The Defiant Governess

Back Cover:
Lady Jane Stanhope, vowing that n one would bridle her spirit, had devised the most extraordinary plan to escape an arranged marriage. The high-spirited, highborn and highly pampered Lady Jane was running away—to enter service!
As governess to the ward of the mysterious Marquess of Saybrook, Lady Jane was posing as a plain Jane in order to keep her independence. Before long this most unconventional governess was winning the heart of the melancholy little boy in her charge—and losing her own to the haughty, handosme lord of the manor. Alas, jane knew the most a titled gentleman could offer a mere governess was—ruin. Now she has to find a way to be a lady again—before she gave in to the temptation of the Marquess’s kisses.

Excerpt:
The afternoon sunlight flooded into the drawing room, playing off the golden highlights of the Aubusson carpets, rich brocades and gilt furniture, as well as the honey-colored curls of the young lady seated at the pianoforte. She had left off her music for the moment and sat staring out the soaring mullioned windows, her chin cupped in her hand. Outside, manicured lawns and formal gardens were already hinting at the lushness to come, acre upon acre stretching out to where the home woods of ancient elm and oak separated the imposing stone manor house from the vast expanse of the estate’s farmland and forest.
But her gaze seemed to take in none of the details of the view before her. It certainly took no note of her own reflection in the leaded glass panes, one that showed a young lady of above average height, quite slender, with well-cut features that indicated a certain firmness of character. They were perhaps too strong to be called beautiful in the soft, conventional sense, but combined with the restless energy that radiated from her person they created a striking picture. Below the slightly furrowed brow were eyes of the deepest sapphire, cloudy for the moment. The purse of her firm, full lips also betrayed a sense that her thoughts were elsewhere, but then she quickly gave a shake of her shoulders, as if to banish whatever was bothering her.
With a slight frown she turned a page of the music and began to play again. The lilting notes that filled the room bespoke of a more than ordinary talent, even though the piece was a difficult one. As she came to a particularly complex movement her fingers flew over the ivory keys without a moment’s hesitation-- bold, fortissimo-- and the effect was mesmerizing right until the very end when a wrong note rang out.
“Oh, damn,” she muttered as she brushed a stray lock from her face.
“That will never do in Town, my dear Jane. You know very well it’s not at all the thing for a lady of breeding to even think such a word.”
Lady Jane Stanhope spun around, a guilty look on her face until she saw who had caught her. “Oh dear,” she replied, trying to keep the smile off her lips. “I shall never take, shall I Thomas, if I don’t mend my outspoken ways.”
Thomas, Viscount Mountfort, also struggled to suppress a grin. His features were as finely chiseled as those of his sister and most people wondered if they were twins, though she was a year younger, because of their obvious closeness.
“Never,” he agreed . “You’re a complete hoyden, I fear.” Not, he added to himself, that her more than occasional unladylike behavior had kept a bevy of the most eligible bachelors in London from dangling after her during her first Season. Hadn’t she rejected the Earl of Havesham and the Marquess of ....
“And I fear you have the right of it,” she sighed, once again staring out through the leaded glass. This time the sunlight caught not just the richness of her hair and the gleaming blue of her eyes, but the stubborn thrust of her chin, a look Thomas knew all too well.
He moved quietly to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder, “What’s this? Feeling blue-deviled? I thought you were looking forward to another Season in Town.”
“Oh, I suppose I am. It’s just that, well...” How could she describe what she was feeling? She wasn’t sure she herself understood it, let alone be able to put it in words. A sigh esacped her lips. “In Town there are so many constraints on a lady’s behavior. I must act as if I care for nothing but the latest fashions and on dits when I make morning calls with Aunt Bella. Then at night there are all the boring gentlemen who look as if they have swallowed a frog if I express a real idea or opinion.” She looked up at him to see if there was even a glimmer of understanding of what she was trying to say.
“But you have many admirers who enjoy your outspokenness, who think you are a True Original.” It didn’t hurt matters, he forbore to add, that she was the daughter of a Duke and an heiress in the bargain.
“I don’t want to be appreciated as an Original.” Her tone had turned angry. “ I want to be appreciated for... what I am, not—oh, never mind.”
