Page 21 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

“Have I said something with which you disagree? You must not hesitate to correct my facts. It has been a long time since I have been in a schoolroom.”

Jane quickly lowered her eyes. “Not at all, milord. I, too, have been entranced by your story. I feel that I’ve been given a holiday from my duties.

You had best beware, else I ask you to consider adding tutoring history to your other responsibilities at Highwood.

” She kept her tone light and bantering, hoping that he would never guess her true thoughts.

They had walked on beyond the ruins of the buttery and sheds to where a stream flowed through a small copse of oaks.

“Oh, look,” cried Peter and dashed to the edge of the water where he began launching small sticks into the current.

“Mind your feet,” called Jane. “I don’t want you to catch a chill.” She turned to Saybrook. “What is it about water and mud that attracts little boys like a flame does moths?” She laughed. “It will be a wonder if there is a clean spot of linen on his shirt when he is finished.”

Saybrook chuckled. “I seem to remember doing exactly the same thing at his age.”

“I can’t imagine.”

A look of genuine surprise came over his face. “Why is that?”

“Well, it’s hard to imagine you unbending and having fun, milord,” she answered just to tease him.

“You think I’m stuffy?”

“Mmmm. High in the instep might be another way of putting it.”

“Hmmph,” snorted the marquess. “You are being impertinent, Miss Langley.”

“And you are being—how did you put it?—stuffy, my lord. If you intend to tease me, as you did earlier, you must expect to get it back.”

He laughed. “Touché, Miss Langley. Why is it that you, of anyone I know, is so capable of pointing out to me my faults?”

“It was not meant as such,” she said quietly. “It was meant as fun, sir. You aren’t nearly so stern as you want people to think.”

“A rare compliment indeed!” Saybrook was still smiling but an odd look flickered in his eyes. “On that note, what say you that we declare a truce for the rest of the glorious afternoon?”

“Very well.” She turned to face him and was surprised to see that he was taking off his coat.

“Would you mind?” he said, handing her the garment. Before she could say a word he walked to the edge of the stream, bent down with Peter and began fashioning a boat of his own out of the broken branches laying around the bank.

“I shall lay out the luncheon,” she called, and received a distracted wave of acknowledgement from the marques, though neither he nor Peter looked up from what they were doing.

Cook had been generous indeed, noted Jane as she began to lay out the picnic.

A roast chicken had been carefully wrapped, along with crusty rolls, pickles, thick wedges of stilton and fragrant apple pastries.

A jug of fresh apple cider, still cool from the cellar, accompanied the food.

Jane arranged everything on a low stone ledge then sat down on the blanket, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

She lay back and closed her eyes, listening to the shouts and groans coming from down by the stream.

It made her smile, and feel an inner warmth even greater than that of the sunshine.

What a lovely day , she mused, slipping into a dreamy state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. In it she began to picture …

Peter’s shouts brought her back to reality sometime later. She sat up quickly to see the boy running towards her, liberally spattered with mud and shirttails hanging willy-nilly from his pantaloons.

“We had a splendid race and my boat beat Uncle Edward’s,” he cried happily. “I’m starved! Did Cook pack enough to eat?”

“Look at you!” exclaimed Jane. “Congratulations, Admiral, but at least wipe your face and hands before you sit down to dine.” She handed him a large linen napkin. “And sit here next to me in the sun, so you warm up.”

“Have you another napkin?”

Jane looked up and began to laugh. Saybrook looked nearly as bad as the boy. A wide smear of mud stretched over the left thigh of his breeches and his boots were hopelessly waterstained.

“Dratted fallen tree.” He winked. “Took me precious seconds to free my vessel, else it surely would have won, hands down.”

“Uncle Edward was balancing on a fallen tree trunk when it snapped, and he nearly fell on his?—”

“Funny, is it brat?” He threw a playful cuff at the boy while seating himself on the blanket.

“Your bootmaker will no doubt be as pleased as Peter,” remarked Jane as she handed him a napkin as well.

“Yes, they are ruined, no doubt,” he replied, surveying the once-shining leather stretched out before him.

“I shall have to send to Hoby for another pair—my valet would give notice if I attempted to appear in these anymore.” He closed his eyes and threw back his head.

“Ah, the sun feels nice, doesn’t it?” A moment later, he added, “I beg your pardon for appearing for a meal in such a disheveled state.”

Jane smiled. “I think for today the rules of Society may be relaxed.”

