The Guardian's Dilemma

by Gail Whitiker

  'Impertinent minx,' Oliver drawled affectionately, 'I doubt any of them have spared you so much as a thought since you left.'

  'Oliver!'

  'Pay him no mind, Gillian,' Sophie said, rising. 'You know how he likes to tease you. I am quite sure all the young ladies at Guarding's are anxious to hear how you go on, and to know all about your upcoming nuptials.'

  'They are indeed, Mrs Llewellyn. In fact,' Helen said, wishing to set Gillian's mind at rest, 'you will be pleased to learn that I have brought letters from several of the girls who are anxious for news of her.'

  Gillian's face brightened. 'Really? They have truly taken the time to write?'

  'They have. I shall bring the letters down to dinner. Unless you would consider the timing inappropriate?' Helen said, glancing uncertainly at her hostess.

  'It will not be inappropriate, Miss de Coverdale. Most of our guests will be arriving tomorrow, so I thought it might be pleasant to have a quiet, informal dinner this evening. It will give us an opportunity to become better acquainted with you.'

  Grateful that she would be spared the rigours of a formal dinner, Helen inclined her head. 'There is little enough to know, Mrs Llewellyn. My life has been very quiet compared to most.'

  'Well, I am sure we shall find something to talk about.'

  'And we seldom find ourselves at a loss for conversation with Gillian about,' Oliver added. 'Even if we cannot vouch for the significance of its content.'

  'Oh, now that is not fair, Oliver!' Gillian cried. ' You have told me that I am a skilled conversationalist and that I find far more interesting subjects to talk about than most of my friends!'

  'Come, Miss de Coverdale,' Sophie whispered. 'I shall take you upstairs and see you settled.' She drew Helen to her feet as Oliver and Gillian continued their good-natured bickering. 'Once these two get started on a discussion, there is no telling when it will end!'

  The room Helen had been given for the duration of her visit was as pretty as she could have wished. It was bright and spacious, with mullioned windows that gave view towards the south-west, and walls that were papered in a soft lemon-coloured silk. The bedspread and curtains were of a slightly deeper hue, while the tapestry seat-covers and bed pillows all contained traces of the same warm shade. 'Oh, how lovely!' Helen exclaimed upon entering.

  'Yes, it is nice, isn't it.' Sophie agreed. 'It was originally Catherine's room. Gillian's mother,' she explained at seeing Helen's look of confusion. 'She moved in here after my father died. Catherine loved yellow. She said it reminded her of daffodils and sunshine, and that she liked to have it around her as much as possible. Which was not in the least surprising.' Sophie glanced around the room and her lips curved in a smile of affection. 'If there was ever a woman blessed with a sunny disposition, it was Catherine Gresham.'

  Helen nodded as she moved towards the elegant, four-poster bed and gazed around the room. It was exceedingly bright and sunny, and it certainly did make one feel cheerful. Unfortunately, one of the maids had already unpacked what few belongings Helen had brought with her out upon the bed and the comparison between her drab, dark school gowns and the sumptuous colours everywhere else was striking in the extreme.

  'Well, I shall leave you alone to rest, Miss de Coverdale,' Sophie said, seeming not to notice. 'If you are in need of assistance, you have only to ring the bell for Trudy. She is a most accommodating young woman and will make sure you have everything you need.'

  'Thank you, Mrs Llewellyn. I am sure I shall be very comfortable.'

  'Good.' Sophie smiled then, and hesitated. 'By the by, I fear you may not have had time to prepare a new gown for Gillian's betrothal party. Indeed, you were scarce given time to ready yourself, let alone to acquire new clothes. But you need not concern yourself about such matters.' She walked towards the large wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened the doors. 'Perhaps you will be able to find something in here to your liking.'

  The doors swung open and Helen gasped at the startling array of clothes that suddenly came into view. There were silk and satin evening gowns, elegant walking gowns and stylish riding habits, along with a veritable abundance of bonnets, boots, gloves, and shawls. Everything the well-dressed lady could possibly need.

  'Gracious! Who do all of these clothes belong to?'