“Enough of this! You’ve been cooped up inside too long on such a lovely day that it’s given you the megrems. I know just the thing. Would you care to match your Midnight against the new stallion I just bought at Tattersall’s? He just arrived this morning. I warn you though, he’s a prime one.”
Jane jumped to her feet, eyes sparkling with the challenge. Though her brother was six feet tall she could almost look him in the eye, and her willowy form was bristling with indignation. “Oh, you don’t truly think you can beat me!”
Thomas shrugged his broad shoulders, hardly wrinkling the impeccable cut of his coat. He stared nonchalantly at the tips of his well-polished Hessians, as if contemplating her statement. Secretly he was relieved that the storm he’d seen gathering on her brows had disappeared, to be replaced by her normally exuberant spirits. He waited another few moments in silence, just long enough to start her foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.
“Care to wager on it?” he drawled.
“A gold guinea!”
Her eyes were flashing bright as the named coin and with a start he realized how truly beautiful his sister was. Oh, it was not just her features, which were certainly lovely, but something else--a bewitching vitality. He sometimes worried that it ran too unchecked since both his widowed father and the entire household doted on her, but it was no wonder that so many of the most eligible bachelors, used to demure schoolroom misses, were intrigued. If her spiritedness sometimes crossed over the edge, he was sure that many of her hijinks were due to something other than true willfulness. He was aware that since her come out last year the strictures on her behavior, especially in town, had inexorably tightened. The escapades were her way of fighting back, of expressing her independence. With her keen mind she could have no illusions about how Society viewed her spirit. They menat to break it, to make her take the bit between her teeth. It was time she married and it was expected that she would fall into step like a demure mare, like all the other girls her age. How repugnant—and frightening—the idea must be to her, and how he admired her courage. He found himself echoing her opinion that it wasn’t fair. But it was only a matter of time. Unlike a man, she had precious little choice. It was time she married and what man wouldn’t want to control the reins? What rare man would accept an equal...
“Well?” Her impatience pulled him out of his reverie.
“Done!” he answered, putting aside such serious musing for another time.
“Have Jem saddle the horses immediately. I won’t be but a moment changing into my riding habit.”
She spun and raced towards the grand stairway, nearly upending one of the parlormaids who was just coming out of the morning room. “Your pardon, Bertha,” she cried, barely missing a step.
The maid gazed after her with the fond smile of a longtime retainer. Turning to Thomas she said, “Such spirit has Miss Jane.”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully and wondered, not for the first time, in what hot water that spirit would eventually land his sister.

Two hours later the pair of them reentered the manor house, flushed with exertion and laughing uproariously over some private joke. One of the feathers of Jane’s dashing little hat was sadly askew and she had taken off the entire creation, allowing a mass of curls to fall over the shoulders of her bottle green jacket, cut snugly in the latest military fashion. She shook her head to loosen the last of the hairpins. “Dear me, I’d better not let Sarah catch me looking like this--she’ll ring a peal over me for not acting like a lady!”
“Oh fustian,” jeered Thomas. “Since when has your maid or any of the servants done anything but indulge you at every turn? You have them all in your pocket, as well you know.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “James was quite cross with me...I think it was last month when I --.” She paused and looked at him pensively. “Do you think I’m spoiled?”
Thomas thought for a moment. “I think there are times when you don’t think of the consequences of your actions...”
“Excuse me, Miss Jane.” Grimshaw, the family’s butler ever since Jane could remember had been standing patiently in the entrance hall, but as the friendly bantering between the two young people showed no signs of abating he felt obliged to interrupt.
“Oh, hello Grimshaw. Forgive our bad manners for not greeting you earlier but Thomas and I have been engaged in a most important discussion.” She turned to her brother. “Grimshaw most certainly doesn’t indulge me.” She looked back at the butler. “Do you, Grimshaw?”
Grimshaw gazed sternly at her, repressing the twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Certainly not, Miss Jane. Most improper it would be of me.”
Jane grinned triumphantly. “There, you see!”
Thomas only rolled his eyes.
“Now Miss Jane,” said Grimshaw before the two younger members of the family could begin some other lark. “Your father asked that you see him in the library as soon as you returned.”
