His gentleness brought tears to her eyes, and she sniffed to keep from crying. Her anger faded. Why did he have to show up when she looked so dreadful?
She allowed him to lead her to the settee, where he sat down next to her. “Is everything all right? You look tired.”
“I am.” Winter closed her eyes to hide the tears sparkling in them. Before she considered, Winter poured out her frustrations. Suddenly, she halted midsentence. Lord Alistair would think her a peagoose for prosing on.
Worse, her eyes widened, he’d think she was incompetent to handle her affairs. “Pardon. I’m tired, and not myself this morning. It’s just one of those days.” She tried to smile. “God is so good to me, and I shouldn’t complain. M’lord, it’s just...”
“What is this ‘m’lord’ balderdash? Didn’t you agree to call me Justin?”
“I am sorry, Justin.” She lowered long lashes over shimmering eyes. “I am glad you came.”
“Hmm. Why is that?” He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“You’re the only one who doesn’t make demands of me,” Winter told him.
Alistair cleared his throat. “Winter, I...”
She glanced up sharply. “What is it?” Her ire rose, along with her tone. “Planning on interfering with how I run my estate? Or is there some nurse in the offing?”
“Of course not!” He touched her cheek. “But you are overtired. Obviously running the estate alone has taken its toll.”
“I’ve thought of getting a steward, but where do I look?”
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
Winter looked away. Putting his hand under her chin, he forced her to face him. “You are too stubborn for your own good, Winter. Now you are run-down. There is only one thing to do.”
“What’s that?” she whispered.
“Come back to London with me.”
“Fustian! Have you bats in the cockloft? I’m still in mourning.” She felt quarrelsome.
Alistair eyed her jutting chin. “Mayhap we could speak of this further after luncheon. You did say you wished to bathe and change.”
“Did Duncan mention luncheon or did you invite yourself?”
At his silence, Winter momentarily closed her eyes. When she opened them, regret shimmered in their depths. “I’m sorry. Of course you must stay.”
A smile played at the corners of his lips. “Since I am your guardian, Duncan assumed I would be asked to dine with you.”
At his gentle reproof, Winter flushed. “He’s right. You’re right.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Let’s talk then, after luncheon.”
Slowly Winter shook her head. “No, I’d rather discuss it now. Not that there is much to say. I may accept a manager, but I am not going to London.”
“I plan on presenting you into London society.” Alistair couldn’t miss the obstinate light dawning in Winter’s eyes.
“You what? I know you suggested this on your previous visit, but this is outside of... I’m no simpering society miss.”
“Exactly so,” Alistair agreed.
She spoke scathingly. “I am certainly not interested in being paraded in London’s ‘marriage mart.’”
Alistair’s silence fueled her frustrated anger. “Look at me, Justin. Look at me. No London beau would be interested in me. I have no desire to be part of the wasteful extravagance of society, wear positively indecent gowns or have my hair done up in some impossible coiffure. Then there is the behavior of the gentlemen themselves.” Recalling her guardian’s own scandal, she lowered her eyes.
Alistair’s voice was low with annoyance. “You are speaking of men like myself, mayhap?”
Color rushed to her cheeks, and Winter kept her lashes lowered. “Yes, I suppose. Like you. I’ve heard about your...”
“Affair.” Alistair threw up his hands. “Who hasn’t?” He told her cynically, “It was the favored tittle-tattle of London, of all England, I suppose. Oh, and how the rumors grew with the telling. I suppose you think me a dreadful rake?”
Winter nodded with reluctance. Silence stretched between them. When Winter finally looked at him, her misery seemed to ease the tension of his expression. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you or bring to mind what causes you such pain.”
“It’s all right, Winter.”
“Father did not approve of the Carlton House set, and I don’t think—aside from the fact I am still in mourning—he would approve of me going to London....” Again she saw her mistake too late.
“With me,” he finished. “Look, Winter. I don’t consider myself one of Prinny’s dissolute cronies. Further, I do not consider myself a rake, despite the things you’ve heard to the contrary.” He forced her to face him. “Are you afraid of me? Do you believe I would do anything to dishonor you?”
Winter shook her head. “No, I am not afraid of you, Justin.”
“Since your father placed you in my care, do you believe he intended for you to obey me as you did him?”
Her grin was sheepish. “I wasn’t always very good at that, either. At least until the accident. I suppose he would.”
“Then I am asking you to come to London. As your guardian, I think it is time you stop rusticating and get the bronze of a town season. The season is already under way and I want you to be part of it.”
“But I am in mourning.”
“Who’s to know whether your father died five months ago or a year ago, unless we tell them? Your father hadn’t ventured out of the country for years. I imagine few even took notice of his death, and fewer yet the date.”
“The estate?” She grasped at any reason to stay, safe and secure in the country.
“Now don’t fly up in the bough, but I’ve already asked Jonas to check things out. He’s a good, honest, hardworking man. Since before my father’s death, he has been working with my own comptroller and has some understanding of the situation.”
“I haven’t proper clothes. As for transparent gowns, forget them.” She tugged the hair streaming in a tangled mass over her shoulders. “I refuse to cut my hair. So, see, I can’t do as you ask. I’d embarrass you dreadfully.”
