'Oh, very well.' Gillian was silent for a moment. 'What do you think of my guardian?'
Helen all but stumbled. 'I beg your pardon?'
'I asked you what you thought of Oliver.'
'I know what you asked, Miss Gresham. I, am simply wondering why you asked it.'
'Well, he is very handsome, don't you think?'
The abrupt switch to a topic Helen found even more disturbing than the murder at Steepwood Abbey left her feeling somewhat shaken. 'I have not given it any consideration at all. After all, the only time I've spent with Mr Brandon was on the morning you arrived,' she said, sending up another prayer for forgiveness.
'And when he came to take you driving.'
Helen came to an abrupt halt. 'How did you know about that?'
'Elizabeth Brookwell saw the two of you drive off together. Oh you needn't worry, I am not going to give you a scold,' Gillian assured her. 'I admit, I was a little put out that you didn't tell me, but then I realised you were probably just waiting for the right time to bring it up. Otherwise, I would be just as like to believe you were trying to hide something.'
Botheration, Helen thought. She should have realised that someone would have seen them drive off. 'I can assure you I have nothing to hide. The outing was not motivated by any feelings of personal affection on your stepbrother's part.'
'Then why did he take you driving?'
Helen started walking again. 'He wished to speak to me about something.'
'About me?'
'Partly.'
'And what else?'
'About matters which do not concern you.'
'Were they matters which concerned you?'
'Gillian, it is impolite to ask so many questions.'
'I know, but you won't give me answers otherwise. Oliver really is very nice, you know,' Gillian said, her enthusiasm not in the least dampened by the rebuke. 'Oh, I know he comes across as being terribly serious, but he isn't that way all the time. I've heard him laugh with Sophie quite often—'
'I am not interested in who Mr Brandon laughs with—'
'He drives very well too, do you not think? I don't know any other gentleman who handles a pair as well as Oliver. And he is a superb hunter.'
'Miss Gresham, why are you telling me all this?'
'Because I think the two of you would make a splendid match.'
That all but caused Helen's knees to buckle. Herself and Oliver Brandon? It did not even bear thinking about. 'I would thank you not to make such ridiculous suggestions, Miss Gresham. I am not looking for a husband—'
'But if you were—'
'If I were, I would still not consider Mr Brandon. We have absolutely nothing in common.'
'He thinks you're beautiful.'
Helen opened her mouth to answer, and then abruptly closed it again. No. She was not about to attempt a response to a comment like that. Apart from the fact that she was not at all sure Gillian hadn't made it up, it could have absolutely no bearing on the situation. Oliver Brandon had already told her what he thought of her. And given her knowledge of what he'd said, the fact that he thought her beautiful—if indeed he did—made for a very shallow compliment indeed.
Unfortunately, Gillian's questions and revelations about her guardian were not the only shocks Helen was to receive that afternoon. Just before they reached the school gates, they heard the sound of a carriage coming up behind them. Perpetually curious, Gillian turned around to look, but Helen, assuming it was the Guardings returning home, merely moved to the side of the road.
She couldn't have been more wrong. As the equipage drew to a halt beside them, Gillian's startled exclamation caused Helen to stop and whirl around.
'Oh, my dear Miss de Coverdale,' Gillian whispered in tones of barely concealed delight. 'I vow the angels have heard my prayers! Only look! Here is none other than my dear Mr Wymington come to pay me a visit!'
Chapter Six
.Helen could only stare in horror at the gentleman pulling the carriage to a halt beside them. Mr Wymington? Dear Lord, what was she to do? The one man she had been warned to keep Gillian away from was the very one who had found them! What would Mr Brandon say if he were to learn of this?
'Miss Gresham, we must continue towards the school!' Helen whispered urgently. 'You know this meeting cannot take place!'
Unfortunately, Gillian was lost to everyone but her beloved Mr Wymington. She stared at him like one in a dream, her lips parted, her eyes glowing with happiness as he jumped down from the seat and began to walk towards them. And as much as Helen might like to deny it, she could not find it in her heart to blame Gillian. The young man walking towards them was truly the embodiment of the romantic hero. Standing tall and dashing in his regimentals, with a shock of golden blond hair and eyes that were as blue as the summer's sky, he was easily one of the most handsome men Helen had ever seen.
