Page 15 of The Defiant Governess
Mrs. Fairchild looked up at her. “Oh, there you are. Thank goodness you have returned. He wants to see you.”
“Who does?”
“Why, the master, of course. He has arrived! Unannounced! His rooms must be put in order. Cook is worried about turning out a decent supper in this space of time and I … oh, the house!” She moaned faintly.
“Now Mrs. Fairchild, don’t be a goose. The house is faultless, as you well know. Why, the floors and furniture fairly glisten with beeswax and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.”
The older woman managed a wan smile. “I suppose things aren’t too shabby, but I should hate to disappoint His Lordship. Oh, he asked that you present yourself to him in the library at six”
“Very well.” She smiled. “Now calm yourself.”
Mrs. Fairchild nodded. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat, then added. “You will be punctual? He does not tolerate sloppy habits at Highwood.”
Jane nodded, not trusting her tone of voice to hide her true feelings. From what she knew of the man so far, she didn’t give a fig for what the Marquess of Saybrook could tolerate.
She certainly found it hard to tolerate the apprehension he seemed to bring out in everyone at Highwood.
Even the footmen and parlor maids were affected by the air of nervousness that had descended upon the house. They rushed about, unloading the traveling carriage and freshening the rooms with a hushed seriousness, engaging in none of their usual cheerful banter. Jane didn’t receive so much as a smile from any of the distracted servants as she made her way up to her room to freshen up her hair and gown for her first interview with her employer—she must look a fright after all that had happened.
The looking glass over the washstand told her that she wasn’t wrong. A goodly number of tendrils had worked their way loose from the severe bun at the nape of her neck and dangled in disarray around her ears and throat. Beneath the errant curls there was a distinct smudge on her left cheek. The wildflowers, still clutched in her hands, had scattered their petals across the bodice of her gown, while its hem was covered with dust.
It was hardly a picture to inspire confidence in an employer.
She sighed longingly as she thought of her abigail at home and a nice hot bath. Then she began to scrub the dirt from her face and to rearrange her hair.
Jane found that she was curious to finally meet the marquess. She knew his house, his lands, his possessions, his dependents and his servants. From that she had formed a very definite picture of him.
And now she was to meet him in person.
Jane finished sponging the hem of her gown, for she had decided not to change into her better grey merino one, but to remain in the distinctly less flattering shade of brown. As she regarded her reflection, she almost grimaced at the plain, rather unattractive face that peered back at her.
But, she sighed, it had been decided that it was best to look as unremarkable as possible—not that it seemed to matter here at Highwood. The unflattering bun coiled tightly at the nape of her neck certainly accomplished that, along with the walnut leaf rinse which had dulled her once glorious hair to an insipid shade nearly as ugly as that of the dress.
She picked up a pair of spectacles from the dresser. Though only made of clear glass, they added an even dowdier touch to her appearance. She had made sure to wear them occasionally around the house so everyone was used to seeing them on her. Propping them firmly on the bridge of her nose she felt ready to meet His Lordship.
Now, if she could just remember to squint …
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Leaving nothing to chance, Mrs. Fairchild had dispatched the butler to make sure she wasn’t late. She dutifully followed Glavin downstairs to the library.
The marquess was standing with his back to her, seemingly engrossed in the blazing hearth, when Jane quietly entered the room. She stopped near the threshold, not merely out of deference but out of surprise. The gentleman before her was over six feet tall, with long legs, narrow hips and a broad, muscular back, accentuated by the snug cut of his elegant swallow-tailed coat of claret superfine. There was a lazy, cat-like grace that radiated from his person, as well as something that hinted at a veiled power beneath the lean, hard body. Thick dark hair—not grey, very dark—fell to the back of his collar while hisshirt points were moderate, allowing him to turn his head with ease. Her surprise turned to shock when he did so.
Those sea-green eyes!
“You!” she blurted out.
“Please take a seat—Miss Langley, is it?” he said coolly, neither his voice nor expression giving the slightest acknowledgement that they had ever laid eyes on each other before. He motioned to an armchair while he seated himself at a massive oak desk facing her.
Jane sat, too stunned to say anything.
Saybrook let the silence last what seemed to be an interminable amount of time before continuing.
“I must congratulate you on your progress with my ward during the short time you have been here. He seems to have actually learned something.”
She had recovered her wits enough to detect the faint note of sarcasm in his voice. “I take it you have no high opinion of governesses then, milord?”
“No,” he admitted. “I do not. Most of them I have met have been either vapid or cruel But you appear to be neither.”
Jane kept her eyes focused on her primly folded hands resting in her lap. How was one to respond to such a compliment, if compliment it was?
