'He t-told me you would t-try to turn me against him,' Gillian blubbered. 'He told me you would t-try to make me... think ill of him.'
'Yes, because Mr Wymington is a very smart man.' Helen brushed the blonde hair back from Gillian's forehead. 'Men like him always know what to say to impressionable young women. He knew how to make you believe everything he said.'
Gillian sniffed. 'I hate Oliver for doing this. I hate him!'
'Hush, child,' Helen crooned, rocking her close. 'You mustn't say things like that because I know you do not mean them. Oliver did what he did because he loves you. He was very worried about you.'
'But there was no need. We were going to be married.' Gillian's face crumpled into tears again. 'He bought me a ring...'
Helen knew there was nothing she could say to make the pain go away, so she just let the girl cry. Time would heal the raw edges, but for now, the wound was too fresh, the pain too deep. Gillian would suffer much before she came to terms with the reality of Mr Wymington's deceit, and for a while, it would be difficult for all of them. Helen only hoped Oliver would have the patience and the understanding to deal with it.
Oliver joined them at the inn a short while later.
Helen met him at the door of the small, cosy parlour and knew without having to ask that it had been a difficult interview. His eyes were dark, his lips pressed together in a tight, angry line. But he said not a word about Mr Wymington, asking only after Gillian's welfare, and her own.
'I am fine, sir, and thankfully, Gillian is asleep,' Helen assured him as she closed the door. 'She had been crying ever since we arrived.'
'Thank you for bringing her back here, Miss de Coverdale, and for taking care of her.'
'There is no need to thank me, sir; I would have done it without your asking. But...where is...Mr Wymington?'
'On his way to London.' Oliver's face closed down. 'We shall not be hearing from him again.'
Helen's eyes opened wide. 'Did you threaten him?'
'Not in so many words. I gave him the choice of settling the matter with pistols at dawn, or by writing a letter of confession to Gillian in which he told her the truth of his intentions.' Oliver withdrew a letter from his pocket. 'Needless to say, he chose the latter. I assured him he had made the right decision, since at least this way he was able to escape with his life.'
Helen looked at the letter but did not ask to read it. 'What will he do now?'
'Take the money I gave him and use it to buy his commission.'
'You gave him money?'
'I wanted to make sure he had enough to go on his way. But I assured him that if he ever tried to contact Gillian again, I would kill him.'
Helen shuddered. She had no doubt Oliver meant it. There was something in his tone that convinced her it was not an idle threat. Mr Wymington had made the mistake of trifling with someone Oliver loved. If he valued his life, he would not make that mistake again.
Within the hour, they set off for Steep Abbot. Gillian was very quiet getting into the carriage. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and Helen knew it was because Oliver had shown her the letter. The poor child had clutched it almost pathetically to her breast, the look of hurt and confusion on her face heartbreaking to see. Clearly, the truth of Wymington's defection had come as a crushing disappointment.
It was well after dark by the time they reached the school. Helen took Gillian up to her room and spent a few minutes with her there before returning downstairs. Then, together, she and Oliver went to see Mrs Guarding.
Not surprisingly, the headmistress was in a rare state of agitation.
'Helen, Mr Brandon, I am so relieved that you have returned.' Mrs Guarding glanced from one to the other with a look of deep apprehension. 'Is everything all right?'
'Everything is fine,' Oliver assured her. 'Thankfully, we were able to intercept Gillian and Mr Wymington in time to stop them from marrying. Or from anything worse happening.'
The headmistress sagged noticeably against her desk. 'Thank God for that. Where is Mr Wymington?'
'The gentleman will not be troubling us again,' Oliver said quietly. 'He is even now on his way to London to secure a new position with the militia.'
'And Gillian? How is the poor child?'
Oliver sighed. 'Disappointed. Broken-hearted. Mr Wymington wrote out a confession admitting to his true motives in courting her. Needless to say, when Gillian read it, she was devastated. She'd believed all along that we had conspired to make Wymington sound like a fraud. It shook her to learn that we had been telling her the truth.'