Alistair chuckled. “Don’t you realize that the gown you wore that first time I saw you was not much different from the latest London rage? You can dress with style and elegance without being indecent, Winter.”
“But...”
“As soon as we get to London, you’ll be fitted with a suitable wardrobe.” He surveyed her trim, maturing figure. “Any modiste from Bond Street would be delighted to have you as her customer.”
Winter willed herself not to flush, but failed. Why was Alistair so able to bring the color to her cheeks?
“My traveling coach awaits us outside. I assure you, Winter, you will be most comfortable at Alistair House on Berkeley Square.”
“Alone with you?”
Anger darkened his eyes. “Can you not credit me with at least a particle of sense? That would put the kiss of death on your presentation.”
He continued, “Before I left London I sent word to my aunt, the Dowager Duchess Ramsdale, my father’s sister. She should arrive even before we do. If I know her, she’ll be delighted with the opportunity to present a lovely young woman to the ton. Trust me, if she accepts you, so will the haute ton.”
Winter glanced from her trembling hands to her guardian’s stern face. “There is no choice involved, is there?”
“No, there isn’t. I have decided it is best for you, but I had hoped you would not fight me on this. Doesn’t the thought of a season please you in the least?”
Winter rubbed her aching forehead. She felt tired, too tired to fight Alistair any longer.
“I am afraid.” The truth tumbled from her tired lips before she could pull the words back.
Th
e surprise mirrored on Alistair’s expression showed how much her honesty caught him off guard. “Afraid, of me?”
“No, of, of...”
“Of ridicule,” prompted Alistair, understanding dawning in his eyes.
She nodded. Alistair took her trembling hand in his. “I am a man of consequence, Winter. They will not say aught when I am with you, and I promise to be your escort for as long as you need me. And, of course, my aunt is beyond reproach.”
Her hand felt secure in his. Her trembling eased. “If I must go, I will be most grateful for your protection, and hers.”
He grinned. “Then it is settled. Have Mrs. Duncan pack only a few necessities. We can leave directly after we eat.”
“Could I ride Jupiter one last time?”
“Mayhap, if there is time before luncheon, but aren’t you tired?”
She smiled. “A relaxing ride is just the thing.”
“Without my roan I can’t ask a rematch, but I do claim the privilege of riding with you.”
“I’d like that, but I must tell you Jupiter is the best horse in the stable.” Her voice grew sad. “I’ll miss Jupiter.”
“Not too much, I think.” Alistair grinned. “I plan on having him brought to London.”
“You’d do that for me! Thank you.” She smiled. “Mayhap it won’t seem so bad with Jupiter with me.”
“Now, as to our traveling arrangements. I have rooms booked at the Dove for tonight. You’ll need a lady’s maid along, of course, and a companion.”
Winter frowned. “Mrs. Duncan can’t leave. She’s also the housekeeper now. The village girls, well, they’re rather awkward around me.” A glint of triumph flashed in her eyes. “I guess that means I’ll have to stay put. Sorry.”
“Minx.” Alistair’s expression hardened with determination. “If I have to play lady’s maid myself, my dear Winter,” he told her, “you will come with me to London.”
She gave in with ill grace. “There is Polly, Mrs. Duncan’s daughter. She’s helped me before, but she can’t stay permanently. She’s married and has two little ones.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll send her back as soon as you are safely at Alistair House.”
Winter teased, “I trust you’ll be a gentleman.”
Alistair glanced at her, a slight frown on his face. “In your eyes I am, of course, a totally dissolute character, yet you trust me to be a gentleman with you. Why is that?”
Twisting under his scrutiny, she said, “I meant no disrespect, Justin. I just know you wouldn’t think of me in those terms.”
With deliberation he drew her close, causing her heart to pound and her palms to sweat. “Why is that?”
“Because I...am...like this.” She held up her hands.
Releasing her, he softened his voice. “Fustian! I warn you, such assumptions could lead you into serious trouble. You are a very lovely young woman.”
At his start, Winter knew he’d witnessed both surprise and fear in her wide-eyed gaze. “I am your guardian, Winter. I will not only be the perfect gentleman, but I will also make sure to protect you from any unwanted advances.”
“Like Lord Derik? He hasn’t given up.”
“Then it is high time you leave him behind.”
“I’ll be glad to forget him.” Inside she had a feeling the viscount would not give up so easily.
Chapter 5
Alistair, his hand on Winter’s elbow, led her into the parlour where his aunt, the Dowager Duchess Ramsdale, awaited them.
Tired, Winter paused, her gaze sweeping the tall, stately woman who carried herself with a dignity Winter could only hope to obtain. Her insides quaked as Alistair halted her before the formidable woman.
Bowing, Alistair smiled and greeted the woman before directing her attention to Winter. “Aunt Helen, my ward Lady Winter Renton. Lady Renton, my aunt, the Duchess of Ramsdale.”
“Your grace.” Winter executed the best curtsy of which she was capable.
Winter’s chin jutted out as the woman silently took her measure. “So this is Lady Renton.”