Jane shot a questioning look at her brother. “I wonder what-- you don’t think he heard about me racing your curricle against Lord Cranston last week. Johnny was such a beast to insist no lady could drive prime cattle.”
“Ssssh,” hissed Thomas. “Let us hope not!”
“Lady Hepplestone was here earlier,” added Grimshaw. His face was impassive but the slight sniff at the end of his words indicated his opinion of the person in question.
“Now what mischief has Aunt Bella been wreaking,” muttered Jane. “Why she can’t mind her own children’s affairs and leave us in peace. Lord knows, with six to tend...”
“Six boring ones,” interrupted Thomas.
“Six henwitted ones,” added Jane.
“Miss Jane!” The butler’s stentorian tone filled the hall. “Your father said NOW!”
“Very well,”she sighed. Tugging at her jacket and skirts to restore some semblance of neatness, she stared towards the library. After a few steps she turned back to Thomas. “You don’t think she heard about the curricle?”
“Lord help us both.” He couldn’t begin to imagine the set down they both would receive if that was the case. Both stood in silent contemplation of such a ghastly thought until Grimshaw drew himself up to his full imperious height and pointed meaningfully down the hallway. Jane hurried away, leaving the butler to silently curse the meddlesome relative who always seemed to cause trouble for the young mistress of the house.

Her father was seated at his desk, head bent over some papers as Jane quietly entered the library. For a moment he was unaware of her presence and she found herself wondering why he had never remarried as she studied his handsome profile. His hair, though completely grey, was still thick, with a wavy curl that many young pinks of the ton spent hours in front of a mirror trying to achieve. His shoulders, broad and unbent with age, filled out the cut of his stylish coat as well as a younger man’s. And the eyes studying the documents were still sharp and penetrating—sometimes too much so, she thought with a wry smile.
Henry James Sebastian Stanhope, the fifth Duke of Avanlea, looked up at his daughter. ”Take a seat, Jane.”
She knew immediately that something was very wrong. Even in his rare fits of temper there was always a certain look in his eyes, one acknowledging what they both knew: that she was the light of his life. Now suddenly it was missing, replaced by something she couldn’t fathom, she who understood his moods better than anyone. Shaken and not knowing what else to do, she smiled as if unaware of the tension in the room. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting Papa, but Thomas and I were...”
“Were racing—neck and leather I’ve no doubt— around the countryside like two...hellions,” finished her father.
Racing, thought Jane. Then perhaps she was wrong and this was just about the curricle race. She cleared her throat. “I understand Aunt Bella was here earlier. If she told you about...”
“She told me nothing about any of your latest escapades. Just the usual dire warning that I have sadly mismanaged your upbringing.”
“That’s unfair,” she cried. “Why can not Aunt Bella mind her own affairs! I have had a wonderful...” She paused. “Then why are you so upset with me? What have I done? Surely you cannot be angry because Thomas and I have had a nice gallop—why, we’ve been doing that for years.”
“What have you done?” said her father in a quiet tone that belied the anger in his eyes. “Your aunt has informed me that Frederick Hawthorne asked your leave to pay his addresses to you and that you turned him down. Is this true?”
Jane was thoroughly perplexed. “Why, yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don’t care to marry him.”
The Duke leaned over the desk towards her. “You don’t care to marry him,” he repeated slowly. “And why is that? Is he a cruel man? A gamester? A rake? A simpleton?”
Jane shook her head. “You know he is none of those things. He’s nice enough, but he lacks... a certain fire. He’s rather priggish, if you must know, and I certainly don’t feel about him the way one should about the man one is going to marry.”
“And how is that? I should very much like to hear what a twenty-year-old miss scarcely out of the schoolroom has to say on such matters.
Stung by his words, Jane responded hotly. “I think one should feel love for one’s future husband, not settle for a marriage of convenience that seems so popular among the Ton.”
“What nonsense have I allowed you to fill your head with?” replied her father. “Is this the result of allowing you to study with Thomas and his tutor, learning French, the classics, history and science, to read what you liked instead of insisting you be content with sewing, watercolors and lessons on the pianoforte?” He shook his head. “Instead of a well-mannered, biddable daughter I have one with her head filled full of wild romantic notions.”
