My Fair Guardian

by Suzanne G. Rogers

  Will stared at the chalkboard. “That’s the letter A?”

  “The letter A.” Mr. Pace gestured toward the small slate in front of Will. “Can you copy the letter onto the slate?”

  Will chose a piece of chalk, drew the lines, and held the slate so the valet could see it.

  “Is that right?”

  “Correct. A is for apple. Ant. Anvil. Aardvark.”

  “Aardvark?” Will pondered the sound. “A…is for art?”

  “Exactly so! Oh, dear.” The man made a comic face. “You’ll never see the world in the same way now.”

  As Will glanced at the slate again, he chuckled. “How many other letters in the alphabet are there?”

  “Twenty-five more.”

  “All right.” Will nodded. “Show me.”

  ∞∞∞

  Bethany composed a message to the tailor, asking him to schedule several days’ work at Lansings Lodge. After she gave the letter to a servant to deliver, she went into the drawing room, and sat down at the piano. As she played a few mournful bars of Beethoven’s “Sonate au Clair de Lune,” she tried to consider her options as far as Willoughby Winter was concerned.

  They were off to a rocky beginning, in her estimation. The man’s deep voice had carried down the hallway when he’d told Mr. Pace she was “bossy.” He’d yelled at her—even though he had apologized afterward. Further, he’d made his disdain for the upper classes well known. Most egregious, however, was his determination to get her married off as soon as possible…probably to the first man to glance her way!

  Her fingers struck the wrong chord, but she plowed on with a frown.

  Mr. Leopold had undoubtedly meant well when he wrote that codicil, but he’d put her in an impossible position. Perhaps she’d had some interest in marriage when she was a young and giddy girl of sixteen, but since her first Season had failed to present her with any intriguing or lasting marital prospects, her enthusiasm for the institution had faded. Yet if she did not marry, she would be forced to put up with Will for the next five years, if not longer.

  Bethany’s eyebrows rose as an idea sparked her imagination.

  Despite his lowly beginnings, the fellow had a certain obvious physical appeal. Would his good looks, along with his inherited assets, allow him to marry well? A lonely widow might be quite motivated to marry a raw, untamed masculine specimen like Willoughby Winter. Since he disliked Bethany so very much, perhaps he would prefer to move into his bride’s home and reside there.

  She smiled.

  What if Will made rapid progress with Mr. Pace? Perhaps she could open up the London townhouse and join the Season in progress. Between his looks and her social standing, she might even be able to get him married before the end of summer…and she had the perfect prospect in mind.

  Buoyed, Bethany lowered the fall on the piano and made her way into the kitchen to speak with the cook about preparing tea for the schoolroom. Her task was to encourage Will to learn and improve quickly, so what better way to do that than to make the process as pleasant as possible?

  “Mrs. Deedle, prepare a tea tray for two, would you? Mr. Winter and Mr. Pace have been working on a project in the schoolroom all afternoon and I’m sure they would enjoy some refreshment.”

  The cook curtsied. “I’ll have it sent up right away.”

  Bethany was reluctant to have the servants discover Will doing remedial schoolwork.

  “Er…I’ll take it up. I want to see how the project is coming along.”

  “If you wish. I’ll put a tray in the dumbwaiter and send it up to the top floor.”

  “Perfect.” Bethany paused. “Where are Jane and Liza?”

  “Having a tea party on the patio.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Bethany took a surreptitious peek at the girls to make sure all was well, biting back a smile when she heard their debate about whether or not fairies were real. Afterward, she ascended the stairs to the uppermost floor and made her way to the dumbwaiter to retrieve the waiting tea tray. A few moments later, she sailed into the schoolroom with a cheery, “Would you gentlemen care for tea?”

  Will exploded to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. As he bent to pick it up, his face was an alarming beet red—as if he’d fallen into a pot of boiling water.

  Bethany’s footsteps faltered. “Forgive the interruption. I’m afraid I’ve startled you."