'Poor child.' Mrs Guarding's kindly face was filled with compassion. 'How terribly confused and betrayed she must be feeling right now. It is never easy to recover from disappointments of the heart. But she is young and time will heal the wounds she has suffered today. Eventually, she will be as bright and happy as ever.'
'Yes, but I think it is still best I take her back to Hertfordshire with me,' Oliver said. 'I will feel better knowing that she is close during these next few weeks. I know she doesn't like me very much right now, but I want her to know that I care about her regardless.'
Mrs Guarding sighed. 'Yes, I think it is important that she does know that, Mr Brandon. Well, I shall make arrangements to have her cases brought down. When do you wish to leave?'
'I think the sooner the better. With luck she will sleep in the carriage.'
Helen listened to the conversation in silence. She refused to allow herself to dwell on what it meant, because she knew that if she did, she would be every bit as heart-broken as Gillian. Oliver was taking his ward back to Hertfordshire. Which meant that he would have no reason to return to Steep Abbot.
Ever.
* * *
The pattern of Helen's days soon fell back into their former routine. It was a rhythm that had been established long before Oliver Brandon had come into her life—and her heart. The girls had all been sorry to see Gillian go, of course, but Helen knew their grief would pass and that life would go on for all of them. Such was the way of the world. But it was hard to pretend that everything was all right in her world. Helen felt as though her heart had been torn asunder, and that her life had become a sad and empty vacuum; a vacuum where love should have existed.
Mrs Guarding continued to be supportive. She gave Helen extra time away from school, and surprisingly, Helen found herself eager to take advantage of it. She was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her studies. She could not muster the same level of enthusiasm for her classes. Instead, she took to wandering through the woods near Steep Abbot, enjoying the freshness of the crisp autumn air and savouring the peace and quiet to be found in the shelter of the huge old trees. Somehow, she took comfort in the familiarity of nature.
On a beautiful clear day near the end of October, Helen wandered down to the pond where Desiree had first met her dashing Lord Buckworth. She had never ventured this far into the Steep Wood before, and for a moment, she just stood in silent admiration of the beauty all around her. No wonder Desiree had come here so often. There was a kind of serenity about the place. A feeling of peace. It was almost as though the problems of the outside world had no place within these leafy bowers.
She sat by the grassy edge of the river and threw stones into the water, watching the ripples fan out in ever-increasing circles. As she did, Helen tried not to think about Oliver. She tried not to remember the sound of his voice, or the breathless way he'd made her feel every time he spoke to her. Because to remember those things only brought it all back.
Funny. He had never even spoken her name, and yet Helen knew how sweet it would sound upon his lips. She often whispered his own name aloud, lingering over it, wondering if he would smile at hearing her say it. He never would, of course, because there would never be anything between them to allow such familiarities. He would always be Mr Brandon to her, and she Miss de Coverdale to him. A wealthy gentleman, especially one with connections to the aristocracy, would never contemplate marriage to a lowly schoo
lmistress.
Helen sighed as she watched a single leaf drop from an overhead branch and land on the glassy surface of the water. Oh yes, he was well-connected. Gillian had told her as much during one of their last conversations. She had informed her that his aunt was Viscountess Endersley, an imperious lady who lived with her husband on a magnificent estate in Kent. Apparently, Lady Endersley travelled north at least six times a year to visit her family, and it was widely known that Oliver was her favourite. She had, over the last little while, presented several young women to him in the hopes he might find one amongst them who would be suitable to becoming his wife, and she had been most disappointed when he had declined them all.
Helen's lips curved in a wistful smile. She could only imagine what Lady Endersley would say if Oliver were to express interest in a schoolmistress. She would never condone such a mesalliance. For Oliver to marry so far beneath him would be unthinkable.