“Biddable! You, of all people, have always encouraged me to think for myself, not to be a ninnyhammer like any one of Aunt Bella’s daughters,” cried Jane, her voice rising to the same pitch as his.
“Well, I have been wrong, I see. For an entire Season since your coming out you have racketed around Town with your brother, getting into scrapes that should make a father blush. You have scorned any number of eligible young men— in short, you have indulged your own passions with nary a thought to your reputation or your future. That is going to change.”
A silence descended upon the room. The cracking and hissing of the burning logs mirrored what both of them felt inside. Jane clasped her hands together so tightly that her nails dug into the skin. “Just what does that mean?” she asked.
“ It means that I have given Frederick Hawthorne leave to pay his addresses to you. His father was a good friend of mine and I have know the young man since he was in leading strings, He has no vices, his estates are prosperous, his title is one of the oldest in the land and you certainly cannot complain of his looks. I know he is considered quite a prize on the Marriage Mart. And he has character— enough backbone to deal with you, which unfortunately cannot be said for many. In short, I am convinced he will make you a very good husband.”
Jane raised her chin defiantly and met his gaze in a clash of sapphire. “I shall never marry for a title or a handsome face. You cannot force me to the alter.”
“No, I cannot,” he agreed. “But I think when you have had time to consider, you will come to your senses and agree that it is a reasonable course, one that will bring you happiness in the end. For you know, “ he added, softening his tone for the first time, “that is all that I want for you, Jane.”
“How can you say such a thing?” She jumped to her feet, unable to rein in her emotions any longer. “You want to fob me off on a man I neither love nor even like above half! You of all people, who I know made a love match with Mama, and even today refuse to remarry because of her, despite all your mistresses...”
The slap lashed through the air like a whip, its crack stunning both of them into a shocked silence. Jane’s hand flew to her face, as if it could erase the angry red marks of his fingers, and her father stared at his own hand as if it had acted on its own. The only sound between them was their own ragged breathing until the Duke recovered his resolve.
“Never speak to your father thus, young lady. Your temper and your language only reinforce that I am doing the right thing, so listen carefully to me. There will be no Season in Town, no routs, no balls, no theatre--nothing-- until you see reason. From now on, you will not leave Avanlea until you leave it as the bride of the Duke of Branwell. And I am sending Thomas away to London tomorrow morning so you may contemplate in solitude the folly of your past behavior. It is to be hoped that in three week’s time, the date for which I have invited Hawthorne to make an extended visit here, you will have come to your senses.”
Jane made a horrified little gasp.
“And don’t think to sweeten me up on this. I vow to you that I will not change my mind. It is time to grow up and be a dutiful daughter, and obey your father. You must trust that I know what is best for you.”
Jane turned her head slightly so he would not see the tears welling up in her eyes. It was, after all, the only vestige of pride that she had left, not to fall at his feet in sobs. That her dear father had actually struck her, that he thought her shameless and a burden was almost too much to bear. But she refused to cry in front of him and show him how deeply he had wounded her.
“You have made yourself quite clear, sir,” she replied tonelessly. “May I have your leave to go now?”
He nodded, restraining the urge to gather her in his arms and comfort her as he had done so many times in the past. She looked so miserable and forlorn as she turned to go that his heart gave a wrench. He prayed that his sister had been correct, that he was doing the right thing.

Jane raced blindly down the corridor, only vaguely aware of where she was or the sympathetic glances from the servants. She only knew that she had to make it to the front door, to the fresh air, to her horse.
Once mounted, with her stallion striding out in full gallop over the broad meadows of the estate, she finally gave way to her tears. They stung her face as the wind whipped at them. Her sobs mingled with the thudding of the hooves, creating a symphony of despair that she felt to her very heart. No one had a right to break her spirit, she told herself. No one! And yet she felt so alone, so small against the censure of her father, her family, the rules of Society. Was there anyone who would understand how she felt?
There was Nanna. Or, more properly Miss Nancy Withers, who had come to Avanlea with the young slip of a girl who had been Jane’s mother. Nanna, who had been her mother’s nurse, who had followed her young mistress to serve as nurse to a new generation of children and who, by unspoken agreement of everyone in the household, had remained after the death of Jane’s mother to keep a watchful eye on the two children, even long after they were out of the nursery.
