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Page 29 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

“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 now and 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 awoke in 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 breeze still 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.

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.

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