Page 8 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

The next day, after lessons, Peter asked if they might get carrots and sugar from the kitchen and visit the stables again.

Jane quickly agreed, glad to see the boy had lost none of his enthusiasm from the previous day.

Indeed, when they spotted the mare—in much the same place as before—Peter let go of her hand and ran to the fence all by himself.

Climbing to the top rail, he patted the horse’s nose with confidence while feeding it the treats.

“Oh look, Miss Jane,” he called as she approached. “She has eaten a whole carrot in one bite!”

“I told you,” replied Jane. “I see we shall have to bring more on our next visit.”

Peter was happily scratching at the horse’s ears while it snuffled at his jacket. He grinned. “I think she smells the sugar in my pocket.”

“Clever animal!”

Jane watched as the boy became engrossed in letting the animal gently mouth the lumps of sugar from his hand.

All fear and wariness had disappeared and she saw only the buoyant enthusiasm that she felt an eight-year-old should have.

She let him manage by himself for a few more minutes then went and leaned on the fence next to him, basking in the innocent delight radiating from his face.

“All gone,” he announced to the horse, holding up both hands for inspection. “I’ll bring more tomorrow.” He turned to Jane. “Can we, please?”

“Of course.” She gazed out past the paddock towards the copse of oak and pastures beyond. “You know, when I was little we had … horses around and I used to love to ride through the fields and woods. There must be any number of wonderful things to explore around Highwood. Would you like to do that?”

Some of the light went out of Peter’s face. “I can’t ride,” he answered, looking crestfallen, his hands clenched on the top rail. “I’m afraid.”

“Yes—and yesterday you couldn’t feed a horse.”

She saw that he was mulling over her words and when he looked at her there was a touch of hope in his eyes.

“That you can’t ride is not because you’re afraid, but because someone didn’t teach you properly,” she continued. “We’re all afraid when we start—after all, they are such big creatures. But we get over it and then it is great fun, I assure you. Just like feeding this mare.”

Peter hesitated. “Uncle Edward would be very pleased.”

She had been wrong on one thing, she noted. The boy didn’t dislike his guardian. He was in awe of him and craved his regard. Again she felt a surge of dislike towards the man. Well, whether it made any difference to him or not, she was determined to help Peter overcome his fear.

“Yes, I’m sure he would, but even more importantly, you would like it. Do you want me to teach you?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Alright then, let’s go make arrangements with the head groom. We’ll start tomorrow.”

Henry, the head groom, agreed enthusiastically when the plan was broached to him. “A very good idea, Miss. It’s time for the lad to get himself on a horse. But begging your pardon Miss, can you … handle a mount?”

“Oh yes indeed. I have been around horses all my life.”

“Well,” said Henry slowly. “I’d best see how you hold your seat afore trusting the young master to your care.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Shall we meet in the morning before breakfast and take a ride?” asked Jane, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.

“At seven, then.”

Jane presented herself at the stables at the appointed hour. Her pleasure at the idea of a bracing gallop soon waned when she saw the mount that Henry led out for her.

“Are you sure you can’t manage something with a little more … spirit?” she asked.

“I don’t want it on my head if you fall and hurt yourself,” replied Henry as he regarded the lumbering old mare he had led out. “Bessie ain’t so bad. Nice gait.”

“I’m sure,” she remarked dryly. “Nonetheless, I assure you it would be best to try another animal.” She eyed the horse he had led out for himself, a full-chested bay stallion standing nearly sixteen hands. “This one would do nicely.”

“But Miss,” sputtered the head groom. “That’s a blooded stallion...”

“Would you kindly put the sidesaddle on him.” Jane smiled sweetly but unconsciously a tone of command had crept into her voice.

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. “Very well,” he muttered, motioning to a young groom. “It’s your own funeral, though Mrs. Fairchild will have my hide if she has to hire a new governess.”

When the boy returned with the stallion and a new mount for the head groom, Henry lifted her into the saddle, then swung himself up.

“Lead the way, Miss. Let us see what you can do.”

An hour later the two of them walked their tired horses back into the courtyard.

“What fun,” exclaimed Jane as she was helped down. “I have so missed riding.”