It was to Nanna that a frightened and confused eight-year-old girl had run to when the vast house suddenly fell silent and cold, then filled with a sea of black clad adults that spoke in low voices to her Papa. it was Nanna who slowly coaxed a little sunshine back into all their lives, sharing picnics by the river, getting gloriously muddy hunting for polliwogs along its shallow banks, and even sparking the first laugh from their father by loosing a barnyard cat into the inner sanctum of Mrs. Greenwell’s kitchen. Oh, how they had had to stifle their merriment at the look on that august personage’s face on seeing a muddy ball of fur plopped on an expanse of polished pine lapping cream from one of her spotless Staffordshire pitchers. Their father had hurried them from the door so as not to have the bad manners of laughing aloud, but once in his study they had all collapsed with mirth until tears rolled down their cheeks. That one shared moment had seemed to break the ice of his grief and once again he became the papa of old, sharing long rides around the estate and dinner together in the evenings.
It was Nanna, too, who she and Thomas had shared the intimate moments of growing up. The magic of a perfectly formed robin’s egg, the tears at being too young to go to Town with Papa, the wonder of a first kiss.
Though she had retired to her own snug cottage on the estate last year, on Jane’s first Season, declaring that now her little ones were truly grown up and didn’t need her anymore, Jane rode over frequently to visit when she home. Settling at Nanna’s knee while Nanna knitted, just as she had as a little girl, she would regale her beloved old nurse with the latest gossip from London as well as confessing her and Thomas’s latest escapades. Nanna chuckled and scolded, Jane looked contrite and they both laughed and took comfort in the familiar warmth of each other’s presence.
Jane burst through the door with a sob and without a word Nanna gathered her to her ample breast, thinking ruefully how little distance there was between eight and twenty.
“Come, come,” she soothed, patting Jane’s disheveled hair. “It’s not like you to be such a watering pot. Dry your eyes while I fix some tea and then you’ll tell me all about it.”
She disengaged Jane’s arms and handed her a linen hanky. “Now let me guess,” she called as she put a kettle on the stove. “Lord Edgarton has proved a sad disappointment because the poem he’s sent is not up to snuff with Byron’s. Or is it Baron Haverill has refused to let you drive his matched greys, even though you are an infinitely better whip than he is?”
Jane couldn’t help smiling inspite of her quivering lower lip. “Oh, Nanna, do you too think I am such a frivolous thing?”
“I’m quizzing you, love, as well you know. Now come sit down and tell your old Nanna what is wrong.”

Jane hugged her cup close to her chest as if she needed its warmth. “So you see,” she finished, “I am in an impossible situation.!”
Nanna shook her head. “Your aunt has always been a meddlesome woman, always sparking no good. But I have been fearing your father would do something like this for some time now. I know he has been ill at ease about you. he has long worried that he hasn’t provided you with the proper upbringing for a lady—it has been rather unconventional, you know—and he is quite concerned about making a good match for you. And you haven’t helped allay his concerns, Missy, with your behavior.”
“But I will not be treated like...a prize mare, my merits and faults discussed by others, to be given, on careful consideration, to the highest bidder. I won’t! I am a person with my own mind and I will not have my freedom taken away.”
Nanna recognized the mulish tone in her former charge’s voice and shot her a reproving look.
Jane bit her lip. “I’m sorry to sound like a fishwife, but when Thomas engages in pranks he is called high-spirited—I am called shameful. It’s not fair!”
“No, it isn’t. It never has been,” answered Nanna softly. “You know that well enough and it’s something you must learn to accept.”
“Must I?” asked Jane. “You, too, think I should accede to my father’s demands and spend the rest of my life with a husband I care nothing for, a man who may order my entire existence exactly how he wishes?”
“Now, now.” Nanna stroked Jane’s hair. “I didn’t say that. I just mean that it is time you admit that in your station in life you have certain options: You may remain on the shelf and care for your father in his dotage or become a doting spinster aunt to Thomas’s future brood, hanging in his pocket and always making his wife feel a bit out of sorts with you—a life I assure you would not suit!
“That’s not the only option. I shall have an independent income when I come of age, I could set up my own house with a woman companion—you, Nanna. We could have our own establishment and do as we please.”
