Page 9 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)

Piqued at being spoken to—and looked at—like that, Jane replied without thinking.

“And have you no sense, sir, than to gallop recklessly along a footpath?” Some impulse made her add, “Or perhaps you cannot control your mount.”

The eyes now betrayed a flash of anger. “If I could not control my mount you would be very lucky to be alive,” he retorted. Then, as if realizing the ignominy of brangling with a farm girl, his face composed itself back to its frozen haughtiness.

This infuriated Jane even more. Heedless of the propriety she addressed another bold sally at him. “This would never have happened if you had not been trespassing. I’ll have you know these are the Marquess of Saybrook’s lands.”

“Ah. Saybrook.” The corners of his mouth twitched imperceptibly. “Then aren’t you trespassing as well? And stealing, perhaps?” He looked pointedly at her chest.

Jane was momentarily nonplussed. She looked guiltily at the flowers still clutched to her bosom. “I’m not … er, that is … Of course I’m not stealing!” she replied indignantly. “I’m taking these to the manor house. I work there.”

A look of surprise creased the rider’s brow. “Indeed? And just how, pray tell, are you employed there?”

Jane lifted her chin. The nerve of the man, to question her word! “I am the new governess.”

“The governess,” he repeated, staring intently at her.

Jane’s anger, sparked more than she cared to admit by the shock of the near accident, had just as quickly died down.

And now, under the penetrating gaze of the gentleman on horseback, she realized just what a predicament her hasty words had put her in.

Not only had she nearly caused him to unseat himself and possibly injure a valuable horse, but she—a servant—had been unspeakably rude to him.

It was entirely possible that he was an acquaintance of the marquess, and one word about today’s incident would no doubt result in her instant dismissal.

What a mull she had made of her first encounter with the local gentry!

“Oh, dear.” The words escaped without her even realizing it.

The gentleman had been watching the turmoil on her face. “What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Did Hero hurt you after all?”

“N-n-no,” she stammered. “It’s not that.” She stopped for a second, then decided she had no alternative but to throw herself at his mercy, much as the idea stuck in her throat.

“It’s just that this is my first position and, and I have not yet … I fear I wasn’t thinking—I was terribly rude, sir. I beg your pardon.” Her eyes didn’t dare meet his for fear he would see not contrition but indignation at having to humble herself to such a haughty gentleman.

“Having such a fright would cause anyone to forget her manners,” he allowed.

A quick flare of anger sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.

But just as quickly, Jane managed a semblance of a smile.

“Thank you for your generosity, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.

There was another pause. “I would ask for your further generosity in not mentioning this incident to Lord Saybrook.”

He paused as if to consider the request. “Let us agree that what has happened will remain between you and me alone,” he replied with a sardonic smile. “However …”

Jane took a deep breath, waiting to hear the rest.

… it is to be hoped that the governess can learn her lessons well, too.” With that, he put the spurs to his impatient stallion and set off at an easy canter.

“Wretch,” she muttered at the broad back, fast disappearing down the path. “Arrogant, high in the instep, conceited …”

She kicked at a stone in her frustration. “Insufferable.” He had certainly gotten the better of her. All the way home she consoled her wounded pride by repeating every disparaging adjective that she had learned from Thomas to describe the odious gentleman.

At least, she consoled herself, it was most unlikely she would ever have to see him again.

Jane felt tolerably composed by the time she walked into the manor through the kitchen door, even though the mere thought of those sea green eyes still set her teeth on edge.

Usually the warmth and the heady smells emanating from Cook’s domain were ever so soothing.

Perhaps she would linger over a glass of warm milk and fresh scones.

Then her spirits would be truly restored.

Instead of the normal calm however, Jane had walked into a scene straight out of Bedlam.

Upstairs maids were scurrying with piles of linen, Cook was standing, arms akimbo, shouting orders at spooked scullery maids, and poor Mrs. Fairchild was wringing her hands, muttering “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” to no one in particular.

“What on earth is the matter?” cried Jane.

Mrs. Fairchild looked up at her. “Oh, there you are. Thank goodness you have returned. He wants to see you.”

“Who does?”

