Gillian's face darkened. 'What about Mr Wymington?'
'What about him?'
'Oh, how can you be so heartless, Oliver! You must know that I care for him. And it cannot have escaped your notice that he holds me in considerable esteem.'
'It hasn't escaped my notice at all, but neither has the fact that you are only seventeen.'
'I shall be eighteen in January, but what has that to do with it? Jane Twickingham was betrothed to Lord Hough when she was only sixteen, and you have told me yourself she was a silly little chit. What has my age to do with Mr Wymington's courting me?'
Oliver's eyes turned the colour of stone. 'Since when did Mr Wymington's visits take on the aspect of a courtship? He has not sought my permission to address you.'
As if realising she had said more than she should, Gillian's pretty cheeks flushed. 'Well, no, of course not, because we are only acquaintances. But that is not to say that I...that is, that he—'
'Gillian, what do you really know of Mr Wymington?' Oliver asked, deciding to try a different approach. 'That he is charming, I have no doubt. That he knows how to turn a young girl's head, I have seen with my own eyes. But what do you know of the man's character or background? Has he spoken to you of his family? Do you know where he comes from or who his people are?'
'Of course I do.' Gillian lifted her chin in defiance. 'We have spoken of all those things. Mr Wymington has nothing to hide from me.'
'Then what has he told you of himself?'
'That his parents are dead, and that he has a sister living in Cornwall to whom he is not close. He also told me he has hopes of achieving a higher rank in the militia.'
'I see. And what is he now—a lieutenant?'
'Yes.'
'Has he the funds to purchase his next commission?'
'I do not believe he has,' Gillian admitted reluctantly, 'but he did tell me he was like to come into a considerable amount of money.'
Oliver was immediately on his guard. 'Did he say how?'
'Well, no, not precisely.'
'Did he say when he might expect this good fortune?'
Gillian coloured. 'No, nor did I ask. Why should I when one day I shall have money enough for us both?'
That was precisely what Oliver had been afraid of hearing. 'And I suppose you told him that?'
'Yes.' Gillian's golden brows drew together in a frown. 'Why would I not?'
Oliver suppressed a sigh. There was no point in answering the question. His naive young ward might not realise how tempting was the carrot she dangled in front of Mr Wymington's nose, but he certainly did. 'I'm sorry, Gillian, my mind is made up. We leave for Steep Abbot in a week's time. Say goodbye to whichever friends you wish to and then begin your preparations to leave.'
'But—'
'And you are not to see Mr Wymington again.'
'But that is not fair, Oliver! Why can I not say goodbye to him? He is a friend, and you told me I may say goodbye to whomever I wished.'
'You know very well I was not referring to gentlemen when I said that. You may write Mr Wymington a farewell note, but that is all. And I wish to read it before you send it away.'
Oliver could see that Gillian was angry. There was a defiant sparkle in her bright blue eyes and her chin was thrust out in the gesture he had come to know so well.
'I think you are being beastly about this, Oliver,' she flung at him. 'You are sending me away to some dreadful school because you do not like Mr Wymington and because you do not wish me to see him.'
'I am sending you to Steep Abbot so that you may complete your education,' Oliver replied with equanimity. 'I do not share in the opinion that all a young lady need know how to do is arrange flowers and engage in polite conversation. You are far too bright 'for that, as you yourself have told me on more than one occasion.'
'I do not have to listen to you!'
'Ah, but you do. At least until the occasion of your twenty-first birthday. I promised your mother that I would look after you until that time, and I intend to keep my word. Now, I would ask you to respect my wishes and abide by my instructions. We leave in six days.'
'Six!' Gillian's eyes widened in dismay. 'You said we were leaving in seven!'
'I was, but your decision to argue has persuaded me to move it up a day.'
'But you cannot—'
'And for every objection you make, we shall leave one day sooner. The choice is yours, Gillian.'
With that Oliver turned and walked towards the door. He could feel his ward's eyes boring into his back, but he did not give way. He had learned that the only way to deal with Gillian was to be firm, regardless of what Sophie or anyone else thought. He was doing what was best for the girl and with any luck, she would eventually come to realise that.
In the interim, it did not lessen his awareness that had looks been sufficient to kill, he would have been lying on the floor suffering his final moments even now!
Chapter Two
September 1812
Helen de Coverdale sat in the small, walled garden behind the main body of the school building and breathed a sigh of pure pleasure.
What a glorious morning it had turned out to be! With the sun so warm and the air so mild, it was hard to believe that the first of September had already come and gone. In fact, if she closed her eyes and tried very hard, she could almost convince herself that it was the fragrance of spring flowers perfuming the air rather than the dusky scent of autumn signalling the end of yet another summer.
How quickly time passed, Helen thought wistfully as she gazed out towards the gardens. Indeed, with the arrival of each new year, the days seemed to tumble over one another with ever-increasing speed. When she was a child, the summers had stretched on endlessly. She remembered long, golden afternoons spent in the Italian countryside, when there had been nothing more pressing to do than paint pictures of olive groves and fields of brightly coloured flowers. She remembered sitting with her grandmother in the little stone house, listening to her tell the same wonderful stories she had told Helen's own mother when she had been a child growing up there. How blissful those days seemed now, and how very long ago. Before the long years of war had begun to change everything.
