Page 51 of The Defiant Governess
“I didn’t care. In fact, for the next few months, it was as if I was living in a daze. I considered putting a period to my own existence, but was too cowardly to do so. Finally, I roused myself enough to go home, telling Sara to do what she saw fit—I couldn’t bear to even look at the child.”
Saybrook pressed his fingertips to his brow. “I confronted my father with what he had done. We had a terrible quarrel and, by Jove, I struck him—I’ll never forget the shock in his eyes as he looked up at me from the floor, a trickle of blood coming from his lip. I swore that I would never see him again, turned on my heel and left. I never did. He died three years later.”
“I threw myself into a dissolute life with even more abandon, but even London seemed too close, too much of a reminder. I went abroad.” His voice trailed off for a moment. “You can imagine my shock on hearing of my sister and brother-in-law’s deaths, and that they had made me Peter—my son’s—guardian. How ironic!” His voice was getting softer, the words less distinct as the laudanum took its effect. “So you see, Miss Langley, you were quite right to take a disgust of me. I am quite beyond the pale, don’t you think?”
Jane placed her hand on his arm and bent close by his head. “I think it is a very sad story, sir. And I also think it is time you forgave yourself. Anyone would—most of all Elizabeth.”
His expression turned bleak. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Did you … love her that much?”
He shook his head slightly. “I was grateful for her friendship. Was it love? I don’t know. I fancied it was then, but in truth I doubt that we would have suited as we grew older.”
Jane felt an unreasonable spasm of relief. She found his hand and held it tightly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, milord. You acted honorably and as a gentleman should—it is you and not your father who are a credit to your family name.”
He tried to say something in reply, but the words were thick, incoherent. Already his breathing had lapsed into the regular rhythm of opium-induced sleep. She moved to pull the covers up over his chest, then impulsively brushed a light kiss to his cheek.
“Good night, sir.”
“Enough!”cried Mrs. Fairchild in the morning upon finding Jane slumped in her chair. “Both patients are out of danger nowand I’ll brook no more argument from you! You will go to your own chamber and sleep. or I shall have James and Charles carry you there!”
Jane was too exhausted to argue. She allowed the older woman to shoo her out of Saybrook’s room, and on reaching her own bed, she collapsed without undressing and fell into a deep, deep sleep.
Saybrook awokein the late afternoon, his mind finally feeling clear and lucid. He tried to remember all that had taken place, but the events of the past few days seemed hazy and confused. He wasn’t sure exactly what was real and what had been merely dreams—or nightmares. The pain in his side told him that the accident was no figment of his imagination. He remembered the bull and Peter on the ground … but had Miss Langley truly been there in his chamber throughout his ordeal, or had it been just a feverish delusion?”
He opened his eyes slowly.
“Oh, Mr. Edward! Thank God the fever has passed!” Mrs. Fairchild put down her knitting and came to hover by his bedside.
“Miss Langley—is she here?” he said softly.
Mrs. Fairchild shook her head reprovingly. “Now sir, the poor dear has not been to sleep for four days. Cared for both you and Peter, she did, and wouldn’t let anyone else near. Surely you wouldn't wish her disturbed. Be assured that I can get you whatever you need.”
So it hadn’t been a dream.She had been there.
“Of course,” he murmured. “And Peter?”
The housekeeper smiled. “Our biggest worry will be keeping the lad still in bed so that his arm can mend properly.”
“That’s good news, indeed,” replied Saybrook. “If you please, I would like a glass of water.” He eased himself higher in bed as Mrs. Fairchild fetched the glass, and then began to fuss over the pillows.
“I shall manage on my own, thank you,” he said, after taking a sip. “There is no need for anyone to hover at my bedside. I have no intention of sticking my spoon in the wall in the near future.”
“Well, you may tease me, Mr. Edward, but it was a serious thing, it was. Why, without Miss Langley …” She bit at her lip. “I shall send to Cook for some porridge. You must try to eat.”
Saybrook lapsed into deep thought. Miss Langley’s behavior was puzzling. He could well understand her concern for Peter, and that her sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow her to leave in a crisis. But why had she insisted on nursing him as well, when he knew her disgust of him ….Or rather, hatred.
And with good reason.
So why had he imagined the tender touch of her lips?
Because he was a bloody fool, he chided himself angrily. A fool and delirious. It made no sense.
Too weak to think any more on it, he fell back into an uneasy sleep.
The fresh breezestill felt like a tonic even though four days had passed since Jane had emerged from the sickroom. She pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, but kept walking, reveling in the sound of the leaves rustling and the shrill cries of the starlings flying over the meadows.
Peter’s protests at having to remain abed still echoed in her ears, but his restlessness cheered all of them, for it meant there were no lingering aftereffects from the blow to the head. She spent mornings with him, fighting grand battles with his lead soldiers among the myriad folds of his bedclothes or reading aloud from one of the schoolroom novels.
