He gaped at her. “Wait a moment…you dressed me up and had me improve myself in the expectation that I would despoil your enemy?”
Miss Christensen lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t have put it that way.”
“But that’s what you meant.” Will gave her a level glance as he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“You needn’t think of yourself as any better than I am in that regard. All you care about is fulfilling the terms of your inheritance and claiming your half of the estate. Mr. Ingalls and I were both present when you said so.” She folded her arms as well and turned her head until she was staring fixedly out the window.
“That was before I knew you, Miss Christensen.”
His ward had tried and convicted him of gross behavior, choosing to give credence to Magenta’s actions over his character. Her intent had been to push him toward a devious flirt, as if he were some mindless lout governed only by his baser tendencies. For some time now, he’d begun to hope that she’d gained a measure of respect for him and his artistic ability. Given recent events, however, he realized his hopes were futile. Indeed, her performance tonight had been meant—wittingly or not—to put him on notice. Miss Bethany Christensen was too far above him to ever consider him a worthy suitor. To her, he was merely the means to an end.
Once Will had escorted Miss Christensen into the entryway at Summerland, he bade her a cool “Good evening.” In response, she hastened up the stairs as if pursued by the devil himself. Will sighed before handing his hat and evening cape to Richmond.
“Tell Mr. Pace I won’t be needing him any more tonight.”
Will strode into the library and shut the door behind him. His friend Charlie had been right to say he would never be accepted as part of society. Miss Christensen’s scheme had been ample proof of that. He crossed over to the bar cart, poured himself a glass of something amber, and drank it down before he could change his mind. His body shuddered as a result and his stomach lit on fire, but it took the edge off his complete and utter frustration. He refilled his glass and brought it over to his new drafting table.
After getting rid of his jacket and anything that constricted his movement, he tossed back another mouthful of spirits and sat down to work on some illustrations based on the soiree that evening. Now that he could read a little, knew more about manners and dress, and had acquired a veneer of civility, he intended to finish his portfolio and look for work as an artist. Once he had moved into lodgings of his own and was busy doing something that he enjoyed, perhaps he could finally forget about the sophisticated, beautiful woman who would never love him.
∞∞∞
Bethany’s quarrel with Will and the frosty manner in which he’d wished her a good night kept her on a knife’s edge of anxiety until long past midnight. Finally, she gave up her attempts to sleep and just stared at the ceiling instead. Perhaps she should have taken Will at his word as far as Magenta was concerned, but the image of them kissing had driven her to distraction. “Try harder next time to hold on to what’s yours,” Magenta had smirked. If the woman had made a concerted effort to come between her and Nick, she might very well have tried to do the same with Will. He could, indeed, have been without fault tonight.
She left her bed and paced in the dark, wishing she could have handled things differently. Will’s reaction to her accusation had not been one of guilt, but of pique. Why hadn’t she calmly discussed Magenta’s motivations with him rather than jump to conclusions? Punishing him for Magenta’s misbehavior had laid her jealousy bare and she was thoroughly ashamed of herself.
Worse than the consequences of her jealousy, however, was Will’s disappointment in her. He had been quite right to disdain her clumsy attempt to use him against Magenta. In fact, she couldn’t blame him for being furious with her for treating him like some sort of pawn. He may have inherited Lansings Lodge in an equal share to her, but as Mr. Leopold’s son he had been morally entitled to all of it. How dare she set herself up as his superior merely because she had been raised in a genteel fashion and he had not? As shame washed over her for the umpteenth time, Bethany groaned and covered her face with her hands.
“What have I done?”
Feeling as she did, sleep was impossible. She lit a candle, pulled on a wrapper, and descended the stairs. The servants had long since retired for the evening, and the house was deadly silent. She intended to go into the library, drink a brandy, and select something to read for an hour or two. Dante’s Inferno might suit her mood.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she noticed illumination seeping underneath the closed mahogany door. Had Richmond forgotten to turn the lights out? Bewildered, she twisted the handle and opened the door. When she discovered Will slumped over his drafting table, her eyes widened in fright.
Chapter Fourteen
Gray to Black
Will forced his legs to keep moving, even though his muscles were leaden and his lungs screamed for air. When the tiny railway station came into view, he almost wanted to burst into tears. He’d never made it this far before and his escape was so close he could taste it. Off to one side, the northbound train was passing by on the tracks adjacent to the dirt road. Will waved, even though he didn’t think any of the passengers could see him. Soon, he would be on the train to London and on his way to a life free of pain.
He was so focused on freedom that he didn’t hear the wagon coming up behind him until it was too late. Once he realized his father had overtaken him again, his heart sank and he fell to his knees. Moments later, the sting of a bullwhip wrenched a scream from his throat. After the third scream, however, he struggled to his feet and turned to face his attacker. When the long leather whip descended once more, Will leaped forward to grasp the thong and yanked with all his strength. His father let go, but not before tumbling off the wagon and onto the shoulder of the road.
Will straddled the man and rained down blow after blow. Despite that, his punches seemed to leave no marks whatsoever. Worse, his father began to laugh—a mocking sound that lanced Will to his core.