Nanna shook her head. “Do you really think that would suit you either? No, you must marry. Certainly not Frederick Hawthorne if you don’t wish it. But perhaps there is another young lord whom you are not adverse to. I’m sure your father would relent if you promised him you would settle down and apply yourself seriously to seeking a man you could be happy with.”
So instead of having my father sell me off, you would have me sell myself?” interrupted Jane bitterly. She tried to picture a face among the scores of eligible men who had ever shown a spark of true humor or hint of understanding when she attempted a heartfelt opinion.. A void expanded inside her. “If these are the rules of my class, I wish them to the Devil! I never wish to marry! Would that I could change places with Mary Langley. No one bothers to try to force a farmer’s daughter to marry against her will.”
Nanna shook her head sadly. She loved Jane as a daughter and her heart went out to her in her misery. But she had seen this day coming for some time. With Jane’s wealth and rank it had only been a matter of time before her independent streak of word and action would result in the reins being tightened. A part of her rebelled along with Jane at the injustice of it. Why, indeed, could a woman not be free to act as she chose? But she knew it was inevitable and it was better to help Jane realize and accept it.
“Little one, you are no longer a child but an adult, and must grow up and accept the responsibility of your station. Your life has changed.” She noted the stubborn tilt of Jane’s jaw, a look so familiar that she nearly smiled in spite of herself.
“But you you always encouraged me to think that a woman had as keen a mind as a man. Why should I submit myself to the ... tyranny of marriage? You never did!”
A cloud passed over Nanna’s face. “That is true, my dear. But don’t think I haven’t missed things in life for it.” She paused. “And don’t think that your friend Mary has such a sweet life of it. Yes, she and Martin are in love and will be married. But until he found a position at Deerfield Manor he had no prospects and she was forced to look for a position, which as you know I helped her find. A good one, too, for it was as a governess to one small boy, the ward of a Marquess who lives out of the country. I had heard through my sister, whose dear friend—well, it doesn’t signify. But mind you, she was going to work!
“And control her own destiny,” interrupted Jane.
“A fine destiny,” said Nanna sternly. “In the employ of someone else. It’s not such a fine life to work, my dear, though you shall never know it.”
“Better than being leg-shackled. At least can give an employer notice” retorted Jane.
“In any case, it is of no consequence for Mary. Martin is now upper footman to Lord Harbaugh and they will wed in three week’s time. I’m sure she means to tell you herself tomorrow. She just stopped by here to give me the news and ask me to write her regrets that she is no longer able to take the position.” Nanna motioned towards an envelope on her side table. “I have the letter right here. Would you be a dear and have your father frank it for me? I don’t plan to walk into the village for another few days.”
Jane slipped the letter into the pocket of her riding habit. “Of course,”
Nanna gave her an affectionate hug. “Now, it’s time for you to be off home or you’ll be late for supper. Think about what I have said.”

Jane spurred her horse into a smart canter. Her initial shock and despair had given way to an unyielding resolve. Just as everyone else was set on making her change, she was determined to do things on her own terms. No one would bridle her spirit! No one! Just what she would do, she still wasn’t sure but just the mere fact that she had made such a decision buoyed her spirits. She urged Midnight to greater speed, reveling in the feel of the wind in her hair and the raw energy of her mount. As she bent close over his mane something jabbed her side and she remembered the letter in her pocket. Tugging at the reins, she slowed to a walk and took out the cream-colored envelope: Mrs. R. Fairchild, Highwood, ------shire it said. After a moment’s hesitation she broke the seal and took out the folded sheet of paper:
Dear Mrs, Fairchild,
I regret to inform you that the young lady I recommended to you, Miss Mary
Langley, will be unable to take up the post of governess to the Marquess of
Saybrook’s ward due to her forthcoming marriage. I know you expected her to arrive
in a week’s time, on March 21, and I am most sorry for any trouble this will cause you.
Unfortunately I know of no other persons with the proper qualifications in this area
that I might recommend to you. It is to be hoped that other of your acquaintances
will be of more help to you.
Respectfully,
Miss Nancy Withers

Jane refolded the letter and put it back in her pocket. As Midnight continued his leisurely gait homeward, she patted it thoughtfully and a small smile crept to her lips, one of grim satisfaction.