Page 14 of The Defiant Governess
What a crazy thought, she chided herself. She was but a servant! Yet she had so many fewer constrictions and rules than before—and she wasn’t bored. For the first time in her life, she felt she was doing something meaningful.
Impishly lifting the hem of her skirts, she gave rein to her high spirits and began to run back towards the path. She raced up and over the stile, then suddenly was engulfed by a dark shadow. A muffled oath followed, then the sound of thundering hooves brought up short. She skittered to a halt and looked up at a very large black stallion which was tossing its head and dancing nervously only a few yards from where she stood.
“Damnation! Have you no more sense, girl, than to run out in front of a galloping horse?” The rider eyed Jane’s shabby grey gown and bonnet, tendrils of mousy hair escaping from under its unflattering brim, and made a grimace of distaste.
Jane looked up at him. Above a pair of gleaming Hessians, impeccable buckskins encased well-muscled thighs that were having no trouble controlling his skittish mount. Despite the sudden stop, the rider’s perfectly tailored riding coat showed not a crease around the broad shoulders, nor was the knotted cravat even slightly askew. Jane shifted her glance upward. The rider’s features were perfectly chiseled, handsome but hard, with a cold, haughty look to them. His locks, where they tumbled out from under his curly brimmed beaver hat, were as dark as his stallion’s coat. And the eyes, a sea-green color, were flooded with annoyance.
Piqued at being spoken to—and looked at—like that, Jane replied without thinking.
“And have you no sense, sir, than to gallop recklessly along a footpath?” Some impulse made her add, “Or perhaps you cannot control your mount.”
The eyes now betrayed a flash of anger. “If I could not control my mount you would be very lucky to be alive,” he retorted.Then, as if realizing the ignominy of brangling with a farm girl, his face composed itself back to its frozen haughtiness.
This infuriated Jane even more. Heedless of the propriety she addressed another bold sally at him. “This would never have happened if you had not been trespassing. I’ll have you know these are the Marquess of Saybrook’s lands.”
“Ah. Saybrook.” The corners of his mouth twitched imperceptibly. “Then aren’t you trespassing as well? And stealing, perhaps?” He looked pointedly at her chest.
Jane was momentarily nonplussed. She looked guiltily at the flowers still clutched to her bosom. “I’m not … er, that is … Of course I’m not stealing!” she replied indignantly. “I’m taking these to the manor house. I work there.”
A look of surprise creased the rider’s brow. “Indeed? And just how, pray tell, are you employed there?”
Jane lifted her chin. The nerve of the man, to question her word! “I am the new governess.”
“The governess,” he repeated, staring intently at her.
Jane’s anger, sparked more than she cared to admit by the shock of the near accident, had just as quickly died down. And now, under the penetrating gaze of the gentleman on horseback, she realized just what a predicament her hasty words had put her in. Not only had she nearly caused him to unseat himself and possibly injure a valuable horse, but she—a servant—had been unspeakably rude to him. It was entirely possible that he was an acquaintance of the marquess, and one word about today’s incident would no doubt result in her instant dismissal.
What a mull she had made of her first encounter with the local gentry!
“Oh, dear.” The words escaped without her even realizing it.
The gentleman had been watching the turmoil on her face. “What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Did Hero hurt you after all?”
“N-n-no,” she stammered. “It’s not that.” She stopped for a second, then decided she had no alternative but to throw herself at his mercy, much as the idea stuck in her throat.
“It’s just that this is my first position and, and I have not yet … I fear I wasn’t thinking—I was terribly rude, sir. I beg your pardon.” Her eyes didn’t dare meet his for fear he would see not contrition but indignation at having to humble herself to such a haughty gentleman.
“Having such a fright would cause anyone to forget her manners,” he allowed.
A quick flare of anger sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. But just as quickly, Jane managed a semblance of a smile. “Thank you for your generosity, sir,” she said through gritted teeth. There was another pause. “I would ask for your further generosity in not mentioning this incident to Lord Saybrook.”
He paused as if to consider the request. “Let us agree that what has happened will remain between you and me alone,” he replied with a sardonic smile. “However …”
Jane took a deep breath, waiting to hear the rest.
… it is to be hoped that the governess can learn her lessons well, too.” With that, he put the spurs to his impatient stallion and set off at an easy canter.
“Wretch,” she muttered at the broad back, fast disappearing down the path. “Arrogant, high in the instep, conceited …”
She kicked at a stone in her frustration. “Insufferable.” He had certainly gotten the better of her. All the way home she consoled her wounded pride by repeating every disparaging adjective that she had learned from Thomas to describe the odious gentleman.
At least, she consoled herself, it was most unlikely she would ever have to see him again.
Jane felt tolerably composedby the time she walked into the manor through the kitchen door, even though the mere thought of those sea green eyes still set her teeth on edge. Usually the warmth and the heady smells emanating from Cook’s domain were ever so soothing. Perhaps she would linger over a glass of warm milk and fresh scones. Then her spirits would be truly restored.
Instead of the normal calm however, Jane had walked into a scene straight out of Bedlam. Upstairs maids were scurrying with piles of linen, Cook was standing, arms akimbo, shouting orders at spooked scullery maids, and poor Mrs. Fairchild was wringing her hands, muttering “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” to no one in particular.
“What on earth is the matter?” cried Jane.
