Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 01] (24 page)

He must also see her one last time to explain he had never intended anything improper, had never meant to insult her integrity or virtue. Somehow, it was terribly important that she know, regardless of how difficult the words would be. More than once, he had tried to tell her before she left, but his emotions had been buried away for so long that he couldn't seem to bring them forth. A sigh escaped his lips as he put down his glass and made to retire for the night.

* * *

Peter sat at the top of the stairs and stared balefully at the trunk sitting near the door. "You're leaving," he said without looking up as Saybrook came down the hallway.

"Only for a short time, imp."

The boy hunched his shoulders. "No! You'll be just like Miss Jane and go away and never come back." He was fighting to keep a sob from breaking his voice.

Saybrook reached down and scooped Peter into his arms. "Look at me, Peter."

A small, tear-stained face turned to him, the lower lip trembling slightly.

"I promise you I shall be back, and soon." He ruffled the boy's hair. "As if I could leave you, brat," he added in a husky whisper.

Peter put his good arm around Saybrook's neck and snuffled. "But I'll miss you, Uncle Edward. I don't want you to go!"

Saybrook sighed in frustration. The poor lad. The last few weeks had been very hard for him as well. There was suddenly the sound of running feet and the rustle of skirts. He turned around.

"Oh, Your Lordship," said Mary breathlessly." I've been looking for Master Peter everywhere! Forgive me for allowing him to bother you." The girl was twisting her hands nervously. "I don't know how he manages to slip away..."

"Never mind," interrupted the marquess. "Be so good as to pack a valise of Peter's things. He shall be accompanying me."

The boy gave a squeal of delight, "My lord, will you be wanting me to pack as well?" Mary was totally flustered at the idea. "Certainly you'll be needing someone to look after him."

"That will not be necessary."

The girl appeared uncertain. "Begging your pardon, sir, but who'll dress him and feed him? It's not fitting that you should have to handle that all on your own."

"I believe that since Briarly is capable of keeping me up to snuff, he should be up to the task of dressing a eight-year-old. And Peter has already proven to me he is perfectly capable of dining in a civilized manner. We shall manage quite well." He put the boy down. "Now go along with Mary and get ready. We've delayed leaving long enough."

"Where are we going?" called Peter as Saybrook started down the stairs.

"You'll see soon enough, imp."

* * *

Jane ran her hand over the exquisite fabric of her new ballgown. Madame Jeannette, the local seamstress, was considered as talented with a needle as any of the top modistes in London, and she prided herself on being au courant on the very latest styles. Her current creation did nothing to diminish her sterling reputation. The dress was of a pale blue watered silk that complemented the color of Jane's eyes and the hue of her hair, golden once again now that she had ceased rinsing it in walnut leaves. The bodice was cut low enough to reveal her creamy shoulders without being improper for a girl of her years, and the fitted waist and deftly set skirts set off her slender figure to perfection. A simple white sarcenet overskirt and a minimum of darker blue ribbons threaded at the hem were all the embellishments that were needed. Her abigail had been in raptures when it arrived earlier in the day, declaring that Jane would be the belle of the ball. And even Jane had to admit that it looked rather well on her.

The recollection of her reflection in the mirror brought a small smile to her face. Her aunt and cousin would be less than pleased, and though she cared not a whit for upstaging her relation, it was nice to be able to look attractive again. What a dowd she had been forced to be at Highwood—she couldn't help but wonder what the marquess would think of....

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Thomas flung it open without waiting for an answer. "Still admiring yourself in the glass?" he teased, tapping his riding crop impatiently against his booted calf. "You promised to ride out with me to look at the new mill! Have you forgotten, or are you mesmerized by the sight of such perfection?"

"Don't be a goose," she retorted, though she colored slightly. "I'm sorry, I was woolgathering for a moment. I'll be down in a trice—Sarah has already laid out my habit."

"Well hurry, then. The horses are saddled and waiting below."

The two of them were off not more than ten minutes later. With spirited mounts beneath them, eager for a rousing gallop, they quickly left the winding drive and cut out across the rolling meadows in the direction of the river. So they missed seeing the smart carriage pulled by a perfectly matched set of bays pull into the entrance of Avanlea Park.

Chapter 11

William Coachman pulled the horses to a halt in the middle of the large courtyard and a young groom immediately ran to their head while another appeared to open the door of the coach.

"Peter, you must wait here with Briarly and William while I speak with the duke," said Saybrook before he descended. He still had not told Peter whom they were seeking to visit. There would be time enough for that when plans were certain.

A stately butler, grey with age yet erect as a soldier, opened the massive oak door. "Yes?" he intoned with the questioning assurance of an old family retainer. Taking in the polished carriage with its crest on the door and its well-matched team, then the tall, handsome gentleman before him with a quick, appraising glance, his bearing seemed to relax slightly. But the gaze he turned on the marquess was still forbidding.

Undaunted, Saybrook placed his card on the silver tray that was held out towards him. "Please convey my apologies for arriving unannounced, and ask the duke if he will see me on a most pressing matter."

The butler bowed slightly and motioned him to come in. "If you will wait in here, my lord, I will see if His Grace is at home."

