Page 17 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

Six

J ane picked up a pile of fragrant pressed linens.

“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Fairchild. “You certainly aren’t expected to do such work.”

“I don’t mind, truly. Annie will have more than enough to catch up with when she returns.

” The laundry maid had been given time off to nurse a sick child and the week’s wash sat neatly starched and folded, but needed to be put away.

Jane had caught Mrs. Fairchild struggling with a mass of sheets and had promptly relieved the older woman of her burden.

“Peter is down at the stables bringing his horse a treat from the kitchen,” she added with a smile, “so I’m quite at leisure.”

After climbing the stairs, she turned down a hallway into the wing of the house she had never entered before.

One, two, three, four—she counted the doors and entered a small room with huge pine linen presses that served the bedrooms of the wing.

She added her pile to the others stacked in the nearest one and carefully closed the door to keep the lavender scent of the sachets locked inside.

As she walked back, she took her time, glancing in through the open doors at the carved furniture and rich fabrics of the various rooms. Each had its own color palette and motif yet all reflected a hand of restraint and elegance. Clearly someone with taste had overseen the decorating of Highwood.

Who , she wondered?

As she passed a closed door, she found herself wondering what Saybrook’s rooms looked like.

Were they dark and overbearing, or as pleasant as these?

Did his bed have a canopy. Was it an heirloom four poster—she caught herself with a start and nearly blushed.

How improper to even think about such things!

Suddenly, something caught her eye. She stopped abruptly, backed up a few steps, and then entered a small conservatory whose tall leaded windows reminded her so much of her own home that she felt a catch in her throat.

But it was the pianoforte that had attracted her attention.

It was a grand one, gleaming ebony in the afternoon light, its keys beckoning.

Without thinking, she seated herself and began to play.

There was a pile of sheet music on the stand, but she began from memory, her fingers alive with the pleasure of playing once again.

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it!

All sense of time was forgotten as she lost herself in the emotions of her favorite Mozart sonata.

Finally, she came to the end and let out a sigh, drained yet happy from the demands of the music.

“That was exquisite.”

The voice was hardly more than a whisper. Jane whirled around to see Saybrook leaning in the doorway.

“Oh,” she gulped and made to jump up.

“No, please,” he said. “Can you play the Sonata in G minor?”

She shook her head. “It’s still too difficult for me, especially the middle passage.”

He came across the room swiftly and seated himself beside her. “That I cannot believe. It’s certainly no more demanding than the piece you just played.”

His fingers began to move over the keys, and Jane noticed how long and graceful they were. And as she listened to the notes, she became aware that they were also strong, and capable of great sensitivity. It was her turn to be amazed. She sat mesmerized until he finished.

“Milord, you play beautifully!” she exclaimed. “I never would have expected that a gentleman …” Her voice faltered.

“That a gentleman would play the piano?” he finished. His lips compressed in an expression of bitterness. “Yes, I know. It is not considered manly—as my father told me on countless occasions.”

“But you have a real gift!” Impulsively she covered his left hand, which still rested on the keys, with her own. Somehow, she wanted to brush away the hurt she saw in him. “As if anyone could question your …”

Flustered, Jane abruptly fell silent. What in heaven’s name was she doing? She snatched away her hand, covering her embarrassment with a cough, before continuing. “I must be getting back, sir. Mrs. Fairchild must be wondering what’s become of me.”

Saybrook was staring at her with an unfathomable look on his face. As she tried to rise, his hand grasped her firmly by the elbow.

“I really must go, milord,” she whispered, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Enough of me,” he said. “It is you , Miss Langley, I wish to discuss. Such as where you learned to play like that.”

“I … I told you. I was educated with a squire’s daughter.”

His grip tightened. “Do you take me for a gudgeon? What country squire has a music master such as that? What’s his name? Where does he live?”

“It is none of your concern!” she cried.

“Indeed it is! You are employed to look after my ward. I have every right to know your background.”

Jane’s mind was a blur of panic. All the carefully rehearsed lines were forgotten in the face of his steely gaze. Desperately she sought for something to say. All she could think of was the truth.