  “Thank you, Miss Christensen.” Mr. Pace’s expression was strained. “I’m sure Mr. Winter and I would enjoy a small break.”

  In the next instant, she noticed the chalkboard was covered with letters. Merciful heavens, was Will just learning his alphabet! It was little wonder he was humiliated, and she was to blame for bursting in unannounced.

  “Shall I put this down here?” Bethany lowered the tray to the table. “Let me pour for you.”

  As she did so, she began to babble about Jane and Liza and their tea party on the patio. In the back of her mind, however, she was wondering what to do about Will’s embarrassment. When she was a little girl, her mother had told her, “If you have a guest in your home who suffers some sort of foolish accident, a good hostess always makes sure to suffer a worse one, to take the focus away from her guest’s humiliation.”

  Bethany gritted her teeth. When she lifted up the first cup and saucer, her hand deliberately wobbled and the tea went cascading all over the skirt of her gown.

  “Oh, no! How dreadfully clumsy.” She righted the cup in its saucer and returned it to the tray, trying not to grimace at the scalded thumb on her hand.

  Will hastened over. “Are you hurt, Miss Christensen?”

  “No, no, not a bit. I’m just horribly mortified.” She gave him a bright smile. “Mr. Pace, I’m going to have to rely on you to finish pouring while I go change. Have a lovely tea, gentlemen.”

  Once she was in the hallway and out of view, she let out a silent scream and grabbed her wrist, as if somehow doing so would stop the pain. She bounded down the servant’s staircase to her floor, ran to her bedroom, and covered her hand with water in the washbasin. As she waited for the pain to subside, she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. Will might look the part of a gentleman, but if he could not read, he could not conduct any sort of informed conversation. Oh, why hadn’t she asked more questions about his education? Her plan for London would have to wait, and now Will would despise her all the more for knowing his secret.

  Bethany lifted her thumb from the basin to examine the skin. When her hand let out a powerful throb, she promptly returned it to the water. Her thumb and her plans had both met blistering reality.

  ∞∞∞

  Will stared at the open door of the schoolroom where Miss Christensen had been moments before. “She fumbled that cup deliberately.” He gave the valet a quizzical glance. “Why would she do that, Mr. Pace?”

  The man frowned. “In all likelihood, she noticed your mortification and wished to alleviate it.”

  “By ruining her gown?”

  “By embarrassing herself worse.”

  Will’s mouth fell open. “That makes no sense whatsoever!” He averted his eyes. “It’s also possibly the kindest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “There are many kindnesses to discover in life—if only you’re willing to look for them.”

  Mr. Pace knelt to blot the spill on the floor with a linen napkin. Will bent down to help, but the valet shook his head.

  “Thank you, Mr. Winter, but a gentleman wouldn’t concern himself with menial chores.”

  Will gave him a crooked grin. “Since it’s just you and me, we’ll keep this between us.”

  After the mess had been managed, Mr. Pace refilled the teacups and Will took a cucumber sandwich. He peered at the small, crustless square, puzzled.

  “What happened here? Was the bread burned so much that the cook had to cut off the crust?”

  Mr. Pace chuckled. “Not at all. The upper classes eschew mundane things like crust.”

  “Oh.” Will popped the overly dai
nty morsel into his mouth. As he chewed, he mulled over Miss Christensen’s actions. “Do the upper classes also always hide their emotions?”

  The valet raised his eyebrows. “That is a very perceptive observation, Mr. Winter. I think for some, it’s an art form.”

  “A is for art.”

  “Precisely.”

  Will reached for another sandwich, suddenly pensive. Bethany Christensen’s gesture of kindness just now had left an indelible impression. Not once in his existence had anyone ever done such an unselfish thing on his behalf, and he vowed to be worthy of her sacrifice.

  He moved the teacup and saucer aside and reached for his slate. “What comes after the letter G, Mr. Pace?”

  The sun was setting before Will finally took pity on Mr. Pace and decided to stop for the night.

  “I didn’t realize it was getting so late.” Will gestured toward the rapidly dwindling light visible through the window. “You’ve been generous with your time.”

