The Guardian's Dilemma Read online

  'Miss Gresham, you have a very nice grasp of colour and balance in your paintings,' Helen complimented her one afternoon. 'Your use of different shadings in the greenery of the new and old leaves is very good.'

  Gillian shrugged. 'I like to paint. And I paint what I see.'

  'So do all the other young ladies, but they do not have as good an eye as you when it comes to colour.'

  Gillian looked up at her, and for a moment her face brightened in a smile. It was a fleeting gesture, there and then gone, but it was enough to make Helen marvel at the change it wrought in the girl's appearance. Goodness, it was like the sun coming out after a summer storm. It also made her more determined than ever to break through the barrier of silence and to find out what was really going on in Gillian's mind.

  Happily, the opportunity arose a few days later. Helen had taken a book out to a secluded area of the garden to read. It was one of her favourite places and she often retired there to sit and write letters, or to indulge her love of reading. It was there Gillian came upon her: 'Good afternoon, Miss de Coverdale,' she said politely.

  'Good afternoon, Miss Gresham.'

  'I hope I am not disturbing you, but Mrs Guarding told me I should come outside and take some fresh air.' Gillian flounced down on the seat next to her. 'She said I was looking peaky. Do you think I am?

  Helen pretended to do a study of the girl's face. 'I think perhaps you are a trifle pale, but I would not say peaky.'

  'That was what I thought too. I do not think anyone has ever called me peaked before.' Gillian sighed again, and then glanced at the book Helen was reading. 'Are you sure I am not disturbing you?'

  'Not at all. I was just about to stop for a while anyway.' Helen closed the book and set it aside. 'Othello is a diverting tale, but I confess I do not like it as well as some of Mr Shakespeare's other works.'

  Gillian's eyes opened wide. 'Oh, but how can you not! It is so very romantic. Indeed, Mr Wymington quotes to me from it frequently.'

  The mention of the notorious Mr Wymington's name did not escape Helen's notice, but she decided to ignore it for the moment. Better not to express too much curiosity this early in the game. 'Well, you have been here over a week now, Miss Gresham. What do you think of Guarding's?'

  Gillian shrugged and some of the gaiety left her eyes. 'It is not as dreadful as I thought it would be. The teachers are all very nice, and so are the girls, but some of them are frightfully intelligent. Annabelle James is brilliant at maths, and Mary Putford knows how to speak French, Italian and Greek fluently.'

  Helen arched one dark brow in surprise. 'Miss Putford is fluent in Greek? Dear me, perhaps I should ask her if she would be willing to take classes once a week.'

  Gillian shrugged again. 'I expect she would. She confided to me that she would very much like to be a teacher one day.'

  Helen glanced at the girl in surprise. Mary Putford was a pleasant girl and one generally acknowledged by all as being exceedingly bright, but to the best of Helen's knowledge she seldom mixed with the other girls. How interesting to discover that in the short time Gillian had been here, she had somehow managed to get close enough to Mary to know that she both spoke Greek and that she was interested in teaching it.

  Clearly there was more to Gillian Gresham than met the eye.

  'So, does that mean you are not entirely sorry to be here with us rather than back home in Hertfordshire?' Helen enquired with a smile.

  'Not entirely, though I would never tell Oliver that.' Gillian watched a small green caterpillar inch its way through the grass at her feet. 'I want him to suffer terrible feelings of guilt for having left me here. I intend to make sure he knows that if I waste away to nothing, it will all have been his fault.'

  Helen was careful not to smile, though she was very much tempted to. 'I hardly think he will believe that, Miss Gresham.'

  'Nor do I, but it pleases me to think he might. I would certainly not tell him that I do not miss stuffy old Shefferton Hall at all.' Gillian sighed. 'The only problem is that I do miss my dear Mr Wymington.'

  Thinking it might sound strange if she did not enquire about a gentleman who had now been mentioned twice in conversation, Helen said, 'And who is Mr Wymington?'

