My Fair Guardian

by Suzanne G. Rogers

  She felt his hand grasp hers more firmly. “Hush. We’re going to make it out alive, Miss Ware.”

  Angela smiled in the dark. “Don’t say things that aren’t true.”

  He paused long enough to pull her into his arms and kiss her lips. “I’d give my life to save you. I swear it.”

  Bethany wiped her pen and spent a few forlorn moments with her chin in her hands. The weight on her heart was such that she couldn’t write anything further until she’d had the chance to apologize to Will for her thoughtless blunder. After their quarrels, he probably imagined she’d shared the letter on purpose—and who could blame him?

  She paced in her study for a short while before deciding exercise might relieve her anxiety. After dashing upstairs to retrieve her hat, she left the house and strode across the lawn.

  ∞∞∞

  Will kept his horse to little more than a walk on the way back to Lansings Lodge. As he put distance between him and the vicar, he began to wonder if the fellow’s ultimatum could work to his advantage. After all, if Miss Christensen knew she had to choose a husband before the end of the Season, she would be more motivated, wouldn’t she?

  In the next moment, a modicum of guilt brought a frown to his lips and he wondered if he possessed any character whatsoever. Despite his desire to claim his inheritance, he did not wish Miss Christensen to marry a man she could not love. If Will had to approve of him first, however, wouldn’t his good opinion be unduly swayed by self-interest?

  Gah! Surely he could see her happily wed and then claim what was his thereafter without feeling as if he were a selfish cad. He sighed and shook his head. No, Frederick had appointed him guardian and that meant he was obliged to protect Bethany’s interests, putting her needs above his own. If he failed to do that, he would be no better than Edgar and Agnes Winter.

  After returning the horse to the stables, Will entered the house and went in search of Miss Christensen. She was not in the drawing room, in her study, or the library, unfortunately. Just as he was about to search for her in the garden, she opened the door to the patio and stepped inside.

  “Oh, Miss Christensen. I was looking for you.”

  Her blue eyes seemed misty. “Mr. Winter, I must speak with you as well.” She unpinned her hat. “Shall we talk in my study?”

  “No.” He frowned. “That is to say, let’s talk in the library instead.”

  “All right.”

  They entered the library, which was twice as large as Miss Christensen’s study, but cozier than the drawing room. Will walked over to a shelf and ran his fingertip across the spines of the books sitting thereon. “I cannot read any of these.”

  “But you will, some day. You’ve already made a start.”

  “Yes, I have.” He turned to face her and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  They spoke over one another.

  Will shook his head. “What?”

  Miss Christensen gave him a puzzled glance. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”

  He spread his hands. “You go first. Please.”

  She took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know how remorseful I feel about our conversation at breakfast. I distressed you abominably and it was unforgiveable.”

  Will peered at her. “You ought not blame yourself. I had the right to know.”

  “Yes, but perhaps I might have waited until another time or found a way to say it that was not quite so blunt.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I hope you don’t think I meant to hurt you on purpose.”

  “No, of course not.” He raked his hair with his fingers, despite Mr. Pace’s censure regarding the bad habit. “Listen, you ought not apologize to me when I must apologize to you.”

  Her expression turned prim. “In light of my blunder, I accept your apology.”

  His lips parted. “What? I haven’t even said why I must apologize.”

  She moved past him and began to turn the globe in the corner with her fingers. “The trick with the waltz.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not apologizing for that.”

  Miss Christensen whirled around with a frown on her face. “What? Mr. Winter, I—”

  “There’s something worse.” He passed a hand over his face. “When I was at the cemetery, the vicar confronted me about my presence at Lansings Lodge. He feels my continued residency at Lansings Lodge is a stain on your reputation and sets a poor moral example for the neighborhood.”

  She recoiled. “What?”

  “Furthermore, as long as I am here, he won’t allow his daughter to visit Jane.”