Thank goodness her memories of the past hadn't changed, Helen reflected silently. They would always be there for her, reminding her of a time when her future had loomed bright and hopeful. Before the heartbreak of love and the harsh realities of life had intruded to shatter her expectations and chase away her dreams.
Helen picked up the letter she had placed on the seat beside her and smiled as she read it over one more time. It was from her dear friend Desiree Nash. Desiree lived in London now, but before that she too had been a teacher at the Guarding Academy. She had taught Latin, Greek and philosophy for over six years, until a most unfortunate incident had forced her to leave.
Helen's smile faded as she thought back to that dreadful time. In the spring of last year, Desiree had been caught in a compromising position with the father of one of the students. The fact that she had been completely innocent of any wrongdoing meant nothing. The episode had been witnessed by Mrs Guarding and two of the girls, and it had effectively put an end to Desiree's future at the school. It had also been a particularly difficult time for Helen. She and Desiree had become close in the brief time they'd known each other, and Helen had shed many a tear as a result of her friend being so cruelly sent away. But she knew there was nothing she could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done. It was simply the way young single women were misused by society.
But now, Desiree was having the last laugh on them all. She had gone up to London and become the companion of an aristocratic lady, and had then fallen in love with the lady's dashing young nephew. Now, she was betrothed to marry him. Her letter was to inform Helen of the date of the wedding, and to say how very much she hoped her dear friend would be able to come up to London for it.
Helen sighed as she carefully refolded the letter. How wonderful it would be to go to L
ondon and see Desiree married. How satisfying to see her take her place in society as Lady Buckworth. Indeed, after everything she had endured, it seemed only right and fitting that she should. Unfortunately, as much as Helen would have loved to go, she knew it was impossible. The school was operating short of the full complement of teachers as it was, and there were new girls arriving all the time. Mrs Guarding had informed them that three new girls would be coming in at the end of this week alone.
Which simply meant there was no way Helen could take the time necessary to attend Desiree's wedding. She could not afford to risk losing her position here. While she knew that being a teacher was not a profession many people would envy, it was all she had, and in her own way she was happy with it. She valued the company and friendship of the other women who worked here; women who, like herself, had been forced to make their own way in the world. And it was certainly a vast improvement from the positions she had held in the past. Better to be a schoolmistress in a country school than a governess in a fine house where one lived in constant fear of being caught alone by the master.
'Helen, Helen, come quickly. Mrs Guarding is looking for you!'
Helen looked up to see Jane Emerson hurrying across the grass towards her. Jane was a pretty little thing with big brown eyes and dark hair. She taught dance and deportment at Mrs Guarding's and was well liked by both the staff and the girls. But her appearance in the garden now with the news that Mrs Guarding wanted to see her came as something of a surprise.
'But why would she wish to see me?' Helen asked, hastily slipping the letter into her pocket. 'I have no classes until this afternoon.'
'Yes, but Miss Gresham and her father are here.'
Helen blinked. 'Miss Gresham?'
'One of the new girls.' Jane stopped for a moment to catch her breath. 'Mrs Guarding is gathering... every one in the hall to meet them.'
'But I thought none of the new girls were due to arrive until the end of the week?'
'That was what Mrs Guarding told us, but Miss Gresham is here now and we must all take our places. Come, Helen, we had best make haste,' Jane urged. 'You know how Mrs Guarding hates to be kept waiting!'
'I apologise for our early arrival, Mrs Guarding,' Oliver told the headmistress in the privacy of her sitting-room, 'but I thought it best that Gillian begin her studies here as soon as possible.'
Mrs Guarding inclined her head. 'No apology is necessary, Mr Brandon. I have asked my staff to assemble downstairs and it will be only a few moments before they are there. But in the interim, is there anything you would like to tell me about your ward?'
Oliver glanced at the older woman in surprise. 'Why would you ask?'
'Because given Gillian's age, I thought there might have been another reason for your haste in bringing her here.'
'I'm not sure I take your meaning.'
The headmistress looked at him in the same manner she might have regarded a tardy pupil. 'Mr Brandon, I am very proud of the reputation I have built here at Guarding's, but I am well aware that education is not the only reason parents send their daughters away. Especially to a school like this.'
'Like this?'
'Yes. One where the main focus is not to prepare young women for marriage.'
As a man accustomed to plain speaking, Oliver appreciated the headmistress's forthright style. He was also glad he had left Gillian in the corridor beyond. 'You are quite right, Mrs Guarding. I did have another reason for bringing my stepsister here, and under the circumstances, I see no reason why you should not be made aware of it.' He paused, took a deep breath, and then laced his hands together behind his back. 'Gillian has developed an unfortunate tendre for a gentleman of whom I do not approve. I had hoped that by separating them for a while, she might eventually find her affections cooling, and that the gentleman might find another target for his.'
A gleam of understanding appeared in the headmistress's eyes. 'Am I to assume that your ward's inheritance has something to do with the gentleman's interest?'
