My Fair Guardian

by Suzanne G. Rogers

He grimaced and reached for his sketchbook. “It’ll have to be Mr. Pace, then.”

  “No, wait.”

  She seated herself at the piano and played a minute or so of a waltz. Will listened and his head nodded in time to the music. When she stopped, his amber eyes locked with hers.

  “That’s beautiful. What is it?”

  “Brahms, Waltz in A-flat major. But I played it for its rhythm. You can always tell a waltz by its triple meter.”

  Will gave her a sidelong glance. “Do you mean to make this as difficult as possible?”

  Bethany shook her head. “No. Let me show you.”

  She moved to a part of the drawing room where they had space, stood next to him, and demonstrated the steps.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t see your feet, Miss Christensen.”

  Although she felt self-conscious, she had to pull up her skirts a trifle before demonstrating the steps once more.

  He nodded. “All right, I think I have that much. What’s next?”

  Bethany was feeling increasingly awkward. “Pretend your partner is standing in front of you and you hold her like so.” She demonstrated on an invisible figure.

  Will held his hands in the air for a few moments before dropping his arms to his side.

  “Do you find me repulsive, Miss Christensen?”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course not!”

  “Why would you have me dance with an imaginary partner when I have a real partner available?”

  “I just thought…” her voice trailed off. “Fine.”

  She took her place in front of him. “All right, put your hands where I showed you.”

  To her surprise, his hold was perfect.

  “Very good.” Bethany cleared her throat. “All right, listen to the music in your mind and step out.”

  She held her breath as they moved together in several waltz steps without so much as a hesitation. When he began to turn her in a circle expertly, however, she gave him a little shove and stepped back

  “You already know how to waltz!” She glared. “How?”

  “I had a non-speaking part in an operetta. Part of the performance took place in a ball room setting.”

  “Why did you pretend otherwise?”

  Will smirked. “I wasn’t sure I remembered.”

  “Weren’t you?” Her fingers itched to slap his face. “I suppose our argument isn’t entirely over, is it?”

  His grin faded as he closed the distance between them. Her heart began to pound as his gaze flickered to her lips and he bent closer to whisper in her ear.

  “It’ll be ended when you are properly wed.”

  In the next moment, he turned on his heel, grabbed his sketchbook, and strode from the room. As she heard him lope up the stairs, her eyes narrowed.

  “Not if you are wed first, Mr. Winter.”

  ∞∞∞

  Will stuffed his few bits of clothes in a blanket, tied the ends into a knot, and then tiptoed into the kitchen to rummage around. He needn’t have bothered being quiet, because the empty bottle of gin on the table and the loud snoring coming from his parents’ bedroom meant his mother would be passed out for hours—perhaps until morning.

  Although he knew it was wrong to steal, he lifted the flour jar down from a shelf and fished out several coins for his train fare and perhaps some food along the way. Technically, the money was his anyway, since he’d earned it as a field hand. He was tall for thirteen, so he had no trouble putting the jar back the way he found it. If his father knew he’d taken the money, he would be beaten within an inch of his life—or worse. Hopefully, he would be miles from home before his father discovered he was gone.

  Will stepped outside his parents’ shack and stepped over to the tree where Dancer was tied up and lolling in the shade. He knelt to scratch the old dog behind the ears.

  “Take care of mum, will you?”

  Dancer’s tail wagged. When tears began to sting Will’s eyes, he drew his sleeve across his face.

  “I wish I could take you with me, but I’m gonna be living rough for a while, see?”

  Will bent over to give the dog a hug and then he began to run down the road without looking back. After a while, he couldn’t run any longer, so he slowed his pace to a walk, stopping to drink from a stream he passed along the way. Two hours after he had begun, the railway station loomed into view and he began to run once more.

  When he heard a cart rattling behind him, he moved onto the shoulder of the road. As it drove past, however, he felt the sting of a whip across his shoulders. He staggered forward, nearly falling flat on his face.

  “Get in the cart, lad.”

