Winter rocked back in shock. “Fustian! How is that possible?”
Lord Alistair appeared to enjoy the effect his pronouncement had on her. Straightening, he took a menacing step toward her, deliberately, she sensed, to overpower her with his height. “You heard correctly. I want to see the girl, and I want to see her straightaway.”
Instantly, Winter’s astonishment turned to anger aimed both at her father and at this arrogant stranger trying to intimidate her. “No! How could he?” she blurted, clenching and unclenching her hands. “I’ve run this estate for almost two years. I do not require some meddlesome lord taking over.”
Her tone bitter, she added, “What do you plan to do, lock Lady Renton away somewhere? Let her rot?”
Surprise flashed across Lord Alistair’s expression. “No, I have no intention of removing the girl from her home. I do intend to ensure she and the estate are properly looked after.”
After hesitating, he said, “If you fear for your job, mayhap we can work out some arrangement.”
His piercing stare faded when Winter bit her lips to suppress her bubble of laughter. A puzzled frown crossed his lean features. “Does my boldness so amuse you then?”
Winter’s anger faded into a choked laugh at the man’s bold assessment. Actually, having never seen herself as a desirable woman, the situation struck her as funny. If only the arrogant lord realized. She tried to swallow the giggles. The odious man deserved her sharpest set-down.
But the confusion and pique on Lord Alistair’s face was too much and a giggle escaped before she could recall it. “M’lord—” she forced herself to swallow another giggle “—I think we had better talk.”
She nodded toward the door. “Please, I will meet you in the east parlour, down the hall to your left.”
Lord Alistair hesitated. “And the girl?”
Another giggle escaped. “I, ah, promise you, you will meet Lady Renton.”
* * *
Dismissed, Lord Alistair strode out of the room, his face flushing as the girl’s laughter followed him down the dark-paneled hallway to the parlour. There he paced the room, waiting for the insolent young woman to bring Lord Renton’s daughter to him. He wished himself anywhere but here.
For certain, the petite young woman with the long silky hair would need to learn how to deal with her betters if she planned on staying. Strangely, for all her insolence, he very much wished her to stay. He reviewed his own behavior with discomfort and found it wanting. Unlike most of his contemporaries, he prided himself in not seeking to seduce the vulnerable young women in the employ of the houses in which he was often a guest.
Annoyed as much with himself as with the young woman, Lord Alistair sat near the wide windows in a large graceful rose silk-covered arm chair. He noticed the matching chair opposite appeared somewhat higher than his own and wondered.
A fire in the grate of the huge black marble fireplace warmed the room, which held a chill in the early spring afternoon. Over the mantel hung a gilded framed Piranese.
Lord Alistair turned away. He much preferred the rich depth of Rembrandt.
“What’s keeping the girl?” His brows dipped with irritation. A man used to commanding and intimidating others, Lord Alistair found himself waiting on a slip of a girl, a girl who laughed in his face. Then again, she did have to fetch Renton’s daughter.
Sitting up, Lord Alistair began to wonder just how badly the girl was disabled.
Was she being taken advantage of by the young woman? Why had he not asked more questions of Lord Renton? Lord Alistair ran his hand through his hair, revealing his impatience and frustration. He stopped, a rueful grin on his face. His valet continually scolded him for a habit that destroyed the styling of his hair. Still, his thoughts disturbed him.
Not only did he not know the girl’s condition, but he also did not even know her name or age.
“Why did I get myself into this?”
Chapter 2
Winter’s giggles faded in her returning anger. Hands on her hips, she declared to no one in particular, “How dare the man think he can walk into my life after four months and take over.”
With a jerk, she pulled the bell cord to summon Duncan.
“M’lady?”
“Please bring tea into the east parlour for his lordship and myself.”
The aging butler touched his forehead respectfully. “As you wish, my lady.” Winter saw the question in his eyes, but only nodded to him as he left to do her bidding.
A short while later he returned, pushing a narrow tea cart. He made no comment as Winter fell in behind him.
As she hoped, with his gaze on the butler, Lord Alistair missed her limping into the room in the butler’s shadow.
As Duncan set up the tea service, Winter slipped into the chair opposite her unwanted visitor. Only when the manservant spoke did Lord Alistair notice her already sitting composed and assured in the other chair.
“Miss, do you wish to serve?” Duncan often lapsed in the more informal “miss.” Winter merely smiled.
“Thank you, no. Please pour, Duncan.” Picking up the delicate willow-patterned Bow china teapot with surprisingly gentle hands, the old manservant poured into the tiny china cups. Hot scones and fair-sized sandwiches filled an oblong china plate that Duncan offered Lord Alistair after handing round the tea.
“Don’t be shy, m’lord, I am sure you are hungry after your long ride—from London I presume.”
As the manservant quietly left the room, Lord Alistair met Winter’s gaze with a frown. “Well, where is Lord Renton’s daughter?” His frown deepened. “I am tired of your games, miss.” He hesitated. How had the butler addressed her?
Amusement danced in Winter’s eyes as she pushed up her sleeve and gracefully leaned forward to pick up her cup. Cradling the delicately painted teacup in her palm, Winter leaned back to take in the stunned look on Lord Alistair’s face.
