Saybrook didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
“Oh, how is he? How is his arm?”
“His arm has mended nicely.” Saybrook paused. “He misses you terribly,” he added in a low voice.
“Oh.” She fought to keep the tears out of her eyes. “As do I,” she finished softly.
There was an awkward silence until Thomas finally spoke. “May I ask what is going on here?”
When neither of them answered, the Duke cleared his throat. “It appears that Jane has spent the last number of months as governess to Lord Saybrook’s ward...”
“Good Lord,” breathed Thomas, looking at his sister in astonishment.
“…representing herself as Jane Langley, a farmer’s daughter.” He looked reprovingly at his daughter. “Most unfair of you, missy. Do you realize what a potentially disastrous position you placed the Marquess in?”
She looked at him, startled.
“Why,” continued her father. “If the merest whisper had gotten out, His Lordship, as a gentleman, would have been forced to offer for you, regardless of his feelings in the matter.”
“I…I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Not to speak of your own reputation!” Avanlea turned to Saybrook, who had turned a shade paler at the Duke’s words. “I beg your forgiveness for my daughter’s actions. I trust you will agree with me that it is best that this matter go no farther than this table.”
“Of course. You have my word,” said Saybrook.
The Duke nodded. “And you mine,” he added pointedly.
Thomas in the meantime had recovered from his initial shock. “A governess,” he chuckled, ignoring the pleading look from his sister. “Willful, stubborn, impatient, opinionated— I can hardly credit that my dear sister wasn’t more trouble than her charge! You don’t mean to tell me that she actually obeyed orders without a scene?”
The Duke noticed that for the first time a smile, a very faint one, came to the Marquess’s lips. “Well,” he replied softly, “if you discount the time she threatened to take a horsewhip to me...”
“She didn’t!”
Jane’s face was nearly crimson as Saybrook nodded in assent. “Indeed she did.”
“Good Lord! And you didn’t turn her out immediately?” Thomas looked at him in puzzlement. “Why?”
“She was right. I had behaved abominably towards a child, my ward. I do not turn out my people for speaking the truth—though I did request that she express her future opinions of my conduct in a more moderate fashion.” There was a slight pause. “And she was an excellent governess—kind, generous, patient and understanding.”
“But what of the times she wasn’t right? I know my sister well enough to know she isn’t always right.”
“Most of the time we were able to work things out in a rational manner.”
“Most?” persisted Thomas, a mischievous grin on his face. “What of the others?”
Saybrook considered the question for a moment. “I believe I only had to spank her once...”
Thomas let out a shout of laughter and shook his head in admiration. “By Jove, I’d have paid any amount of blunt to see that! Come, Jane, what was your reaction?”
Jane’s face was even redder.
“I believe Lady Jane would not care to repeat her reaction,” answered Saybrook dryly. “The words would not have led one to believe she was a Lady of Quality.”
Thomas’s grin grew wider. “I’m afraid I’m well acquainted with my sister’s vocabulary.”
Jane lifted her chin. “I should hope I am as fair minded as Lord Saybrook. I acknowledge that in that case he was right—though I, too, asked that he vent his feelings in a more appropriate manner.”
“At the time, it was the most appropriate manner,” muttered Saybrook, much to Thomas’s amusement.
The Duke decided it was time to change the subject. “I hope, Saybrook, we shall have the pleasure of your company for an extended visit. I look forward to meeting the young lad who has occupied so much of my daughter’s attention for the past months.”
Saybrook shook his head. “I think not. It would be best if we leave in the morning now that there is no need...”
“Surely not!” interrupted the Duke. “I’m certain it would do your injury no good to travel again so soon, and I can see that my daughter would be bitterly disappointed in not being able to spend some time with the boy.”
Saybrook began to speak.
“Besides,” added Avanlea. “We have a ball planned for my niece and are in need of all the gentlemen we can muster. I would take it as a great favor if you would at least stay until then.”
“I...”
“Please, sir.” Jane’s voice was nearly inaudible.
The turmoil was evident on Saybrook’s face. “I…”
“Good!” boomed the Duke. “It’s settled, then.”
Saybrook’s lips compressed into a tight smile. “You are most persuasive, Your Grace.”
The Duke returned the smile. “No, I simply refuse to take no for an answer. Prerogative of rank.”
At that moment, the footmen came in to clear the table. As they left, Jane rose too. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave you gentlemen to your port. I think I will retire early tonight. I…feel a bit of a headache.”
“Headache,” remarked Thomas as he stared at her retreating figure. “Why, she’s never had...” A quelling look from his father silenced any further words.
“I pray you will also excuse me.” Saybrook stood up. “It has been a fatiguing day.”
The Duke rang for a candle. “Good night to you, sir. Let Grimshaw know if you are in need of anything.”
Saybrook made a bow, an inscrutable look on his face. “I believe you have thought of everything, Your Grace.” With that, he followed the footman to the door.
Walking to the sideboard, the Duke poured himself a large port and held it eye level, a smile on his face as he regarded its rich, ruby color.
“What on earth are you grinning like a Bedlamite for?” demanded his son.