  Once again, the change in Gillian's appearance was remarkable. She clasped her hands together in front of her and her smile grew positively radiant. 'He is the most kind and considerate gentleman I have ever known. He is a lieutenant in the militia, and surely the most handsome man in the entire regiment!'

  'Is he indeed? And is there an arrangement between the two of you?'

  The girl's animation vanished like a candle being extinguished. 'I only wish there were. Oliver does not care for Mr Wymington. That is why he sent me here. He does not wish me to see him ever again.'

  Helen had to exercise a certain amount of care as regards what she said next. She knew it would be wrong to encourage Gillian to go against the wishes of her guardian, but she did want to hear Gillian's side of the story. After all, it was entirely possible that Oliver Brandon's reasons for wishing to separate the two were entirely groundless. 'Why doesn't your guardian like Mr Wymington?'

  'Because he thinks he is only after my money. I'm an heiress, you see, Miss de Coverdale. When I turn one-and-twenty, I shall inherit a great deal of money.'

  'And is Mr Wymington in possession of a good income himself?'

  'No. At least, none that he has ever mentioned to me.'

  Which probably meant he wasn't, Helen reflected silently. Lower-ranking officers did not earn a great deal of money, and half-pay officers even less. 'Then it is entirely possible your guardian is right,' Helen replied, willing for the moment to give Mr Brandon the benefit of the doubt. 'It is not unheard of for young gentlemen who are in, shall we say...restricted financial circumstances to be attracted to wealthy young women,' she pointed out. 'Especially when they are as pretty as you.'

  The young woman's face brightened again. 'Do you really think I am pretty?'

  'Of course, but I am sure Mr Wymington has told you that.'

  The blush in the girl's cheeks deepened. 'Miss de Coverdale, may I ask you a question?'

  'You may.'

  'It is rather personal.'

  'I shan't answer it if it is too personal.'

  'Well, it is just that... why would someone as beautiful as you not be married?'

  Helen blinked her surprise. 'Good Lord. Whatever made you ask such a thing?'

  'Because you are not like the other teachers here. Oh, they are all very pleasant, to be sure, but none of them are anywhere near as lovely as you. And I know that gentlemen are attracted to pretty ladies. So I simply wondered why you were not married.'

  'Perhaps no one has ever asked me,' Helen said in as light-hearted a tone as she could manage.

  'But you have been in love, haven't you?'

  Oh yes, I have been in love, Helen thought wistfully. But like your guardian, my father did not approve of the gentleman I loved either, and he had him sent away too.

  'I think it would be best if we were to talk about your hopes for the future, Miss Gresham, rather than sit here and discuss something which is of no importance to either of us.'

  'But love is important,' Gillian said desperately. 'Surely it is the most important thing in the world!'

  'It is important, to be sure,' Helen agreed, 'but there are many things which take precedence over it. Like the value of a good education, for ,example, which is why you are here.'

  Gillian snorted. 'I am here because Oliver does not wish me to see Mr Wymington and because there was nowhere else he could send me.'

  There was an unknowingly wistful note to the girl's voice and it tugged at Helen's heart. 'I am sure your guardian only has your interests at heart, Miss Gresham. He is older than you, and he knows what is best.'

  'But how can he know what is best when he has never been in love?' Gillian cried in frustration. 'How can he know...how sweet it is to be close to someone you love when he has never experienced
those feelings himself?'

  Helen blinked in surprise. A gentleman as handsome as Oliver Brandon had never fallen victim to love? How very strange. 'Are you sure he has never felt that way?'

  'Oh yes. I have spent most of my life in Oliver's house, and I know him better than anyone. Except perhaps his sister, but even Sophie knows what it's like to be in love.'

  'Is she a married lady?'

  'Yes, and a most happy one. I like her very much. We have the most interesting talks, even though she is very sensible.'

  Helen hid her smile, amused by the notion that in Gillian's mind, being sensible and being interesting were not necessarily synonymous. 'What does she say about your association with Mr Wymington?'

  'She doesn't say very much at all,' Gillian admitted. 'But then she hardly would, being Oliver's sister. She would never express an opinion contrary to his.'