  Mr. Pace merely smiled. “To be honest, I’ve enjoyed it. Miss Jane is a sweet child, but children tend to take their lessons for granted. You, on the other hand, demonstrate an eagerness to learn and are far quicker than you led me to believe.”

  Will’s gaze strayed toward the tea tray. “I have every reason to improve quickly. Miss Christensen and Miss Jane are counting on me.”

  One corner of Mr. Pace’s mouth quirked up. “Ah, yes, but who protects you?”

  Will laughed. “From what?”

  “From yourself.”

  Will’s smile slipped. “I’m not clever enough to understand your meaning.”

  “I think you are.” The tutor paused. “Miss Christensen is a beautiful woman.”

  Will lurched to his feet. “Her looks are not my concern.” His tone was a trifle cooler than he had intended, but he did not bother to apologize. “Thank you again for your help this afternoon, Mr. Pace.”

  The tutor averted his eyes. “You are quite welcome. I’ll report to your room shortly, to dress you for dinner.”

  Will glanced down at his clothes. “I’m already dressed.”

  “More formal attire is required at the evening meal.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “What about you?”

  “I take my meals with the staff as usual, below stairs.”

  “I’m sure there’s room at Miss Christensen’s table.”

  Mr. Pace chuckled. “If there is one thing you must learn, Mr. Winter, it’s that staff and family do not mix.”

  “Not ever?” Will frowned. “Not even if you’ve worked for a family for years and years?”

  “Not even then. Some families may make exceptions for governesses, but it’s not required or expected.”

  “Seems a harsh business.”

  “’Tis a harsher business for people who don’t know their place in the world.”

  While Mr. Pace straightened the schoolroom, Will moved over to the corner washbasin to cleanse chalk dust from his hands. His newly manicured nails might appear to be those of a gentleman, but he still felt as common as dirt.

  ∞∞∞

  Mr. Pace helped Will don evening clothes with a stiff shirtfront, collar, and cuffs. As Will dressed, he had to keep wiping his perspiring palms with a handkerchief and he could not seem to keep his shoulders from creeping upward. He kept fidgeting and finally Mr. Pace made a sound of frustration.

  “Sir, if you do not hold still, I cannot guarantee you won’t be late.”

  “It’s just that I don’t know what to do, Mr. Pace. These people have manners and rules and rituals that I don’t know anything about and I hate making a fool of myself…at least, not any more than I already have today.”

  “I can help you with that, but you must relax and listen.”

  Will took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll try.”

  Mr. Pace gave him a brief idea of what he might expect at a family dinner, from gathering in the drawing room beforehand, going in to dine, during the meal itself, and afterward.

  “I wish we had had the opportunity to go over which fork to use, but we don’t,” Mr. Pace concluded. “Suffice it to say, you will go from out to in with your eating utensils. If in doubt, observe which implement Miss Christensen picks up and model your behavior on hers.”

  “I can do that.” Will took another deep breath and stretched his neck from side to side. “I won’t be able to eat a thing, so I don’t know why I’m worried.”

  Mr. Pace peered at him. “Nobody will be judging you tonight, Mr. Winter. If you merely do the best you can, Miss Christensen will be most appreciative.”

  Will gave him a pained glance. “You think so?”

  “I do.” Mr. Pace helped him slide into his jacket and then used a brush to remove any lint. “I beg you, however, to demonstrate as much poise as possible.”

  “That’s no joke. I don’t want to have another embarrassment and make Miss Christensen feel obliged to pour her soup into her lap—or mine.”

  He and Mr. Pace shuddered at the same time.

  Chapter Five

  Past the End of Prejudice

  When Will entered the drawing room, Miss Christensen was looking through a stereoscope and Jane’s back was to him.

  “That’s an image of Bath, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, I think it is.” Miss Christensen’s lips parted in a smile. “It’s lovely!”

  Her sleeve fell back, revealing a plain cotton glove on her left hand. Will surmised she must have scalded herself with hot tea earlier and a pang of guilt made him wince.

