Page 3 of The Defiant Governess
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don’t wish to marry him.”
The duke leaned over the desk towards her. “You don’t wish to marry him,” he repeated slowly. “And why is that? Is Branwell a cruel man? A gamester? A rake? A simpleton?”
Jane shook her head. “You know he is none of those things. He’s nice enough, but he lacks … a certain fire. He’s ratherpriggish, if you must know, and I certainly don’t feel about him the way one should about the man one is going to marry.”
“And how is that? I should very much like to hear what a twenty-year-old miss scarcely out of the schoolroom has to say on such matters.”
Stung by his words, Jane responded hotly. “I think one should feellovefor one’s future husband, not settle for the type of marriage of convenience that seems so popular among theton.”
“With what nonsense have I allowed you to fill your head?” snapped her father. “Is this the result of allowing you to study with Thomas and his tutor, learning French, the classics, history and science. And to read what you liked instead of insisting you be content with sewing, watercolors and lessons on the pianoforte?” He shook his head. “Instead of a well-mannered, biddable daughter I have one with her head filled full of wild romantic notions.”
“Biddable! You, of all people, have always encouraged me to think for myself, not to be a ninnyhammer like Aunt Bella’s daughters,” cried Jane, her voice rising to the same fiery pitch as his.
“Well, it seems I have been wrong to do so! For two Seasons since your coming out you’ve racketed around Town with your brother, getting into scrapes that should make a father blush. You’ve scorned any number of eligible young men. In short, you’ve indulged your own passions with nary a thought to your reputation or your future. That is going to change.”
A silence descended upon the room. The cracking and hissing of the burning logs seemed to mirror their angry expressions.
Jane clasped her hands together so tightly that her nails dug into the skin. “Just what does that mean?” she asked.
“It means that I have given Branwell leave to pay his addresses to you. His father was a good friend of mine and I have known the young man since he was in leading strings, He has no vices, his estates are prosperous, his title is one of the oldest in the land, and you certainly cannot complain of his looks. I know he is considered quite a prize on the Marriage Mart. And he has character—enough backbone to deal with you, which unfortunately cannot be said for many. In short, I am convinced he will make you a very good husband.”
Jane raised her chin defiantly and met his gaze in a clash of sapphire. “I shallnevermarry for a title or a handsome face. You cannot force me to the altar.”
“No, I cannot,” he agreed. “But I think when you have had time to consider, you will come to your senses and agree that it is a reasonable course, one that will bring you happiness in the end. For you know,” he added, softening his tone for the first time, “that is all that I want for you, my dear.”
“How can you say such a thing?” She jumped to her feet, unable to rein in her emotions any longer. “You want to fob me off on a man I neither love nor even like above half! You of all people, who I know made a love match with Mama, and even today refuse to remarry because of her, despite all your mistresses …”
His fist thumped down on the desktop, the blow so violent that it knocked the inkwell to the floor. The shattering of glass stunning both of them into a shocked silence. The only sound between them was their own ragged breathing until the duke recovered his resolve.
“Never speak to me that that again, young lady. Your temper and your language only reinforce that I am doing the right thing, so listen carefully to me. There will be no Season in Town, no routs, no balls, no theatre—nothing!—until you see reason. Fromnow on, you will not leave Avanlea until you leave it as the fiancée of the Duke of Branwell.”
He drew in a harried breath. “And I am sending Thomas away to London tomorrow morning so you may contemplate in solitude the folly of your past behavior. It is to be hoped that in three week’s time, the date for which I have invited Branwell to make an extended visit here, you will have come to your senses.”
Jane let out a horrified little gasp.
“And don’t think to sweeten me up on this. I vow to you that I will not change my mind. It is time to grow up and be a dutiful daughter, and obey your father. You must trust that I know what is best for you.”
Jane turned her head slightly so he would not see the tears welling up in her eyes. It was, after all, the only vestige of pride that she had left, not to fall at his feet in sobs. That her dear father thought her shameless and a burden was almost too much to bear. But she refused to cry in front of him and show him how deeply he had wounded her.
“You have made yourself quite clear, sir,” she replied tonelessly. “May I have your leave to go now?”
He nodded, and looked away to the puddle of ink spreading over the polished oak floor, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. He prayed that his sister had been correct, that he was doing the right thing.
Jane raced blindlydown the corridor, only vaguely aware of where she was or the sympathetic glances from the servants. All she could think of was making it to the front door … to the fresh air … to her horse.
Once mounted, with her stallion striding out in full gallop over the broad meadows of the estate, she finally gave way to her tears. They stung her face as the wind whipped at them, her sobs mingling with the thudding of the hooves and creating a symphony of despair that she felt to her very heart. No one had a right to break her spirit, she told herself. No one! And yet she felt so alone, so small against the censure of her father, her family, the rules of Society.
Was there anyone who would understand how she felt?
Thank heavens there was Nanna. Or, more properly Miss Nancy Withers, who had come to Avanlea with the young slip of a girl who had been Jane’s mother. Nanna, who had been her mother’s nurse, who had followed her young mistress to serve as nurse to a new generation of children. And with the unspoken agreement of everyone in the household, she had remained after the death of Jane’s mother to keep a watchful eye on the two children, even long after they were out of the nursery.
It was Nanna who had comforted a frightened and confused eight-year-old girl when the vast house suddenly fell silent and cold, then filled with a sea of black-clad adults who spoke in low voices to her Papa. It was Nanna who slowly coaxed a little sunshine back into all their lives, sharing picnics by the river, getting gloriously muddy hunting for polliwogs along its shallow banks, and even sparking the first laugh from their father by loosing a barnyard cat into the inner sanctum of Mrs. Greenwell’s kitchen.
Oh, how they had all had to stifle their merriment at the look on that august personage’s face on seeing a muddy ball of fur plopped on an expanse of polished pine lapping cream from one of her spotless Staffordshire pitchers. Their father had hurried them from the door so as not to have the bad manners of laughing aloud. But once in his study they had all collapsed with mirth until tears rolled down their cheeks.
That one shared moment had seemed to break the ice of his grief and once again he became the Papa of old, sharing long rides around the estate and dinner together in the evenings.
