Page 4 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)
Two
“ M ary, I wish you joy, truly I do,” said Jane as she hugged her childhood friend.
Though Mary Langley was the daughter of one of her father’s tenant farmers, they had become fast friends as little girls and spent countless hours playing together.
Nanna had encouraged the friendship, sensing that the motherless little girl needed the female companionship.
With the duke’s approval, she had even seen to it that Mary had been included in some schooling, noting that as well as making the time more enjoyable for Jane and Thomas, it was also providing the girl with a means of bettering her own life when she grew up.
A well-educated girl could find work as a governess or companion, a step above being a farmer’s wife.
Even as the girls grew up and the gap between their social status stretched more obviously between them, Jane never forgot her friend. The two of them still spent time together, Mary listening raptly to the descriptions of balls, evening gowns and—heaven on heaven—the Assemblies at Almack’s.
“Oh, Jane!” replied Mary, as the two friends took a seat on the simple iron bedstead. “I’m up in the boughs. I don’t deserve to be so happy!” She shot her friend a guilty look. “I’m sorry about you and your father. Perhaps His Grace?—”
“Let us not talk of my problems.” Jane smiled. “I have faith that they won’t prove to be insurmountable,” she said obliquely. “Now, about Martin. I have always liked him. Tell me all about him. …”
“Oh, dear” finished Mary, after chattering on for a quarter hour. “I’ve been a prosy bore, haven’t I, rattling on like this? I’ve kept you far to long.”
“Not at all. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
Jane got up and began wandering around the neat little whitewashed bedroom that Mary shared with a younger sister. A trunk was half packed in expectation of her friend’s coming move and one or two dresses lay draped over a wooden chair.
“Tell me,” murmured Jane. “Have you a few simple dresses—preferably grey or mouse brown—that you’d be willing to sell to me?”
Mary looked at her in astonishment. “Why, whatever for?”
Jane sat back down on the bed and threw her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Do you promise no to tell a soul?”
Mary laughed, the scene so reminiscent of countless times before—Jane always instigating some mischief and herself a not too unwilling partner. “Why is it that I sense I should leave the room right now?”
“No, no, it’s nothing to be worried about,” assured Jane. “There’s really nothing for you to do.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “How many times have I heard that!”
“Truly. Just the dresses and your vow of silence.”
“Go on. You know I can’t say no to you. And besides, I’m dying of curiosity.”
“You are engaged to be governess to the Marquess of Saybrook’s ward …”
“ Was engaged,” corrected Mary. “You know very well that Nanna has written my regrets.”
“No indeed she hasn’t. In fact tomorrow a letter is to be posted informing the housekeeper that Miss Langley will arrive on the twenty-first, as expected.”
A look of horror spread across Mary’s face as the import of Jane’s words dawned on her. “You must be mad! Oh, it would never do. You as a governess!”
“It suits perfectly,” replied Jane. “I am more than capable of teaching an eight-year-old his lessons. And the situation couldn’t be more perfect.
The marquess never visits his estate. The only ones there are the housekeeper and the servants, so there is not a chance of running into any houseguests who might recognize me. ”
“I don’t know.” Mary shook her head doubtfully. “It doesn’t seem right—you, a servant.” She looked searchingly at her friend “Have you really considered what it is like to work for someone?”
Jane returned her gaze. “I have thought about what it would be like to marry someone I don’t care for.
At least I may quit an employer. Besides, how truly awful can it be?
The housekeeper is a friend of one of Nanna’s acquaintances and is said to be a kindly woman.
It is she with whom I’ll have to deal. My biggest complaint will most likely be that things are too dull.
” She exhaled a sigh. “Truly, I’ll manage just fine, so please say you’ll help. ”
Mary nodded reluctantly. “Of course I will. You know I’ll not see you forced to act against your will.
Now, I have a few gowns that will do. It’s lucky that I’m a Long Meg too, though fuller than you around the hips and the bosom.
And you’ll need other things I’m sure you haven’t thought of.
You’ll not have your abigail to take care of your needs, you know.
” She began to get in the spirit of things.
“I have a list I made for myself. We shall pack a small trunk here. Martin can take it to Luddington next week and send it on by coach to Highwood.”
