Page 52 of The Defiant Governess
Mary, the young maid who had shared in the nursing duties, had shown a marked aptitude for dealing with the boy as well. She came from a large family and loved children. Jane was happy to see that Peter had taken to her, too. She had already mentioned to Mrs. Fairchild that the girl would make a good substitute until another governess—or tutor—could be found.
Of Saybrook she had seen nothing. She had heard he was recovering remarkably well, and that to Dr. Hastings’s consternation, he had even been up and about for brief periods of time. But she had made it a point to avoid his room and to give the library a wide berth. It was just as well that they didn’t have to face each other.
Lost in thought, she turned the corner around a high hedge of yews and nearly tripped over a pair of long legs thrust out into the middle of the path.
“Oh, your pardon,” she exclaimed, then fell into confused silence when she looked up at who it was.
Saybrook sat on a stone bench. He was dressed casually, a silk dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, a heavy greatcoat draped over his shoulders for protection from the cool breeze. His face was still pale, accentuating the shade of his eyes, but a touch of color was returning to his cheeks. The stubble was gone and his long hair was combed neatly off his forehead.
To her dismay, she felt a stab of excitement at seeing him.
“I’m so sorry, my lord,” she stammered. “I didn’t know you were … I hope I haven’t jostled you.”
“Forgive me for startling you.” His words sounded cool and stilted. “The air is refreshing, is it not, after being confined to a sickroom?”
Jane nodded, not daring to meet his eyes. Saybrook’s hands rested on the chaised silver knob of an ebony cane and they tightened imperceptibly.
“I am in your debt, Miss Langley,” he continued stiffly, “for your competence and fortitude in caring for Peter—and myself, though I know how unpleasant it must have been for you.”
“I was merely doing what was right, sir.” Her words sounded horribly trite to her own ears.
“Yes, I know what a refined sense of duty and responsibility you have. Though why you felt it was due …” He let his voice trail off.
Jane made no reply.
“Well.” It sounded like a dismissal and Jane began to move away, still not venturing a glance at his face.
“A moment, if you please.”
She halted.
“I should like to know something. I—I was delirious at times, I believe, and don’t recall what was a dream and what was real.” He hesitated. “I mean to say …”
Jane looked up at him. “If you mean to ask, sir, whether you told me about Elizabeth, and the fact that Peter is indeed your son.” A pause. “Yes, you did.”
It was Saybrook’s turn to look away. His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “Ah. Well, you see you were quite right to find my company abhorrent. But you, at least, have escaped with your virtue intact.”
“I …” she began, furrowing her brow. She stopped for a moment. “Be assured it is only yourself who judges so harshly.”
He looked surprised—and confused. It appeared he was about to speak further when the tramp of boots on gravel announced the arrival of someone else.
“Beg pardon, my lord.” William Coachman bobbed his head. “Mrs. Fairchild thought you was out here and I wanted to inform you that Miss Jane—” he glanced in her direction—“has requested the carriage to take her to Hinchley in the morning.”
Saybrook’s eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion, but his voice was cool. “Of course. Miss Langley has leave to do as she pleases. See to her wishes.” He rose slowly from the bench, steadying himself with the cane, and began a labored walk back to the manor house by himself.
Ten
Jane felt her heart lurch as the hired driver turned his cart into the magnificent park. The stately chestnut trees lining the drive were just beginning to take on the burnishings of fall and the air was redolent with the last cutting of hay. Every bend, every tree was achingly familiar, yet seemed somehow different. Had it really been only five months that she had been away? It felt like a lifetime—perhaps because she knew she was not the same person who had slipped away in the middle of the night.
The cart crested the hill and Avanlea Hall came into view. It was an imposing sight, the honey-colored limestone facade gleaming in the afternoon sun, its well-proportioned lines set off to perfection by the copse of ancient oak and elm that rose to a soaring height behind the formal gardens. Jane took a deep breath. Her reaction to coming home was always the same—how wonderful it looked!
A groom—it was Joseph—was leading a horse towards the main entrance. A large hound padded alongside him, wagging its tail furiously in its eagerness to be off.
“Why, Glory be—it’s Lady Jane!” he cried as Jane descended from the open cart.
The front door flung open and Thomas emerged, dressed impeccably for riding in tight-fitting buckskins, gleaming Hessians and a snug coat of navy superfine. He froze in mid-stride and his jaw dropped in astonishment. Then, before Jane could utter a word, he sprang forward and gathered her up in his arms.
“Thank God you are well,” he murmured in her ear as he spun her around. He relaxed his embrace and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you!” His eyes took in the nondescript, ill-fitting dress, the darkened hair twisted in a tight bun. “What the devil!” he began, but stopped at the pleading look on her face. “Oh, I daresay I shall hear about it soon enough.” He kept a tight grasp on her shoulders. “But I should shake you until your teeth rattle! Have you any idea what you have put us through? Not knowing whether you were lying dead in some ditch …”