  'Has she met Mr Wymington?' Helen enquired.

  'Once. I introduced them at a musicale.'

  'And did she appear to like him?'

  Gillian frowned. 'I do not know. I cannot recall her saying very much about him at the time.'

  'But she did spend enough time in his company to form an opinion of him?'

  'Oh yes. Sophie is very good at forming opinions of other people. And she is seldom wrong.'

  'Then, if she is good at judging other people's characters, and she is seldom wrong, why would she not tell Mr Brandon he had made an error in judgement with regard to Mr Wymington if she truly believed he had?'

  It was a neatly worded exercise that forced Gillian to acknowledge the fact that a woman she considered eminently sensible had made her own decision regarding Mr Wymington and that it might be less than favourable. Unfortunately, Helen could also tell from the look on Gillian's face that she was not about to concede the point so easily.

  'Sophie is very capable of forming her own opinions, but she is not always given to sharing them. But I do not believe she would tell me she liked Mr Wymington if she knew her brother would object.'

  This time, Helen decided to let it go. She had a sneaking suspicion that Oliver's sister did not approve of Mr Wymington and that Gillian was perfectly well aware of it. But her reluctance to admit it naturally begged the question why?

  What was there about the dashing young gentleman that both Oliver and his happily married sister could object to?

  * * *

  Oliver read the letter from Gillian, the third he'd received since he'd left her at Guarding's, and frowned in consternation.

  Miss de Coverdale has such a refreshing outlook on everything, Oliver. Indeed, I almost feel as though I am talking to someone my own age, rather than someone closer to yours...

  Oliver sighed. Obviously she thought him quite decrepit.

  Miss de Coverdale...Helen as I like to think of her...has also told me about the scandalous events which have taken place in Steep Abbot. It seems the old Marquis was murdered right here in the Abbey and that everyone has a different opinion as to who did it.

  Many believe it was his wife, while others say it was his faithful servant. Really, Oliver, it is quite fascinating. The girls talk about it incessantly ...

  Oliver threw down the letter and began to pace. Wonderful. Not only was his ward forming a close friendship with a woman of questionable morals, but she was gossiping with her about the scandalous goings-on in the village where she lived. Where was the high moral fibre Sophie had spoken of in reference to the teachers at Mrs Guarding's excellent academy?

  Still, he supposed gossiping about a society murder should be the least of his concerns. Far more troubling was the fact that Gillian and Miss de Coverdale were spending so much time together, and that Helen had such a refreshing outlook on everything. What was he to make of that? Was the woman encouraging Gillian in her foolish notions? Was she suggesting that his silly young ward follow her heart and act in a manner Miss de Coverdale might herself have thought appropriate at that age?

  It was enough to set Oliver ringing for his valet. He did not like what he was hearing at all. He had not sent Gillian to the Guarding Academy to be corrupted by a woman like Helen de Coverdale. He knew he should have said something to the headmistress that first day. He should have voiced his concerns about Miss de Coverdale's past and taken pains to ensure that Gillian was not exposed to her influence. In fact, he should have stayed and spoken to the young woman himself instead of allowing his conscience to be assuaged by Mrs Guarding as regards the lady's character.

  And that's what he was going to do now. The only way he could find out what was going on in Steep Abbot was to return there and see with his own eyes precisely what effect Helen de Coverdale was having on his ward—before any more damage was done!

  Helen didn't know whether to be flattered or flummoxed by the letter she had just received. It was from Oliver Brandon, and it requested the pleasure of her company on a drive with him that very afternoon, if she could spare him the time.

  Helen thoughtfully tapped the parchment against her bottom lip. As it happened, she did have some free time, given that it was her weekly half-day, but she had not thought to spend it with Mr Brandon. She had expected him to ask for a meeting to discuss the incident that had happened in her past well before now. Gillian had been at Guarding's nearly two and a half weeks. Why was he bothering to spend time with her at this late date?