“How clever. I had been wondering how to get my things out of the house,” admitted Jane.
“Well, we’ll manage.” She eyed Jane’s blond locks. “We’ll have to do something about your hair.”
“My hair!” exclaimed Jane.
“I’ll give you a walnut leaf wash to dull its color. And spectacles. Yes, that will be a good touch.”
It was Jane’s turn to look surprised.
“No matter that’s it’s only a housekeeper instead of the marquess. There will still be other servants and it doesn’t do to be too … you know, attractive,” added Mary. “My mother has explained to me how Lords may look upon a governess.”
“Oh,” breathed Jane. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“And no doubt not a good many other practical things. We shall have to sit down and go over what is proper behavior ….”
“Not you, too,” muttered Jane.
“If you are going to pull this off, you cannot act like a duke’s daughter,” warned Mary.
“You’re right of course. I’ll be a quick study, never fear.” She gave Mary a quick hug. “Thank you. You are the best of friends.”
“Just see that this whole scheme doesn’t land you in deeper suds than you are already in or I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Oh, don’t worry. What possible consequences can come from a little harmless deception?”
Mary looked as she was thinking of how many times had she heard similar sentiments being uttered—in complete sincerity—at the start of some madcap adventure. But after a moment, she simply nodded. “Just make sure that the answer to that question is ‘none’.”
Late that night, after sitting through another dinner marked by the strained civility that had spring up between her and her father, Jane dismissed her abigail, sat down at her writing desk and took out a sheet of paper.
She unfolded Nanna’s letter and, copying the familiar looping script, began to write a new one:
Dear Mrs. Fairchild,
I am happy to inform you that Miss Jane Langley will arrive at Highwood
on March 21, as expected. I trust she will prove satisfactory.”
Jane paused for a moment, then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, added
I assure you she is a very biddable and well-behaved young woman, and a trifle
shy. I am sure that she will give you no trouble at all …
Dawn had not yet broken when, a few days later, a lone figure clad in a nondescript hooded cloak and carrying a worn valise and reticule slipped out of the kitchen door of Avanlea into the shadows of the shrubbery.
Like a ghostly specter, the figure passed through the gardens and into the surrounding woods.
The moon scudded in and out of the clouds, offering little light by which to see among the tangle of underbrush and brambles, but Jane was not deterred by the thorns that caught at the rough wool of her garments.
She quickly found the path that the gamekeeper used to patrol the upper reaches of the estate and hurried her steps to an even faster pace.
After perhaps a mile, she reached a broad meadow where she climbed over the stile and turned left, keeping herself close in the dark shadows of the surrounding stone wall.
At the far corner she heard a soft whinny and was relieved to see a rough cart silhouetted against the sky, a solitary young man stroking the horse’s head to keep it quiet. At the sound of her footsteps, the man moved forward to take the valise and help her onto the open seat.
“Everything all right, milady?” he whispered.
“Yes. I’m sure no one saw me leave.”
The man grunted in reply and scrambled up beside her. “Well then, let’s be on our way.”
The cart bumped over the rough track as he twitched the reins, urging the horse to as great a speed as he dared. “I’m sorry for the discomfort, Lady Jane,” he said. “It will get better when we reach the main road.
“It doesn’t matter,” smiled Jane as she reached over to pat the driver’s arm “And I can’t thank you enough for your help, Martin. I shall never forget it.”
Martin returned her smile gamely, but she saw how nervous he was. “After all you have done for my Mary, ‘tis the least we could do for you.”
He looked back over his shoulder into the pale mist rising off of the fields.
“The stage arrives at Hinchley at half six and you should be safely away before any of your people are are aware of your absence. And hopefully no one will take notice of a simple farmer’s wife—begging your pardon, milady.
” He tugged his own hat down low over his brow as he spoke.
“Don’t be nervous, Martin. No one will know of your part in this, I swear. I promise that you will not suffer for helping me—and Mary will tell you that I never break a promise.”
“Oh, milady, it ain’t the duke I’m worried about. It’s Mary who will have my head on a pikestaff if I don’t get you away safely.”
Jane laughed softly. “Well, put your mind at ease. All will go well. And now,” she added as the cart turned onto the market road, “I think you may put us to a trot.”