Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 01] (5 page)

"Why that would... be very nice," managed Jane. Silently she gave thanks to her good fortune. The woman's friendly words, as well as kind looks, boded well for the future.

She was led up the imposing main staircase, feeling quite small under the stern gazes of the marquess's antecedents. Somehow she felt they were staring at her accusingly, as if they saw through her charade. Swallowing hard, she dropped her eyes to the polished treads. Mindful of Mary's description of life in service, Jane fully expected to continue up, into the attic rooms and then be shown a back stairway, the one she would be expected to use from now on. Instead Mrs. Fairchild stopped on the second floor and led her down a corridor to the right.

"I've put you near the schoolroom and Master Peter's room. I hope you'll find it agreeable," she said as she threw open the door to a small room flooded with sunlight and simply decorated in blue sprigged chintz.

Jane was confused. "Oh, how nice," she exclaimed, taking in the polished pine dresser and armoire arranged to one side of a simple painted bedstead. "Are you sure this is for me?" she blurted out. "Surely this isn't a servant's room?"

Mrs. Fairchild smiled again. "We want you to be happy here." As she said those words, Jane noticed a slight cloud pass over her face. But just as suddenly it was gone. "I've had Polly bring you a pitcher of water to freshen up with. When you are ready, come back down the same way we came up and ask Glavin—he is that imposing figure you met by the door, but I assure he is not such a dragon as he appears—to bring you into the drawing room. Is there anything else you need?"

Jane shook her head, and when Mrs. Fairchild had closed the door, she sank onto the bed, her head in a whirl. She knew she should consider herself more than fortunate in having landed in such a seemingly agreeable position. She sensed that she and Mrs. Fairchild would rub along very nicely together. But now that she had finally arrived and was sitting in a modest little room with none of her familiar things or faces around her, the enormity of what she had done finally overwhelmed her. She had to fight back tears as she remembered the two nights at an inn, having to take her supper in the common tap room rather than a private parlor, having to endure the leers and comments of the men as she made her way to the tiny room consigned to a female traveling alone, a room where the sheets were suspect and the floor unswept.

She got up and splashed some water onto her face, then regarded her own reflection in the small mirror above the washstand. Did her chin really have a defiant tilt? Did her eyes truly storm like an angry sea when she felt passionately about something? Though Thomas had teased her well enough on those counts, she couldn't see it herself. She only saw a stranger in the glass, a plain, bespectacled young woman dressed in a Quakerish gown of brown muslin, with mousy hair drawn into a severe bun. And the woman looked scared.

After staring at her own image for a number of moments she straightened her shoulders, the look of apprehension replaced by one of resolve. No, she vowed, she wouldn't be cowed that easily. Her pride wouldn't allow her to give up so soon and return home to accede to her father's dictates.

No, she would meet the challenge.

Bucking up her courage, she dried her hands and proceeded downstairs.

Glavin showed her into an elegant drawing room which, like the rest of the rooms she had seen, was decorated with exquisite yet understated taste. She was about to comment on the furnishing when she suddenly realized she shouldn't be cognizant of such things. So, swallowing her words, she silently took a seat on the couch on the spot that Mrs. Fairchild had indicated and folded her hands primly in her lap.

Mrs. Fairchild busied herself with pouring two cups of tea, and it was only after she had passed one of them to Jane and liberally sugared the other one for herself that she spoke.

"I'm sure you are anxious to hear of your duties here at Highwood, and to meet your charge." She paused to take a sip from her cup, while Jane dared not lift hers for fear that her hands would shake. "You will be expected to teach Peter his letters, history, geography and—you do speak French, do you not?"

Jane nodded.

"And French. You may decide the hours of your schoolroom, however you shall also be expected to look after him during the rest of the day as well—Cook has threatened to give notice if another gooseberry tart is knocked from the windowsill or if spiders keep appearing in the cream jug."

Jane had visions of an incorrigible little monster and her face must have betrayed her thoughts for Mrs. Fairchild quickly added, "Not that he is a naughty child, for indeed he is not. It's just that he is... well, I think he is lonely. The family nurse was forced by her health to retire two years ago and since then..." A sigh punctuated her words. "It is very quiet around here, Miss Langley, as you will soon discover. It is perhaps not an ideal place for a child to grow up, with no family..." She stopped abruptly.

"Did he not have a previous governess?" inquired Jane.

"She did not get along with children."

Jane wondered exactly what that enigmatic statement meant. "I hope I shall manage better," was all she could think of to reply.

There was a moment of silence while once again Mrs. Fairchild sipped her tea in a thoughtful manner. "I shall be frank with you, Miss Langley," she said, looking at Jane with a penetrating gaze. "The last governess was dismissed because I discovered her beating Peter."

"How awful! A child!" exclaimed Jane, unable to keep from speaking out.

"Yes, I thought so too. And so I have gone to great pains to discover a suitable person to come to Highwood, someone I hope will stay for some time. I like you, Miss Langley, from what little I've seen of you. I trust you will be a good and kind companion to Master Peter." Again, a troubled look clouded her face for a moment. "And now, I think you should meet your charge."

She rang the bell that was sitting on the side table. Almost immediately the door swung open and Glavin ushered in a young boy who seemed pathetically small in contrast to the tall, bony butler.

"Come, Peter," smiled Mrs. Fairchild. "Make your greetings to Miss Langley. She is to be your new governess."

Jane watched the boy approach the couch warily, a pair of sea green eyes studying her intently from under a tousled mass of dark curls. They betrayed a mixture of trepidation and defiance. He ducked a quick bow, but then sidled close to the housekeeper, practically hiding behind her ample form.

"Now, now," Mrs. Fairchild gently chided. "Miss Langley will think you sadly lacking in manners if you don't greet her properly."