Still, all of that meant nothing in the overall scheme of things, because Oliver had not expressed any interest in her. Oh, he had been charming in her company, and even flattering upon occasion. But there had been nothing in his conduct to convince her that he held her in any particular esteem. She had enjoyed the brief time they had spent together, but he had not misled her in any way, nor allowed her to believe there was anything between them. She was his ward's teacher. He was her pupil's guardian.
There was really nothing more to it than that.
It was the middle of November before Helen heard from Gillian again. The letter arrived innocently enough with the midday post, but as Helen read it over in the privacy of her room after classes that night, her eyes began to widen in a mixture of shock, fascination and bewilderment at the unexpected news.
My dear Miss de Coverdale
You will no doubt be surprised at receiving this, but I simply had to write and tell you. I am in love with a wonderful young man and engaged to be married! Yes, I know you will be shocked, but it has all happened so quickly I can scarce believe it myself. My betrothal celebration is to take place on the nineteenth, and I am writing to ask if you will attend. Oliver has already secured Mrs Guarding's approval for the visit, and if you are agreeable, he will send a carriage to bring you to Shefferton Hall on Wednesday next, where you are to remain with us until Saturday.
I do hope you will agree to make the journey. I have missed you terribly, and hope you are as eager to see me as I am to see you. I have so much to tell you! Oliver too, is anxious to renew his acquaintance.
Your dear friend Gillian Gresham
Helen let the letter fall to her lap and then stared at the wall in disbelief. Gillian was in love? But how in the world had such a thing come to pass—and so quickly? The child had barely been back in Hertfordshire a month. How could she have met someone and fallen in love with him in such a short period of time? More importantly, was this the arranged marriage Oliver had spoken of?
Helen picked up the letter and read it over again: ...Oliver has already secured Mrs Guarding's approval for the visit, and if you are agreeable, he will send a carriage to bring you here to Shefferton Hall on Wednesday next, where you are to remain with us until Saturday.
Goodness, Oliver certainly wasn't leaving anything to chance, Helen reflected. He had gone to Mrs Guarding and gained her approval for the visit before Helen had even been made aware of it. He was even sending a carriage so that transportation might not be an issue. '...Oliver too, is anxious to renew his acquaintance.' Helen decided not to read too much into that. While she wished with all her heart that the sentiment might be a genuine one, she knew better than to allow herself the luxury of believing it. Gillian was the one who wished her to be present at the betrothal celebration, so it was only natural that it was she who would have persuaded Oliver to invite her. And relieved that Mr Wymington was no longer the object of her affection, Oliver had probably been willing to do anything to make Gillian happy, even to allow her dear Miss de Coverdale to be present at the celebration.
Still, it was flattering to know that Gillian cared enough to invite her and that Oliver had no serious objections to her being there. And surely if the Brandons saw nothing wrong with a schoolmistress mingling with polite society, neither should she.
Chapter Fourteen
November, 1812
Shefferton Hall was a fine old house, built before the time of Elizabeth I and mellowed even further by the relentless passage of time. It slumbered against the natural beauty of gently sloping hills and wide-open meadows bordered by dense hedgerows and the occasional low stone wall. The gravelled drive was long and lined on either side with tall trees, the branches of which joined together to form a canopy of green overhead. It cut through a fine timber bush and then curved towards the Hall, finally allowing Helen her first glimpse of the majestic house, and causing her to catch her breath in wonder.
She had expected a lovely property. She had not expected anything like this.
A sudden movement drew Helen's attention towards the impressive front entrance. Gillian was standing on the top step, dancing up and down and waving her hands. Helen smiled and waved back, trying not to admit to the excitement she was already beginning to feel.
It was hard to believe that she was actually here in Hertfordshire. That she had been invited to stay at this magnificent home by the family of one of her former pupils. Harder still to believe that within moments she would be face to face with Oliver again. How would she feel upon seeing him? Helen wondered as the carriage finally drew to a halt and a liveried footman let down the stairs. What would she say to him, and how would he respond? More importantly, would she be able to keep the depth of her feelings from him for the several days she would be called upon to be in his company?
'Miss de Coverdale!' Gillian cried as she ran forward. 'How splendid to see you again! I am so very pleased you have come.'