  'Most of them were Catherine's,' Sophie told her. 'She absolutely adored clothes. She would sit for hours pouring over copies of La Belle Assemblee or Ackermann's. And she was most particular when it came to having new things. She would not wear anything that was not of the first stare.' Sophie drew out a lovely gown in a warm shade of apricot silk and held it up for Helen's inspection. 'As you can see, the styling is somewhat out of date, but the fabric is excellent and the beadwork quite lovely.' She cast Helen a sideways glance. 'Are you at all skilled with a needle, Miss de Coverdale?'

  Helen nodded, already assessing the degree of difficulty involved in altering the lovely garment. 'Yes, I am.'

  'Good. Then I think this gown—or any of the others—could easily be made wearable. Catherine was not unlike you in size.' She offered Helen an apologetic glance as she laid the gown on the bed. 'I would offer to lend you one of my own, but I fear the work entailed in altering it would be far more extensive than what you will encounter here.'

  Helen bit back a smile. While the length of Mrs Llewellyn's gowns would not pose a problem, the width across the bodice—or the lack thereof—certainly would.

  'You are exceedingly kind, Mrs Llewellyn,' Helen said quietly, 'and I am more grateful to you than I can say. I am sure I shall be able to find something in the wardrobe that I can alter in time for tomorrow night's festivities.'

  'And for dinner this evening, if you like.' Sophie held up the apricot silk again. 'With your dark hair, this shade becomes you very well, and I do not think there would be more than an hour or two's work to make it suitable.'

  Helen bit her lip, wanting to take advantage of the lady's generous offer, but not at all sure she should. 'Will Gillian not mind me wearing her mother's clothes?' she asked. 'She might feel that I have...intruded on Catherine's memory in some way.'

  'Gillian will be delighted to see you wearing them,' Sophie assured her. 'She has often remarked to me that it is a pity someone cannot make use of them, being that they are so very lovely. And I am quite sure Oliver will be happy to see you so attired.'

  Helen hastily turned away, not wishing the other woman to catch sight of her burning cheeks. 'There is no reason why he should be, Mrs Llewellyn. Mr Brandon has been polite to me on the few occasions we have been in each other's company, but there is nothing to our acquaintance beyond that.'

  'Perhaps, but my brother has made mention of you several times, Miss de Coverdale, and it is not like Oliver to speak of ladies with whom he has had so brief an acquaintance.'

  'Well, I am sure he has only done so because I grew close to Gillian during the time she was at Mrs Guarding's Academy,' Helen replied. Then, desperately needing to change the subject, she smiled and said, 'I hope you will forgive me for asking, but what is the name of the gentleman Gillian has become betrothed to?'

  'Good Lord. You mean Gillian didn't tell you in her letter?'

  'No. She only said it had all happened very quickly, and that she could hardly believe it herself.'

  'Well, yes, I think it caught us all a little off guard,' Sophie admitted with a chuckle, 'though not unpleasantly so since Oliver did ask me to arrange it. The gentleman's name is Nigel Riddleston. He is the eldest son of Sir John and Lady Riddleston of Kestwick Park in Wiltshire. My husband, whom you will meet at dinner this evening, knows the family very well and it was actually he who arranged their first meeting in London last year. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be any interest on Gillian's part, and not long after that, she met Mr Wymington. Strangely enough, however, this last time Gillian saw Mr Riddleston, everything was quite different.' Sophie smiled as she turned and walked towards the bedroom door. 'I think it safe to say that for Gillian, it was defini
tely a case of love at second sight!'

  Helen spent considerable time debating whether or not to wear the elegant silk gown to dinner that night. Despite Mrs Llewellyn's assurances that no one would mind, she couldn't help but feel that she was intruding somehow; that she had no right to take Catherine Gresham's clothes and alter them to suit herself. But then, after further consideration, Helen decided that she was probably just being foolish. She had no wish to embarrass Gillian in front of her family and friends, and that was precisely what she would do if she were to appear wearing one of her dreary school gowns. Surely it would not be so very wrong to make use of one or two of the gowns hanging in the wardrobe. Certainly Mrs Llewellyn did not seem to think so.

