Page 36 of The Defiant Governess
He laughed. “Touché, Miss Langley. Why is it that you, of anyone I know, is so capable of pointing out to me my faults?”
“It was not meant as such,” she said quietly. “It was meant as fun, sir. You aren’t nearly so stern as you want people to think.”
“A rare compliment indeed!” Saybrook was still smiling but an odd look flickered in his eyes. “On that note, what say you that we declare a truce for the rest of the glorious afternoon?”
“Very well.” She turned to face him and was surprised to see that he was taking off his coat.
“Would you mind?” he said, handing her the garment. Before she could say a word he walked to the edge of the stream, bent down with Peter and began fashioning a boat of his own out of the broken branches laying around the bank.
“I shall lay out the luncheon,” she called, and received a distracted wave of acknowledgement from the marques, though neither he nor Peter looked up from what they were doing.
Cook had been generous indeed, noted Jane as she began to lay out the picnic. A roast chicken had been carefully wrapped, along with crusty rolls, pickles, thick wedges of stilton and fragrant apple pastries. A jug of fresh apple cider, still cool from the cellar, accompanied the food. Jane arranged everything on a low stone ledge then sat down on the blanket, enjoying the warmth of the sun. She lay back and closed her eyes, listening to the shouts and groans coming from down by the stream. It made her smile, and feel an inner warmth even greater than that of the sunshine.
What a lovely day, she mused, slipping into a dreamy state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. In it she began to picture …
Peter’s shouts brought her back to reality sometime later. She sat up quickly to see the boy running towards her, liberally spattered with mud and shirttails hanging willy-nilly from his pantaloons.
“We had a splendid race and my boat beat Uncle Edward’s,” he cried happily. “I’m starved! Did Cook pack enough to eat?”
“Look at you!” exclaimed Jane. “Congratulations, Admiral, but at least wipe your face and hands before you sit down to dine.” She handed him a large linen napkin. “And sit here next to me in the sun, so you warm up.”
“Have you another napkin?”
Jane looked up and began to laugh. Saybrook looked nearly as bad as the boy. A wide smear of mud stretched over the left thigh of his breeches and his boots were hopelessly waterstained.
“Dratted fallen tree.” He winked. “Took me precious seconds to free my vessel, else it surely would have won, hands down.”
“Uncle Edward was balancing on a fallen tree trunk when it snapped, and he nearly fell on his?—”
“Funny, is it brat?” He threw a playful cuff at the boy while seating himself on the blanket.
“Your bootmaker will no doubt be as pleased as Peter,” remarked Jane as she handed him a napkin as well.
“Yes, they are ruined, no doubt,” he replied, surveying the once-shining leather stretched out before him. “I shall have to send to Hoby for another pair—my valet would give notice if I attempted to appear in these anymore.” He closed his eyes and threw back his head. “Ah, the sun feels nice, doesn’t it?” A moment later, he added, “I beg your pardon for appearing for a meal in such a disheveled state.”
Jane smiled. “I think for today the rules of Society may be relaxed.”
“Good!” From behind his back Saybrook pulled a slender green bottle. “I put this in the stream earlier to chill and it’s ready now.”
“What is it?” asked Jane
“A bottle of Mosel wine—light, fruity, and perfect for the occasion.”
“I couldn’t ...”
“Yes, yes, I know. It wouldn’t be proper,” he interrupted, mimicking her tone. “But the rules are suspended for today, remember?”
Without waiting for a reply, he uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. “To a lovely day. I thank you for inviting me.”
“A lovely day,” she repeated.
He was right. The wine was delicious. Soft, slightly sweet and very heady.
Peter had been eyeing the food longingly. “Miss Jane, may we begin? I’m famished!”
“Oh, Peter, forgive us. Of course!” She put her glass down and fixed the boy a plate.
She passed one to Saybrook as well, then helped herself to Cook’s repast. Soon the three of them were lost in a spirited conversation—so much so that Jane didn’t notice Saybrook refilling her glass. What she did notice was the unconscious smile that crept onto the marquess’s face as he watched Peter chatter happily throughout the meal. Whatever it was that normally hardened his features—and she had come to believe it was no mere haughtiness but rather a private pain she could not begin to fathom—it was gone in moments like this. She found herself wishing for his sake that she could keep it at bay indefinitely.”