'Mr Wymington!' Gillian cried, pouring her heart into the expression of his name.
The gentleman looked similarly elated at finding the object of his affection so close at hand and quickened his pace, causing a swath of wavy, blond hair to fall across his forehead. His smile, which had been somewhat tentative at first, widened to an expression of such heart-shattering beauty that Helen knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent the meeting from taking place. However, knowing she must do whatever she could to make it as brief and as harmless as possible, she stepped in front of Gillian, placed the girl securely behind her, and addressed the man in a clear and no nonsense voice.
'Good afternoon, Mr Wymington. My name is Helen de Coverdale. I am a teacher at the Guarding Academy for Girls.'
Mr Wymington looked at Helen and offered her the same dazzling smile he had just given Gillian. 'Miss de Coverdale, I am genuinely delighted to make your acquaintance. And I feel compelled to say this is truly the most incredible of coincidences. I knew Miss Gresham was attending school near Steep Abbot, but it never crossed my mind that I would be fortunate enough to see her here.'
'But is it not wonderful that you have!' Gillian cried breathlessly.
Helen saw nothing wonderful in it at all. 'It is coincidental indeed, but what has brought you all the way from Hertfordshire on a Sunday, sir?'
'Do not fear, my reasons are entirely justified. I have come to visit my sick uncle.'
'Your uncle?' Gillian's delicate eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. 'You did not tell me you had an uncle residing in the area.'
'Indeed, I think I may have neglected to mention it,' Mr Wymington said somewhat sheepishly. 'But I do in fact have one. He lives just outside Abbot Quincey.'
'But we were just in Abbot Quincey,' Gillian said, her face alight with joy. 'Is that not the most amazing coincidence, Miss de Coverdale?'
'Amazing indeed,' Helen muttered, feeling it was all far too coincidental for her liking. 'But I'm afraid we cannot linger, Mr Wymington. We are expected back at school. If you will excuse us—'
'Oh, but why must we leave so soon?' Gillian turned to her in dismay. 'Mr Wymington has come all this way to see me—'
'To see his uncle,' Helen reminded her.
'Oh. Well, whatever the reason, he is here now. Even better, he has had a chance to meet you.'
The gentleman bowed graciously. 'I consider myself most fortunate to have had the pleasure of meeting two such beautiful ladies.' He glanced at Helen with unfeigned interest. 'What subjects do you teach, Miss de Coverdale?'
'Italian and watercolours,' Gillian offered impulsively. 'And she is very good at both.'
A swift rush of colour stained Helen's cheeks. 'Miss Gresham is prone to exaggeration, sir.'
'In some areas, perhaps, but not in this I shouldn't think. Otherwise you would not be employed at such a reputable establishment.'
Helen glanced at him in surprise. 'You are familiar with Mrs Guarding's Academy, Mr Wymington?'
If Helen had thought to catch him out, his answers were to come as a disappointment. The map was no fool. He proceeded to tell her when the
school had been established and who the headmistress was, then further surprised her by expressing familiarity with some of the papers Mrs Guarding had published, as well as a knowledge of her beliefs and of the precepts upon which the school had been founded.
For a moment, Helen could understand Gillian's attraction to him. But she could not shake the feeling that the meeting had been far from coincidental. 'How long do you intend to stay in Abbot Quincey, Mr Wymington?' she enquired.
'That depends entirely upon my uncle. He is not in the best of health, which is why I have come to see him. But I cannot say how long he will wish me to stay.' Mr Wymington's expression turned endearingly humble. 'He is a very independent gentleman and I shouldn't wonder that he'll try to send me back to London just as soon as he can, with the assurance that he is quite capable of looking after himself.'
'If I were ill, I know I should very much like to have you taking care of me,' Gillian said impulsively.
Helen only just managed not to gasp. 'I'm sorry, Mr Wymington, but we really must be on our way.'