“Oh, I think you shall see soon enough.” he took a sip from his glass. “But I wouldn’t be young again for all the tea in China.”
“Why...”
He shook his head in exasperation. “Youthful pride. It makes you young people too blind to see what’s in front of your noses.”
“You don’t mean—why, it’s clear they don’t even like each other!
The Duke started on his way to the drawing room. “Thomas, you disappoint me,” he said. “Until now, I would never have considered my heir an utter fool.”
* * * *
Jane pulled her nightgown closer as she sat on the window seat of her chamber watching the moonlight play off the boxwood hedges and ornamental shade trees. Drat the man. Just when she was beginning to think she could put him out of her mind, he had to reappear in her life, upsetting her carefully constructed equilibrium. Upon raising her eyes and meeting those familiar sea green ones, upon seeing him standing there looking devastatingly handsome in his evening clothes, it had taken only a second for the foundations to come tumbling down.
How had he found her? And more puzzling, what was he doing here?
She had to blink back tears. Surely he must hold her beneath contempt now that he knew of her lies, her deceit. Surely that was what she had seen in his eyes the few times their glances had crossed during the evening, before he had quickly averted his face. Why, he couldn’t even bear looking at her.
It would have been much better if she had encouraged him to go on the morrow. So why had she asked him to stay? She rose and began to pace the room. She had asked him because—Jane caught herself. A sudden realization washed over her. Coward! For months, she had been a coward, she who had always prided herself with not being afraid to face anything. She had been afraid of her feelings, afraid of risking not only her precious independence but her heart as well. It was only now that she understood risk was a part of life, and that the rewards were worth far more t
han youthful pride.
But finally realizing the truth did not make it any easier to know what to do. It was probably too late now to win back his regard. What a mull she had made of things, she who was always so sure she knew best. It was a bitter pill to swallow to realize how bullheaded she had been in not telling Saybrook the truth when she had had a chance. She should have trusted that he would understand. Now... She climbed between the covers to ward off the chill that was creeping over her, but she knew that sleep would be a long, long time in coming.
* * * *
Jane was not the only one pacing the floor of a bedchamber. Saybrook was also in such an agitated state of mind that he couldn’t sleep, despite his physical fatigue. He laughed harshly at himself. What a fool she had played him for. Only a complete gudgeon would not have known that ‘Jane” was no ordinary country miss. And as her father pointed out, he had also been placed in a scandalous position for both of them, and of scandals he had had enough. Yet despite his hot anger at having been duped, he felt an infinite sadness at the loss of his “Miss Langley.” His mouth crooked in an involuntary smile when he pictured her once more in her dreadful gown, her hair twisted in an unattractive bun, her eyes flashing as she argued some point with him.
He forced the image from his mind. She was irrevocably gone. A duke’s daughter and a grand heiress. Why, her father—and no doubt Jane herself—would think him a mere fortune-hunter intent of taking advantage of the situation if he offered for her now. That he couldn’t bear.
An oath escaped him. Why had he allowed himself to be maneuvered into staying here. He should depart at first light, no matter his promises and Peter’s disappointment. He should get far enough away where he would be sure of never seeing her again until she was safely married. Perhaps to the Continent again. Wearily, he sank onto the bed and buried his hands in his hair. He could deal with the pain if he didn’t have to see her. Oh yes, he was an expert at dealing with pain.
* * * *
Jane smiled as she watched Peter urge his pony into a gallop as they returned to the stables. The boy was having a wonderful time. If she didn’t know him better, she might worry that he was being dreadfully spoiled, what with all the attention from every adult in the house. Why, even her father had been taken with the boy. She had found him showing Peter how to feed the ducks out by the pond. The Duke had looked up and, with a pointed look, remarked on how lively the place was with brats about.
But Saybrook was another matter. It was as if he were at the other end of the earth. In the two days since his arrival he had barely uttered a word during meals and retired immediately afterward. Unable to ride, he spent most of his time taking long, solitary walks or sequestering himself in the Duke’s library. Not once had he spoken a direct word to her. In fact, it was obvious he went to great pains to avoid being in her presence.
She felt the sting of tears. What had she expected? As the stables neared, she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. At least after tomorrow he would be gone and she could at last forget about him.
Thomas was taking Peter to see the kennels for the afternoon, so Jane finally had a few hours to herself. She changed out of her riding habit and picked up a book from her escritoire. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she left the room, praying that none of the servants would stop her with some household matter that needed her attention. Slipping out through the French doors of the breakfast room, she hurried down a path behind the formal gardens. Since she was a small girl, she had had a favorite spot, one she always went to when she needed solitude or comfort. It was a small knoll overlooking the lush grazing lands that rolled down to the river. Surrounded on three sides by a thicket of small hemlocks was a weathered wooden bench where she had spent countless hours reading or just watching the light play off the distant water.
