Page 19 of The Defiant Governess
In the middle of mulling over the problem, a knock sounded on the door. She sighed and bid whomever it was to enter. Perhaps Mrs. Fairchild had heard of her being turned out and had come to say goodbye. If so, Jane decided that she might be able to bring herself to borrow a few shillings from her. But most likely it was a footman, ready to toss her out the door, she thought glumly. Which was no doubt what she deserved.
The door opened slowly and Peter’s smiling face appeared behind it. He rushed to her arms, already talking excitedly.
“Did you see my ribbon?” he demanded, not waiting for an answer. “I was a little scared—just a little—but I knew I could do it! Uncle Edward says that it was a tip-top performance!”
“It was indeed.”
“And I’m to have supper with him in the real dining room. With silver candlesticks and champagne!”
Jane laughed. “Oh, very grand.”
“Yes,” continued the boy, “And I asked if you could come, too?—”
“Peter!” she exclaimed. “You …”
“… and he said yes, of course, and that I should come and ask you to join us.”
Jane was thrown into a state of confusion. “But Peter,” she said gently. “It’s not proper for a servant to dine with the master.”
He looked at her in consternation. “But why not? Uncle Edward said it is quite alright.”
”He didn’t say exactly that, I’ll wager,” she muttered, but she didn’t have the heart to spoil the boy’s day. If the marquess could bear it, so could she. “Very well then, I shall be delighted to attend.”
“He says we are to be there at seven.”
“I shall come by your room ten minutes beforehand. You must look your best if you are to grace His Lordship’s table.”
When the boy had hurried off, she sank down on her bed, relieved that at least for tonight she didn’t have to worry about where she would sleep. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to leave in the dead of night?
As she considered the matter, she thought some more about Saybrook himself. He must have a softer side—one she certainly hadn’t seen yet—not to want to spoil Peter’s enjoyment of the day. After all, it was going well beyond the bounds of duty to include her at his dining table, especially after what had takenplace. Why, the very sight of her must put him off his appetite! And obviously Peter had not been told she was leaving.
She shook her head. It had been a very strange day.
At the stroke of seven Jane ushered Peter into the dining room. It was a vast space, with dark oak paneling and an impressive chandelier that winked sparkles of light from the myriad candles in among the crystal. The table was just as imposing, massive with carved legs and a breadth that seemed to dwarf the three place settings at the end nearest the marble fireplace.
Saybrook was already in the room. A glass of champagne in his hand, he stood by the crackling blaze, staring into the flames as if lost in thought. She noticed with a start how very handsome he was, now that his face didn’t have the cold, sardonic look that was normally chiseled on his features. Silhouetted by the firelight, his profile seemed softer, more vulnerable.
At the sound of their steps he looked up, and the moment was gone. His mouth hardened and his eyes became cooler.
Though she had donned her best navy merino gown, Jane felt a flush of self-consciousness as she observed Saybrook regarding her. His superbly tailored black coat, understated, yet elegant, fit him to perfection and a waistcoat of burgundy silk showed beneath it. A white linen shirt rose to moderate points and the starched neck cloth fell in a perfect Waterfall knot. His riding breeches had been replaced by pantaloons which fit snugly over a pair of soft Moroccan boots.
Jane felt woefully dowdy, then realized that it was likely exactly how she was supposed to feel.
With exaggerated politeness, Saybrook bowed slightly to her and indicated the chair to his right.
“Peter, perhaps you will do the honors with Miss Langley’s chair.”
Jane had not dared meet his gaze as yet, not knowing quite what to expect, or how to react. When she finally did so, his eyes betrayed no emotion at all, as if nothing untoward had occurred between them. For some reason, that made her feel even more uncomfortable.
Saybrook lifted the bottle of champagne from the silver cooler and filled the goblet at her place, then splashed a touch in Peter’s glass.
“A toast. To Peter’s equestrian accomplishments.” A smile. “My congratulations, lad.”
The boy colored with pleasure as the two adults lifted their glasses. He sniffed at the bubbly drink then cautiously tasted it.
“It tickles!” he cried. “And it tastes awful.”
“It improves with age—one’s own, that is,” remarked Saybrook dryly. “Don’t you agree?”