  “What an officious old…goat! Mr. Southerly need only refute any gossip that reaches his ears by saying he sees no reason for alarm. Instead, he seeks to destroy what has been a very agreeable arrangement.”

  Too furious to stand still, Miss Christensen circled the room.

  Will stood in the center of the library, watching her progress. “I’m sure the man is only trying to protect you.”

  Miss Christensen made a sound of disgust as she reversed direction. “The vicar is an interfering idiot and I’m terribly vexed with him.” She paused, her brow furrowed. “After we return from London, you will have to move into the carriage house and come here for lessons and meals.”

  “I suggested as much to Mr. Southerly, but he would not agree to the compromise. He said I must either take up residence elsewhere or…” his voice trailed off.

  Miss Christensen peered at him. “Or what?”

  “He suggested matrimony.”

  Her lips parted in shock. “Matrimony?”

  “One of us must marry.”

  She stood with arms akimbo. “What if I don’t want to marry?” She gestured toward him. “You should marry.”

  “Ridiculous.” He began to pace. “I have no intention of marrying.”

  Miss Christensen lifted her chin. “If neither one of us will marry, what do you propose?”

  He stood stock-still. “I must leave Lansings Lodge.”

  She melted into a chair. “Jane doesn’t want you to go. If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been a very good influence on her. She would be devastated to lose your company.”

  Will sat. “I don’t want to go either, to be perfectly honest.” He frowned. “What sort of husband might appeal to you…if you met the perfect man, that is?”

  “Theoretically?” Miss Christensen averted her eyes. “He would have to be exciting…perhaps even a little dangerous…terribly handsome and talented. He would have to be someone with whom I would never be bored.”

  Will jumped to his feet, aghast. “You want the hero in one of your romance novels!”

  She stood. “Is that so very wrong? If I’m to be married, I would at least like to enjoy it!”

  He crossed over until he was within a few inches of her. “I promise you, the right sort of man could induce you to enjoy a great many things without half as many extraordinary attributes.”

  Miss Christensen’s pink complexion turned crimson, even as her eyes narrowed. “With your arrogance, you really ought not marry. A wife might interfere with your admiration for yourself.”

  “Touché.” He paused. “I saw that in a play once.”

  She sat once more. “Everything’s a play to you.”

  His smile slipped. “Not really.” Will sank into a leather chair. “If we put our minds together, surely we can find you a wonderful husband in two months’ time, can’t we? We’ll examine each candidate’s strengths and weakness until we come up with the perfect man.”

  Her sigh sounded weary. “I don’t think it’s possible…but if it means you will stay and provide Jane with some stability, I’m willing to try.”

  Will was so moved by her capitulation, he sank to one knee, grasped her hand, and deposited a kiss on her skin. “Miss Christensen, you are everything admirable in a lady and the man able to win your affections shall be the most fortunate of men.”

  She snatched her hand away. “Oh, stop it! You’ve even
begun to talk like an actor.”

  He chuckled. “Why not? We have just finished Act One and when we reach London we will begin Act Two.”

  “Pull the curtain.” Miss Christensen gave him a little push as she got to her feet and moved toward the library door. “It’s time for Intermission.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nick

  Will entered the London townhouse alongside Miss Christensen and Jane, trying not to gape at the marble floors, exquisite coffered ceilings, white wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and oil paintings within view.

  Richmond bowed. “Welcome to London.”

  As a maid helped Miss Christensen off with her bonnet and gloves, Richmond took Will’s coat and hat.

  “Whee! We’re finally here! I’ll be in my room, taking a nap.” Jane loped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She paused on the landing. “I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep at all last night!” Jane disappeared down the hall with her braid swinging behind her.

  “This place is beautiful.” Will glanced at Miss Christensen. “Does it have a name?”

  “Mama used to call it Summerland, inspired by A Midsummer Night’s Dream. That was her favorite play.”

  “‘The course of true love never did run smooth’’” Will murmured.

  “That’s it exactly.” Her smile was overly innocent. “Did you play Bottom, perchance?”