She glanced down at the book she was carrying. It was a small leather-bound volume, the same one she had been reading that night in the sickroom at Highwood. How she and Saybrook had once argued over the contents. She had insisted on reading him passages of The Corsair to refute his casual remark that Byron was a self-conscious romantic, not a great, passionate poet. He had listened, a sardonic smile on his face, then admitted that such words might set a woman’s heart aflutter—she had nearly thrown the book at him until he could contain his laughter no longer and she had seen he was teasing her. He then allowed that he did admire the poet’s fiery soul, though at times he was a trifle melodramatic. Then, to her great surprise, he had insisted that she keep the expensive copy from his library, saying the book suited her “impassioned nature.”
Jane reached the glade and settled herself on the bench, drawing her shawl around her. As usual, she wore no bonnet around the estate, for she loved the feeling of the sun on her face, regardless of its detrimental effects on a lady’s complexion. Throwing her head back to catch the pale warmth, she closed her eyes for a minute. There was stillness, save for the faint rustle of pine needles in the gentle breeze. So many times she had sought refuge here from life’s heartaches. Why, she could remember quite clearly when she thought, at age fourteen, that she would simply die because her father refused to let her join the hunt because she was a girl. She shook her head, able to smile at the old memory. Perhaps time did make things easier to bear. She opened the book and began to read.
Some time later, the sound of footsteps broke the spell of the words. From her hidden vantage point she watched a figure moving out of the trees into the clearing. Saybrook, too, wore no hat and the breeze ruffled his long dark locks, causing a certain stirring deep within her. He turned and walked towards her, unaware of the bench concealed in the hemlocks. By the time he came around the trees, he was no more than a few feet from where she sat.
His eyes widened with surprise. There was a spark of something else as well before it disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by the cold, distant look that had become too familiar. “Your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I had no idea anyone was here.” He made as if to turn, but hesitated as he saw the book in her hands.
“Yes,” she faltered. “I am indulging my…my...”
“…impassioned nature,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.
Suddenly the words came pouring out. She didn’t dare look at him or stop to think at all, for she knew she wouldn’t have the courage to go on if she did.
Saybrook listened in silence, his eyes never leaving her face.
“So you see, my lord,” she ended, still keeping her eyes averted from him, “I truly did not mean to deceive you. I was afraid to tell you later on for fear you would…hate me.”
“Hate you?” repeated Saybrook.
“Yes! You told me how you hated the way ladies of the ton women lied and deceived and manipulated for their own gain!” Her voice was trembling now. “And you made it quite clear that you thought most were like that—but that I was different. I did not want to…lose what regard you might have held for me. But I suppose I have shown I am indeed no different, and am deserving of your contempt.”
Saybrook muttered an oath. “Miss Lan—Lady Jane, I do not hate you.”
Jane finally dared look at him. “But you have been acting as if you do.”
“It is I who do not wish to inflict my presence on you.”
Her eyes betrayed confusion. “But why?”
He took a deep breath. “I think you may guess why.”
“You mean because Peter is your son?”
He nodded. “That, and because I am worse than an unprincipled rake, having caused the death of...”
“No! That is not...”
A loud barking interrupted her words, followed by the sound of voices.
“Up this way?” came Peter’s shout.
“Yes. I’ll lay a wager we find her here. It’s her favorite spot.”
A large hound burst out of the woods and raced across the glade, planting his muddy paws squarely on Jane’s shoulders.
“Oh, down, Memphis,” she cried, wishing her brother did not kn
ow her so well.
Thomas and the boy were close on the dog’s heels.
“Isn’t Memphis bang up to the mark!” cried Peter as he ran up to them. “And Thomas says I may have one of his puppies! That is, Uncle Edward, if you agree.” He looked up at Saybrook with pleading eyes. “Would you like to go see them? Now?”
Despite his tangled emotions. Saybrook couldn’t suppress a harried smile. “Very well, let us go inspect these prized progenies.” He let the boy grab his hand. “I suppose Highwood would be sadly lacking without a hound sired by so august a personage as Memphis.”
Thomas cocked an eyebrow at his sister as Peter half dragged the Marquess away. “I fear my timing has been less than perfect.”
Jane made a show of gathering her things. “No,” she answered, deliberately misunderstanding him “It’s just about time to change for dinner, isn’t it?”
* * *
Chapter 12
Jane smoothed the rich silk around her knees then fidgeted once more on the stool. “La, Lady Jane. Hold still or I’ll never finish your hair.” Sarah made a few more deft adjustments then stepped back to admire the effect. “There now, that’s perfect. If you aren’t the most beautiful lady in the land!”
“Oh, Sarah, stop or you’ll turn me into a conceited monster.” Jane regarded her own image in the mirror and had to admit she was not displeased. “But you are a magician.”
Her maid beamed with pleasure. “As if you’d ever be a monster like your cous...”
“Sarah,” warned Jane.
“Well, it’s the truth,” sniffed the older woman. A sly grin crept over her face. “Won’t Lady Fisher be made as a wet cat when she sees you. What I wouldn’t give to see it!”
“That’s very uncharitable,” scolded Jane, but she couldn’t repress a smile. Her aunt did her best to make everyone at Avanlea miserable so she couldn’t blame the servants for taking delight at the thought of her comeuppance.
“What a grand evening it should be,” continued Sarah. “The ballroom looks like it’s right out of one of those fairy tales your nurse used to read to you.”
The Defiant Governess Page 18