  Will panted as he glared up at his father. “Leave me be!”

  “I’ve warned you before.” The man pointed his whip at his face. “Get in the cart or I’ll use this on your mother.”

  Will’s face crumpled. “You wouldn’t do that to mum.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” Edgar Winter held up a red-stained hand. “Old Dancer has paid the price for your running away again. His death is your doing, and next time you run off, it’ll be your useless lug of a mother I beat to death.”

  Will woke with a start. He slid out of bed and hastened over to the washbasin to splash water on his face. Afterward, he lit a candle and stared at his haggard reflection in the looking glass.

  “Why can’t I get free of him?”

  He shrugged off his nightshirt with wooden movements, dressed in trousers and a shirt, and pulled on a pair of boots. Afterward, he made his way to the deserted kitchen, left the candle on the table, and let himself out into the moonlight. The summer evening was just cool enough to soothe his fevered brow and bring him back to the present.

  He circled the perimeter of the house before making his way down the drive toward the road. With every step, he felt the steel band around his head ease and his posture began to relax. The last time he’d had that dream, he had walked the grounds to settle his emotions. Fortunately, he’d prevented a burglar from breaking into the residence. At the moment, however, all was well.

  Will turned when he reached the brick gateposts and began to traverse the lawn. After he circled around a tall oak and returned the way he’d come, the full moon overhead seemed to light his way like a beacon. Lansings Lodge was visible in its entire splendor, and he still couldn’t believe it was his.

  A mirthless chuckle left his lips. “Half mine, at any rate.”

  The source of his anxiety wasn’t hard to pinpoint. After he’d lost Miss Christensen in the village earlier that day, he’d had the same feeling of helplessness and horror as he had the morning he’d tried to run away from home. Although he didn’t consider himself a superstitious person, he’d never been able to shake the feeling that he brought bad luck to anyone or anything he cared for—and now he was guardian to two extremely admirable young women.

  He filled his lungs with air scented by the smell of newly mown grass, pine, and the sweet odor of wild honeysuckle, and tried to brush away the lingering cobwebs in his mind. Nothing could be done to erase his past, but if he was ever to be free of his nightmares, he must redouble his efforts to get Miss Christensen married to a decent man. The successful candidate must be handsome, for her sake, and must also possess impeccable character and intelligence. Further, the fellow must also behave in an exceptionally kind manner toward Jane and be somewhat affable, to offset Miss Christensen’s propensity toward seriousness.

  Will chuckled as he remembered their short waltz. His deception had been somewhat reprehensible, admittedly, but he’d noticed a glint of newfound respect in her eyes. Miss Christensen might not realize it yet, but he was through taking directions from her. From now on, he intended to lead.

  A chilly breeze stirred Will’s hair and cut through his thin shirt. He squared his shoulders as he strode back to the house. He glanced up at the windows of Lansings Lodge, picturing Miss Christensen sleeping peacefully and unaware in her bed. Before the Season had come to an end, she would be wearing a ring on
her finger. He vowed to make sure of it, one way or another.

  ∞∞∞

  Sunday

  Will accompanied Miss Christensen and Jane from the carriage toward church. As they drew closer, the vast cemetery spreading out behind the building drew his focus.

  He glanced at Miss Christensen. “Is Frederick buried here?”

  “Indeed, he is.”

  A pang of guilt brought a frown to his lips. “I regret not attending his funeral, but I didn’t even know he’d died until I arrived at Lansings Lodge.”

  “His passing was very sudden.” A ripple of emotion crossed Miss Christensen’s face. “I’ll show you his gravesite sometime, if you wish.”

  Jane shuddered. “I don’t like graveyards. They’re creepy.”

  “Do you think so?” Will gave her a smile. “I view them as the place where you go to visit old friends.”

  “Really?” Jane cocked her head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  As Will ushered the Christensen sisters into church, curious eyes followed their progress up the aisle, heads leaned toward one another as whispers were exchanged, and a few of the more intrepid souls even pointed in his direction. Will did his best to nod in a pleasant fashion at whoever caught his eye.

