“I’m sure you would recognize some of his work if you heard it.” She paused. “He dedicated “Moonlight Sonata” to a woman—a pupil—with whom he’d fallen in love.”
“Did they ever marry?”
“No. She was a countess and he was in a different social strata altogether.”
Will’s laugh was sardonic. “Some things don’t change.”
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”
He glanced at her. “What is that?”
“It’s a saying by the French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr. It means, ‘the more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.’”
He shook his head. “You are so much more educated than I am, Miss Christensen. I admire that.”
“Once you can read well, you’ll be able to learn all manner of things, I’m sure.”
An open carriage approached and Miss Christensen lifted her gloved hand to wave at the two mature ladies seated within. “Good morning!”
Although the ladies responded in kind, Will felt their curious eyes on him. He acknowledged them with a nod, of course, but he didn’t tip his hat. After the two carriages had passed one another, however, his eyebrows drew together.
“Should I have stopped the carriage so you could speak with your friends?”
“That wasn’t necessary.”
He stole a glance at her. “Should I have doffed my hat?”
“Your nod was sufficient. Another time, you might touch the brim.”
“All right.”
Will inhaled fresh air, scented with pine and the fragrance of the summer flowers growing near the side of the road. He hated asking Miss Christensen for advice on every little thing, as if he was a child. Yet, he was obliged to do exactly that or risk some sort of social gaffe that would haunt him forever.
∞∞∞
Bethany directed Will to turn into a lane lined with all manner of quaint shops. “You can park here. I’ll introduce you to the proprietor of Daubs & Bristles. While you’re conducting your business, I’ll walk to McDougals, to inquire about music lessons for Jane.”
“I would prefer to escort you there.”
“It’s only a few doors down the street.”
“I’ll escort you, nevertheless.” He pulled the gig to the curb and set the brake. “Lead the way.”
She gave Will the map tube and led him to the shop. After she introduced Will to the proprietor, Mr. Astley, she arranged for him to be extended a line of credit.
“Just send your invoices to Lansings Lodge.”
“Very good, Miss Christensen.”
As Will and the shopkeeper were discussing what sort of frame would suit Jane’s sketch, Bethany grew bored. Although she wandered the aisles, the attractive displays of paints and brushes held little appeal for her. Once she discovered Will had finished his transaction with Mr. Astley and was now peering at the art supplies himself, she decided not to disturb him.
She beckoned to Mr. Astley. “Please let Mr. Winter know I’ve gone to McDougals for a bit.”
The elderly man nodded. “Your young man seems rather more serious about supplies than the usual hobbyist.”
“Oh, he’s not my young man, Mr. Astley.” She smiled to let him know she hadn’t taken any offense at his assumption. “Mr. Winter is a serious artist, however, and I expect he will be shopping for some time.”
She slipped out of the premises quietly, debating who might know about puppies for sale. It occurred to her that The Feed Depot was always teeming with farmers and was quite near, so she set off to make an inquiry and return before Will finished his shopping.
∞∞∞
Will gathered together the supplies he needed for portraiture, whether in pencil, charcoal, oil paint or watercolor. As he stacked his purchases on the counter, he gave the proprietor a friendly nod. “Your stock is quite fine, Mr. Astley. You must be an artist yourself?”
“Aye.” The elderly man stuck a thumb at the artwork hanging from the wall behind him. “Those are mine.”
Will surveyed the sketches and landscapes with pleasure. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance. Your work is splendid.”
“As is yours.” Astley glanced at the sketch of Jane, laid out on a worktable behind the counter. “You have a very distinctive style.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll deliver these things to Lansings Lodge after the close of business at five o’clock this afternoon.
“Excellent.” Will glanced around the shop. “Where is Miss Christensen?”
“She’s at McDougals. Something about lessons for Miss Jane.”
Will made a sound of frustration. “All right. Where is McDougals?”
“Turn left when you leave here. It’s one of the last shops on this side of the street, just before the roundabout.”
“Much obliged.” Will touched the brim of his hat.
“I’ll send word to Lansings Lodge when I’m finished with the frame. Shouldn’t be more than ten days or perhaps two weeks at the outside.”
“The family is planning to leave for London for an extended stay. Do you suppose we could have the sketch framed within a week?”
Astley shook his head. “Since I must send to London for the frame, I’m afraid I cannot. Once I’ve finished with the sketch, I can either bring it to your residence or keep it here until you return.”
“If you would be so kind as to keep it here in our absence, I would appreciate it.”
“Done."
Will shook the man’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”
After he stowed the empty map tube in the gig, he made his way down the street. Once he’d passed several shops, he slowed his pace to focus on the shingles overhead. Puzzling out the names took forever, but he reached the roundabout without coming across a shingle beginning with an M.
His neck and shoulders tensed up with anxiety and he closed his eyes for a moment in an effort to ward off a sense of panic. He’d lost Miss Christensen, he didn’t know if she’d run afoul of some horrible mischief, and apparently he couldn’t read the shingles to learn where she had been last. If anything happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself.