'Of course. It was most inconsiderate of me to detain you. But I cannot deny that I have enjoyed meeting the two of you.' He smiled at them and bowed. 'Your servant, Miss de Coverdale. Miss Gresham. I hope I shall have the honour of seeing you both again in the near future.'
Gillian nodded fervently. 'Oh yes, we must arrange—'
'Good afternoon, Mr Wymington,' Helen said, before Gillian had time to commit any further indiscretions.
Tipping his hat, Mr Wymington returned to his carriage and headed back in the direction from whence he had come. Gillian watched the carriage until it rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Only then did she let out a long, ecstatic sigh. 'Oh, is he not the most handsome of gentlemen, Miss de Coverdale? Indeed, he appears even more handsome to me than he did when last I saw him. Do you think, it is possible for someone to grow even more handsome in the space of three weeks?'
'I very much doubt it,' Helen muttered, far less pleased with the outcome of the day than Gillian was.
'But you cannot disagree that he is handsome. Or that he is charming! Did you not think so?'
'His manners were all that were pleasing, yes.'
'Then why were you so abrupt with him?'
Helen turned and starting walking briskly in the direction of the school. 'I was not abrupt.'
'Yes, you were. I know you, Miss de Coverdale, and I know when you are being abrupt.'
'If I was short with Mr Wymington, it was only because I was not pleased at finding him here. Nor will your guardian be when he finds out.'
Gillian's face went white. 'Oh, but he mustn't find out! You mustn't tell him! If Oliver were to learn that Mr Wymington was here, there is no telling what he might do.'
'I cannot keep secrets from your guardian, Miss Gresham. Especially about this.'
'But you heard what Mr Wymington said. He came to visit his sick uncle.' Gillian scurried to keep up with her. 'Surely you cannot hold such noble motives against him.'
'I do not hold them against him. I am merely suspicious of his timing. Do you not find it disturbing that Mr Wymington suddenly decided to visit a sick uncle who just happens to live in Abbot Quincey, when he never even mentioned the existence of the man to you before?'
'What I find disturbing is that you are starting to sound like Oliver. Why is everyone so suspicious of Mr Wymington? Why can't anyone believe that the man is attracted to me and not to my money?'
Oh, Gillian, there is so much you need to learn, Helen thought sadly. And we are only trying to prevent you from learning it the hard way.
'Miss Gresham, whatever your own feelings with regard to Mr Wymington, you cannot ignore the fact that your guardian wishes you to have nothing to do with him.'
'But he has no right—'
'He has every right. Mr Brandon has let it be known that you are not to see Mr Wymington, or to correspond with him.'
'But that is not fair! Mr Wymington has done nothing wrong. Oliver doesn't like him because he reads Shakespeare to me and tells me I am pretty. What is wrong with that? Is that not the way two people who care about each other express their thoughts and feelings?'
Helen abruptly came to a halt. 'Miss Gresham—'
'Oh, do call me Gillian. At least when we are alone.'
'Very well, Gillian. You have to understand that Mr Brandon—'
'Oliver.'
'That Mr Brandon is concerned with your welfare. Many young women are taken in by a gentleman's blandishments and marry against their parents' wishes, only to come to regret it later.'
'But why is Oliver so convinced that Mr Wymington is bad?' Gillian's face mirrored her confusion. 'There is absolutely nothing evil about him. Surely you just saw that for yourself. What is there not to like about Mr Wymington?'
What was there not to like indeed? Helen thought in the privacy of her room later that evening. She had found Mr Wymington to be all that Gillian claimed him to be; a well-spoken and charming gentleman whose appearance and manners were only to be admired. She did not know him well, of course, but on first meeting, there was nothing to which she could take a dislike.
Unfortunately, Oliver Brandon had made his wishes clear. There was to be absolutely no association between Gillian and Mr Wymington. He had told Mrs Guarding to advise her staff of that fact, so Helen could hardly claim ignorance of his wishes. But what if Oliver's dislike of Mr Wymington had nothing to do with the man personally? What if his feelings of animosity arose from something else altogether? After all, it was not unheard of for fathers or brothers to suffer feelings of jealousy the first time their daughters' or sisters' attentions moved in another direction. Was it possible Oliver was reluctant to lose his stepsister's affections? Because if he was, he could be doing Gillian a tremendous injustice.
