Page 1 of The Defiant Governess
One
The afternoon sunlight flooded into the drawing room, playing off the golden highlights of the Aubusson carpets, rich brocades and gilt furniture, as well as the honey-colored curls of the young lady seated at the pianoforte. She had left off her music for the moment and sat staring out the soaring mullioned windows, her chin cupped in her hand. Outside, manicured lawns and formal gardens were already hinting at the lushness to come, acre upon acre stretching out to where the home woods of ancient elm and oak separated the imposing stone manor house from the vast expanse of the estate’s farmland and forest.
But her gaze seemed to take in none of the details of the view before her. It certainly took no note of her own reflection in the leaded glass panes, one that showed a young lady of above average height, quite slender, with well-defined features that indicated a certain firmness of character. They were perhaps too strong to be called beautiful in the soft, conventional sense, but combined with the restless energy that radiated from her person they created a striking picture. Set below her slightly furrowed brow were eyes of the deepest sapphire blue, though a bit cloudy at the moment. The purse of her firm, full lips also betrayed asense that her thoughts were elsewhere. But then she quickly gave a shake of her shoulders, as if to banish whatever was bothering her.
With a slight frown she turned a page of the music and began to play again. The lilting notes that filled the room bespoke of a more than ordinary talent, even though the piece was a difficult one. As she came to a particularly complex movement her fingers flew over the ivory keys without a moment’s hesitation—bold, fortissimo—and the effect was mesmerizing right until the very end when a wrong note rang out.
“Oh, damn,” she muttered as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.
“That will never do in Town, my dear Jane,” called a voice from the doorway. “You know very well it’s strictly forbidden for a lady of breeding to eventhinksuch a word.”
Lady Jane Stanhope spun around, a guilty look on her face until she saw who had caught her. “Oh dear,” she replied, trying to keep the smile off her lips. “I shall never take, shall I, Thomas, if I don’t mend my outspoken ways?”
Thomas, Viscount Mountfort, also struggled to suppress a grin. His features were as finely chiseled as those of his sister and most people wondered if they were twins, though she was a year younger, because of their obvious closeness.
“Never,” he agreed. “I fear you’re a complete hoyden.” Not, he added to himself, that her more than occasional unladylike behavior had kept a bevy of the most eligible bachelors in London from dangling after her during her first Season. Indeed, she rejected the Earl of Havesham and the Marquess of ...
“Alas, I fear you have the right of it.” Jane sighed, once again staring out through the leaded glass. This time the sunlight caught not just the richness of her hair and the gleaming blue of her eyes, but the stubborn thrust of her chin—a look Thomas knew all too well.
He moved quietly to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder, “What’s this? Are you feeling blue-deviled? I thought you were looking forward to another Season in Town.”
“Oh, I suppose I am. It’s just that, well ….” A sigh escaped her lips. “In Town there are so many constraints on a lady’s behavior. I must act as if I care for nothing but the latest fashions andonditswhen I make morning calls with Aunt Bella. Then at night, there are all the boring gentlemen who look as if they have swallowed a frog if I express a real idea or opinion.” She looked up at him, as if searching to see if there was even a glimmer of understanding of what she was trying to say.
“But you have many admirers who enjoy your outspokenness, who think you are a True Original,” replied Thomas. It didn’t hurt matters, he forbore to add, that she was the daughter of a duke and an heiress in the bargain.
“I don’t want to be appreciated as an Original.” Her tone had turned angry. “I want to be appreciated for … what I am, not—oh, never mind.”
“Enough of this! You’ve been cooped up inside too long on such a lovely day—it’s given you the megrims. I know just the thing. Would you care to match your Midnight against the new stallion I just bought at Tattersall’s? He just arrived this morning. I warn you though, he’s a prime one.”
Jane jumped to her feet, eyes sparkling with the challenge. Though he was six feet tall she could almost look him in the eye, and her willowy form was bristling with indignation. “Oh, you don’t truly think you can beat me!”
Thomas shrugged his broad shoulders and stared nonchalantly at the tips of his well-polished Hessians, as if contemplating her statement. Secretly he was relieved that the storm he’d seen gathering on her brows had disappeared, to be replaced by her normally exuberant spirits. He waited anotherfew moments in silence, just long enough to start her foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.
“Care to wager on it?” he drawled.
“A gold guinea!”
Her eyes were flashing bright as the named coin and with a start he realized how truly beautiful his sister was. Oh, it wasn’t just her features, which were certainly lovely, but something else … a bewitching vitality. He sometimes worried that it ran too unchecked since both his widowed father and the entire household doted on her, but it was no wonder that so many of the most eligible Town bachelors, used to demure schoolroom misses, were intrigued. If her spiritedness sometimes crossed over the line, he was sure that many of her hijinks were due to something other than true willfulness.
He was aware that since her debut in Society last year, the strictures on her behavior, especially in Town, had inexorably tightened. The escapades were her way of fighting back, of expressing her independence. With her keen mind, she could have no illusions about how Society viewed her spirit. They meant to break it, and make her take the bit between her teeth.
Aristocratic young ladies were supposed to dutifully accept an eligible marriage offer, and the beau monde expected that she would fall into step like a demure mare, like all the other girls her age. How repugnant—and frightening—the idea must be to her, and how he admired her courage. Thomas found himself echoing her opinion that it wasn’t fair. But it was only a matter of time. Unlike a man, she had precious little choice. And when she married, what man wouldn’t want to control the reins? What rare fellow would accept an equal ….
“Well?” Her impatience pulled him out of his reverie.
“Done!” he answered, putting aside such serious musing for another time.
“Have Jem saddle the horses immediately. I won’t be but a moment changing into my riding habit.”
She spun and raced towards the grand stairway, nearly upending one of the parlormaids who was just coming out of the morning room. “Your pardon, Bertha,” she cried, barely missing a step.
The maid gazed after her with the fond smile of a longtime retainer. Turning to Thomas she said, “Such spirit has Lady Jane.”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully and wondered, not for the first time, in what hot water that spirit would eventually land his sister.
Two hourslater the pair of them reentered the manor house, flushed with exertion and laughing uproariously over some private joke. One of the feathers of Jane’s dashing little hat was sadly askew and she had taken off the entire creation, allowing a mass of curls to fall over the shoulders of her bottle green riding jacket.
She shook her head to loosen the last of the hairpins. “Dear me, I’d better not let Sarah catch me looking like this. She’ll ring a peal over me for not acting like a lady!”