  In the end, Helen was exceedingly glad she did decide to wear the apricot silk because the meal was neither the casual affair it was supposed to be, nor the intimate family gathering Mrs Llewellyn had planned. The unexpected arrival of the Viscount and Viscountess Endersley and their two sons—one newly married, the other accompanied by his noticeably increasing wife—along with all of their attendant maids, valets and assorted underlings shortly before five o'clock threw the carefully laid plans asunder and the entire household into disarray.

  Fortunately, the ever-efficient Sophie soon had matters under control. She saw to it that the new arrivals were warmly greeted and settled in their rooms and then informed the butler that he should prepare the formal dining-room for the evening meal, rather than the common parlour where they had planned to eat. Lastly, she went to the kitchens herself to advise Mrs White of the last-minute guests, and to personally apologise for the extra work involved in their arrival.

  Helen was both relieved and dismayed by the advent of Oliver's toplofty relations. Relieved because it meant she would not be singled out for attention over dinner, but dismayed because she knew it would be inappropriate for her to attend. She might well be an invited guest to Gillian's ball, but she doubted the Viscount and his wife would appreciate sharing dinner conversation with a schoolmistress from Steep Abbot. And with that in mind, she hastily sent a note to Mrs Llewellyn advising her that she would not come down for dinner, but that she would take a tray in her room.

  Unfortunately, not long after despatching Trudy with the message, Helen was herself summoned to the drawing-room. To her surprise, it was not Mrs Llewellyn who awaited her there, but Oliver.

  'Oh! Mr Brandon.'

  He turned at the sound of her surprised exclamation and offered her a tentative smile. 'I take it you were not expecting to see me, Miss de Coverdale?'

  'No indeed, sir, I was not.' Helen felt the warmth steel into her cheeks again. 'I asked Trudy to extend my regrets to Mrs Llewellyn.'

  'Which she did. But since I happened to be with my sister at the time the message was delivered, I volunteered to speak to you myself, since we were both in agreement as to the response.'

  Helen bit her lip. 'I was not expecting a response.'

  'Not even to be told that we would both very much like you to join us for dinner this evening?'

  The sentiment was a generous one, but it was not what Helen had been hoping to hear. 'I do not think it would be appropriate, Mr Brandon. You have guests to attend to now.'

  His mouth lifted a fraction. 'Are you not a guest?'

  'Well, yes, but these are family members who I am quite sure would not appreciate the presence of a schoolmistress at their table.'

  Oliver lifted one dark eyebrow in surprise. 'Are you forgetting that this is my house, Miss de Coverdale? And that I am the one who decides who sits down to my table?'

  'I have not forgotten at all. Nevertheless, I am inclined to believe that your aunt and uncle's position in society—'

  'My uncle is a jovial fellow,' Oliver interrupted smoothly. 'He drinks, perhaps a touch more than he ought, but he is happy enough when in his cups. And I have never heard him speak a harsh word to anyone, no matter what their position in life.'

  Helen moved slowly towards the fireplace. 'Your uncle sounds like a most amiable gentleman.'

  'Amiable indeed. As are his two sons.' Oliver stopped to run his fingers over a fine porcelain vase. 'Mr Richard Endersley, the eldest, has been married for two years. His wife is the middle daughter of Sir Geoffrey Netherby, late of Portsmouth. It was considered a good match, and my aunt was pleased. Mr Peter Endersley, my aunt's younger son, is only recently married and is anticipating the birth of his first child in the spring. His wife is the youngest daughter of a clergyman.'

  Helen blinked her surprise. 'A clergyman?'

  'A clergyman. From the North Country.'

  'Really.' Helen felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 'And was your aunt as pleased with her younger son's choice of a wife as she was with her eldest's?'

  'Not at first, but she has come to love Sarah as dearly as though she were a duchess.' Oliver's smile flashed. 'So you see, Miss de Coverdale, there is no reason for you to feel that your presence at the table this evening would be in any way lacking simply because you are a schoolmistress. Was your own father not a barrister?'

  'Well, yes, but—'

  'Then we need say no more. Except that I will be sorely disappointed if I do not see your lovely face gracing my table this evening.'