Will peered into shop windows as he retraced his steps, hoping to recognize something to do with music. When a display of sheet music, flutes, and violins drew his focus, he darted into the shop and scanned the occupants. The space was filled with all manner of instruments and a small girl was awkwardly playing an upright piano in the corner. Her instructor sat on a stool nearby and a woman was perched on a chair against the wall, but Miss Christensen was nowhere to be found.
When a second man approached—the identical twin of the instructor near the piano—Will began to feel as if he had landed in a strange nightmare.
“May I help you, sir?”
Will gulped in air. “Is this McDougals?”
The fellow gave him a puzzled glance. “Yes, of course. Has our shingle disappeared?”
“No.” Perspiration stung Will’s upper lip. “Was Miss Christensen in here recently?”
“Should she have been?”
“We were to meet here.” Will frowned. “If she should stop by, would you tell her Mr. Winter was looking for her?”
Fighting to draw a deep breath, he left the premises and glanced toward the unoccupied gig. How could Miss Christensen have vanished in the relatively short distance between the art shop and the music shop? As he peered up and down the street searching for a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with red ribbons, a familiar figure turned the corner near the roundabout. His heart in his throat, Will set off at a run.
∞∞∞
Bethany was about to step off the pavement on her way across the street when Will appeared and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Thank heavens you are all right.”
Startled, she peered at him. “Why, yes. I didn’t mean to worry you, but I went to inquire at the farmer’s feed shop about any puppies for sale.”
With a shuddering breath, he release
d her. “Don’t wander off like that again. I-I thought the worst.”
When Will stepped back, she could see he was ashen-faced and his upper lip was covered with a sheen of perspiration. She felt a pang of remorse.
“If I’ve given you any distress, I’m mortified. I wasn’t thinking.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “You told me you wished to visit a shop called McDougals. None of the shingles start with an M!”
“Oh, no.” She gave him an apologetic glance. “The shop is The Brothers Mac, but everyone in town calls it McDougals.”
“I see.” His lips flattened into a line and he took a deep breath. “If you would like to finish your errand, I am at your disposal.”
“No, let’s return to Lansings Lodge. I can visit McDougals another time.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I just lost a year off my life because of this. You’ll visit McDougals now.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, of course.”
Will offered her his arm, which she took without an argument, and escorted her across the street. Once they reached the pavement outside of the music shop, she paused to give his arm a squeeze.
“I truly am sorry, Mr. Winter.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he reached for the door handle and gestured for her to precede him into the shop. After she walked inside, however, he let the door close behind her and stood outside with his arms crossed over his chest. Bethany sighed.
“Miss Christensen!” Mr. Gerald McDougal hastened over to greet her. “I was told I might see you today.”
She forced a smile to her face. “Yes, I wanted to talk with you about music lessons for my sister, Jane.”
For the next ten minutes or so, they discussed whether or not Jane would be better off studying the piano, the harp, or some other instrument. Even as Bethany listened, however, she was only half attending. Will was more upset at her absence than she could have imagined, and it was all her fault. How could she have been so inconsiderate?
Her conversation with Mr. McDougal concluded with her deciding to bring Jane into the shop to sample a few different instruments before selecting one to study.
“We’ll be in London until August, so Jane and I will see you then.” Bethany thanked the man profusely before joining Will on the pavement.
His manner was cool. “Have you completed your errands, Miss Christensen?”
“Indeed, I have.”
Bethany took his arm and they strolled toward the gig. Although she wondered how best to assuage his anger, a stolen glance at his wooden profile gave her no clues. She’d apologized already, so perhaps the best course of action was to say nothing and let his irritation run its course.
After they were seated in the carriage and were on the way out of town, she cleared her throat. “Er…I have the name of a farmer who will have puppies for sale in about a month.”
Will nodded, but he made no reply.
She made a sound of impatience. “How long are you going to be angry? I am sorry for making you worry, but you ought not treat me as if I were a child. I’m a fully grown woman and must be regarded as such.”
The man gave her a level glance. “It’s becoming increasingly obvious you don’t respect me at all, Miss Christensen.”
“That’s not fair. I regard you as an exceptionally talented artist and I respect you very much.” She paused. “I don’t, however, require a nanny.”
“You’re right.” Will muttered something else, but an approaching carriage muffled his words. He touched the brim of his hat as the two carriages passed, but he didn’t bother to glance at Bethany.
“I-I didn’t hear you just now, Mr. Winter.”
“I said you need a husband.”
Her spine straightened. “I don’t intend to marry and you can’t force me to do any such thing.”
“I don’t intend to force you, Miss Christensen, but I’ve never heard such a selfish sentiment in my life.”
Bethany gaped. “How can I possibly be selfish? I’m thinking only of Jane. She needs stability more than anything.”
“She needs a strong man to look after her!”
“That’s what you’re for.”