“Please sir, I cannot tell you that.” To her consternation, she felt tears in her eyes.

“I assure you there is nothing in my background that would make me unfit to be Peter’s governess.

It’s just that ….” She paused, wondering whether to go on.

Saybrook’s eyes had never left her and she knew he would demand more.

“You see, I’ve run away from my father. I would prefer it if no one knows where I am from. I feel safer that way.”

“Why?”

Jane took a deep breath. “He wished to force me into a marriage that I did not want.”

Saybrook’s hand slipped from her arm. She was surprised to see his brow furrow and a look of pain cross his features. “One should be free to marry whom one chooses,” he said slowly.

Though Jane was free from his grasp she made no move to leave. “That is a strange opinion for you to hold, sir. I thought Society expected those of your station to marry for … pragmatic reasons.

He gave a bitter laugh. “You are correct. But that doesn’t make it right.”

She looked at him with sudden understanding. “You don’t like having to do what’s expected of you.”

This time his laugh was real. “And neither, Miss Langley, do you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Perhaps I could speak to your father for you.”

Jane’s eyes widened in amazement at the offer. The idea was nothing short of intriguing—it would be an interesting confrontation. However, she merely shook her head. “You don’t know my father.”

“And you, perhaps, do not realize how persuasive a title can be.”

Jane repressed a small smile. “I’m not sure it would matter in this case. But I thank you for your generous offer. It is truly most kind of you.”

“You have only to ask if you reconsider.”

This time he made no move to stop her as she rose. However, he thrust his handkerchief in her hand. “Wipe your eyes before you go back. I am sorry for upsetting you. I shall not press you further on the matter.” he said rather gently. “And please feel free to come play whenever you wish.”

As Jane reached the door, she turned. “Sir, would it be alright with you if I teach Peter to play?”

Saybrook looked startled for a moment, then gave a nod. “If he wishes.”

“I think it would be a splendid idea. And perhaps you might help him, too.” She didn’t miss the spark of interest that flashed in his eyes.

“I know you must have many more pressing matters to attend to since you spend so much of your time locked away in your library. But perhaps you could spare an odd moment or two. I know Peter would be in alt if you did.”

“Perhaps,” he answered gruffly.

As Jane made her way slowly back to the main part of the house, she reflected that she wasn’t the only one hiding painful secrets.

Under the influence of the music, Saybrook had let his mask of icy hauteur slip, giving her a glimpse of a vastly different persona than he normally presented to the world.

Why did he wish to appear cold and unfeeling when he wasn’t that way at all? she wondered. She had thought that men had all the freedom in the world to be whom they chose. A surge of empathy for him welled up within her. They were more alike than he knew!

She dabbed once more at her eyes with the handkerchief to remove any last vestige of tears.

The heavy silk held the faint fragrance of bay rum and some mysterious scent she couldn’t put a name to, and the mingled effect sent a tingle up her spine.

She fingered the large embroidered “S” at one of the corners, then carefully folded it and put it in her pocket.

The wrong note rang out loud and jarring.

“No, no, you must spread your fingers like this,” corrected Jane as she positioned Peter’s fingers on the keys. The lessons had been going on for a week now, and the boy was proving to be a quick learner. “Try it again.”

This time the boy completed the simple tune without a mishap.

“Well done, Peter,” she laughed.

A slow clapping made them both turn around.

“Yes, bravo,” called Saybrook from where he was lounging against the doorway. “You’ve made great progress.”

“Oh, Uncle Edward, listen to this. I can also play a sea chantey,” cried Peter, and he began to pick out a simple melody, making only two or three mistakes.

“I see we have a prodigy in the making,” said Saybrook dryly as he came and sat down on a corner of the bench. “Have you learned this duet? It was the first piece my music master taught to my sister and me.” He showed the boy one part, then began to play his own melody.

Peter laughed in delight. “Oh, that’s ripping. Can we do it again?”

Jane had slipped off the bench to make room for the marquess, and now stood watching the two dark heads bent over the keyboard. A warm smile stole across her face. Saybrook looked up for a moment and caught her look. He smiled back at her before returning his attention to the boy and the music.