  The unexpected compliment brought Helen's arguments to a halt—and the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  'Of course, I realise it may not only be the early arrival of my aunt and uncle which has caused you this concern,' Oliver continued, his voice dropping. 'It may be that you are only using it as an excuse to avoid someone else's company at dinner this evening.'

  Helen inhaled sharply. Surely he did not think she was desirous of avoiding his company, simply because of what had happened with Gillian?

  'I cannot think what you mean, sir. I would certainly have no reason for avoiding the company of...anyone else who might be at your table this evening.'

  'I am relieved to hear it. Because I should not like to think I have offended you in any way.' Oliver took a step closer to her, and rested his fingers lightly upon her arm. 'That would disturb me even more than would your absence from my table this evening.'

  His sudden proximity was alarming in the extreme and Helen prayed he would not be able to see how rapidly her heart was beating. 'You need have no cause for concern, sir, for you have not offended me in any way. Indeed, you have been...all that is gracious. Now if you will excuse me, I think I should be...returning to my room.'

  'Then you will be joining me...us...for dinner this evening?'

  Helen closed her eyes. When he asked her in such a manner, how could she deny him? 'Yes, of course,' she whispered. Then, because she could think of nothing else to say, she dipped her head and all but ran towards the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Georgiana, Viscountess Endersley, was a large woman, impressive both in size and in physical appearance. She had the most incredible red hair Helen had ever seen, a complexion that appeared almost white in comparison, and pale green eyes that watched the movements of all around her with the unblinking stare of a hawk. Her gown of dark maroon satin had surely been created by one of London's foremost modesties, and she carried herself with the air of a woman who was used to being in control— of herself and of everyone else around her.

  'So, Gillian, you are to be wed at last,' the grand lady commented when everyone was gathered in the drawing-room before dinner. 'I am very pleased to hear it. And to young Riddleston, no less. Excellent. You have done very well for yourself, my dear. Very well.'

  'Thank you, Aunt Georgiana,' Gillian answered dutifully.

  'How old are you now, child?'

  'Seventeen, aunt.'

  Lady Endersley nodded. 'A good age for a gel to be married. I m'self was married at seventeen. Doesn't do for a young woman to remain single too long. Would you not agree, Mrs Llewellyn?'

  Sophie, who was standing in the company of her husband, Rhys, nodded her agreement. 'I certainly have no argument with that, Aunt Georgiana.'

&
nbsp; 'There, you see, Gillian. Your stepsister is happily wed and I daresay you shall be as well. Nigel Riddleston is a fine young man. One day, he will inherit the family fortunes and estates, and you shall become mistress of Kestwick Park. So, when is the wedding to take place?'

  'In a fortnight's time,' Gillian told her, 'after which we plan to travel north to Scotland for a few weeks, and then spend Christmas in Wiltshire. We should be in London by March.'

  'Splendid. You must call upon me there and I shall take you around. You will no doubt wish to refurbish a house, and my ability to acquaint you with which merchants to visit and which to avoid will go a long way towards saving you considerable time and money.'

  'Thank you, Aunt Georgiana.'

  Satisfied, Lady Endersley turned her attention towards Helen, who was standing quietly at Gillian's side. 'I do not believe I have made the acquaintance of this person, Gillian?'

  'No, aunt, you have not. Pray allow me to introduce my very good friend, Miss Helen de Coverdale. Miss de Coverdale, my aunt, Lady Endersley.'

  Helen gracefully curtsied. 'Lady Endersley.'

  'Miss de Coverdale?' the Viscountess repeated in surprise. 'You are not married? But...surely you are of an age to be.'

  'Yes, my lady, I suppose I am.'

  'But how singular.' Lady Endersley glanced at Oliver, who had recently come over to join them. 'What is wrong with young men today, Oliver, that they would leave a beautiful young woman like this to sit on the shelf?'

  Oliver turned to Helen and gave her a smile that made her go weak at the knees. 'I cannot imagine, Aunt. Except to say that perhaps Miss de Coverdale is not inclined towards marriage.'

  'Not inclined towards marriage! Nonsense, all young women are inclined towards marriage. You have a most unusual surname, Miss de Coverdale,' the Viscountess remarked. 'Does your family reside in Hertfordshire?'