My Fair Guardian

by Suzanne G. Rogers

  “Mr. Pace, you are quite an extraordinary valet. You’ve anticipated my needs before I even know them.”

  The man beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

  Will reached for his sketchbook and pencils. “Miss Christensen has been out in society for two years, hasn’t she?”

  “This will be her second.”

  “You would know if she ever had a serious beau, wouldn’t you?”

  The valet flapped his hands. “Oh, you know young girls. Each beau is more serious than the next.”

  He turned away and began to busy himself with the rumpled suit Will had just removed, but Will recognized an evasive answer when he heard one.

  “Wait a minute, she has had serious suitors then.” Will folded his arms. “What were their names?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “You’d really have to ask Miss Christensen.”

  Mr. Pace draped the rumpled suit across his arm and hastened from the room, leaving Will open-mouthed and frustrated. He’d wager anything that Bethany had had marital prospects before, but hadn’t said a word about them to him. The question was, why not?

  ∞∞∞

  Bethany entered the drawing room clad in a pink and white striped gown made of crisp cotton. The underskirt was snowy white eyelet and the long sleeves were trimmed with dainty lace and pearl buttons. Her satin slippers were trimmed with seed pearls and her maid had tucked a pink rosebud in her hair. Sadly, Will had not yet arrived so her grand entrance was for naught.

  She sighed, put her embroidery hoop in a conspicuous spot on a chair, and crossed over to the piano. The first bit of sheet music stored in the bench was Mozart, so she sat down and played a few bars. Before she’d reached the bottom of the page, she was disappointed to discover the piano was out of tune.

  Jane came into the room. “That sounds horrible!”

  Bethany lifted her hands from the keyboard. “Yes it does, and it’s not my playing. The instrument hasn’t been touched in nearly a year. I’ll send for a tuner as soon as can be.”

  She stood and came to join Jane. Her sister had curled up on the sofa with a paperback novel and was engrossed in its pages.

  “What have you there?”

  Jane glanced up. “It’s a penny dreadful. I bought it when we were at the railway station.”

  Bethany gave her sister a sidelong glance. “You weren’t taking a nap at all! You went upstairs to read.”

  Jane giggled. “It’s a terribly exciting novel.”

  Bethany heard footsteps on the stairs and she reached up to pinch her cheeks. Her sister noticed the gesture and wrinkled her nose. “Why do you do that?”

  “To bring color to my face.”

  “Why? It’s only Mr. Winter.”

  “Erm…force of habit, I suppose.”

  Will entered the drawing room with his sketchbook in hand, looking dashing in a fresh suit. When his gaze traveled up and down her frame in a lingering, appreciative fashion, she felt her cheeks flush on their own.

  “What do you think?” Bethany turned a pirouette.

  “I think the gentlemen will think you pretty and the ladies will admire your gown.” He glanced at Jane. “Are you ready for the onslaught of afternoon callers?”

  “No.” The girl grimaced. “None of the callers will be for me.”

  Bethany gave her a sympathetic glance. “Jane, why don’t you go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Deedle to give you tea and a biscuit?”

  “Am I to be excused then?” Jane shot to her feet. “Excellent! Once I finish reading my novel, I’m going to pore over the newspaper to look for outings.” She tossed her head, playfully. “I expect to be indulged at every opportunity.”

  Will dropped his sketchbook onto a table. “I think you should propose some outings. I’m happy to play the escort.”

  Jane gave him a hug. “I adore you, Mr. Winter!”

  She skipped out of the room with her book in hand. Once she was gone, Will crossed over to Bethany and rotated his finger in the air.

  “Turn ’round once more, if you don’t mind.”

  She complied.

  He made a sweeping gesture. “Would you walk across the carpet?”

  “What is this about, Mr. Winter?”

  “Kindly indulge me.”

  Bethany walked away from him until she reached the piano and then walked back.

  “Thank you, that will do.” He nodded. “Yes, indeed. Your bustle is bewitching.”