'I believe it has. Because of her wealth, Gillian will be pursued by a great many gentlemen. Some will love her for who she is while others will court her for what she has. I am hoping that when the time comes for her to make a choice, she will have the maturity and good sense to recognise the difference. At the moment, she hasn't,' Oliver said flatly. 'She has been swept away by the romantic ramblings of a handsome officer and believes herself in love with him. That is why I have brought her here.'
'I see.'
'It is also why I would like to make a request of you.'
'And that is?'
'The gentleman's name is Sidney Charles Wymington. He's a dashing fellow to be sure, but I want it made clear that Gillian is to have absolutely nothing to do with him.'
Mrs Guarding's eyebrows rose in inquiry. 'Have you reason to believe he would attempt to contact her here?'
'Regrettably, I have no reason not to believe it,' Oliver replied without hesitation. 'Mr Wymington has become rather persistent of late in his attentions. That is why Gillian is not to be allowed contact with any gentlemen who might call for her. She is also not to receive correspondence from anyone other than family members and female friends.'
Mrs Guarding nodded. 'I will ensure that my staff are made aware of your wishes, Mr Brandon.'
Oliver hesitated, not sure whether he detected a note of censure in the woman's voice, and even less sure why he should be disturbed by it. 'It is not my intention to sound like an overbearing parent, Mrs Guarding. Gillian is an amiable child but at times she can be...impulsive.' He gave the headmistress a rueful smile. 'She has done an excellent job of winding her tutors and her family around her little finger, and I regret to say she has become accustomed to getting her own way. I simply wish to prevent her from making a terrible mistake.'
The reluctant explanation brought a smile to Mrs Guarding's face. 'I understand your dilemma, Mr Brandon. It is an unfortunate truth that all too often young women are guided by their feelings rather than by their good sense, and I would not wish to see your ward come to grief. However, having said that, I must remind you that Miss Gresham is not a prisoner here. I cannot restrict all of her activities nor force her to remain on school property. If she is not to leave the grounds or to venture into the village unescorted, you must be the one to tell her that. I shall then endeavour to enforce your instructions as best I can.'
'That is only fair,' Oliver conceded. 'Gillian is well aware of my feelings regarding Mr Wymington, but as I've said, she's a strong-willed girl used to getting her own way. I am hoping that you and your staff will be able to strengthen and refine certain aspects of her character. I have been assured that moral development and intellectual growth are encouraged here.' Oliver took a deep breath. 'I wish her to understand that a young lady in possession of a considerable fortune cannot always be ruled by her heart, since the gentlemen who are courting her seldom are.'
Helen accompanied Jane to the dining-hall and smiled at the other teachers who were gathered there. They were a quiet group of women, made that way by their upbringing as much as by their choice of livelihood. They had all been forced to seek employment as a result of neither having had the good fortune to secure a husband, nor being in the enviable position of not needing one.
Helen had come to the Guarding Academy with a slight advantage over the others in that she had once been a pupil here. But she had never had cause to regret her decision. Even now, as she approached the beginning of her third year, she still enjoyed the opportunity of working with the young women in her care. That was not to say that all the young ladies liked being shown the best way to apply watercolours to a page, or how to conjugate Italian verbs. Indeed, with travel on the Continent so restricted, many of them felt there was little need for any language other than French in their daily lives, and some even balked at the learning of that.
For all of the attendant aggravations, however, Helen was not unhappy. There was a sense of belonging here; a feeling that they were all part
of a small community, and that was important to Helen. She had spent too many lonely years forced to live without it.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused the low murmur of voices to cease, and in silent expectation the ladies turned towards the door where three people had just entered. Mrs Guarding led the way, followed by a very pretty young woman of about sixteen, and behind her, a gentleman who looked to be somewhere in his late thirties.
The young lady was dressed in the first style of fashion, from the brim of her attractive straw bonnet to the tips of her dark brown kid boots. She wore a short pelisse of deep lilac trimmed with white, and her light blonde hair was attractively arranged in loose curls around her face. She had high, round cheeks, a pert little nose, and a soft, rosebud mouth. But Helen could tell from the petulant expression on that mouth that the young lady was anything but pleased at the prospect of becoming a pupil at Mrs Guarding's Academy.
The gentleman behind her was equally well dressed. He was garbed in a dark blue jacket over fawn-coloured breeches, and was wearing a pair of highly polished Hessians. The perfectly tailored garments accentuated the width of his shoulders and the musculature of his legs, but there was nothing foppish about him. The fabric of his single-breasted waistcoat was tastefully subdued, while his snowy white cravat was well but not fussily tied.
Unfortunately, it was not the manner of his dress that gave Helen cause for alarm. As she slowly raised her eyes to his face, icy fingers tightened around her heart, and for a moment, she could scarcely breathe.
No! It could not be! Not now, after all this time, surely it was not him...
'Ladies, thank you for gathering so promptly,' Mrs Guarding began in her usual brisk manner. 'I am very pleased to introduce our newest student, Miss Gillian Gresham. Miss Gresham comes to us from Hertfordshire and will remain with us until the spring.
I know you will all make her feel welcome at the Guarding Academy.'
The Guardian's Dilemma Page 2