My Fair Guardian

by Suzanne G. Rogers

  “It’s just a bedroom and it’s yours now.” Miss Christensen beckoned him inside. “It’s almost exactly the way Mr. Leopold left it.” She drew her fingertip across the dresser, but found no dust. “Nobody ever comes in here these days except the maids.”

  She led him across the gleaming wooden floor and past a carved four-poster bed until they reached a smaller adjoining room. The space was lined on one side with shelves containing gentlemen’s shirts, scarves, hats, and accessories. From poles on the facing wall hung garments made of the finest fabrics, including eveningwear and riding clothes. A tuffet sat in the middle of the room, to act as a seating area, and a full-length cheval mirror was angled in one corner.

  Will gasped at the sheer abundance on display. “All this for one person? I’ve seen men’s shops in London with less inventory.”

  “Mr. Leopold liked to maintain a spiffy appearance.” Miss Christensen touched the sleeve of a jacket. “He had impeccable taste in clothes.”

  Will detected a quaver in the young woman’s voice. Clearly, Frederick had meant a great deal more to her than merely a crusty old guardian.

  “You miss him very much.” He paused. “Are you sure you feel comfortable lending me his things?”

  She turned to face him. “It’s neither a loan, Mr. Winter, nor a gift. Half of the estate is yours now. You can afford to buy an entirely new wardrobe, but that will take time. I thought you might like to have some nice clothes to wear right now.”

  Will averted his eyes. “I’m still having a difficult time accepting that Frederick was my father. I used to wish—” He broke off, in no mood for confidences. “What are you going to tell people about me?”

  “Jane and Mr. Ingalls know the truth, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell anyone else. Natural-born children may be a fact of life, but the upper classes don’t take such matters in stride. You might consider saying only that you are Mr. Leopold’s cousin and heir.”

  “That sounds fine to me. It’s not like I want to cast a shadow on Frederick’s reputation or expose you and Miss Jane to ridicule.” Will took a flattened opera hat off a shelf, opened it with a sharp snap, and popped it onto his head. “Besides which, I’ve been known as Willoughby Leopold Winter my whole life. Willoughby Leopold Leopold just doesn’t have the same ring.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave her a saucy grin.

  “No, it doesn’t.” She did not appreciate his humor, apparently, because her expression remained unchanged. “It’s fortunate that Mr. Pace is still on staff and will be able to dress you properly.”

  “Hello?” A thin, reedy male voice called out. “Did I hear my name?”

  Will put the hat back on the shelf and followed Miss Christensen from the closet. In the bedroom, Jane was jumping on the four-poster bed while a slender, middle-aged man was attempting to coax her down.

  Miss Christensen stood with her arms akimbo. “Jane, get down from there! Why can’t you comport yourself like a young lady?”

  Jane stopped bouncing. “Can’t young ladies have fun every so often?”

  “You can have fun elsewhere.” Miss Christensen pointed toward the door. “Excuse us, please.”

  Jane frowned. “Can’t I stay and watch?”

  “No!” The three adults answered at once.

  “Fine.” Jane pouted as she slid off the bed. “Liza will be here soon anyway.” She flounced off and disappeared into the hallway.

  Miss Christensen cleared her throat. “Mr. Pace, this is Mr. Willoughby Winter, who is Mr. Leopold’s cousin and one of his heirs.”

  Mr. Pace nodded. “We’ve met in passing. Congratulations on your good fortune, Mr. Winter.”

  Will grinned, “Thank you.”

  Miss Christensen continued. “Mr. Winter is going to reside in Lansings Lodge from now on as guardian to Jane and myself. It’s your task to make him into a gentleman.”

  “Hmm.” The valet walked around Will, as if assessing the situation. His gaze finally settled on Will’s shaggy hair. “Do you mind if I give Mr. Winter a proper haircut?”

  Miss Christensen shrugged. “If he has no objections.”

  Will shot her a reproving glance. “He does not have any objections, thank you for asking.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to speak about you as if you weren’t here.” Her smile was contrite. “I’ll let you get on with it, then.” She left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Mr. Pace peered at him. “When was the last time you bathed, Mr. Winter?”

