Winter shuddered. “If all I wanted to do was to make a good match I could have stayed home and accepted Viscount Derik’s proposal. Even in London, I believe Anthony would be considered a good match. He has land and an old title. He has certainly pressed his suit hard enough. Isn’t this so, Lord Alistair?”
Her guardian curtly acknowledged the truth of the matter.
“Then, child, what brings you to London?”
The two women stared at Alistair, who glared back. “I thought it high time my ward at least had the benefit of a season. Besides, she needed to get away from that encroaching toad, Viscount Derik.”
The duchess sniffed. “I thought he was an eligible party?”
“He is,” Winter said, “but I don’t like overbearing tyrants and I refused him.”
The tense atmosphere prevailed all the way back to Berkeley Square. Alistair’s face remained stern as he handed Winter from the carriage.
Winter’s tone was soft, anxious. “I am sorry if I angered you.”
Alistair gently touched her cheek. “How hard I must be on you. So many times those eyes seem tired and worried whenever you and I wrangle.”
Winter closed her eyes at his light touch that warmed her clear to her toes. She was glad when he dropped his hand and took her arm to lead her inside. Stifling a yawn, Winter tried to mitigate her limp, but only succeeded in tripping.
Without a word, he carried her inside and up to her room. With a sigh, Winter leaned her head against the security of his shoulder.
He set her on her feet at the door of her bedchamber and turned her over to her abigail. “Get some sleep, Winter. Tonight was only the beginning for you.”
Despite her exhaustion and before he closed the door, Winter caught the quick enigmatic glance between her guardian and Mary.
A moment later, Mary opened the door to his knock and he looked in. “Get your rest, because on the morrow I have a surprise for you.”
After Mary left her for the night, and, despite the lateness of the hour, Winter read her bible for a while before snuggling under her warm covers. “Lord, thank You for a good evening and thank You that I was able to help Miss Wilke. What I don’t understand is Lord Alistair. Why are he and Mary on such good terms? Why am I jealous? Lord, help him find You.”
No answer came and soon her eyes closed in sleep.
* * *
The next morning Winter awoke to a bright sunny day. Her flagging spirits whisked away with her exhaustion. After breakfasting in her room, Winter let Mary help her into her new habit, a long black skirt and formfitting jacket over a ruffled white shirt. “Why the habit, Mary?”
Mary’s eyes sparkled with secrecy. “Orders from his lordship.” She said nothing more until she brushed out Winter’s tangled hair and put it up under the tri-cornered hat.
“His lordship asked you to go on outside.” James held open the solid wide door.
“Oh,” she exclaimed.
At the foot of the steps, Jupiter moved restlessly next to Alistair’s roan, both held by the sure confident hands of a groom with gray-blue eyes. She pursed her lips in puzzlement at his strange yet familiar eyes.
Appearing at her side, Alistair grinned. “Well?”
Her eyes shone with excitement. “I love your surprise.”
“Good.” He handed her onto her sidesaddle and arranged her skirt.
As she gathered the reins, she overheard the groom murmur to her guardian and watched Alistair’s expression harden. “I’ll be seeing the secretary of state for war this afternoon,” he told the groom before dismissing him.
The secretary of state for war? What did her guardian need to see him about, and why would he tell the groom? The questions whirled in Winter’s mind, but she had no time to sort out the puzzle as Alistair swung onto his roan and led the way onto the street.
In the early hour, at least for Londoners, the streets were not overly crowded. Still the street-hawkers cried their wares. Soot-covered chimney boys hurried to keep up with their employer-owners.
“Jupiter needs a hard run,” Winter said. “Is there someplace we can let them out?”
Alistair shook his head at the dancing horse. “I fear London is not the place for racing. Have to make do with a long slow workout and mayhap a short canter.”
For a time they rode along in companionable silence. Along their path, Alistair pointed out a London landmark here, a famous building or personage there. Winter’s enthusiasm seemed to encourage her guardian.
Inside Winter bubbled. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for this beautiful day.
Mayhap her joy came from the unfurling leaves, the scent of flowers from some of the gardens they passed, the sun shining through the haze, or mayhap it came from the presence of the man who rode so attentively beside her.
Turning down another street, Winter exclaimed over a charming house built like a miniature castle. “What a delightful house!”
She didn’t see the darkening of Alistair’s expression before he growled, “I suppose you’d like me to buy it for you.”
The sudden change of his demeanor shook her. “What have I done that is so dreadful? I merely admired the beauty of that house.” Her bewilderment escalated to anger. “What did I do this time to make you so angry?”
Alistair started at the question, the muscle in his left cheek twitching. “You like the house. Were you not setting me up so you could have me buy it for you?”
Winter looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. “Have you run mad?”
Winter’s eyes flashed, her chin jutted. Alistair sucked in a breath as though realizing, too late, his mistake. “Winter, look. I...”
He was speaking to the air for Winter wheeled her restless animal and urged him into a gallop. Her mind drummed in time with the four-footed beat of Jupiter’s hooves. “Odious man. Odious man! Odious man!” Guardian or not, she was going home, home to the safety of people who not only cared about her, but also were wholly sane.
Paying little heed to the growing congestion of the streets, she didn’t hear the clatter of hooves, the curses from the coachman, the yipping of dogs. A high perch phaeton narrowly missed her, causing Jupiter to shy. Only then did Winter begin to comprehend her danger.