Saybrook glanced around at the quiet splendor of the room, taking in its rich appointments and elegant furniture. The duke, he noted, was a man of taste, with a purse to indulge his appreciation for quality. Light flooded in through soaring arched windows and glinted off a grand piano. He walked over to the instrument and ran his hand over the polished wood. There was a sudden catch in his breath when he saw the sheet music on the stand. It was a Mozart sonata, the same one that Jane had been striving to learn.

"The duke will see you now."

Saybrook turned quickly and followed the butler out of the room.

* * *

The Duke of Avanlea leaned back in his chair and looked curiously at the engraved card before him.
Saybrook.
He had known the man's father vaguely, but had never met the present marquess. Not that he hadn't heard rumors. There had been whispers of a scandal concerning a married viscountess, then a widowed baroness, as well as talk of a general dissolute life. Yet others had said the young lord was a sober, serious man. The duke had had little chance to judge for himself, seeing as the marquess had spent most of the past few years on the Continent.

He drummed his fingers on his desk, wondering what 'urgent' matter Lord Saybrook wished to discuss with him? Could Thomas have gotten under the hatches and given him vowels for a gambling debt that he couldn't pay off with his quarterly allowance?

Grimshaw knocked softly, then opened the door to admit the visitor. The duke was immediately struck by the natural grace of Saybrook's bearing, despite a slight limp. It was rare in a man that tall and powerfully built. He was dressed plainly yet elegantly in buff breeches and dark waistcoat and jacket that bespoke Weston's hand. His cravat was simply tied and no fobs or chains dangled from his middle. The effect was more striking than any of the fripperies sported by the pinks of the
ton
.

The duke looked up into the marquess's face, noting the firm chiseled mouth, high cheekbones and piercing eyes of indeterminate blue-green. The long dark hair accentuated a firm jaw, one that hinted at an equally firm will. He found himself thinking he could well believe the young lord had a reputation with the ladies.

His eyebrows raised in question. "Lord Saybrook, I have not had the pleasure." He started to raise, but the marquess motioned for him to remain seated.

"Please do not rise on my account, Your Grace. And once again, accept my apologies for intruding upon you without warning."

The duke smiled. "I admit to having my curiosity piqued, sir, for I cannot imagine what matter of yours it is that can concern me—except if my son has..."

"No, it is nothing like that," replied Saybrook quickly. He remained standing, even though the duke had waved for him to take a chair. A slight cough indicated how unsure he was as to how to go on. "Your Grace," he finally said. "I believe you have a tenant family of long standing on your lands by the name of Langley."

Avanlea nodded, even more mystified than before. "Yes. A good man. Both his father and grandfather have worked these lands."

"And the daughter—the daughter grew up with yours, and they formed a fast friendship, despite their difference of rank."

"Yes. Jane and Mary are best of friends."

Saybrook paused. "Jane Langley has served the past number of months as governess to my ward."

"What!" gasped the duke. "What did you say?"

"Jane Langley has been governess to my ward," he repeated. "Though she has recently left my employ, I wish to express my... gratitude for all she has done for Peter."

Avanlea made as if to speak, then caught himself. "Go on," was all he uttered.

"Miss Langley has told me that one of the reasons she went into service was that her father meant to force her into a match she did not want." Saybrook fixed a cool look on the duke. "I am sure that, for the sake of your daughter and her feelings, you would not wish such a thing. I would like to ask you to speak to her father. As we both know, the influence of a title can be most persuasive."

The duke stared at him mutely.

"I would also like your assistance in contriving to make a settlement on Jane so that she does not have to go into service again," went on Saybrook. "She is too spirited a girl to have to endure that."

"On that you have the right of it," breathed Avanlea. He eyed Saybrook sharply. It was a stare that normally intimidated the person under scrutiny, but the marquess looked back at him coolly, calmly. "Sir," he barked suddenly. "Why such interest in a governess? Have you bedded the girl and now wish to buy the family's silence?"

Saybrook went pale, but replied calmly. "A gentleman does not discuss a lady's reputation with another man."

The duke's eyes flashed angrily, and to Saybrook there was an odd familiarity. "What the Devil," he began, then trailed off. "I cannot argue with you on that account, sir," he continued ruefully. "But you must understand that I have... fatherly feelings for Jane. I am most concerned for her well-being."

"I understand, Your Grace." Saybrook looked at him unwaveringly. "In light of that, let me only say that a father would have no cause for concern."

A sigh of relief escaped the duke's lips.

"I would also ask your leave to speak with Miss Langley." In answer to the duke's questioning look he added, "It is only proper that I seek to inform you as to my intentions regarding someone on your estate."

"But not my permission?" Avanlea permitted himself a slight smile. He rather liked the cool demeanor and quiet purpose of the gentleman before him. A strength of character was certainly evident—and he appeared neither dissolute nor a rake.

Saybrook merely inclined his head slightly but remained silent.

Another question occurred to Avanlea. "Why did Miss Langley leave your employ?"

A long silence followed. "That is something that concerns Miss Langley and myself, Your Grace."

The duke leaned back in his chair and gazed out the library window, deep in thought. "I shall arrange for you to see Jane," he finally announced. "In the meantime, I invite you to pass the night here. You must be weary from your journey, and my son and daughter would be happy to have another face at dinner, I'm sure."