  “Do you mean entirely?” Will glanced toward the ceiling and frowned. “Hmm—”

  “Never mind.” The man crossed over to a bell pull and gave it a tug.

  Will gave him a quizzical glance. “What are you doing?”

  “Ordering up hot water.” Mr. Pace wrinkled his nose. “We’re going to have to begin from the skin out.”

  As Will contemplated the luxury of a hot bath, any umbrage he might have felt dissipated. Besides which, a surreptitious sniff of his armpits brought a grimace to his face. While servants arrived with buckets of hot water to fill the copper tub in the lavatory, he wandered around the room, admiring the furnishings. He spotted two beautiful pocket watches in a glass case and spent several minutes examining them. As he ran his thumb over the mother-of-pearl inlay on one and the decorative etching on the other, he felt an odd connection to the man who had sired him. For many reasons, it was a pity he hadn’t known Frederick Leopold better.

  Mr. Pace approached. “That mother-of-pearl was Mr. Leopold’s favorite pocket watch.”

  Will nodded. “I can see why.” He returned the timepieces to the case. “Are you ready for me now?”

  The man gestured toward the bathroom. “If you would be so kind.”

  “If I would be so kind?” Will chuckled as he crossed the room. “You people talk in such a flowery fashion. I almost feel as if I’m onstage again, in a London play.”

  Mr. Pace cocked his head. “You were an actor?”

  “A minor actor, for a very short while. Mostly, I worked behind the scenes.”

  As Will prepared to disrobe, he gave Mr. Pace a pointed glance. “I’d like to bathe without an audience.”

  “A gentleman has few secrets from his valet, I’m afraid.”

  “Surely you can permit me one or two.”

  Mr. Pace discretely stepped out of view without any further discussion. Will stepped into the tub, sank into the wonderfully hot water, and even dunked his head underneath the surface. He’d paid for hot baths when he first arrived in London, so it was not as if it was his first one. Nevertheless, he’d never been able to spend as much time bathing as he might have wished.

  When Mr. Pace returned, the air was filled with steam. The fellow carried a tray holding various and sundry bottles, brushes, scissors, combs, and pomades. One of the bottles contained a wash for hair and skin. As Will massaged the concoction into his scalp, he delighted in the pleasant fragrance. It reminded him of Miss Christensen’s delicate perfume.

  “This sort of thing must be why wealthy people smell so nice.”

  Mr. Pace didn’t glance up from his task of arranging implements on the counter. “It’s merely one of the reasons.”

  After his lengthy soak, Will donned the paisley silk wrapper Mr. Pace gave him, sat on a stool, and allowed the fellow to clip his toenails and manicure his fingernails. He peered at the result afterward, amazed at the smooth oval shape of the tips and buffed, shiny plate.

  “Very nice, Mr. Pace. These don’t even look like my hands and feet anymore.”

  The valet’s eyes gleamed. “Excellent.” He paused. “You have the hands of an artist, Mr. Winter, with long, slender fingers. It’s a shame they should be so callused.”

  “I am an artist, in point of fact.” Will shrugged. “Vigorous exercise keeps me in a good humor, however, and physical labor keeps my belly filled.”

  “Perhaps riding, badminton, and croquet will satisfy your need for activity going forward. A nice, brisk walk
is very beneficial as well.”

  Will opened his mouth to make a smart remark and then shut it again. Neither badminton nor croquet was his idea of exercise, but the valet was only trying to help.

  Mr. Pace picked up a tortoiseshell comb and began to comb through Will’s thick, damp mane. “So you are Mr. Leopold’s cousin? How have I never met you before now?”

  “I came for a visit about thirteen years ago. Frederick took me for a tour of the grounds and then we ate lunch together on the patio.” Will reflected on the occasion. “I’d never seen such thick slices of meat before.”

  “Oh.” The exclamation was long and low. “Yes, I know exactly who you are now.”