  Helen frowned as she put the letter on her desk. Was it possible the visit had something to do with Gillian herself? Was he concerned, perhaps, as to how well she was settling in, or as to how competent she was in her studies? Helen knew that Gillian wrote frequently to her guardian. Was it possible she had expressed unhappiness or dissatisfaction with the school, and that he was coming to see to the matter himself?

  As quickly as the thought came, Helen dismissed it. No. If Mr Brandon was curious to know how his ward was progressing, he would have written to Mrs Guarding directly. The headmistress was kept fully apprised of the progress of each girl, just in case such an enquiry might arise.

  Then what else could it be? Had Gillian taken a personal dislike to her and written to Mr Brandon about that? Helen didn't think so. In fact, she was rather pleased with the friendship that had sprung up between them, and she was sure it had contributed to Gillian's adapting more easily to her new environment. Even the other teachers were commenting about her sudden willingness to participate in class, and about how quick Gillian was to help the younger girls with their problems.

  So if it wasn't an interrogation about her past, and it wasn't in response to a complaint from Gillian, what could Mr Brandon possibly be coming to see her about?

  At precisely twenty-seven minutes past three, Helen closed the door to her room and walked briskly toward the stairs. The soles of her worn leather boots made a soft clicking sound against the wooden floor, but she barely heard it over the thudding of her heart. She had tried to tell herself she had nothing to worry about, but after much deliberation, she had concluded that the reason Mr Brandon wanted to see her today was to talk to her about her past. It was the only logical explanation.

  But in recognising that, Helen also recognised that Oliver Brandon was entitled to know what had happened. And she felt sure that once she told him the truth—embarrassing as that might be—everything would be fine. After all, Oliver Brandon was a gentleman. As a gentleman he would understand.

  He was already waiting in the hall by the time Helen descended. He looked extremely dashing this afternoon, wearing a multi-layered greatcoat over a dark jacket and light-coloured breeches. He seemed to her even larger than usual, and with his hair somewhat dishevelled by the wind, there was a roguishness about him that Helen found distinctly attractive.

  She made a show of attending to her gloves, not wanting him to see how affected she really was. 'Good afternoon, Mr Brandon. I hope I have not kept you waiting.'

  Oliver turned at the sound of her voice and sketched her a perfunctory bow. 'On the contrary, Miss de Coverdale, you are exceedingly punctual.'


  The formal tone gave Helen a moment's pause, but she told herself to ignore it. It was only natural that his speech would be short. No doubt his impressions of her prevented him from being anything but distant.

  In the courtyard, a stylish curricle drawn by two perfectly matched blacks awaited their arrival.

  'Oh, what a splendid pair,' Helen commented with approval. 'Do they go as sweetly as they look?'

  'They do indeed. Are you at skilled at tooling the ribbons, Miss de Coverdale?'

  'I used to be,' Helen admitted as he settled her into the passenger seat, 'but a great deal of time has passed since then, and I should not like to comment upon my abilities now.'

  'It is not something one forgets,' Mr Brandon observed, climbing up beside her.

  'No, but neither is it a skill which improves with lack of practice. However, on such a lovely day as this, I am quite content to sit back and enjoy someone else's skill.'

  And truly, it was a perfect mid-September day. The slight briskness in the air encouraged the wearing of gloves and a light coat, but it was not so cold as to be uncomfortable. Helen wished she might have had a prettier gown to wear, but such things were not available to a young woman in her position. The dark green spencer over the plain cambric gown did very well, as did her poke-bonnet tied with a matching ribbon. The newest thing she owned was a pair of buttery-soft kid gloves, a much-cherished Christmas present from her friend Desiree.

  Mr Brandon gathered up the reins and set the pair to a brisk trot. His hands were firm but never harsh on the reins, and Helen enjoyed watching him employ his skills at keeping the pair to a steady trot. She also liked the fact that he seldom used the whip. She had seen far too many young men try to demonstrate their skill with the tool, only to have the horses suffer for their inadequacy. But when Mr Brandon employed the whip, it was with such a light hand that Helen knew it was the sound of the snap more than the touch that set the horses to responding. Besides, with a pair of high-steppers like these, it would hardly be necessary.