“Is that the best you can do, lad? You’ll never amount to anything.”
Perspiration poured down Will’s face as he stepped away. “You’re wrong. It’s you who will never amount to anything and you know it. You have no power over me any longer.”
He coiled up the bullwhip, hurled it onto the now-empty train tracks, and strode toward the railway station. As he stepped toward the ticket window, he heard Miss Christensen’s voice.
“Mr. Winter…Will! Are you all right?”
∞∞∞
Will’s groans tore at Bethany’s heart. She blew out her candle and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Please wake up, Mr. Winter. You’re having a bad dream.”
He stirred and then lifted his head. “Miss Christensen?” As his eyes focused on her, he frowned. “What are you doing in the railway station?” His gaze dropped to her dishabille. “What the devil?” He lurched to his feet.
Bethany stepped back and tightened the white silk wrapper around her body. “We’re in the library, not the railway station. You were having a nightmare.”
He rubbed his reddened eyes. “So I was.”
Bethany averted her gaze at the illustrations laid out at the top of the drafting table. Various scenes from the musical soiree had been drawn in exquisite detail, including one of her at the piano.
“You’ve been illustrating the party tonight—quite beautifully, I might add.”
“I wanted to add to my portfolio. I must have fallen asleep.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s after two o’clock.”
Will had rolled up his sleeves and when he covered a yawn with his hands, the fine hair on his muscular forearms glistened in the light from the chandelier overhead. She spotted a cut glass tumbler on the table, traces of amber liquid still visible at the bottom.
“I thought you said you never drink.” She frowned. “I hope it wasn’t because of our quarrel that y
ou broke your vow.”
“I’ve made no vow. I choose not to drink because it reminds me of the times my father—Edgar, I should say—got drunk and beat me for the pleasure of it.” Will drew in a deep breath. “I’m not Edgar and I would never blame anyone else for drinking except me.”
“No, you’re not him.” She bit her lip. “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t drink alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.” Will picked up his glass as if he were about to propose a toast. “I had my demons with me the entire while.” He drained the remaining fluid. “You’d best run along, Miss Christensen…unless you’d care to join me in a drink.”
“Actually, I came down for some brandy.”
His expression was impossible to read. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
As Will passed by on his way to the bar cart, his eyes caressed her from head to toe, lingering in an admiring fashion that was decidedly ungentlemanly. Bethany lifted her chin and gave him a challenging stare. She intended to apologize to him and she would not let him intimidate her into scampering off like a schoolgirl.
He splashed brandy into two snifters and gave one to her. As she took the snifter from his hand, their fingers touched, sending tingles up her arm.
Will sipped his brandy and frowned. “Not bad.”
“Jane might not care for brandy, but I’ve always found the aroma soothing and the taste pleasant.”
She raised the snifter to her lips and let the distilled wine linger on her tongue before swallowing. The spirits warmed her throat and sent a delicate shiver through her body.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You really shouldn’t be here, Miss Christensen. It’s very late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Bethany cleared her throat. “I feel terrible about our quarrel and I want to apologize.”
When Will turned toward her, his lips curved in a mocking smile. “Do you apologize for believing I’d forced my attentions on Miss Urban or merely for being upset about it?”
“Both. Neither.” She shook her head. “Once you’d denied anything untoward happened, I should have taken you at your word.”
“We agree on that much at least.” He sipped his brandy. “I may be baseborn, but I’m not a liar. Furthermore, I intend to make something of myself as an artist. Perhaps then I will have earned your respect.”
“I believe in you, Mr. Winter.” Bethany set the snifter down on the bar cart. “In fact, I’ve had an idea about your illustrations.”
“I’m listening.”
“The man who writes the society column at the Times was at the soiree, covering the event for the newspaper. If we take your work to him in the morning, he might be willing to publish one with his column.”
“Do you really think so?” Will’s eyebrows lifted. “That would be brilliant.”
“I can’t promise anything, obviously.”
“I understand, but it’s worth a try.”
Their gazes locked. When he took a step toward her, the breath caught in her throat. He reached out to caress a lock of her hair.
“Bethany.” His voice was a whisper.
She raised her hand to his. “I like it when you call me that.”
A muscle worked in his jaw before his hand dropped to his side. “Go to bed, Bethany.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Please.”
She nodded, even as an odd sense of disappointment ensued. “Until tomorrow, then.” She turned.
“Wait.” He retrieved a box of matches from the fireplace mantle, lit her candle, and pressed it into her hands. “You ought not be traipsing around the house in the dark—particularly not dressed like that. You’ll catch your death of cold.”
Bethany looked at him askance. “In the summer?”
A flicker of mischief crossed his face. “You never can be too careful.”
Her smile faded. “I’m beginning to believe that’s not true.”
As she left the library, she heard his soft reply. “So am I.”
∞∞∞
As Bethany joined Will and Jane for breakfast the following morning, her eyes felt slightly sore and grainy from lack of sleep. Even so, when her gaze met Will’s, her heart seemed to leap in her chest.
“Good morning.” She moved toward the buffet to help herself from the array of dishes on display.