He shook his head. “But I’m not family. You are a young, healthy, intelligent, and exceedingly beautiful woman who ought to be wed.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Your ownership of Lansings Lodge would vest and you’d be free of your guardianship afterward.” Comprehension dawned. “Wait…is that why you wish to go to London—to marry me off?”
Will said nothing.
“I won’t go.” Bethany narrowed her eyes. “As soon as we arrive home, I’ll tell the staff our plans are canceled.”
“You’ll go. I have half a say in this, and I’m the guardian. We’ll do as I see fit.”
“Oh!” Bethany fumed. “You act as if this is some reenactment of Taming of the Shrew!”
Inexplicably, his expression changed. “If the shrew fits, wear it.”
She stared down at her lap, shaking her head at his horrible pun, trying not to laugh. The more she fought it, however, the worse the urge grew until she was obliged to turn her head away and cover her mouth with her hand.
“I know you’re laughing, Miss Christensen.” He shrugged. “You might as well admit it.”
“You’re terrible.” She retrieved a handkerchief to wipe tears of mirth from her eyes. “You can’t end an argument with a joke.”
“And yet, I did.” He gave her a crooked smile. “We’re going to London and we’re going to enjoy ourselves.”
Although Bethany found his smug attitude unbearable, she kept her feelings to herself. They would go to London and it was entirely possible she would find it enjoyable—especially when the person engaged turned out to be Willoughby Winter.
∞∞∞
Angela was shivering so much from the cold, damp air in the passageway, she was obliged to let go of Mr. Wylde’s hand and wrap her arms around her body.
He glanced back at her with a frown. “You’re cold.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m all right.”
“Nonsense.” He put down the lantern long enough to shrug off his jacket and help her slide her arms inside. “Better?”
“I will be.” She paused. “Thank you.”
He bent to pick up the lantern. “Stay close.”
Although Angela had no intention of falling behind, she wished Mr. Wylde wouldn’t move quite so fast. The lantern cast only enough light for her to see a few feet in any direction, and she was frightened to death of stepping on a rodent or possibly a snake. Her nerves grew so taut that when she trod on a loose bit of stone, she let out a whimper.
Mr. Wylde turned. “You’ve never been frightened of anything but me before.”
Angela bristled. “You flatter yourself. I may be wary of slithering creatures, but I’m not afraid of a caretaker.”
“Oh?” Mr. Wylde set down the lantern and took her into his arms so quickly that she had no time to flinch. “I’ve warned you before, but you insisted on following me into this place. Now you must pay the price.”
His lips claimed hers in a triumphant kiss.
Bethany fanned herself with a spare piece of paper as she read over what she had written. Mr. Wylde had become brasher than she had planned at the beginning of the story, but she had no wish to tame his spirit. She capped the inkwell and glanced up to discover her sister had finished her Treasure Island narration for the evening and was watching Will draw. The man had shifted his attention away from listening to Jane and had turned in Bethany’s direction.
She blinked. “You’ve not been sketching me, have you?”
Will exchanged a mischievous smile with Jane. “Indeed, I have.”
“Just wait ‘till you see!” Jane giggled. “You look like a princess!”
Bethany’s skin began to tingle. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”
When Will held up his sketch for her scrutiny, she resembled an ethereal princess perched on a
throne. Her tresses were flowing over her shoulders, the tops of which were bare from a low-cut bodice. Her resentment toward him thawed ever so slightly as she stared at the powerful image and yet…did he mean to embarrass her?
She gave him a quizzical glance. “It’s…well, it’s beautiful.”
“I took some liberties, I’m afraid. I do hope you’re not offended.”
“Not at all.”
He flipped the pages so she could view his other sketches—her hands, her visage, and her profile. Her forehead was slightly tense, as if she was concentrating on her efforts, her lips were parted, and her cheeks seemed to be glowing from a blush.
Jane giggled. “We’re going to have to frame all of your artwork, Mr. Winter.”
“Most of these are just practice.” Will shook his head. “I’d like to paint your sister’s portrait in oils, to capture her coloring.”
“Won’t that be lovely?” Jane yawned.
Bethany gave her a sympathetic glance. “It’s time for bed, dearest.”
Will stood. “Good night, Miss Jane.”
“Good night!” Jane bounced up and down. “Five more days until we leave for London!”
She skipped out of the room, leaving Bethany and Will alone with one another in awkward silence.
Chapter Eight
Wretched Reading
Bethany cast about for a topic of conversation. “I’d almost forgotten about your art studio, Mr. Winter. Perhaps we could have a look at the attic after breakfast tomorrow?”
“I think setting up my studio will have to wait until we return from London.”
“What a pity, especially after you purchased all those supplies from Mr. Astley.”
He shrugged. “I plan to take them with me. Perhaps there’s some room in the townhouse I can work.”
“The library might do.” She edged backward. “Well, I—”
“Before you retire for the evening, will you show me how to waltz? If I’m going to mix in society, I’d like to learn how…from someone other than Mr. Pace.”
Bethany frowned. “It takes practice to become proficient in these things, Mr. Winter.”
My Fair Guardian Page 8