  “Liza wondered when Mr. Winter will be calling on her parents, by the way,” Jane said. “She thinks her mama would like to introduce him to the neighborhood.”

  “Discourage the notion,” her sister murmured, “Mr. Winter isn’t ready to meet any of our friends and I’m not sure if he will be up to the task any time soon.”

  His sympathy ebbed. Hadn’t he spent all afternoon breathing in chalk dust and working as diligently as possible to learn? Clearly, the woman felt he was so far beneath her as to be an embarrassment—but he was determined to prove her wrong. Blast her for barging into the schoolroom where she wasn’t wanted anyway!

  He lifted his chin and cleared his throat to announce his arrival. Jane glanced over, wide-eyed, and then tugged on her sister’s skirt.

  Miss Christensen lowered the stereoscope and blanched. “Oh, good evening, Mr. Winter.”

  Will’s gaze flicked toward her cotton glove. “You’re injured. I’m awfully sorry to see it.”

  “It’s nothing, I assure you.” She thrust the stereoscope at Jane and lowered her hands to her side. “Er…would you care for a glass of wine before dinner?”

  Will shook his head. “I rarely drink.”

  Jane perked up. “May I have a glass of wine?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Miss Christensen’s gaze returned to Will. “Richmond might be able to find a quantity of ale somewhere, if you prefer.”

  “Ah, the beverage of the masses.” His lips quirked up at one side. “Thank you for your offer, but I rarely drink spirits of any kind.”

  “Might I ask why not?”

  Will considered his response and finally said, “I don’t enjoy the taste.”

  Jane wrinkled her nose. “Neither do I. I was just joking before about the wine. I took a sip of Mr. Leopold’s brandy once.” She grabbed at her throat dramatically, as if she were choking. “I thought I would never be able to taste anything, ever again.”

  Will gave Jane’s antics an appreciative smile. Unlike her sister, she deserved his good humor.

  Miss Christensen studied him. “So, you are a teetotaler, then?”

  “A teetotaler?” His lips tightened. “I’m not familiar with that term.”

  “People who join Temperance Societies pledge to abstain from drinking alcoholic beverages. They are known as teetotalers.”

  Jane giggled. “It sounds as if they don’t drink tea!”

  “It does at that.” He winked at her. “
Since I’ve not joined any societies or signed any pledges, I hope it’s not a requirement.”

  Miss Christensen shook her head. “Most assuredly not.”

  Richmond appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”

  Cognizant of Mr. Pace’s instruction, Will offered Miss Christensen his elbow. “May I escort you in?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Thank you, yes.”

  As Will escorted her into the dining room, he glanced over at Jane. When she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, he managed another quick wink. He felt a trifle foolish when he held the wrong chair for Miss Christensen, but she kindly told him he was to sit at the head of the table with the ladies on either side. Then, he wondered how to tuck his napkin into his collar, until he noticed Miss Christensen had draped hers across her lap.

  Although Will made a concerted effort to relax during the meal, everything about the ritualistic way wealthy people dined was foreign—from the dainty way they held their eating utensils to the mode in which their food was served. Never before had he experienced footmen waiting on him, and he found the seriousness of the situation disconcerting. He wasn’t sure whether to thank the servers as they offered him each dish or whether to apologize when he accidentally dropped a morsel of food from the serving tongs onto the white linen tablecloth. Fortunately, since Jane spoke non-stop about her afternoon with Liza Southerly, he was spared any obligation to make conversation—at least until the main course arrived.

  As he cut into his chop, Miss Christensen turned her gaze in his direction. “Mr. Winter, I seem to recall you went to London to try your luck as an artist. Tell us about that.”

  He paused his fork as it traveled from his plate to his mouth. “Not much to tell, really. As I did the odd job here and there, I rented a loft, purchased materials, and created a portfolio.”

  Jane wriggled. “I want to rent a loft in London one day!”

  He cocked his head. “Do you want to be an artist?”

  “No, but it sounds terribly romantic.”