“I am Winter Joy Renton.”
With satisfaction, she watched the dull red creep up his cheeks. Her large eyes challenged him. He met her challenge with a sheepish grin. “My most humble apologies, Lady Renton. I thought... Fustian, how was I to know?”
Winter felt the flush blossoming in her own cheeks. “I’ve never been considered in that light before.”
“I truly am sorry, Lady Renton. I don’t usually... Not innocent misses,” he stammered, and Winter sensed he condemned himself.
He winced. “I don’t consider myself in their number. You are lovely, you know. I meant that. But I had no right to make insinuations, and I beg your forgiveness.”
Glancing up, she said, “You are forgiven, for that. However, this fustian about being my guardian.” Her voice hardened. “Lord Alistair, I am not some simpering miss just out of the schoolroom, and I am fully capable of handling my own affairs.”
“Your father did not trust your neighbors. He feared they would pressure you into one or another undesirable arrangement. From your first challenge when I arrived—” he smiled at her before continuing “—I believe you have been pressured.”
Winter pushed back hair that fell over her shoulder. “How could father make such arrangements without even telling me?”
From his knowing expression, she knew he heard the plea in her voice. “Your father cared about you, Winter.”
“Why you, of all people?” Winter asked. “Father strictly followed the teachings of Wesley, and you...” She shrugged.
“I am honest, whatever else I may be.” Winter watched fire flash in Lord Alistair’s eyes at her judgment and wondered. “When I was still in leading strings, Mother was converted in a Wesley revival. If that means anything to you.”
“I understand she and my mother were bosom bows.” Winter sipped her tea.
“Yes, and your father was sensible enough to know I w
ould have no designs on either his estate or his daughter.” Lord Alistair set his cup down on the table next to the chair.
Winter colored. “No one else does, either. The Viscount Derik merely wishes to merge property and bloodlines.” She shrugged and turned away, but not, she realized, before Lord Alistair saw the pain reflected in her eyes.
She grimaced. “Anthony acts as though he does me a favor by accepting me as his wife.”
Lord Alistair sucked in a deep breath. “His offer came as a shock then?”
Winter closed her eyes a moment before answering. “Anthony has never been overly concerned with my sensibilities.”
“This might be the best offer of marriage you may ever receive, Winter.”
Winter glared at him. “You, too!” She set her cup down with a crash that almost shattered the delicate china. “I shall not marry anyone unless I love him with all my heart.” Her voice rose. “I don’t expect you to understand, but even if I never marry, I will not settle for anything less. Whatever Anthony has in mind, I do not love him that way.”
“You are fortunate to have the choice, Winter. Most young women do not.”
“I suppose now that you are my guardian you shall try to force me into some marriage of convenience to get me off your hands.”
Lord Alistair glanced away. “I...” Winter’s eyes flashed fire, drawing a refrain from Lord Alistair. “‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright...’”
The words startled Winter. “You are familiar with Songs of Experience by Blake?”
“Indeed. One of my favorites.” He smiled. “Your eyes are tiger’s eyes when you become angry.”
“I’m impressed.” Maybe he wasn’t such a coxcomb after all.
“I do read,” he commented dryly.
“As for forcing me up the altar...” Winter’s gaze narrowed.
“Let’s leave all that for later, shall we? Right now, I’d like to look over your books.”
Stifling her retort, Winter shrugged. “I suppose I have little choice.”
Slowly, gracefully, she got to her feet. As Lord Alistair followed her, she felt his gaze on her bad leg. Tensing, Winter glanced up. “Are you coming?”
In the study, she motioned toward the sturdy desk chair and stepped back to let her new guardian sit down.
“The books are in here.” She struggled to haul out a heavy ledger only to have Lord Alistair cover her hand with his own.
“Here, permit me.”
His sensitivity to her stirred Winter strangely. “Thank you, Lord Alistair.”
Lord Alistair stared straight into her eyes. “Justin, if you please.”
“But as my guardian, Lord Alistair.”
He traced her soft trembling lips with his gaze. “Justin. I am not some dotty old man.”
At his coaxing smile, she relaxed. He was, after all, her guardian—however undesired. “As you wish, Justin.”
“That wasn’t so difficult was it?” He turned toward the book open in front of him, quickly scanning the clear, legible writing on page after page. Notes on each page detailed each entry. “I’m impressed,” he said, not realizing Winter had already quietly slipped away.
* * *
In her room, she tore at the lacings of her gown. “Mrs. Duncan, quick. Help me into my riding habit.”
The gray-haired woman brought Winter her black wool habit. “My Duncan says your father made Lord Alistair your guardian. Is it true?”
“Unfortunately so, Mrs. Duncan. Why didn’t father tell me?” Winter asked as the old family retainer helped her into her riding skirt.
She was once again the lost young girl who, after losing her mother and her own health, turned for comfort to the matronly servant.
“I don’t know, my lady, but I do know your father cared about you very much.”
How could she explain to the loyal Mrs. Duncan when she did not herself understand her feelings, her sense of betrayal?
“He’s going over the books.” She smiled at the woman’s cry of indignation.
