Page 16 of The Defiant Governess
“With such an opinion, I wonder that you would bother hiring one at all,” she said softly.
“It is necessary,” was the curt reply. There was another silence. “I have also found my ward to be more...lively. I take it I have you to thank for this as well?”
Jane couldn’t resist the opening. “Oh, it is really nothing, my lord. Children naturally respond to a little love and attention.” She smiled innocently. “His name is Peter, by the way—in case you have forgotten.”
A flush stole across his face, she noted with satisfaction, and his jaw set grimly. So, she had managed to effect a crack in his icy manner. But when he spoke, his voice was quite even.
“You may go now.”
Without any further ado, he turned his attention to the papers on his desk.
It was Jane’s turn to feel the heat of anger. To be dismissed like a … a servant! But as soon as she thought it, the very irony of the situation nearly made her smile in spite of herself. She rose silently and left the room, conceding the last word to him. After all, he had had an unfair advantage over her. But she felt she had held her own, and even scored a hit herself.
Yet the whole meeting had infuriated her, only serving to confirm her suspicion that the marquess was a cold, hard man. When she reached her own chamber she was still fuming over the bored, sardonic look on his face, the way his eyes raked over her as if they didn’t even see her. She made a vow that he would never intimidate her as he seemed to have done to the rest of the household. Not that it mattered. From what she understood, the marquess never stayed more than a week or two at a time.
But if he wanted to cross wills with her, she was ready!
The thick orientalcarpet muffled the sound of Saybrook’s well-polished Hessians as he paced before the fire in his library. The polished paneling glowed in the flickering light, conjuring up evenings long past when he would creep in to find his mother reading by the hearth. The memories caused a sudden lurch in his chest, a longing to make this his home again, a place of warmth, of laughter, of life rather than a place he avoided as much as possible. He loved the smell of the leather books, thefamiliar furniture, the carved moldings—missing an acorn that he had once whittled away with a new pocket knife …
He shook his head as if to banish the painful thoughts.
They plagued him whenever he came back. Most of the time he was able to keep them at bay. So good had he become at hiding his feelings he could almost believe he had none at all. Perhaps that was why he felt half dead.
His lips compressed. Thank heavens it was only a couple of weeks a year that he had to return here to deal with his affairs. His steward was a capable, honest man who ran the lands well. There was no doubt that all would be in order and decisions could be made swiftly. Of course, he would inspect things himself, and see that his tenants had been looked after properly. But that shouldn’t take too long.
And Mrs. Fairchild ran the manor as well as his mother had. A poor relation from that side of the family, Mrs. Fairchild had come to Highwood when he was still in leading strings. Saybrook grimaced as he remembered how many times she had borne the brunt of some childish prank of his or Liza’s—it was a wonder she did not hold him in the greatest distaste! But her good nature had never wavered, and now she was delighted with the responsibility of caring for his estate and ward while he absented himself for months on end. Did she have an inkling as to his reasons? He sometime thought she looked at him with …
It didn’t matter. She ran the house and servants with a gentle, yet firm hand.
Saybrook allowed himself a small smile.Servants.Most of them had been there for years. The governess was the only new face—and a rather interesting if dowdy one at that. He almost chuckled, recalling her look of dismay at discovering her errant rider and new employer were one in the same. Oh, she had tried to hide her emotions, but her expressive features did notcooperate. Miss Langley would make a poor gambler, for what she was thinking was quite clear.
He thought back to the afternoon. She had been quite angry at his manner. It made him curious as to how a girl of her position would dare to challenge her betters, but he shrugged it off. No matter that her manner was sadly deficient for a servant, he rather liked a show of spirit. Manners she would soon learn.
More importantly, she had done wonders with his ward. The boy was less painfully shy though there was still a wariness in his eyes that shouldn’t be there in one so young. Saybrook ran his hands through his thick locks. It was, he knew, his own fault if the boy was afraid of him. He should spend more time with him, but …
He kept pacing, lost in thought, until Glavin knocked to inform him that his supper was served. With a heavy sigh he left the library, wishing that the short stay was already at an end.
Jane tooksupper in the kitchen with Mrs. Fairchild and Peter, as had become their habit. It was informal and cozy, with the delicious smells emanating from the copper pots and Cook’s constant stream of banter and neighborhood gossip. She felt the atmosphere was good for the boy, and no one argued with her—indeed, no one argued with any suggestion she made around Highwood, but seemed to accept her as a natural leader.
Mrs. Fairchild was still distracted and monitored every dish that was carried to the dining room, much to Cook’s offense. So Jane refrained from questioning her about the marquess, though there were many things she wished to know. However, she wasn’t so reticent when she took Peter up to bed.
“I thought you told me your uncle was old?” she said as they climbed the stairs.
Peter looked perplexed. “Why, he is, Miss Jane. I heard Mrs. Fairchild say he is nearly eight and twenty.”
“Oh, I see. That’s positively ancient!” Jane laughed and rolled her eyes. How silly of her.
As she finished reading to Peter she noticed that he seemed restless and loath to see her go. So after putting the book aside, she sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the curling hair from his forehead.
“Are you happy that your uncle has come for a visit?”
Peter gave her a strange look then cast his eyes down to his blanket.
“He doesn’t like me,” he finally blurted out.
Jane slipped her arm around his frail shoulders and squeezed gently. “Why, Peter—what fustian! Of course he likes you,” she said with forced cheerfulness while fearing that, with a child’s natural perception, he had indeed sensed the truth. “You must realize that your uncle is very busy, with many demands on his time. I’m sure he does not mean for you to think he doesn’t care,” she added lamely.
The boy nodded miserably. She could feel his shoulder hunch under her touch and found herself wondering whether the poignant scene would have wiped the arrogant sneer from Saybrook’s face. Remembering the cold, carefully controlled manner of earlier in the evening she doubted it. And it made her dislike His Lordship even more. But she couldn’t bear to see Peter so downcast … And suddenly, she came up with a plan.