  He paused at the first open pew, but Miss Christensen gave him a gentle tug on the sleeve.

  “We usually sit in the second row, Mr. Winter.”

  Although Will would ordinarily have preferred not to be mulish, he was determined to show Miss Christensen who was in charge.

  “This should be a refreshing change, then.” He gestured for her to precede him into the pew. “After you.”

  “As you wish.”

  Miss Christensen gave him a brittle smile as she and Jane sank down onto the long green velvet seat cushion and smoothed out their skirts. Will sat nearest the aisle, reached for the Bible tucked into the slot of the first pew, and opened it to Genesis. Perhaps it was not a particularly pious endeavor, but he peered at the page in an attempt to see if he could puzzle out any of the words. He became so engrossed in trying to read that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. Only a nudge from Miss Christensen’s elbow alerted him to put away the Bible and stand for the commencement of a hymn. He was pleased to recognize the organ music, so he was able to sing the hymn without hesitation.

  “You know this hymn?” Miss Christensen murmured, in between stanzas.

  “Of course, I do.” Will whispered. “God is universal.”

  ∞∞∞

  After the service, Bethany gave Jane permission to visit with Liza while she introduced Will to ladies eager to make his acquaintance. Although she still hadn’t forgiven him for his nasty trick with the waltz, she was making every effort to be polite. She didn’t want Jane to get the impression they had quarreled, and she definitely didn’t want to give Will any reason to be any more recalcitrant than he had been of late. Something had shifted in the narrative between them, but she couldn’t put her finger on what had happened—unless he was still angry about her errand in the village. Couldn’t he just admit she had returned safely and let it pass? The sooner he had a woman to captivate his attention, the better it would be for the both of them.

  Bethany introduced Will to several members of the congregation, but once the Olive Branch Committee appeared, they took over the task. As the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Varney, Mrs. Ellison, and Mrs. Kellogg integrated the new arrival into their social circle, Bethany was shunted off to one side. Even so, she took note of the fluttering eyelashes, heightened color, and simpering smiles being thrown Will’s way. Mrs. Varney even rested her hand on his arm in a possessive manner, gazing up at him as if he were a delectable dessert.

  For his part, Will seemed to receive these attention with pleasure, almost like one of Mr. Leopold’s peacocks would have done. He had a devastating smile for any lady who showed the slightest interest and seemed rather relaxed and confident for a man under intense scrutiny. It was almost a pity Will was to leave the village for the summer, since Mrs. Varney seemed determined to make him her next husband.

  Bethany turned away from the spectacle, pretending to fuss with her gloves. It was none of her business if Will should form an attachment to Mrs. Varney, but he could do far better. Bethany had no active dislike for the lady, but it was generally presumed she’d married Mr. Varney in his twilight years precisely to become a young and wealthy widow. Besides which, if Will were to marry the widow he would still be too close to Landings Lodge for comfort. He really ought not play the flirt and give Mrs. Varney any reason to think she could capture his affections.

  As if Bethany had called Will’s name, he lifted his head and they locked gazes. After a long moment, she averted her eyes and set off to collect Jane. Although it was the Sabbath, Bethany had things to do. Surely the Lord would forgive her for spending a little time on Wylde Eyes, since her heroine was in a precarious place and Bethany was eager to see how the story would work itself out.

  ∞∞∞

  As Mr. Wylde captured Angela’s lips in a fevered kiss, she melted into his arms. She met his passion and answered it with a hunger she had not known she possessed. He kissed her, over and over, exploring her skin with such heated caresses that she groaned with pleasure. Only the flickering of the lantern made him pull away, panting. His face was suffused with passion and she reveled in it.

  “So you can see for yourself I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Wylde.”

  “No, but I wish to heaven that you were.” He bent down to retrieve the lantern. “Our kerosene is low and we may not find the exit to this tunnel before it burns out completely.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “What do we do?”

  Mr. Wylde gripped her hand. “We run.”

