Page 15 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

Five

J ane slipped into the stables and smiled a greeting at the young groom mucking out stalls.

“Mister Henry ‘as ‘er all saddled up fer ye, Miss,” he piped.

A mist still lay over the fields. The early morning sun was not yet strong enough to penetrate its hazy whiteness and a coolness hung in the air, though summer was fast approaching. Dew clung to the grass and leaves, dampening the sounds of the birds and crickets.

Jane loved the stillness of this time of day, the feeling of peace and solitude.

Almost more than anything else, it was the luxury of being alone that she missed for her former life.

As a servant, she had precious little time for herself.

She was lucky that Henry seemed to understand this need of hers and made no objection to her riding early in the morning before anyone else was up.

Today she had her favorite mount, a spirited filly who loved to run all out if given her head.

It was all Jane could do to check her eagerness until they came out of the wooded trail and into rolling pastureland, where the ground was still redolent with the sweet scent of freshly cut hay.

The clouds were beginning to break up and the scattered patches of blue promised a glorious day.

Jane smiled as the filly tossed her head again, tugging impatiently at the reins.

“Yes, yes, Bodicea,” she murmured. “Let’s fly!” Putting her heels to the horse’s flanks, she let the animal have her head.

The wind whipped at her face and hair. Jane felt like shouting for the sheer pleasure of it. She bent low in the saddle and urged her mount on. Faster, faster . The hooves pounded a staccato rhythm on the earth.

Suddenly she was aware of something odd.

A new sound had joined in, an accompanying pounding.

Puzzled, she was about to pull up and look around for its source when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a black shape shooting up to her.

Then an arm shot out, grabbing her bridle and wrenching her filly to an easy trot, then a walk.

“Are you alright?” snapped a by-now-familiar voice.

She felt the sea green eyes looking her up and down. Seemingly satisfied that she was not injured, the voice continued, “What in Devil’s name do you think you are doing riding such a horse. You could have been killed! Has Henry no more sense than to allow you to …”

“The only danger, sir, was in your reckless grabbing at a galloping horse,” she interrupted. “I was in perfect control.”

Saybrook looked momentarily taken aback.

“And Henry knows perfectly well that I am capable of riding her, or any other horse in your stable, so you needn’t ring a peal over my head.” Jane was furious that her morning had been so rudely interrupted.

“It did not appear so,” replied Saybrook stiffly. “I was merely trying to prevent an accident.”

“Well, what you have managed to do is ruin a lovely morning. Besides,” she added waspishly, “why you should care if I choose to break my own neck is beyond me.”

“I don’t. But it is my horse—and a valuable one at that.”

Jane bit her lip. Once again, she had forgotten herself. How absurd she must seem to him. She ventured a glance at his face to see how angry he was at her impertinence. It was impassive except for what she thought was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

All at once she saw the humor of the situation too. “Of course. I forgot,” she managed to say, trying to stifle a giggle. It was no use. It really was too silly for words. Her hand flew to her mouth but she couldn’t hold back. A peal of laughter filled the air.

Saybrook stared at her for a moment. Then he, too, began to laugh, softly at first, then a rich baritone sound that complemented hers.

After a minute or two, Jane managed to stop and wipe the tears from her eyes. “Oh, how ridiculous! I don’t know why it is that you seem to bring out the worst in me, milord. I apologize for my rudeness. I assure you that I do not start out intending to speak thus to you, it’s just that …”

“… that my selfish, arrogant character is too much to bear,” he finished.

Jane could feel the heat rising in her face. She lowered her eyes to the pommel of her saddle.

“I, too, apologize—for ruining your morning,” he continued. “Perhaps we could start afresh. Since you appear to enjoy a gallop, Miss Langley, would you care to race to the far oak?”

Jane’s head popped up. “Hardly a fair match,” she said, eyeing the powerful flanks of his black stallion. “I suggest a ten-yard head start for my mount.”

“Agreed.”

She gathered her reins and coaxed the filly in line with Saybrook's stallion.

“At your pleasure,” he called.

Jane touched her heels to her mount’s side while at the same time urging it forward with her voice.

Still full of energy, the filly bolted forward, elated to be given her head.