  Will rolled his eyes. “No, but I’m certain there’s a joke in there somewhere.”

  Richmond handed off Will’s hat and coat to the maid. “Miss Christensen, you’ve had a great deal of correspondence arrive, yesterday and this morning.”

  Although Will expected the butler to present a salver, he produced a small basket instead.

  Miss Christensen gestured toward a pair of double doors nearby. “Put that in the drawing room for me, Richmond.”

  “Very good, miss.” The butler ambled into the drawing room, basket in hand.

  Will shook his head. “There must be over a dozen letters at least!”

  She smiled. “And at least as many calling cards.”

  “How do your friends know you’ve come to town?”

  Miss Christensen shrugged. “I wrote them to say so, of course. We can’t expect to fill our schedule if people don’t know we’re here, can we? It’s a good thing we’ve arrived early today because I expect this afternoon will be filled with visitors.”

  The butler appeared again, empty-handed. “Would you care for a late lunch?”

  “We ate something at the railway station, but I think Mr. Winter and I could use a cup of tea and perhaps a few biscuits if we have any.”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Deedle attend to it.”

  Miss Christensen covered a yawn with her hand. “I don’t blame Jane for taking a nap. I couldn’t sleep last night, either."

  Neither could Will, but he was loath to admit it. Instead, he focused his attention on a magnificent painting in the entryway, featuring a lovely couple. He pointed. “Is that painting of your parents?”

  “Yes. Let me introduce you.” She addressed the painting as if its occupants were still alive. “Mama and Papa, allow me to present Mr. Willoughby Leopold Winter. He’s Mr. Leopold’s son and our new guardian.”

  Will flinched, glancing around to see if any servants had overheard. “Do you think it’s wise, blurting things out like that?”

  “I’m not going to tell my parents a falsehood, am I?” Miss Christensen winked. “And as to the servants, I suspect they already know the truth. You resemble young Mr. Leopold’s portrait rather conspicuously and you even have some of his mannerisms and figures of speech.”

  He frowned. “But society in general…will people be inclined to accept a natural-born gentleman?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “But if you don’t intend to marry, do you care about such things?”

  “I don’t intend to marry, but I would dislike bringing any hint of scandal or disrepute into your life or that of your sister.” He smiled at the Christensen portrait and sketched a formal bow. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Christensen, and I intend to be the best guardian possible to your daughters.”

  “Well done.” Miss Christensen beamed. “Let me show you around a bit before Mrs. Deedle has our tea ready.”

  ∞∞∞

  Bethany opened her correspondence, humming under her breath. Although she’d been avoiding London for the most part since Mr. Leopold’s demise, arriving at Summerland had been remarkably pleasant. Perhaps after her discussion with Will, she’d come to terms with the notion of marriage. Even so, she hadn’t given up her plans for him entirely. He might imagine himself uninterested in the institution, but as soon as he met Magenta, his thoughts would veer in that direction faster than a hunting dog after grouse. There was not a man in London, young or old, that wouldn’t heed that siren’s call. Although Magenta wasn’t known for her constancy, if anyone could bring her to heel, it would be Will. He had a magnetic strength about him as well as the ability to turn a woman’s knees to jelly. Bethany was certain Magenta would be smitten as soon as she laid eyes on him.

  Will wandered around the drawing room examining his father’s many sketches and paintings while Bethany read through her letters. She waved one in the air.

  “Isn’t it marvelous! You and I have been invited to a ball next Monday.”

  He frowned. “No one knows me, so how is that possible?”

  “I’ve made everyone aware that I have a new guardian. Furthermore, since you and I can attend events together, we won’t disturb the number of couples.”

  Will came over to pour himself another cup of tea. “Is that important?”

  “Of course! No hostess wishes to have an odd male or female on her hands. That would be a disaster.”

  He chuckled. “A scandal of epic proportions, undoubtedly.”