  Will peered at him. “Do you really?”

  “Yes, indeed. As I said, Mr. Leopold had few secrets from me.” He paused. “Welcome home, sir.”

  ∞∞∞

  Bethany dipped her nib in the inkwell and began to write. Although she’d already made a start on her latest novel, she was determined to craft a story with more passion.

  Angela raised the candelabra higher as she crept through the dark corridor, wishing the flickering light from the tallow candle did not cast such long, thin shadows. The howling wind outside raised the hair on her forearms and sent a shiver down her back. She was not certain if she could ever become accustomed to the untamed weather of Cornwall.

  As she descended the carpeted stairs, the crash of a loose shutter or a falling tree branch made her heart leap into her throat. Once she reached the entrance hall, she increased her pace until she was nearly running. Could she retrieve her diary from the study before the housekeeper noticed her roaming the house in her nightclothes?

  After she eased her way inside the room, she crossed to the desk, only to discover the leather-bound volume she sought was nowhere to be found. Angela set the candlestick holder down on the blotter and searched the area around the desk to see if the diary had perhaps fallen. As she realized the journal was missing, she made a sound of frustration.

  A sound made her gasp and she turned. Mere inches away stood the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His wild mane flowed back from his intelligent brow and brushed the tops of his broad shoulders. Piercing green eyes roamed her figure as if he could possess her on a whim. The man reminded her of a sleek panther or a glorious stallion and her mouth went dry. A long moment of silence was punctuated only by the magnetic undercurrent between her and the magnificent creature in her path.

  Finally, the stranger spoke. “Are you missing something, Miss Ware?”

  He offered the diary to her with a sardonic smile. As she reached for the volume, her fingertips brushed his hand and—

  A knock at the door of her study made Bethany jump and sent a splash of ink across the page. “Blazes!” She took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse. “Come in.”

  As she blotted the ink, the door opened and Mr. Pace ushered an elegantly clad young gentleman into the study. Just like the character in her Gothic romance, her mouth went dry.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, I believe that will do, Mr. Pace. That will do nicely.”

  Chapter Four

  Blistering Reality

  As Miss Christensen spoke, Will noticed her eyes were the color of the pigment he often used to paint a deep blue sky. Her lips reminded him of a pastel chalk he employed to color roses, and the heightened blush on her cheek echoed the shade he favored for certain spectacular sunsets, just before the sun winked out altogether. The periwinkle silk of her gown set off her loveliness perfectly, and his fingers twitched in frustration. If he’d had any art supplies at hand, he would have loved to sketch her portrait.

  She gave him a piercing glance. “Mr. Winter?”

  “What?” Will snapped to attention. “Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

  Her gaze lingered on his clothes. “I was saying that you’re a trifle taller than Mr. Leopold and broader in the chest, so I’ll summon a tailor from the village to alter everything according to your measurements.”

  Will glanced down at himself, bewildered. As far as he could tell, the elegant suit fit him perfectly. “Do you people really notice such things as a half-inch here or a quarter-inch there?”

  She shook her head. “You must stop referring to genteel people as another species, Mr. Winter. You are one of us now.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

  “You look the part, nevertheless.”

  Miss Christensen rose from behind her desk and came around to join him and Mr. Pace. Once more, Will was enveloped in a cloud of her heady fragrance. He didn’t know if she could smell him too, but at least she didn’t rush over to open the window this time.

  “Now we must work on the rest of you,” she said. “Henceforth, you’ll take your meals with the family and spend your afternoons with Mr. Pace in the schoolroom. Of course, we must build a little time for leisure into the schedule. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ as the proverb goes.”

  Will gaped at her. “Don’t I get a say in any of this? I own half the estate, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” The corners of her lips turned up. “You have half a say.”

  He recoiled in mock horror. “Was that a joke?”

  “If you like.” Her gaze shifted to the valet. “Mr. Pace, you will be working with Mr. Winter on improving his reading skills. He will also need extensive instruction about etiquette and manners.”