"Welcome to Highwood, Miss Langley," The words were mumbled and the eyes were now studying the tips of his shoes.

"Thank you, Peter," replied Jane, essaying her warmest smile. Indeed, it wasn't difficult for her heart had immediately gone out to the frail-looking child before her.

In fact, the look in her eyes would have caused her brother much apprehension, for he would have recognized the beginnings of what he referred to as one of "Jane's crusades." Jane felt he exaggerated. Just because she was always the one to rescue a stray animal or lecture a tenant on the cruelty of beating a tired farm horse didn't mean anything other than that she disliked seeing the weak or helpless being taken advantage of. And though she admitted that no other female of her age or rank had shocked the drawing rooms of London by speaking out on the plight of juvenile chimney sweeps, she didn't think that made her a crusader, just a concerned individual.

"Won't you join me in having a cake?" She held the plate out towards him. "They are quite delicious."

Peter looked sideways at Mrs. Fairchild, who nodded encouragingly. Then, a fondness for sweets overcoming his shyness, he tentatively reached out and chose a sugared walnut cake.

"Those are my favorite, too," said Jane in a confidential tone. "I particularly dislike gooseberry tarts because they have a nasty habit of falling off windowsills."

The green eyes momentarily widened, then she was rewarded by the merest glimmer of a smile before the pastry disappeared into the boy's mouth.

Jane turned to Mrs. Fairchild. "Perhaps Peter could show me around. I daresay I've kept you long enough from your duties, but I would like to see the schoolroom as well as the rest of the house so I may begin to learn my way around."

The housekeeper nodded in approval of the plan, adding a grateful smile of thanks. "What a splendid idea. Peter, why don't you start upstairs with the schoolroom." She rose and picked up the tea tray herself. "I should like it if you would dine with me tonight. Miss Langley. At six, if you please." With that, she bustled out of the room.

"Shall we start?" asked Jane gently. "Or would you like another cake?"

Peter shook his head. His gaze had returned to the floor and without looking up he turned around. "Follow me... if you please," he mumbled.

The heavy door presented a bit of a problem. Even using both hands, Peter found it difficult to budge, but Jane let him manage. With a shove of his shoulder he made it swing open.

"Thank you, sir," She smiled as he held it open for her.

He didn't answer but moved ahead of her, leading the way back up the ornate stairway and past her own room. From behind she was able to study him more closely. He was a delicate child, with narrow shoulders which were now tight with apprehension. And yet he moved with a cat-like grace unusual in one his age—Mrs. Fairchild had said he was eight, but he looked even younger. Perhaps, she mused, it was because his features were so finely chiseled, for in fact he was a beautiful child. Or perhaps it was because he looked so vulnerable...

Her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at the schoolroom. Peter dutifully opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter. It had an air of familiarity to it, the pine desks scarred by generations of pupils, the slates, the bookshelves crammed with dog-eared volumes, the globe on its varnished stand, the smell of paper, ink and chalk, She felt a quick pang of homesickness as she looked around.

"What a nice room. Tell me Peter, do you know your letters?"

The boy nodded.

"And can you do sums?"

He hesitated, then nodded again.

"Good, though I think you probably dislike it as much as I did." She smiled, hoping for some response from the boy, but he still remained stone-faced. "Well," she went on. "Then we may start with some history and geography."

Jane wandered to the governess's desk and absently picked up a ruler that lay there. The boy instinctively flinched. She put it down nonchalantly, as if she hadn't noticed his reaction, and she felt a hot surge of anger towards the guardian who could be so neglectful of his ward.

"And of course we will learn harder sums and read the works of famous authors." She stopped by the tall shelves and looked at the spines of the leather-bound books. Spotting a set of children's novels on the exploits of King Arthur and Round Table, Jane couldn't hold back her enthusiasm. "Oh, these are wonderful books!" Impulsively she turned to the boy. "Would you like me to read the first volume to you?"

Peter looked at her in surprise. "I don't know," he finally answered.

"Has no one ever read to you?"

He shook his head. But then a moment later he said," My mother did... I think."

"Why don't we try it and see if you like it. We can read one chapter tonight at bedtime. What say you?"

He shrugged his small shoulders in a bird-like movement. "Very well."

Bird-like and vulnerable, she thought. It would take a lot of patience to win his trust, but one look at those wary, seafoam eyes told her it would be worth the effort to bring some warmth to the life of a very lonely little boy.

"We shall begin our studies tomorrow, but perhaps you wouldn't mind showing me some more of the house right now? Would you do that?"

"Very well." Then he corrected himself. "Yes, Miss Langley."

Jane bent down close to him. "Perhaps you might call me Miss Jane. It sounds ever so much more friendly, and I do hope we will be friends." She didn't wait for him to respond but went on in a confidential tone. "One other thing. This is such a big house that I find it rather frightening. Would you mind holding my hand as you show me about?"

She reached out her own hand. He stared at it, then slowly placed his own palm within hers.

"Follow me."

* * *

Peter showed her the various rooms in the east wing, including the portrait gallery where Jane managed to coax the first tentative smiles from her young charge with funny comments on the dress or expressions of some dusty, long-gone ancestor. They were about to descend the main staircase when Peter pointed to the other wing. He was now putting more than two words together at a time, something Jane hailed as a major victory.

"That is where my Uncle's rooms are."

She was surprised—from all that she knew, she had surmised that his guardian was elderly. But then she realized that he must be using the term loosely. Great uncle, no doubt.

"Your uncle is your guardian?"

He nodded.

"Is he very old?"

The boy nodded again.

Just as she thought. "And where is he?"

"I think he is... abroad," he answered vaguely.