  Their light grew increasingly dim as they rushed through the rough-hewn corridor. Although Angela had been worried at the beginning about slithering creatures, she thought only of keeping pace with the man fighting to keep her alive. Her lungs began to burn, but she forced herself to keep moving.

  Just when she thought she could not take another step without stopping to rest, the light flickered out for the last time. Mr. Wylde cursed softly as he paused his desperate sprint. She bent nearly double as she gasped for breath.

  “Hush,” he murmured.

  Although she could not see him in the dark, she glanced up anyway. “What?”

  “Listen.”

  Angela quieted her breathing as best she could and turned her head to listen. A distinct sound, albeit distant, finally reached her ears.

  “Mr. Wylde, there’s someone else in here with us,” she whispered.

  His response sounded as if it came through gritted teeth. “I know. He’s found us.”

  Bethany shuddered as she glanced over the scene. She’d set out to write a Gothic romance, but the story had certainly taken an unsettling—albeit interesting—twist. The dangerous attraction between the heroine and hero was undeniable, but how would she bridge the chasm between them in the end? At this point, Bethany was still unclear how such a leap would be accomplished but she must find a way. She blotted the ink on the page and read the scene again. Once she finished, she had a smile on her lips. The story was just getting exciting and she was desperately curious to discover how Angela Ware and Garrison Wylde would end up together.

  She sighed. “I just hope a publisher will feel the same.”

  ∞∞∞

  Will sat at the table next to the window with a book open in his hands, frowning as he puzzled out the words. Mr. Pace sat nearby, picking Frederick’s monogram out of a handkerchief with a long, sharp needle and a small pair of shears.

  “Simple Simon met a…pieman…going to the…f-a-i-r. Fair.” Will sighed and stretched out his neck. “This book is for children but it doesn’t make any sense. ‘Three straws on a staff, Would make a baby cry and l-a-u-g-h.’ What is that supposed to mean?”

  Mr. Pace glanced up. “Laugh. The g-h makes an ‘f’ sound.”

  Will’s lips par
ted. “Wait…what? That can’t be right. My name is Willoughby, not Willoffby.”

  “I understand your frustration.” Mr. Pace shrugged. “And nursery rhymes often don’t make a great deal of sense.”

  “Rhymes? Is that what that word is?” Will made a sound of exasperation as he closed the book and stood. “I gave up after r-h-y. What good does the ‘h’ do?”

  Mr. Pace chuckled. “Centuries ago, rhyme was spelled rime, but they changed the spelling in the seventeenth century to correspond to the word ‘rhythm.’"

  Will peered at him. “You must be joking. Do you mean to tell me that someone in the position to decide these things mucks about with spellings every so often, just for a lark? What kind of cruelty is that?”

  “The English language is rife with all manner of cruelties, Mr. Winter, but you will get used to it.” He nodded at the book. “Did you find that in the schoolroom?”

  “I did. I was looking for something at my level.”

  Will crossed over to the dresser and poured a glass of water from the carafe sitting there.

  “I commend you for your efforts in learning to read.” Mr. Pace smiled. “You seem to be attacking the process head on.”

  “We are leaving for London is three days and I haven’t a moment to lose.” Will slid him a sidelong glance. “I’m expected to pass myself off as a gentleman and I won’t even be able to read calling cards without assistance.”

  “Reading aloud is beneficial.” Mr. Pace put his work aside long enough to thumb through the pages of nursery rhymes. “Here, read “The Twelve Days of Christmas” and I’ll correct you as you go along.”

  “All right.” Will sipped his water before picking up the book and returning to his chair. “Er…The first day of—what in blazes is that word?”

  “Christmas.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Will made a sound of frustration. “Sometimes I feel incredibly stupid.”

  “You’re doing fine.” The valet nodded toward the page. “Go on.”

  ∞∞∞

  As Bethany accompanied Jane and Will into the drawing room after dinner, she tweaked her sister’s braid. “Are you going to read for us tonight?”