  She gasped. “Mr. Winter, you cannot make such shocking remarks!”

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t it you who recommended I emphasize my strengths and gloss over my weaknesses? I’m merely pointing out one of your strengths. You are Miss Bethany Christensen of the Bewitching Bustle.”

  She gave him a reproving glance. “And you are Mr. Willoughby Winter of the Wandering Wits.”

  Will chuckled. “I prefer Willoughby the Whimsical.”

  “Prefer all you like, but if you continue to make impertinent observations, you might find yourself the recipient of a sharp slap.”

  “I’m inclined to continue my impertinent observations, I’ll have you know. If I’m to be slapped, I want to make sure I deserve it.”

  “Now, you’re just being silly.”

  “Nevertheless, should you find yourself in the company of a man who catches your fancy, manufacture a reason to be on your feet.”

  “In that case, I shall act on your most excellent advice this very moment.” Bethany settled herself on the sofa as deliberately as possible and gave him an innocent glance. “Thank you.”

  She’d meant to put him in his place. When he burst out laughing, however, she found herself stifling a smile. With a shake of her head, she reached for her embroidery hoop and began to work. Bethany of the Bewitching Bustle indeed.

  ∞∞∞

  Will plastered a smile on his face as yet another pair of ladies took their leave. Once the front door had closed, he checked his pocket watch and shook his head.

  “Now I realize how society ladies spend their time.” He gestured toward the prodigious pile of calling cards sitting on the salver. “It will take you days to return these visits, and then days more for the ladies to return yours. It’s like a perpetual game of squash. You are in high demand, apparently.”

  Miss Christensen sat. “I shan’t flatter myself that all these visits are on my behalf alone, Mr. Winter. Everyone wishes to meet the handsome new gentleman in town.”

  He chuckled. “If I should happen upon such a fellow, I’ll let them know.”

  “Such modesty, sir. Why, if I—” she broke off when the doorbell rang. “What time is it, Mr. Winter?”

  “Half past four.”

  The butler appeared. “Mr. Nicholas Masters wishes to see you, Miss Christensen.”

  Miss Christensen stood up so quickly that her embroidery hoop fell to the floor. “Show him in, Richmond.”

  Will gave her a quizzical glance as he got to his feet but her expression revealed nothing.

  Moments later, a young gentleman entered the room with his hat in hand. “Miss Christensen, it’s uncommonly good to see you.” He took several quick steps toward her before he noticed Will. “Oh…I see you have a visitor.”

  Miss Christensen’s movements seemed wooden. “Mr. Masters, this is Mr. Willoughby Winter. Mr. Leopold appointed him our new guardian.”

  The fellow slid Will a curious glance. “I see.” He nodded. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Will nodded. “Same.”

  She gestured toward a chair. “Please have a seat, Mr. Masters. Excuse me while I adjust the drapes. It’s awfully bright in here.”

  Masters sat, but when Miss Christensen hastened over to the window, he watched her progress with undisguised interest. Will folded his arms across his chest to disguise the jolt lancing him from the inside out. No great glare was visible from his point of view, so was she fussing with the drapes as a way to show off her assets? His gaze flickered toward Maste
rs—a man of exceedingly elegant appearance and manners. How well did Miss Christensen know him?”

  She returned to the seating area, at which point Masters got to his feet once more. Will felt obliged to do the same, although he thought the gesture a bit extreme. Was Masters determined to play the Jack in the Box at her slightest movement?

  The fellow sank into his seat and cleared his throat. “When I heard you were returning to town, I confess I was glad to hear the news. I was very sorry to hear of Mr. Leopold’s passing. I know how much he meant to you.”

  Will sat up straighter. Was the man an intimate acquaintance, then?

  “Thank you, yes.” Miss Christensen’s smile was regal. “Indeed, I had no intention of returning to town this Season, but with Mr. Winter’s encouragement, I decided otherwise.”

  Masters gave Will a glance of gratitude. “So it is to you I must direct my thanks. How did you know Mr. Leopold?”