'And I am very pleased to have been invited,' Helen said, returning the girl's affectionate embrace. 'But I must say the news came as something of a shock.'
'Yes, I knew it would.' Gillian laughed as though it were all a wonderful joke. 'Oliver said you would be astonished. But we can talk of that later. Right now you must come and meet Sophie.' Gillian linked her arm through Helen's and turned to lead the way back inside. 'I have told her all about you and she is most anxious to make your acquaintance.'
The trepidation Helen felt at the thought of meeting Gillian's stepsister vanished within moments of their being introduced. Mrs Sophie Llewellyn was every bit as delightful as Gillian had led her to believe. Striking in appearance, she was very tall and slender, and was possessed of the warmest, most gracious smile Helen had ever seen. She immediately set about to making her feel at ease, and as the conversation flowed between them, Helen couldn't help but like the elegant lady whose bright green eyes seemed to contain a perpetual twinkle.
'I am so glad you agreed to come, Miss de Coverdale,' Sophie said when they were all comfortably seated in the beautifully appointed drawing-room. 'We have heard a great deal about you since Gillian returned from Steep Abbot, and I must say, it has all been of a most flattering nature.'
Helen felt the warmth rise to her cheeks, uncomfortable at being the centre of attention. 'I cannot imagine what Miss Gresham could have said to elicit such praise, Mrs Llewellyn, but I can assure you that I enjoyed having her as one of my pupils. She is a gifted watercolourist and did a credible job with her Italian. I am very pleased at having been invited to celebrate this wonderful occasion with her.'
'Good afternoon, Miss de Coverdale.'
The voice that fell so sweetly on her ears caused Helen to jump and her heart to turn over in her breast. Oliver. She turned slowly and saw him standing in the doorway. His dark hair was windblown and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold. He looked to have just returned from a ride, and it seemed to Helen that he was even more dashing than he had been upon the occasion of their last meeting.
Surely it was not possible for a man to grow so very much more handsome in
the space of only a few short weeks?
'You smile at my greeting,' Oliver observed as he walked into the room. 'Was it something in my choice of words?'
'Forgive me, Mr Brandon. My amusement had nothing to do with what you said or with anything about you,' Helen hastened to say. 'I was merely thinking about something Gillian said to me a few weeks back.' She cleared her throat and wished that her quickened pulse would settle so that the annoyingly breathless quality of her voice would also disappear. 'Thank you for all the trouble you have gone to on my behalf. Both in speaking to Mrs Guarding and to arranging transportation for bringing me here.'
Oliver tipped his head. 'Neither was in any way troublesome. Mrs Guarding informed me that you had forgone the pleasure of a trip to London to see your good friend married, so she was more than happy to allow you this little outing in its place. And while I admit that Gillian's betrothal ball will hardly replicate the pomp and ceremony of a full-blown society wedding, I daresay we shall acquit ourselves reasonably well.'
'Dearest Oliver, you are being far too modest,' Gillian piped up. 'Considering all the arrangements you and Sophie have made, I am quite sure my betrothal ball will be the most elegant to be seen in Hertfordshire this year, and that my wedding will be the equal of any to be held in London. You will come to my wedding, won't you, Miss de Coverdale?' Gillian said, turning impulsively towards Helen. 'I cannot imagine getting married without you being there. In fact, perhaps you would like to—'
'Before you start making too many plans for Miss de Coverdale,' Sophie interrupted, 'perhaps I should show her to her room. I am sure she would like to rest before dinner. Travelling is such a tiresome occupation, is it not, Miss de Coverdale?'
'It is indeed, Mrs Llewellyn,' Helen said, smiling her gratitude. 'Thank you.'
'Oh, very well,' Gillian grumbled, clearly put out at having her friend whisked away so quickly. 'But we shall continue this over dinner. And then you must tell me what is happening at Guarding's, and how many of the girls miss me and ask after me.'
The Guardian's Dilemma Page 16