Page 38 of The Defiant Governess
“But why?” he persisted. “Lady Carew and her daughter don’t. And neither does the vicar’s wife. Cook say it makes you look terribly severe.”
“Peter!” chided Jane. “Haven’t I told you that a gentleman never takes note of gossip, and he certainly doesn’t repeat it.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Saybrook was grinning again.
“Severe,” he repeated. “I quite agree with Cook.”
“Please sir, don’t encourage him,” she appealed.
“Can I see it down?” continued Peter.
She froze.
Saybrook smiled at her and motioned for her to take the pins out.
“Please,” cajoled the boy.
Perhaps it was still the effect of the wine, but all of a sudden she relented. “Very well.”
She began to remove the hairpins and her thick tresses cascaded down over her shoulders. The sunlight cut through the dullness of the walnut wash and picked out the golden highlights of her curls.
“Ooooh, Miss Jane! You—why, you are beautiful!!” exclaimed Peter. “Isn’t she, Uncle Edward?”
“Indeed.” The marquess’s grin had been replaced by some more inscrutable expression.
“You see, Peter, a gentleman must always be polite,” said Jane, trying to mask her unsettled emotions. To her dismay, she could feel a flush rising to her cheeks, as if she was some schoolroom miss receiving her first compliment. She quickly began fumbling for the pins and twisting her hair back into a proper bun.
“Leave it down,” murmured Saybrook.
Jane paused.
“Just this afternoon. The rules, remember, are suspended.” There was a strange, poignant appeal in his look, something that made her release the mass of curls.
“Just for this afternoon,” she whispered.
He smiled again and she tried to ignore the fluttering she felt inside.
“When can I see what’s in your basket?” Peter had suddenly spied the mysterious bundle sitting on the ledge.
“Go ahead and look, brat.”
“A kite! It’s a kite! Will you show me how to fly it?”
Saybrook scrambled to his feet. “We must go out into the field where there are no trees.” He turned to Jane, but she waved them both on their way.
“The two of you go along. I shall pack up everything here.” What she really needed was a little time alone to sort through her tangled emotions.
The sun was beginningto set as they rode back towards Highwood. Peter’s expression was one of complete bliss, but Jane could tell by the way that his chatter had died down and by the tilt of his shoulders that he was struggling to stay awake. As for her own feelings, she had to admit she was not unhappy to see the pale limestone facade of the great house through the trees. She and Saybrook had spoken little on the way back, but it was a companionable silence, comfortable and easy as they exchanged smiles over some of Peter’s more exuberant observations.
Though the grooms were waiting for them, it was Saybrook who reached up to help her from the saddle, his lithe fingers around her waist, lifting her effortlessly. As Peter slid off his pony, it seemed as if he would keep going, crumpling to the ground until Saybrook caught him about the waist. Hoisting the boy to his shoulder, he remarked how it was time for imps to be in bed.
“I’m not tired,” protested Peter, as he wrapped his arm around the marquess’s neck. “I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t want today to end.”
Jane was walking alongside Saybrook, carrying the picnic basket. She reached up and ruffled the boy’s hair. “There will be other days.”
“As nice as this?”
“I certainly hope so.”