  The man’s demeanor screamed good breeding, privilege, and an effortless existence—everything that put a burr under Will’s saddle. Even so, if the fellow was otherwise respectable, it was Miss Christensen’s opinion that mattered, not Will’s.

  “Frederick Leopold was my cousin.”

  “I see.” Masters smiled. “Do you like to ride, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “Perhaps you and Miss Christensen would like to ride with my friends and I this Friday?”

  “Er…” Will glanced at Miss Christensen, but her expression was enigmatic. “I don’t yet know our schedule.”

  Masters gestured toward her. “Will seven o’clock at Rotten Row suit you?”

  Her smile was contained. “We shall look forward to it.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be going now.” Masters stood, bringing both Miss Christensen and Will to their feet. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Thank you for coming to call,” Miss Christensen said.

  A few moments later, Masters was gone and Will gave her a quizzical glance.

  “That went well, I think. He seems a nice enough fellow.”

  “How could you!” She picked up her embroidery hoop and threw it at him. Fortunately, the hoop bounced off Will’s chest harmlessly.

  He peered at her, open-mouthed. “What did I do?”

  She crossed over to snatch her hoop from the floor. “I hate Nicholas Masters with a passion!”

  Will stepped back before she attempted any further mischief. “How was I to know that? You pranced about, showing off your bustle and I just assumed that you—“

  “I cannot believe you just said that!” Her complexion was pale but two red spots mottled her cheeks. “I had a beam of afternoon light in my eye, Mr. Winter! Only you would have thought I was flirting.”

  He frowned. “I was mistaken, then. You can beg off if you like. I’ll go and make some sort of apology on your behalf.”

  “That’s impossible. If I beg off, Nick will know I’m avoiding him!”

  Will’s eyebrows rose. “Nick, is it? How can you be on a first-name basis with a man you despise?”

  Her eyes shone with moisture. “Because I didn’t always despise him.” She scowled. “I wish I hadn’t come to London! I knew this would happen.”

  Miss Christensen stomped out of the room, calling out to the butler as she headed for the stairs. “If anyone else should come to call, Richmond, we are not at home!”

  Will stared after her, aghast. Moments later, Jane crept into the room, wide-eyed. “I could hear you and Bethany having a row from all the way in the library.”

  He sank onto the sofa. “She’s angry with me for making plans with Nicholas Masters.”

  Jane sucked air through her teeth. “Oh, dear.”

  He gave her a plaintive glance. “What is it about Nicholas Masters I should know?”

  Jane bit her lip. “Bethany and Mr. Masters were engaged.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dangerous

  Will peered at Jane. “Why did nobody tell me of a broken engagement? Is it a secret?”

  Jane’s shoulders crept upward. “In a manner of speaking. The engagement wasn’t official, exactly, but Bethany considered Mr. Masters a serious suitor.”

  “Did Frederick approve of him?

  “As far as I know, Mr. Leopold had no objection to the courtship.”

  “And what happened between your sister and Mr. Masters to break things off?”

  “Bethany never would say. She just came home from a ball one night and said we were not to mention him again.”

  Will sighed. “Well, this is awkward.”

  Jane frowned. “To be honest, I would have thought she’d gotten over Mr. Masters by now. Especially since you—” she broke off.

  “Especially since what?”

  Jane averted her eyes. “Er…especially since it’s been so long.” She wheeled around and returned to the library.

  Will was left alone in the drawing room, feeling foolish. Although no one was watching, he sketched an elaborate bow nevertheless.

  “Willoughby of the Wandering Wits, at your service.”

  He picked up his sketchbook and made his way toward the stairs. As he climbed upward, he remembered a nursery rhyme that seemed to fit him precisely.

  “‘When I was a little boy, I had but little wit. It is some time ago, and I’ve no more yet.’”

  Once he entered his room, he discovered Mr. Pace picking out embroidery thread from another one of Frederick’s remaining handkerchiefs.

