Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 01] (7 page)

"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.

"You can't ride, 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 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. "Miss, 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, her at the horse's head leading it 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. Afterwards she was gratified to hear him tell Henry, as he helped put the tack away, that they would be back at the same time tomorrow.

She smiled to herself, remembering his look of wonderment 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. Truly she had looked forward to a brisk walk and some time to herself—and truly she disliked subterfuge—but 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 field 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 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 man'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.

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 ever so slightly. "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 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... the house!" She moaned faintly.