Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 01] (14 page)

This time he made no move to stop her as she rose. However he thrust his handkerchief in her hand. "Wipe your eyes before you go back. I am sorry for upsetting you. I shall not press you further on the matter," he said rather gently. "And please feel free to come play whenever you wish."

As Jane reached the door, she turned. "Sir, would it be alright with you if I teach Peter to play?"

Saybrook looked startled. "If he wishes."

"I think it would be a splendid idea. And perhaps you might help him, too."

She didn't miss the spark of interest in his eyes. "I know you have many more pressing matters to attend to since you spend so much of your time locked away in your library. But maybe you could spare an odd moment or two. I know Peter would be in raptures."

"Perhaps," he answered gruffly.

As Jane made her way slowly back to the main part of the house she reflected that she was not the only one hiding deep, painful secrets. Under the influence of the music, Saybrook had let his mask of icy hauteur slip, giving her a glimpse of a vastly different person than he normally presented to the world. Why did he wish to appear cold and unfeeling when he wasn't that way at all? she wondered. She had thought that men had all the freedom in the world to be whom they chose. A surge of empathy for him welled up within her. They were more alike than he knew!

She dabbed once more at her eyes with the heavy silk handkerchief to remove any last vestige of tears. It smelled faintly of bay rum and something else she couldn't put a name on—it sent a tingle up her spine. She fingered the large embroidered "S" at one of the corners, then carefully folded it and put it in her pocket.

* * *

The wrong note rang out loud and jarring.

"No, no, you must spread your fingers like this," corrected Jane as she positioned Peter's fingers on the keys. "Try it again."

This time the boy completed the simple tune without a mishap.

"Well done, Peter," she laughed.

A slow clapping made them both turn around.

"Yes, bravo," smiled Saybrook from where he was lounging against the doorway. "You've made great progress."

"Oh, Uncle Edward, listen to this. I can also play a sea chantey," cried Peter, and he began to pick out a simple melody, making only two or three mistakes.

"I see we have a prodigy in the making," said Saybrook dryly as he came and sat down on a corner of the bench. "Have you learned this duet? It was the first piece my music master taught my sister and me." He showed the boy one part, then began to play his own melody.

Peter laughed in delight. "Oh, that's ripping. Can we do it again?"

Jane had slipped off the bench to make room for the marquess and now stood watching the two dark heads bent over the keyboard. A warm smile stole across her face. Saybrook looked up for a moment and caught her look. He smiled back at her before returning his attention to the boy and the music.

Jane noted how some of the small lines of worry around his eyes had been erased, how he looked even more handsome now that the look of cold boredom had been replaced by sunnier emotions.

"Excuse me, my lord." Glavin stood in the doorway. "Cook sends word that supper is ready."

"Thank you. Tell her we are coming."

"Sir, just one more time," coaxed Peter.

Saybrook grabbed the boy around the waist like a sack of grain, setting off a fit of giggles. "Enough, brat," he laughed. "Cook will ring a peal over our heads if we ruin her dishes."

"Tomorrow, then," begged Peter. "Say we can do it tomorrow."

Saybrook rolled his eyes at Jane.

She had to suppress a fit of giggles herself. "It seems, sir, you have opened Pandora's box."

"Who's Pandora?" demanded the boy. "There's no one in the house by that name. Is it a special box? Can I see it?"

"We are just getting to mythology," said Jane to Saybrook. Then to Peter she added, "And no, Peter, there isn't anyone named Pandora here and there isn't any real box. It is a type of fable that we shall learn about soon in our lessons."

"Oh," said the boy, sounding a bit disappointed. He thought for a second. "Then how can Uncle Edward open it?"

Saybrook's eyes flashed with mirth. "Yes, Miss Langley. How is that?"

"Beast," she hissed. "Peter, it's rather like the stories Reverend Burke tells in church. The stories teach us lessons about life. Well, Pandora and her box is a story which we shall learn about. And there is a moral to it as well."

"I don't think I will like that story—Reverend Burke is boring."

"Peter," warned Jane.

"Yes, Miss," sighed the boy. "Don't speak ill of your elders."

Saybrook threw back his head with a peal of laughter. "Good Lord, I wouldn't be eight again for all the tea in China!"

"Then try not to act like it," she retorted in a low voice as she walked past him into the dining room.

Saybrook was seated at the head of the table with Jane to his right and Peter to his left. It was an arrangement that had only begun very recently, but Jane noted that it had been good for all concerned. It must have been very austere and lonely for the marquess to take his meals all by himself in the cavernous room night after night. So when he tentatively suggested that might be good for Peter to become accustomed to an adult table she had enthusiastically endorsed the plan. The boy was delighted with the change and had lost nearly all his shyness around his uncle. In fact, she could see the bond between the two of them growing stronger very day. And just the other day she had realized with a start that the marquess had been here for weeks and showed no sign of leaving.

She, too, had to admit that it was pleasant to have stimulating company at meals. Why, she even found herself looking forward to the verbal sparring that took place with Saybrook each evening.

"What do you think about the latest news of Wellington's movements in Spain," she asked after the soup was served. She was curious as to his views on military tactics.

Saybrook raised an eyebrow at her. "And how do you know anything about Wellington?" he inquired.

"I read the same papers as you—after you have finished with them of course. Glavin puts them aside for me each night."

"I thought it was only proper for ladies to read about fashion and the betrothal notices."

Jane felt her temper rising. Why was it men assumed no woman had a brain—or could possibly use one if she had one.