“Whatever are ya letting ’im do that for?” Mrs. Duncan set her hands firmly on her ample hips.
Giving the protective woman a hug, Winter just shook her head. “I had no choice, Mrs. Duncan, but thank you for your confidence.
* * *
Winter was unaware of her beloved servants’ concern for her, feeling only the pain in her own heart as the groom lifted her onto the sidesaddle.
Combing her fingers through the horse’s soft mane, Winter glanced down at Mutton-head, who leaped up and down in excitement.
Gathering the reins, she urged the prime animal into an easy canter. Beside them, Mutton-head barked and zipped forward on four stubby legs.
The breeze whipped Winter’s pale face. Her spirits needed purging and only a gallop would do. As though of his own volition, Jupiter turned up the forest path to the top of Renton Hill. Winter brought the gelding to a halt at the crest of the hill. From this vantage point she surveyed the whole of her domain. The farms and fields stretched out below her.
She had been so proud of her ability to manage the estate. Her father often complimented her. True, the work exhausted her meager strength, but it was hers. Her father loved her, she knew that. Then why, why? Why had he taken it all away from her by placing her in the care of a guardian?
She considered Lord Derik’s proposal then dismissed it. Something about his proposal did not feel right. Besides, she could not imagine walking through life with a man for whom she held less than warm feelings. Then there was Lord Alistair. Lord Alistair was not the monster she first pictured, but what did he care about her wishes?
“Why, God?” she cried, flinging her head upward.
Staring straight ahead, Winter let the tears gather in her eyes and spill unheeded down her cheeks.
* * *
Closing the last ledger with a snap, Lord Alistair opened the drawer and dropped the heavy stack inside. Stretching, he got to his feet and swung about with an apologetic smile.
“Winter?” Frowning he growled. “Where did she go off to now?”
He tugged the bell cord with an impatient hand to summon the butler. “My lord. What can I do for you?”
“I wish to speak with Lady Renton.”
“She’s not here, my lord. She left sometime past.”
Lord Alistair’s frown deepened. “Left. Where did she go?”
“Lady Winter rode off on that horse of hers,” the retainer answered. “The way she was ridin’ only one place she be headin’—Renton Hill.”
Annoyed, Lord Alistair curtly asked for directions. A few minutes later, he swung onto his Arabian-blooded roan stallion and cantered after his ward.
The girl would need to bow to his guardianship whether or not she desired his interference in her affairs. If only he could make her understand her father wished only for her protection.
Before he knew it, he emerged from the tree line on the crest of the hill. Winter’s still figure stood silhouetted against the late afternoon sky. Pulling up, Lord Alistair studied the unmoving figure.
In her black riding habit, on her gray horse and with her silvery hair flowing softly around her, Winter made a lovely picture. Quietly, Lord Alistair urged the roan to her side.
Though Winter seemed completely unaware of him, a small mutt yipped at him sharply. Piqued at Winter’s lack of acknowledgment, he leaned over and peered into her small oval face.
Only then did he witness her tears. They moved him as no other woman’s tears ever had. Mayhap, he decided, it was because they were not accompanied by loud sobs, manipulative gestures or words. Winter’s tears seemed torn from the depths of her being.
“Your books are in good order,” he said. “Obviously you know what you’re about.” He paused.
Slowl
y Winter moved her head and stared over at him, her lashes still wet with tears. The lost sadness in her eyes made Lord Alistair want to reach over and comfort her. Yet he kept his hands on the reins of his restless animal. Winter might take his gesture of assurance amiss and he did not want that, not after his less-then-gentlemanly insinuation when they first met.
“You really think I am a good manager?” She tangled her fingers in her horse’s mane.
“I see no reason to change how you are handling things here.”
“No manager?”
“No, no manager, at least for now.”
“No nurse?”
Lord Alistair chuckled. “Certainly no nurse. I see no reason to throw money away.”
“I thought you’d take it all away.” Her quiet tone made her words all that more telling.
“It still belongs to you, Winter. My purpose is not to take your rights away, but to protect those rights.” He cleared his throat. Winter’s gaze did something strange to his insides.
As though a burden fell off her shoulders, Winter straightened. Taking a cambric square from her pocket, she wiped her eyes.
Lord Alistair cautioned, “I will, however, check in with you from time to time. After all, you are my responsibility until you marry.”
He watched fear flash in her eyes. “You won’t force me to marry?”
He hastened to reassure her. He paused as he patted the shoulder of his horse. “No. I only wish other women held such noble ideals.” He thought of Amelia, the woman who’d taken his heart, caused a scandal and then married a peer with deeper pockets, leaving him cynical and bitter. “Keep those ideals, Winter.”
She shot him a grin that all but stopped his heart. “Then you may be responsible for me for a very long time.”
Lord Alistair grinned back. “I’ll take my chances.”
Suddenly Winter laughed, not the artificial laughter Lord Alistair so often heard in the genteel parlours of London, but the laugh of pure, unadulterated joy.
“Lord,” he heard her soft whisper, “he’s not going take everything from me. Thank You.” Gratitude sparkled in her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Alistair...Justin.”
A Proper Guardian Page 2