“Good morning…Bethany.” Will gave her a crooked smile.
Jane twisted around in her chair with a scowl. “Why didn’t you wake me up last night when you came in?”
Bethany spooned eggs onto a plate. “I did look in on you, but you were fast asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
“I wish you had. I wanted to hear about the soiree.”
“If you want to know what the soiree was like, you should see the gorgeous illustrations Mr. Winter drew last night. Perhaps he’ll show you before we take them to the newspaper.”
“It’s not the same thing.” Jane paused. “What’s this about the newspaper?”
Will shrugged. “Your sister thinks the Times might be interested in publishing one of my illustrations.”
“If they have any sense, they will.” Jane focused on her food once more. “Did you play well, Bethany?”
“She played like an angel.” Will’s expression was soft. “People wept.”
“You’re joking.” Jane gave him a dubious glance. “They wept at “La Campanella?””
“I didn’t play that after all.” Bethany made an effort to keep any trace of rancor from her reply. “Since Magenta played “La Campanella” first, I was obliged to play “Sonate au Clair de Lune” instead.”
She chose a few slices of crisp bacon and a breakfast cake and sat down.
Jane wrinkled her nose. “I prefer “Sonate au Clair de Lune,” actually, but how on earth did Magenta select the same piece you had practiced?”
Bethany shrugged. “The only person who knew what I was to play was Nick.”
Jane mouth formed an ‘o.’ “Do you think he told her?”
“I don’t want to leap to conclusions, so I’ll just say it struck me as odd.”
Will frowned. “What would motivate Masters to undermine you in that fashion, particularly when it would have been to Miss Urban’s benefit?”
“I cannot say. Since she threw Nick over last year, he has every reason to dislike her.”
“Love is strange.” Jane stabbed a sliced peach and popped the fruit in her mouth.
Will chuckled. “Love isn’t bad. It’s people who are strange.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” Bethany sorted through the morning post and handed an envelope to her sister. “You’ve had a letter from Liza.”
“How wonderful!” Jane beamed as she slit the envelope open. “It’s taken her forever to reply to my letter.”
“Perhaps she’s been busy.” Bethany returned to looking through the post.
“More invitations?” Will gave the envelopes a pointed glance. “You are indeed a great favorite.”
Bethany smiled. “Some of these envelopes are addressed to both of us. How am I to know you aren’t the real prize between the two of us?”
Jane frowned. “Humph!”
Bethany glanced over. “What is it?”
Her sister’s lower lip protruded. “Liza says I’m not to write her any longer. Her father forbids it.” Her eyes shone with tears. “What did I do?”
“It’s because of me.” Will gave Jane an apologetic glance. “The vicar disapproves of my presence in the household. He believes it to be immoral.”
Jane’s lips trembled. “That isn’t fair. I hate Mr. Southerly!”
“The vicar is just trying to protect us from gossip. You ought not hate him,” Bethany murmured.
Will cleared his throat. “The situation might very soon be resolved, Jane. I’m going to look for a loft here in town, where I can live and work. Once I’m living elsewhere, Mr. Southerly will relent and allow you and Liza to correspond.”
Jane jumped to her feet. “I don’t want you to go!”
Tea
rs ran down her face as she fled the room. Will and Bethany stood at the same time.
“I didn’t mean to upset Jane.” He frowned. “Would it help if I speak to her?”
Bethany sighed. “I’ll do it.” She folded her napkin by her plate and followed her sister.
∞∞∞
After Will’s conversation with Miss Christensen the night before, he’d had a glimmer of hope. At present, however, he felt almost like a juggler who had accidentally dropped his balls through a grate in the street. Whichever path he chose, it seemed someone would be unhappy.
A commotion in the entryway drew his attention. Before he could investigate, Richmond appeared—uncharacteristically flustered.
“Mr. Gray Urban is demanding to see you, Mr. Winter.”
Will’s lips parted. “Isn’t it too early for a visit?”
“It isn’t a social call, I’m afraid. The gentleman indicated his business is a matter of some urgency.” Richmond frowned. “He appears to be upset.”
“Of course he is.” Will sighed. “Show him into the library.”
After the butler disappeared, Will straightened his necktie, tugged his cuffs into place, and prepared to do battle. Mr. Urban’s presence could not be good news, and Will presumed Magenta had been telling him lies.
He made his way to the library, where a man was pacing. The fellow was far too young to be Magenta’s father, so was this her elder brother or perhaps an uncle?
“Good morning, Mr. Urban. I’m Willoughby Winter.”
The man gave him a steely glance. “Do you know why I’m here, Mr. Winter?”
“I have no idea, sir. We’ve never been introduced.”
“You’ve met my sister, Magenta Urban.” Mr. Urban cleared his throat. “She returned home from the musical soiree last night, in tears. She said you attempted to take liberties with her.”
Had the fellow’s demeanor not been so serious, Will would have laughed. How was he to extricate himself from the situation without speaking ill of Magenta?
“Mr. Urban, I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I’m sure the fault is all mine.”
My Fair Guardian Page 16