  The fellow gave her a puzzled frown. “Am I also to act as Mr. Winter’s valet?”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I’ll make certain that your compensation is adjusted to account for your increased responsibilities.”

  He beamed. “Thank you, Miss Christensen.”

  Will had the uncomfortable sensation of having his life arranged as if he were a pawn on a chessboard. Well, if the lady was so fond of arranging things, she could arrange something for him.

  He folded his arms. “I would like a space for an art studio. Something private, with windows to the north.”

  Miss Christensen fixed her blue eyes on him. “I don’t know if we have a suitable room.” She paused. “One end of the attic is quite private, with a wall of accommodating windows. Actually, I used to hide up there with a book when I was younger.”

  Will nodded. “That might be promising.”

  She gestured toward the door. “The afternoon is waning, but I’d like you and Mr. Pace to get started in the classroom right away. We’ve no time to waste.”

  Dismissed, he filed out of the study along with Mr. Pace. As they walked down the corridor, Will muttered, “Is she always so bossy?”

  “Since Mr. Leopold’s death, Miss Christensen has been thrust into a difficult position of managing a great many things. She possesses a great deal of poise for one so young, I think, and it’s not my place to criticize.”

  The man’s admiration for Miss Christensen was obvious and Will wished he had bitten his tongue. “I take your point, Mr. Pace. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You must learn that a gentleman must always be reluctant to speak ill of a lady…although it oftentimes comes down to expressing one’s feelings in a tactful manner.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As Will walked through the entrance hall and began climbing the stairs, he caught sight of Jane and another giggling young girl playing a game of tag in the drawing room. When Jane did a double take, he gave her a smile and a wink.

  Her friend elbowed her in the ribs and whispered, “Who is that man?”

  Jane grinned. “That’s Mr. Winter, my guardian.” She touched her friend. “Tag, you’re it!”

  ∞∞∞

  Will accompanied Mr. Pace into the schoolroom, located on the top floor of the residence. The shelves and cupboards were filled with supplies such as encyclopedias, slates, chalk, rulers, paper, pencils, pens, and inkwells. A rotating globe stood in the corner, and flat maps were rolled up in a tall box resembling an umbrella stand. The center of the room featured chairs and a table,
which was a bit worse for wear.

  “It looks exactly how I’d imagined a schoolroom to look.” Will drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, mindful of the fact his shoulders were becoming increasingly tight and his palms had grown moist. “This is impossible, you know. I told Miss Christensen I don’t read well but the truth is…I cannot read at all.”

  Mr. Pace cocked his head. “How far did you get in school?”

  “A few weeks only, until my father—I should just call him Edgar since we aren’t actually related—said I was too stupid to receive much benefit from it. He put me to work in the fields, and I never went back.”

  Mr. Pace’s nostrils flared. “Forgive me for saying so, but the man did you a horrible disservice. Surely you must realize by now that his assessment was ill-considered?”

  “Perhaps, but the opportunity for formal education never presented itself since then.” Will swallowed as his eyes strayed toward the books on the shelves. “I confess I-I find the prospect daunting at this point.”

  “We shall take baby steps, Mr. Winter. Before long, you will run.”

  “Letters look like chicken scratching to me. I can’t make sense of them.”

  “It seems to me that you’ve locked yourself in a prison of the mind.” The valet tapped his temple. “The key is in here, if only you will give yourself permission to use it.”

  Will tugged at his collar. “It’s stifling hot in here.”

  He crossed over to the window to open it wide. As he gulped in fresh air, he remembered how Miss Christensen had tried to hide her tears from him. If a young woman could feign bravery, so could he.

  Will turned toward his new tutor and squared his shoulders. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “Have a seat, Mr. Winter.” Mr. Pace had already drawn a symbol on the chalkboard—two slanted lines that came together at the top and a smaller line in between. “Do you recognize this letter?”

  Will gritted his teeth. “No. I’ve already told you—”

  “It’s the letter A. It’s also a word, in and of itself. In the space of a few moments, you’ve learned the first letter of the alphabet and an entire word.” The man smiled. “Congratulations.”