Page 10 of The Defiant Governess
“That is where my Uncle’s rooms are.”
She was surprised—from all that she knew, she had surmised that his guardian was elderly. But then she realized that he must be using the term loosely. Great uncle, no doubt.
“Your uncle is your guardian?”
He nodded.
”Is he very old?”
The boy nodded again.
Just as she thought. “And where is he?”
“I think he is ... abroad,” he answered vaguely.
Now that Bonaparte was safely tucked away on Elba, the rich and idle may play on the Continent again, she thought grimly, no matter what their responsibilities at home.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Peter thought for a bit. “A year, I think.”
“Well, perhaps he will visit again soon,” she said, thinking that naturally the boy must miss his only family. And if the marquess did make an appearance, she added to herself, she would let him know exactly what she thought of his behavior ... then realized that of course she wouldn’t!
She couldn’t.
The boy immediately stiffened and said nothing.
Jane made another mental note. The boy didn’t care for his guardian, or maybe it was that he was afraid of him. Did the man beat him too? Was he one of those monsters who enjoyed hurting those who couldn’t defend themselves? She vowed to learn more of the Marquess of Saybrook from Mrs. Fairchild, though of course she would have to be very circumspect. The lady was a relation, after all—though a distant, poor one—and as such would be loath to speak ill of him, especially to a stranger.
But Jane was determined to find out just what was going on here.
As she descended the stairs, she realized that for the first time in days she felt almost happy. She had a challenge, and there was nothing like that to buck up her spirits. Lord Saybrook had best beware, she vowed to herself. He may have bullied a small child in the past, but if he showed his face here now, he would have to deal withher.
Three
Over the next weeks, a pattern to their days emerged. After breakfast in the morning room—Jane insisted Peter eat with her and Mrs. Fairchild, rather than alone in his room as had been the habit—they would repair to the schoolroom for the rest of the morning. The lessons were gratifying for both of them, for Jane found her pupil had a quickness of mind and inquisitive nature that made learning easy for him. And she noticed that some of the wariness began to fade in the enthusiasm of reading a certain passage aloud or of adding a column of numbers correctly.
Afternoons were spent exploring the vast gardens and home woods beyond the manor house. Jane found a spot she particularly liked, a stone bench protected by a yew hedge that overlooked a small pond. Sometimes they would come with a book for Peter to practice reading aloud. Watching him giggle over a long and funny sounding word, she suddenly felt a glow inside as she saw that she could bring a touch of happiness to the child.
Why, she realized with a start, she had been so concerned with Peter that she hadn’t had time to miss her other life at all.
One day, after finishing a passage of Shakespeare, the sun was still bright and warm so Jane suggested they walk to the stables, one of the few places they had not yet visited. She had been dying to see what manner of horses the marquess kept, but had held her impatience in check, knowing full well that it wasn’t expected in a governess. But it had been quite difficult. More than once in her walks with Peter, she had found herself longing to be able to gallop along the rolling fields and paths she saw.
However, the boy’s reaction shocked her.
His face took on a mulish look and he jammed his hands in his pockets. “I won’t go,” he announced. “I hate horses.”
“Why, Peter!” exclaimed Jane in disbelief. “I thought all boys were mad for horses. Don’t you like to ride?”
He shook his head doggedly. “I hate it.”
She reached over and gathered him into her lap. She had noticed that he wasn’t at all used to being touched or hugged, and even though he wouldn’t admit it, he seemed to like it very much.
“Now why is that?” she asked gently.
Peter didn’t answer her.
“Did a horse hurt you?”