"No doubt you do." Her voice had an edge to it. "But then I am not a lady, remember? No doubt you feel that ladies would be incapable of comprehending anything more demanding than the newest way to set a piece of lace or the latest
ondit
. Why, I'm sure your ideal of a lady is sweet, biddable and wouldn't dream of having an opinion about anything!"

The marquess nearly choked on his soup. He lay down his spoon slowly. "No, Miss Langley. I have no interest in vapid, uninteresting ladies, for such is what you describe."

Jane smiled to herself, thinking she had caught him out on this exchange. "Well then, you must be hard-pressed to have an interesting time with the ladies."

A glint of amusement lit his eyes. "On the contrary, Miss Langley. But then again, perhaps it is because the ladies I know are proficient in arts other than conversation."

Jane's face flooded with color. She was about to take him to task for his utter lack of propriety when she noticed Peter's rapt face taking in the conversation. She set her jaw and put down her own spoon in stony silence.

"Now, about Wellington..." Saybrook continued as if nothing awkward had happened and launched into a detailed and lengthy assessment of the Spanish situation. Despite her resolve to ignore him for the rest of the meal she couldn't help being drawn into the discussion, disagreeing with him on some points, nodding in vigorous approval for others. She had just finished explaining why she thought the supply lines should be changed for the Peninsula campaign when she noticed that the last plates had been cleared away and a bottle of brandy had been placed by the marquess's side. How long had he been waiting for her and Peter to withdraw?

"Oh dear," she trailed off. "I'm afraid I've gotten carried away. Peter, come along to the drawing room. Forgive me, sir, for keeping you."

"Peter, go along and set up the chess board—you might care to practice your openings," said Saybrook. He turned to her. "Miss Langley, a moment."

She stopped midway in rising from her chair.

"I'm thoroughly enjoying our conversation. Why should you feel compelled to withdraw because you are a la... woman. Why not join me for a glass of brandy?"

Jane had never tasted brandy before. She knew she was being reckless but she wasn't going to back down from the challenge that seemed to come from his eyes.

"Why not," she smiled, hoping she sounded more sure of herself than she felt.

Saybrook pored two glasses and placed one squarely in front of her. He raised his own in toast.

"To Wellington."

Jane followed his example and took a large swallow. She nearly choked on the fiery spirits and had a hard time blinking back the tears that her strangled coughs were causing.

Saybrook appeared not to notice as he continued the conversation, this time discussing the merits of the Allied cavalry. Every few minutes he would pause for another sip, and Jane felt compelled to match him.

Soon both glasses were empty.

"Would you like another?"

Jane's face felt on fire. "N-no, thank you."

His lips twitched.

Suddenly she felt hot all over. "You're making fun of me, aren't you my lord? Making fun of... of a Miss Nobody who dares to try and exercise her own power of thought!"

"No, I am not," he replied quietly. "The conversation has been more intelligent and enjoyable than many I have had in my clubs—and that's a compliment, Miss Langley, in case you are about to bite my head off. But I hope you have learned a lesson."

"And what is that? For someone who has been hired to give lessons in this house, I have, by your account, an inordinate amount of things to learn myself!" Jane hoped her voice didn't sound as wobbly as her knees felt.

"You should learn to count to ten," he countered. "Then perhaps you would learn not to act without thinking. For at some point it might land you in serious trouble. Have you ever truly considered that?"

Jane bit her lip.

"And furthermore, it is not necessary to insist on doing everything a man does to make your point."

"Men never get the point," she shot back.

He cocked his head to one side. "I hadn't thought of it overly much, but I suppose what you say has merit. Things aren't fair. However, aside from that, you have acted very foolishly."

Jane's chin came up and she opened her mouth to retort.

"Let me finish," he said.

Much to her own surprise, she closed her mouth and leaned back in her chair.

"Has no one ever told you not to drink spirits with a man, especially alone with a man?" he went on. "Who the Devil raised you? Did your father teach you nothing about your own safety, not to speak of propriety? Why, many employers would now have you laying across this table with your skirts up over your head. And there would be nothing—especially in the rather woozy state you are no doubt in—you could do about it!"

Jane's mouth felt her mouth form an "O" of shock.

"Yes, you should be shocked," he said roughly.

Jane shrunk even further back in her chair. Why did the dratted man have to be right every time he decided to give her a set-down! Both Thomas and her father had cautioned her on much the same thing, though a bit more delicately.

She should by all rights acknowledge her folly and thank him for his advice, but the brandy had made her reckless. Instead of contrite words, she blurted out "Why don't you? Have me on the table, that is?"

Saybrook looked at her with a strange expression. "I don't dally with my help," he answered coldly.

Jane felt a tightening in her stomach. She should be relieved, but....

"Peter is waiting for you," he added." And ring for the footman to bring some water to the drawing room. You will feel better when you drink a glass."

Jane left the room in a whirl of conflicting emotions. She didn't know whether to be angry or appreciative, insulted or intrigued. Things were not as black and white as she had first supposed with Lord Saybrook. She wished she could understand him—and perhaps herself—better.

* * *

Saybrook pushed his chair back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He swirled the brandy absently as he stared at the massive oak table. What in devil's name had prompted him to say such an improper thing? She was so interesting to talk to that it was easy to forget she was only a green girl of barely twenty, innocent of the cynical mores of the
ton
. Sighing, he took a long sip of his drink. It was wicked of him, but he did enjoy goading Miss Langley to anger—not that it took much! Her sapphire eyes lit up so intensely, her chin jutted out in such a beguiling way. Why, she looked more than just plain, even with her hair pulled back in such a severe, unbecoming way.