Just as your father did you.
Helen closed her eyes and willed the .painful thoughts away. No, this was not the time to dwell on that. Their two situations were not the same at all. Her father had not wished her to marry beneath her, whereas Mr Brandon did not wish Gillian to marry a fortune-hunter. The reasons for their objections were entirely different.
Unfortunately, when it came right down to it, Helen knew that the end result would be the same. Gillian would not be allowed to follow her heart and marry the man she loved any more than Helen had. The only difference was that Helen was quite sure Gillian would not accept her fate so meekly. Nor that Oliver would escape so lightly!
Oliver tossed back the last of his cognac and stared glumly at his surroundings. He shouldn't have come here tonight. The club was painfully devoid of company. He could usually count on at least one or two of his friends being present but tonight it seemed they had all found better things to do. And he was not in a mood to be alone.
He frowned as he poured himself another drink and crossed one booted ankle over the other. Fact was, he'd been blue-devilled ever since his return from Northamptonshire, and it was all as a result of his encounter with Miss Helen de Coverdale. What was he to make of this young woman who had turned up so unexpectedly in his life again? She was a beauty to be sure. Even now, the memory of her face lingered in his mind like a sweetly haunting melody. But why was he suffering feelings of guilt over what he had said to her? He had only spoken the truth; they'd both known that. And he had only brought the subject up because of Gillian's welfare. So why had Helen glared at him as though she had been the injured party?
'Brandon. Good God, man, where the hell've you been?' came an affected drawl behind him. 'Thought perhaps you'd headed for the Americas.'
The husky voice—familiar despite the length of time since he'd heard it—caused Oliver's lip to curl in distaste. He raised his glass in an attempt to disguise his annoyance. 'As you see, I have not.' He glanced up as the man staggered towards the vacant chair across from him. 'Looking a bit foxed this evening, Lord Talbot.'
'Humph, no reason why I shouldn't be.' The heavy man grunted as he sat down. 'Just lost a packet to Cl
apham! Bloody fool swore he didn't know one card from the other.'
The remark served to restore a little of Oliver's flagging spirits. 'I'm surprised he took you in. Everyone knows Clapham's a master when it comes to cards.'
'Yes, well, I'll be damned if he gulls me like that again. Told him he'd best stay out of my sight.' Talbot raised his hand to summon a waiter. 'So, what brings you to London? Business or pleasure?'
Oliver rested his glass on his knee, but his eyes were sharp on the peer's face. 'A little bit of both.'
'Huh! More pleasure, I'll wager.' Talbot's smile suddenly turned sly. 'Did you know Carter tried to lure your little Nicolette away?'
'Really?' Oliver shrugged, careful not to let his displeasure show. He wasn't concerned that he might lose Nicolette, since it had been some time since he had wished to spend a night in her bed. But he was disappointed that a man who had once called himself a friend had tried to go behind his back in such a way. 'No, I hadn't heard.'
'Didn't think you had. Not that it mattered, because she wouldn't have him.' Talbot reached for the glass the waiter had just brought and downed the contents in one gulp. 'Told him to take himself off. You must keep her well satisfied to make her turn down a nabob like that.'
'We have an understanding,' was all Oliver said.
'Then you're a lucky man. Most wenches would switch beds for nothing more than the promise of a pretty bauble or two.'
'Is that your experience of women?' Oliver enquired mildly.
'For the most part. But there's always more to be had, so I don't trouble myself about it.'
'No, I'm sure you don't.' Oliver steepled his fingers in front of his face. 'Speaking of being lucky, I seem to remember one mistress you must have been sorry to lose.'
Talbot glanced at him in surprise. 'One of mine, you say?'
'Yes. Do you remember the night I caught you and a young lady in the library at Grovesend Hall?'
The Guardian's Dilemma Page 7