When Winter met her perusal without flinching, a smile quirked the woman’s generous lips. “La, I think she will do. She’ll do nicely, Justin.”
Alistair smiled his reassurance. “She likes you.” He chuckled.
An angry flush tinged Winter’s cheeks at the knowing look in the older woman’s eyes. The odious man!
“It’s all right, child. Of a certain I like you...as Justin knew I would.” Her low musical laughter reassured Winter far more than Alistair’s teasing.
“You may not become the reigning belle of the season, but...” Putting her hands on Winter’s shoulders, she slowly turned her about. “Once we get you into some of Rose Bertin’s creations...”
“Aunt Helen,” Alistair interjected, “I don’t believe Bertin is the right modiste for Winter’s delicate beauty. I will not have her turned into a copy of every other chit on the market.”
He ignored the flash in Winter’s eyes at the veiled reference to the marriage mart. “She needs a softer image. No revealing décolletage and no silly coiffures.”
He added, “We’re not cutting her hair, Aunt Helen. No fussy curls.”
The duchess took this in with a lifted eyebrow. “Hmm. I see. Mayhap, yes, I believe you are right. There is a new modiste who recently opened shop. Young, ambitious and French. Might be just the one to help us launch your ward.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Winter said.
The duchess raised her eyebrows. “Modest and all that. Very good. Well, you’re no trouble. I’d like to try her myself. Won’t hurt her business to be patronized by the Earl of Alistair.”
Alistair grinned. “Or the Duchess Ramsdale.”
The duchess had not finished. “Your gown, child. Who designed it? Hasn’t the dash of a French creation, but it suits you well.”
Winter flushed. “Thank you, your grace. I designed it and my housekeeper sewed it.”
“A practical young woman. Quite the rarity, I assure you.” There was a slight bite to the words, and Winter was not sure whether or not the duchess approved. “Enough of that. It has been a long journey.”
At Alistair’s direction Winter gratefully sat down in a gracefully curved Hepplewhite settee covered in grass-green silk. Glancing over the mantelpiece, Winter noted the van Dyke painting.
Following the direction of her gaze, Alistair said, “The Second Earl of Alistair.”
“I see the resemblance.” She looked from the painting to her guardian and back again. “I always liked the way van Dyke caught detail with such accuracy.”
She did not miss the light of approval in the eyes of the duchess, or Alistair’s chuckle. “I told you, Aunt Helen, almost a bluestocking.”
Winter flushed, but her anger faded as the duchess’s gaze met hers with understanding. “A bluestocking in the old definition surely, Justin.”
Seeing the flush on Winter’s cheek, Alistair back-stepped. “Of a certain. I meant simply that you have a mind and use it. I like that.”
The butler entered with a tray that he deftly set before the duchess. Winter’s cheeks again blossomed when her stomach reacted noisily to the repast set before them. She stuttered an apology, which Alistair halted by handing her a mug of chocolate.
“My fault for not taking the time to stop again. After the delay caused by that wheel, I thought we should push for London.”
Leaning back, Winter gratefully sipped from her mug while Alistair and his aunt conversed. The duchess regaled him with the latest on-dits while Alistair asked sharply about the eminent collapse of the truce with France. Their words eddied around Winter, becoming increasingly indistinct and blurred.
“Winter! Winter, wake up.” Her head snapped up at Alistair’s piercin
g command.
“Ah, oh. I’m sorry.” She blinked sleep from her eyes.
Alistair chuckled. “No, my apologies to you. I should have realized how tired you were after two days of travel.”
With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he added, “No matter how comfortable a bed at a posting-inn, it is certainly not like sleeping at home.”
“We’ll take care of that,” said the duchess. “I have her room made up.”
Winter stifled a yawn. “I admit to being exhausted.”
Standing up, Alistair drew her to her feet. “If—” he nodded toward his aunt as he spoke “—you will excuse us, Aunt Helen...” With that, he personally escorted Winter from the room.
Lord Alistair left Winter in the care of his housekeeper. The thin, efficient woman in a rustling black dress promptly showed Winter the rose-colored room and supervised the hanging of the few clothes Mrs. Duncan had packed for her.
A young maid helped Winter change from her serviceable brown traveling suit into her worn but comfortable blue robe. Smiling, Winter dismissed the young girl, who didn’t appear to be much over fourteen.
Though fatigued, Winter was not yet ready to lie down. Instead, she meandered around the large room, relishing the feel of the soft Aubusson carpet under her bare feet.
Running her hands over the cool silky rose drapes, Winter gazed out the tall windows that overlooked a lush lawn, sloping away in the distance. Straining, she could make out the dark outlines of some buildings she assumed comprised the stables.
“I wonder long it will be before Jupiter arrives.”
Turning from the window, she studied the paintings on the walls. As she moved from one to the other, she came to the unmistakable conclusion, “Why, they all appear to be Rembrandts. How odd they all hang in the same room.” She tucked the question away to ask Justin later.
Yawning, she gathered up her bible, which had been laid out on the nightstand, sat down on the bed and opened it to Psalms. She needed the comfort of the familiar passages with her tonight.
The last two verses from Psalm 4 stuck in her heart.
A Proper Guardian Page 5