“Good!” From behind his back Saybrook pulled a slender green bottle. “I put this in the stream earlier to chill and it’s ready now.”

“What is it?” asked Jane

“A bottle of Mosel wine—light, fruity, and perfect for the occasion.”

“I couldn’t ...”

“Yes, yes, I know. It wouldn’t be proper,” he interrupted, mimicking her tone. “But the rules are suspended for today, remember?”

Without waiting for a reply, he uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. “To a lovely day. I thank you for inviting me.”

“A lovely day,” she repeated.

He was right. The wine was delicious. Soft, slightly sweet and very heady.

Peter had been eyeing the food longingly. “Miss Jane, may we begin? I’m famished!”

“Oh, Peter, forgive us. Of course!” She put her glass down and fixed the boy a plate.

She passed one to Saybrook as well, then helped herself to Cook’s repast. Soon the three of them were lost in a spirited conversation—so much so that Jane didn’t notice Saybrook refilling her glass.

What she did notice was the unconscious smile that crept onto the marquess’s face as he watched Peter chatter happily throughout the meal.

Whatever it was that normally hardened his features—and she had come to believe it was no mere haughtiness but rather a private pain she could not begin to fathom—it was gone in moments like this.

She found herself wishing for his sake that she could keep it at bay indefinitely. ”

“Oh, look!” cried Peter, his eyes following a colorful monarch butterfly. He put aside his nearly empty plate and dashed after it.

“You have worked miracles,” said Saybrook softly, his eyes still following the boy. “He has learned to be happy–clearly you are an exemplary teacher.”

“Happiness is not something you can teach, milord. It is a gift. And it is you who have given it to him.”

He looked startled. “Me?”

“Oh, yes.” She knew it would be prudent to stop there, but the wine had made her even bolder than normal. “You have given him love.” A pause. “Of course it has been a gift to yourself as well.”

“Indeed?”

“Once in awhile, you actually allow yourself to be happy, too.”

His face changed. The faint lines on either side of his mouth hardened. “What makes you think I am unhappy?”

Jane considered the question. “At first, I believed you were as cold and unfeeling as you wish everyone to think,” she answered frankly.

“But now I know you are not. I see you with Peter.” The wine must truly have loosened her tongue for she went on.

“I wonder why it is that you won’t allow yourself to be . ..”

“You are being impertinent again, Miss Langley.” He cut her off, not unkindly, but firmly.

She was silent for a few moments, but some impulse spurred her to continue. “I’ve been watching you with Peter. You truly like children. Don’t you think of setting up your own nursery? You would be an excellent father.”

Saybrook stared at her in surprise.

“Lud, please forgive me, sir.” Jane realized with a guilty start that she had gone too far. “I—I should never have said such a thing, I don’t know why I cannot curb my tongue.”

Saybrook’s expression turned to one of amusement. “It is of no matter. I find that I am getting quite used to it. But I assure you, I have no intention of marrying.” He looked away. “Ever.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “Why is that? Don’t you at least have a duty ...”

”Duty be hanged,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine myself leg-shackled to any lady of my acquaintance.

Mamas are constantly thrusting their chits under my nose.

There are those who simper and say what they imagine you want to hear.

And then there are those whose faces light up like a banker’s on hearing your rank and fortune.

Any of them will do whatever it takes—lies or deception—to achieve their goal. ”

His jaw clenched for an instant. “You have no idea what aristocratic ladies are like. Marriage? I think not. I prefer female company that is … less demanding.” Saybrook took a deep breath.

” You, on the other hand, are different and to be admired, Miss Langley.

You, at least, are deucedly honest. You are not capable of deceit. ”

Jane suddenly felt hollow inside. She hoped that her voice didn’t betray the guilt she felt as she answered him.

“It seems a very cynical outlook, sir,” she managed to stammer.

“Do I shock you? If you had experience in Society, you might understand what I mean. It is not a pleasant thing to be looked at like ...” He paused, as if searching for words.

“Like a stallion at Tattersall’s?” she suggested.

He gave a chuckle. “Well put.”

Jane thought of her own experiences in Town. “I think I do understand what you are saying sir. You are a romantic at heart. You wish to be loved for yourself, not for your money or your title.”

His face became stony. “No, Miss Langley, you are quite wrong. I am no romantic,” he said. “I do not wish to be loved, or to love. I wish to be left alone.”