“Why, the master, of course. He has arrived! Unannounced! His rooms must be put in order. Cook is worried about turning out a decent supper in this space of time and I … oh, the house!” She moaned faintly.

“Now Mrs. Fairchild, don’t be a goose. The house is faultless, as you well know. Why, the floors and furniture fairly glisten with beeswax and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.”

The older woman managed a wan smile. “I suppose things aren’t too shabby, but I should hate to disappoint His Lordship. Oh, he asked that you present yourself to him in the library at six”

“Very well.” She smiled. “Now calm yourself.”

Mrs. Fairchild nodded. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat, then added. “You will be punctual? He does not tolerate sloppy habits at Highwood.”

Jane nodded, not trusting her tone of voice to hide her true feelings. From what she knew of the man so far, she didn’t give a fig for what the Marquess of Saybrook could tolerate.

She certainly found it hard to tolerate the apprehension he seemed to bring out in everyone at Highwood.

Even the footmen and parlor maids were affected by the air of nervousness that had descended upon the house.

They rushed about, unloading the traveling carriage and freshening the rooms with a hushed seriousness, engaging in none of their usual cheerful banter.

Jane didn’t receive so much as a smile from any of the distracted servants as she made her way up to her room to freshen up her hair and gown for her first interview with her employer—she must look a fright after all that had happened.

The looking glass over the washstand told her that she wasn’t wrong.

A goodly number of tendrils had worked their way loose from the severe bun at the nape of her neck and dangled in disarray around her ears and throat.

Beneath the errant curls there was a distinct smudge on her left cheek.

The wildflowers, still clutched in her hands, had scattered their petals across the bodice of her gown, while its hem was covered with dust.

It was hardly a picture to inspire confidence in an employer.

She sighed longingly as she thought of her abigail at home and a nice hot bath. Then she began to scrub the dirt from her face and to rearrange her hair.

Jane found that she was curious to finally meet the marquess. She knew his house, his lands, his possessions, his dependents and his servants. From that she had formed a very definite picture of him.

And now she was to meet him in person.

Jane finished sponging the hem of her gown, for she had decided not to change into her better grey merino one, but to remain in the distinctly less flattering shade of brown. As she regarded her reflection, she almost grimaced at the plain, rather unattractive face that peered back at her.

But, she sighed, it had been decided that it was best to look as unremarkable as possible—not that it seemed to matter here at Highwood.

The unflattering bun coiled tightly at the nape of her neck certainly accomplished that, along with the walnut leaf rinse which had dulled her once glorious hair to an insipid shade nearly as ugly as that of the dress.

She picked up a pair of spectacles from the dresser.

Though only made of clear glass, they added an even dowdier touch to her appearance.

She had made sure to wear them occasionally around the house so everyone was used to seeing them on her.

Propping them firmly on the bridge of her nose she felt ready to meet His Lordship.

Now, if she could just remember to squint …

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Leaving nothing to chance, Mrs. Fairchild had dispatched the butler to make sure she wasn’t late. She dutifully followed Glavin downstairs to the library.

The marquess was standing with his back to her, seemingly engrossed in the blazing hearth, when Jane quietly entered the room.

She stopped near the threshold, not merely out of deference but out of surprise.

The gentleman before her was over six feet tall, with long legs, narrow hips and a broad, muscular back, accentuated by the snug cut of his elegant swallow-tailed coat of claret superfine.

There was a lazy, cat-like grace that radiated from his person, as well as something that hinted at a veiled power beneath the lean, hard body.

Thick dark hair—not grey, very dark—fell to the back of his collar while his shirt points were moderate, allowing him to turn his head with ease.

Her surprise turned to shock when he did so.

Those sea-green eyes!

“You!” she blurted out.

“Please take a seat—Miss Langley, is it?” he said coolly, neither his voice nor expression giving the slightest acknowledgement that they had ever laid eyes on each other before. He motioned to an armchair while he seated himself at a massive oak desk facing her.

Jane sat, too stunned to say anything.

Saybrook let the silence last what seemed to be an interminable amount of time before continuing.

“I must congratulate you on your progress with my ward during the short time you have been here. He seems to have actually learned something.”