  “Hello, Mr. Winter.” The valet glanced up. “Your calling cards will be ready in a fortnight.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pace.” He sat down with a sigh.

  The valet peered at him. “What has you out-of-sorts, sir?”

  “I’ve been in London only a few hours and I’ve managed to bungle things completely. Were you aware that Miss Christensen had been engaged at one time to Mr. Masters?”

  Mr. Pace made a peculiar noise deep in his throat and bent over his task without further comment.

  “You, too?” Will gave him a level glance. “The guardian is always the last to know.”

  ∞∞∞

  Darkness and danger seemed to press in on all sides as Angela followed Mr. Wylde through the tunnel. Although he pulled her along at a good pace, whenever she glanced back over her shoulder, the bobbing light was coming ever closer. She finally turned her head forward and prayed for a miracle.

  At long last, however, the oppressive air in the tunnel seemed to be stirring a trifle. As she took a deep breath, she detected the scent of salt.

  “We must be getting close, Mr. Wylde.”

  His hand gave hers a slight squeeze. “We are nearly there.”

  Angela’s heart leaped as she began to hope they would make their escape—but then what? Once the tunnel opened onto the beach, where would they go? Even if they managed to conceal themselves behind a boulder or niche in the cloak of night, their pursuer carried a lamp.

  An eerie explosion at their backs was followed by a pinging sound. Something grazed Angela’s cheek and she felt a stinging pain. She bit back a cry.

  “He has a firearm.” Mr. Wylde grabbed her by the arms. “Are you hit?”

  “A scratch, nothing more.”

  Mr. Wylde pressed himself against the side of the tunnel and pushed her ahead of him. “Run as fast as you can without falling. When you make it outside, find a place to conceal yourself.”

  “But what about you?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. Now go, before he has a chance to reload.”

  Angela bent as low as possible as she darted forward toward the glimmer of moonlight ahead, praying that they would both get clear of the tunnel before their predator’s next bullet found its mark.

  Bethany blotted her pen and sat back with a frown. Perhaps she’d overreacted after Nick’s visit, but what on earth had possessed him to pay her a call? Furthermore, why had he invited her and Will to go riding? Perhaps he meant to renew his addresses. If so, he might as well get used to disappointme
nt. Just because his last amour threw him over didn’t mean Bethany wished to forgive him for his defection.

  She bit her lip as she considered what Will had said about her mesmerizing bustle. Had she really moved to the window in order to draw Nick’s attention to her feminine charms? Well if she had, she could be forgiven for having done so. He ought to feel the full effects of abandoning his courtship of her just when she thought she might possibly be falling in love. And yet…had she really ever been in love with him? It was hard to know for certain. She had felt nothing for Nick when compared to the way Angela Ware felt about Garrison Wylde. Then again, Wylde Eyes was fiction and this was real life.

  When her maid came into her room to dress her for dinner, Bethany put away her writing things and began to think about the evening ahead. She must devise a way to apologize to Will for her fit of temper earlier—before he decided to punish her in some devilish way.

  Minerva held up two gowns. “Would either of these suit you tonight, Miss Christensen?”

  Bethany shook her head. “I want to wear something with a fetching bustle.”

  Her maid smiled. “I know just the one.”

  ∞∞∞

  As he waited in the drawing room before dinner, Will had the nursery rhyme book open across his knees. “‘What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice, and all that’s nice; and that’s what little girls are—’” he broke off, slack-jawed, when Miss Christensen entered the room.

  She’d donned an ice-blue gown with an overskirt that draped around back with a huge satin bow. Although the neckline was not low, the darts in the bodice made the most of her dazzling figure.

  Miss Christensen laughed when she saw his expression. “Has the cat got your tongue, Mr. Winter?”

  He cleared his throat. “Is it safe to speak or will you wrap a poker around my ear?”

  She hung her head. “You are right to be vexed with me and I apologize.”

  Will studied her a moment. “Tell me about Mr. Masters.”