Jane bent low over the flying mane. She kept her hands soft and her seat firm.

As the wind whipped around her she cursed her flapping skirts. If only she had a proper riding habit!

The oak was coming closer and closer. But then, on her right appeared the black stallion, moving almost effortlessly.

For a moment they were abreast of each other and Jane noted how Saybrook was nearly one with the animal, so well did he ride.

Then the two of them pulled ahead, beating Jane and her filly by a length.

Both horses gleamed with sweat as their riders slowed them to a walk. Jane, too, was breathless with exertion and elation.

“What a magnificent animal, sir!’

“Yes,” replied Saybrook as he patted the horse’s neck. “You’re a Nonpareil, aren’t you, Hero.” There was a short pause. “And did you learn to ride like that from your Squire as well?”

“Y-yes,” stammered Jane. She thought quickly. “And we always had horses around the farm.”

“I see. So you learned on ... a plow horse?” His tone was bantering but he looked at her quizzically.

“The squire had a few blood horses.” She quickly changed the subject. “Do you race Hero?”

Saybrook gave a slight smile. He didn’t press her further but followed her lead. “No, I have not considered it.”

“Well, I’m sure he would do handsomely at Newcastle.”

Again he gave her a questioning look. “And how would know that, Miss Langley?”

“Just from what I manage to read,” she answered lamely, mentally kicking herself for being so cork-brained. The heat of the race must have affected her judgment. She stole a sideways glance to see if he was still studying her face. Thankfully, his attention was on the upcoming woods.

She couldn’t help but notice how well he looked in his buckskins and riding coat.

His long hair was tousled about his ears and collar, making him look younger, more carefree.

His expression also seemed more relaxed.

It was as if he was allowing himself to put aside his usual hauteur for the moment.

A curious feeling squeezed at her stomach.

She felt almost giddy. Then she shook herself and looked away.

So what if he was damnably attractive at times?

They rode along in silence for a time.

“Do you ride every morning?” asked Saybrook as they came to a narrow lane used by farm carts.

“It is before my duties with Peter begin,” she said a bit defensively. “Henry did not think you would object.”

“Miss Langley, I would take it kindly if you would not regard a simple question as an attempt to bite your head off. No doubt your assessment of my character is such that you feel the need to be defensive, but I’m not quite the monster you think.”

Jane hung her head in shame. “Yes, sir. That is, yes, I try to ride every morning.”

“Have you taken out Agrippa?”

“Indeed not, milord. I did not mean to imply earlier that Henry would let anyone ride your prime stallions.”

“I should think you would find him to your liking. Henry will have him ready tomorrow. I should like to hear what you think of him,” he said. “And now, good day, to you Miss Langley.”

They had reached the elm-lined drive leading to the manor house and he spurred forward at a sharp canter leaving Jane speechless.

Never had she known a gentleman to offer one of his stallions to a lady, much less care about her opinion of his merits!

Even those friends who knew she was a bruising rider were loath to admit she might know as much as they did about horseflesh.

So lost in thought did she become that it took Henry’s cheery good morning for her to realize she had arrived back at the stables.

Later that afternoon, when lessons were finished, Peter rushed off to the stables to meet Saybrook for a ride through the southern part of the estate.

The marquess was taking more and more interest in his ward and it showed in the boy’s demeanor.

There was a cheerfulness about him that was missing before, and his eyes no longer had that wary look.

With the remainder of the afternoon free, Jane decided to write a note to Mary in the privacy of her own room.

It was way past due—she had no idea how the time had flown by so quickly!

Her friend deserved a few words, nothing that might give Jane away if others read the note, but enough to assure Mary that their plans had not gone awry.

Engrossed with the tasking of composing the letter in her head, she entered her room with nary a glance around and began rummaging around for some paper and ink in her bureau. It was only when she turned to sit on her bed that she noticed the dress.

It was a riding habit of deep navy, outdated in fashion but of fine fabric and detailing—an obviously costly garment.

Jane stared at it for a moment, unable to figure out where it had possibly come from, or what it was doing in her room.

She put aside her writing material and left to find Mrs. Fairchild.