  “You have no idea, Mr. Winter. Where there is a buffet at a ball, it’s not so much of a problem, but one cannot have a lady escort herself into a formal dinner. It just isn’t done.”

  Will grimaced as he reached for a biscuit. “One would never live down the horror.”

  Bethany gave him a reproving glance. “Laugh if you wish, but reputations have been ruined for less.”

  “Oh, I’m not laughing. After having seen the difference an eighth of an inch can make, I am a believer.”

  “You are impossible.” She continued to sort through her letters. “We’ve made a nice start. A ladies’ tea for me…a card party.” Bethany glanced up. “You do play cards, don’t you?”

  “I learned to play during my time in the theater district.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Actors engage in all manner of debauchery, hadn’t you heard?”

  “You are teasing me but I shan’t let you disturb my good mood, Mr. Winter.” She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I must change from this traveling suit into an afternoon gown.”

  “What? Why?” He glanced at her attire. “You look perfectly fine.”

  “I’m expecting callers. The gentlemen will expect me to look pretty and the ladies will expect to admire my dress.” She spotted crumbs on Will’s chin and jacket and reached for one of the napkins on the tea tray. “Hold still.”

  Bethany bent closer to brush the crumbs off with the napkin, catching a whiff of his fragrance as she did so. “You’ve made a mess of yourself, I’m afraid.” As Will gazed up at her, an odd, confusing sensation at her core made her hands tremble. When he caught her wrist, an electric current traveled up her arm and she gulped. “W-What are you doing?”

  “Let me do that.” Will gently freed the napkin from her fingers.

  Bethany swallowed and stepped back to let him finish the job she started.

  “Would you be so kind as to show me to my room?” He stood. “I expect Mr. Pace is lurking with a fresh shirt for me.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.”

  ∞∞∞

  Will accompanied Miss Christensen as she led him to his room on the uppermost le
vel.

  “I’ll leave you to settle in.” She smiled. “You might want to be downstairs around two o’clock, in case any visitors arrive early…and bring your sketchbook.”

  Will’s eyebrows rose. “Am I to sketch your visitors?”

  She laughed. “No, but you should have it open so it looks as if you’ve been industrious. I’ll bring down an embroidery hoop for the same purpose.”

  “This really is a play after all, complete with props and stage directions.”

  “Well, as Shakespeare put it, ‘All the world’s a stage.’”

  “‘And all the men and women merely players.’” Will grinned. “I’ll see you at curtain time.”

  Miss Christensen walked off down the gas lit hall, her skirt swaying as she went. Will watched her progress, wondering if she knew how mesmerizing her movements were. After disappeared on the stairs, he snapped out of his trance.

  “She’s like a snake charmer.” He shuddered. “I hope that doesn’t mean I’m a snake.”

  He pushed the door of his room open, revealing the presence of Mr. Pace. The valet was busy unpacking Will’s trunks and tending to his clothes.

  “Hullo, Mr. Pace! I’m here for my costume change.”

  The man peered at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not understanding you.”

  Will chuckled. “I’m to make myself presentable for afternoon callers.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Pace picked up a shirt and a pair of trousers. “I’ll nip downstairs to give these things a quick press and be back shortly.”

  A half-hour later, Will had changed into a fresh suit of clothes and a newly polished pair of shoes. He wiggled his toes, puzzled. “What on earth did you do to Frederick’s shoes to make them more comfortable? They pinched before.”

  “I used a shoe stretcher.” Mr. Pace gave him a pressed linen square. “This is one of Mr. Leopold’s handkerchiefs.”

  Will peered at the fabric. “You’ve picked out Frederick’s monogram without a trace!”

  Mr. Pace shrugged. “A little patience did the trick. Since you and I aren’t to have lessons this afternoon, I’ll nip over to the print shop and order calling cards on your behalf.” He gestured toward a small white box on the writing desk in the corner. “I prepared a quantity of Mr. Leopold’s cards for you to use until your own are ready, but you will have to write your own name on them.”