Page 28 of The Defiant Governess
“Oooohhh!” She was so angry that words eluded her. In frustration she stamped her foot.
At that, the corners of Saybrook's mouth twitched uncontrollably. In another moment he was laughing aloud.
“Oh, do give off,” she snapped. But the absurdity of it all was clear to her as well. In spite of her pique, she found herself joining his laughter.
“I’m afraid that yet again I have behaved very badly, milord.” she said as she regained her composure. “I apologize for my actions, and assure you that I shall refrain from giving orders which are rightfully yours to give. Is that satisfactory?”
“Do I hear correctly? Has Miss Langley admitted to error?”
“I should hope that I, too, have the grace to admit when I am wrong. And I would appreciate it if you would inform me of my defects of character in a less high-handed manner,”
Saybrook inclined a slight bow. “Agreed.” He paused for a bit. “And I would hope that if you feel something is amiss at Highwood you will bring it to my attention.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Would you pay it any heed?” she challenged.
“I would be a fool not to. You have good sense and a discerning eye—you were right about the pond.”
“But I am merely a woman.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with having good sense and a discerning eye. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see how the men are coming.”
He strode out of the library, leaving Jane with more than enough food for thought for the day.
Six
Jane picked up a pile of fragrant pressed linens.
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Fairchild. “You certainly aren’t expected to do such work.”
“I don’t mind, truly. Annie will have more than enough to catch up with when she returns.” The laundry maid had been given time off to nurse a sick child and the week’s wash sat neatly starched and folded, but needed to be put away. Jane had caught Mrs. Fairchild struggling with a mass of sheets and had promptly relieved the older woman of her burden.
“Peter is down at the stables bringing his horse a treat from the kitchen,” she added with a smile, “so I’m quite at leisure.”
After climbing the stairs, she turned down a hallway into the wing of the house she had never entered before. One, two, three, four—she counted the doors and entered a small room with huge pine linen presses that served the bedrooms of the wing. She added her pile to the others stacked in the nearest one and carefully closed the door to keep the lavender scent of the sachets locked inside.
As she walked back, she took her time, glancing in through the open doors at the carved furniture and rich fabrics of the various rooms. Each had its own color palette and motif yet allreflected a hand of restraint and elegance. Clearly someone with taste had overseen the decorating of Highwood.
Who, she wondered?
As she passed a closed door, she found herself wondering what Saybrook’s rooms looked like. Were they dark and overbearing, or as pleasant as these? Did his bed have a canopy. Was it an heirloom four poster—she caught herself with a start and nearly blushed. How improper to even think about such things!
Suddenly, something caught her eye. She stopped abruptly, backed up a few steps, and then entered a small conservatory whose tall leaded windows reminded her so much of her own home that she felt a catch in her throat. But it was the pianoforte that had attracted her attention. It was a grand one, gleaming ebony in the afternoon light, its keys beckoning.
Without thinking, she seated herself and began to play. There was a pile of sheet music on the stand, but she began from memory, her fingers alive with the pleasure of playing once again. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it! All sense of time was forgotten as she lost herself in the emotions of her favorite Mozart sonata. Finally, she came to the end and let out a sigh, drained yet happy from the demands of the music.
“That was exquisite.”
The voice was hardly more than a whisper. Jane whirled around to see Saybrook leaning in the doorway.
“Oh,” she gulped and made to jump up.
“No, please,” he said. “Can you play the Sonata in G minor?”
She shook her head. “It’s still too difficult for me, especially the middle passage.”
He came across the room swiftly and seated himself beside her. “That I cannot believe. It’s certainly no more demanding than the piece you just played.”
His fingers began to move over the keys, and Jane noticed how long and graceful they were. And as she listened to the notes, she became aware that they were also strong, and capable of great sensitivity. It was her turn to be amazed. She sat mesmerized until he finished.