“Fun!” remarked Henry as he wiped his brow. “Lord, Almighty, Miss. Where did you ever learn to ride like that?”

Jane laughed. “Do I pass your test?”

The groom bowed and tipped his cap to her. “Missy, the stables are at your command.”

Things had gone very well, she mused as she walked along the path that led over the sloping pastureland towards the neighboring village.

Henry had chosen a docile, well-mannered pony for Peter’s first lesson Though nearly stiff with fright, the boy had allowed her to lift him into the saddle, where his knuckles turned white from clenching the reins.

But after the second circle around the paddock, with her leading the pony in a slow walk, he had visibly relaxed, the drawn look around his mouth loosening into a tentative smile.

Twenty minutes was all Jane allowed, not wanting to push him too much.

After the lesson was over, she was gratified to hear Peter tell Henry that they would be back at the same time tomorrow as he helped the groom put the tack away

She smiled to herself, remembering his look of wonder when he discovered he could do it.

Had Nanna felt such delight in teaching her?

The thought made her pat her pocket guiltily, the letter from Mrs. Fairchild to her old nurse safely ensconced within the capacious folds of material.

She had seen the letter lying on the sideboard and had offered to take it to the village.

She had truly looked forward to a brisk walk and some time to herself …

and while she regretted the need for subterfuge, in this case it was imperative, she reminded herself.

Still, she disliked misleading Mrs. Fairchild, for here she was, on her way home and the letter was still in her pocket. In order to distract her nagging conscience, she began to pay particular attention to her surroundings.

Stately copses of elm and oak separated vast rolling pasturelands and fields of wheat in this section of the estate.

The tenant cottages that she passed seemed snug and well cared for—there was just one that seemed to be missing a section of thatch on its roof. She must speak to the steward about it.

That brought another smile to her face. She had first met the man three weeks ago and had immediately pointed out some minor repair that he should attend to at the stables.

The man had gaped at her as if she had had maggots in her head. “What did you say?” he had asked incredulously. She had calmly repeated her request, her gaze unwavering until he had stammered that he would look into it.

Poor Mr. Fielding, it must have nearly given him a fit of vapors. But the repair had been made.

The next day she had cornered him again with another small problem.

Now, he was almost used to it. In fact he was even essaying a feeble smile whenever she approached and would pull out his notebook in readiness for her.

She would have to remember to tell him to look at the cottage’s roof.

At least the marquess, despite his other faults, was not a tightfisted landlord.

Jane lifted her face to the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

Blackbirds chirped from atop the tall hawthorn hedge that bordered the footpath and as she came to an opening in the stile she saw a profusion of wildflowers among the tall grasses.

Impulsively, she turned into the field and gathered a large bouquet, pressing the fragrant blossoms up close to her face and breathing deeply.

She twirled around like a little girl, all at once overcome by a giddy feeling of freedom.

What a crazy thought , she chided herself. She was but a servant! Yet she had so many fewer constrictions and rules than before—and she wasn’t bored. For the first time in her life, she felt she was doing something meaningful.

Impishly lifting the hem of her skirts, she gave rein to her high spirits and began to run back towards the path.

She raced up and over the stile, then suddenly was engulfed by a dark shadow.

A muffled oath followed, then the sound of thundering hooves brought up short.

She skittered to a halt and looked up at a very large black stallion which was tossing its head and dancing nervously only a few yards from where she stood.

“Damnation! Have you no more sense, girl, than to run out in front of a galloping horse?” The rider eyed Jane’s shabby grey gown and bonnet, tendrils of mousy hair escaping from under its unflattering brim, and made a grimace of distaste.

Jane looked up at him. Above a pair of gleaming Hessians, impeccable buckskins encased well-muscled thighs that were having no trouble controlling his skittish mount.

Despite the sudden stop, the rider’s perfectly tailored riding coat showed not a crease around the broad shoulders, nor was the knotted cravat even slightly askew.

Jane shifted her glance upward. The rider’s features were perfectly chiseled, handsome but hard, with a cold, haughty look to them.

His locks, where they tumbled out from under his curly brimmed beaver hat, were as dark as his stallion’s coat.

And the eyes, a sea-green color, were flooded with annoyance.