...”

  “Hellishly boring to lie abed,” muttered Saybrook as he buttoned up his shirt.

  “Well, despite your efforts to the contrary, you seem to have healed quite nicely.”

  “Due in no small measure to your skills, Hastings, for which I thank you. And for Peter, too.”

  The doctor forbore to add that much of the real credit should go to Miss Langley. He was aware that she had departed, and though surprised and curious as to why, he had too much sense to bring up her name. Instead he merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “The lad is right as rain. The bone has mended nicely and there appears to be no lasting damage. Of course he should still keep it in a sling and be kept quiet for the next few days.”

  Saybrook gave a short laugh. “That will be a miracle to manage. Bed rest suits him even less than it does me. And Mary doesn’t have the influence of...” He stopped and Doctor Hastings thought he detected a shadow of sadness cross the Marquess’s face.

  Saybrook changed the subject abruptly. “Am I permitted to travel?”

  The doctor’s brow furrowed in concern. “Is it necessary, sir? It concerns me that you seem intent on jeopardizing your health.”

  “I have a very pressing matter.”

  “Well, I would strongly urge against riding. A well-sprung carriage, with the trip done in slow stages...” He shook his head. “It will be very fatiguing at this point, which I don’t like. But I suppose it can be done without ill effect.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I shall see you out.” Saybrook rose stiffly and walked towards the door of his bedchamber. Hastings followed. “Mind you,” he admonished. “You must take it slowly, with plenty of rest, or I’ll not vouch for your health.”

  Saybrook nodded. “I shall take full responsibility for my actions.”

  That night he sat before the fire, mulling over a neatly folded piece of paper. William Coachman had done his job well. She had taken a coach from Tunbridge Wells to Finchley. From there, another one to Hartsdale. A hired postchaise had completed the journey. A slight smile came to his lips. A country squire, she had said. Indeed! It was no wonder that her bearing was so different from that of any other country miss, having spent her childhood under the eye of the Duke of Avanlea! William had made discreet inquiries and had learned that yes, a Langley family was one of the Duke’s tenants, and that their daughter had been childhood friends with the Duke’s only daughter, a grand heiress in her own right.

  Saybrook looked up from William’s notes. The minx! Why, he should take her over his knee again for spinning such a Banbury tale. He thought of the look of indignation that would flare in her eyes if he did and smiled again—how he missed her! Then he caught himself. Would it be indignation or some stronger emotion? What would she think if he appeared in her life again? Surely she must hold him in contempt, and yet…

  He shook his head. Whatever she felt, he had made up his mind. He
would not be shaken in his resolve to make sure she was alright. Tomorrow he would leave for Avanlea. He would speak to the Duke himself about using his influence with Jane’s father to insure that she would not be forced into marriage, for surely His Grace, if he knew, wouldn’t want such a thing for his daughter’s childhood friend.

  Saybrook gazed into the fire. He would also contrive to put Jane in possession of enough funds that she would not have to go into service again. The mere idea of some gentleman casting a designing look at her set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it could be a bequest from a long lost relative, or—no matter, he would think of something.

  He must also see her one last time to explain he had never intended anything improper, had never meant to insult her integrity or virtue. Somehow, it was terribly important that she know, regardless of how difficult the words would be. More than once, he had tried to tell her before she left, but his emotions had been buried away for so long that he couldn’t seem to bring them forth. A sigh escaped his lips as he put down his glass and made to retire for the night.

  * * * *

  Peter sat at the top of the stairs and stared balefully at the trunk sitting near the door. “You’re leaving,’ he said without looking up as Saybrook came down the hallway.

  “Only for a short time, imp.”

  The boy hunched his shoulders. “No! You’ll be just like Miss Jane and go away and never come back.” He was fighting to keep a sob from breaking his voice.

  Saybrook reached down and scooped Peter into his arms. “Look at me, Peter.”

  A small, tear-stained face turned to him, the lower lip trembling slightly.

  “I promise you I shall be back, and soon.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “As if I could leave you, brat,” he added in a husky whisper.

  Peter put his good arm around Saybrook’s neck and snuffled. “But I’ll miss you, Uncle Edward. I don’t want you to go!”

  Saybrook sighed in frustration. The poor lad. The last few weeks had been very hard for him as well. There was suddenly the sound of running feet and the rustle of skirts. He turned around.