The Corinthian’s dalmatians nipped at Jupiter’s heels. His eyes rolled white, his sides heaved from exertion. Surging forward, Jupiter ripped the reins from Winter’s hands. The reins, flapping around him, increased the horse’s blind panic.
Tears stung Winter’s eyes and her knuckles whitened as she tangled her fingers in the horse’s mane. “Lord, help me. Help! I’m sorry I let my temper get away from me again. Please don’t let Jupiter be hurt, please!”
Horrified, Alistair swung the roan on his haunches and galloped after the smaller racehorse. Galloping alongside, he managed to grab Jupiter’s bridle and pull the horse to a stop under a long line of trees beside a park.
“That was the most addle-pated, caper-witted thing I’ve seen done in my entire life! Trying to get yourself killed? I thought you cared more for your horse than that!”
Trying to calm herself, Winter sucked in several painful breaths. “Of course I do! So thank you for the rescue!” She knew she did not sound grateful, but she found his scold more than she could bear.
They cooled the horses, walking them slowly toward the town house. Neither spoke. Finally, Alistair broke the tense silence. “What did you know about that house that so interested you?”
Winter’s face flushed with anger. “After your first response when I asked about it, I’d be ready for Bedlam to fall into that one.”
“I really wish to know.”
“I liked it, all right? But don’t worry, I certainly won’t ask you about anything else.”
“Then you truly do not know?” Alistair said, almost to h
imself.
Winter found her anger fading. “Why should I know anything about that particular house? I’m hardly acquainted with London.”
Alistair cleared his throat. “I, ah, bought that house for Amelia.”
Winter searched her memory. Then she knew. “She was your...”
Alistair mocked himself. “I thought we had something special, but she only wanted me for what I could offer her.” His glance toward Winter was contrite. “When you asked about the house...I know it was cork-brained of me, but I thought you were hinting I buy it for you.”
Her temper flared. “May I remind you, Lord Alistair, you brought me to London. I have no intention of sitting in your pockets. As for all those fripperies that have been ordered for me, consider them paid for out of my accounts.”
She gripped the reins. “I am sorry you were hurt by a woman of Amelia’s stamp, but I am not Amelia. I don’t want your fine houses, your jewels, or your money. What I want is to return to Renton Hall.”
Alistair contemplated his flushed ward. “You are less than impressed with London, aren’t you?”
Winter bit her lip. “Oh, I rather enjoyed my first ball last night, and I enjoy conversing with you, when you aren’t up in the boughs about one thing or another. However, I do not enjoy throwing money away, and I refuse to parade like some mare up for sale at Tattersalls. I dislike being idle and feeling useless. London seems so, so frivolous.” Her own inadequacies fueled her impassioned speech.
Alistair chuckled. “Not for you the position of genteel social butterfly?”
“I prefer to do something more worthwhile with my time than flit from social event to event.” She felt drained. “God has given me so much, I want to give back to Him what I can. Sometimes that doesn’t seem very much, but I try to...”
“Earn your way, so to speak.”
“Not at all. No one can earn their way to heaven. I simply try to follow Jesus.”
She sensed Alistair gaze at her serious profile. “A lot of gentlemen believe a woman’s beauty is enough and that her place is gracing his table.”
Winter snorted. “I’ll never fit that mold. I believe God expects each of us, women as well as men, to use all the talents He has given us—and that includes our minds.”
“Why do we always end up disagreeing with each other, Winter?” Alistair responded to her earnest outburst. “I know what I did was unpardonable this afternoon, but riding off like you did....” Winter read his concern.
“I, too, need to ask forgiveness.” She sighed. “I keep trying to rein in my temper, but I am worse than Jupiter when he’s panicked beyond reason. I just fly away, but I meant what I said. I do wish to go home.”
“To Renton Hall.” Alistair’s lips tightened. “In a word, no. You are here. You have the chance at a season. Surely you don’t want the duchess to feel she put herself out for naught. Has she not already ordered your gown for your court presentation? Besides, I think your anger is, in part, an attempt to cover up your fear that others won’t accept you.”
Winter wrinkled her nose. “I am going to make a cake of myself, I just know I will. A court presentation is a dreadful ordeal.”
“Mayhap, but you’re scheduled to be presented nonetheless.”
Again Winter sighed. “Then might I return home?”
“There is your coming-out ball.”
“It just goes on and on and on.”
Alistair merely smiled. “Tomorrow I take you to services.”
By the time they arrived back at Alistair House, the tension had been broken, but Winter felt drained and discouraged. Some witness she was, always wrangling with her guardian. Though she hadn’t openly admitted it, he was right about her feelings of inadequacy.
* * *
After luncheon, she rested and did not see Alistair leave the house in his phaeton. With seeming indifference, he sauntered into White’s and found the secretary of state for war, who sat quietly reading a newspaper before an immense hearth.
Nodding to the seated man, Alistair sat in a nearby cushioned chair. For a time they chatted, ordered drinks. Both sipped absently. From a distance, it appeared the two were merely acquaintances engaged in incidental conversation. Lookers on would have been surprised at the intensity of the actual discussion.
“How long do we have?” This from Alistair.
“A week or less. Our government is getting restless, and Boney is secretly rebuilding his forces. I am thankful for what you have already done in getting our citizens back to our shores.” The man shook his head. “But we have far too many who will be liabilities when it all falls apart.”
“Surely Boney will let our people return home. France is, after all, a civilized country.”
“Was, before that Corsican took over. Now our sources warn us that Boney might well close his borders.”
“Seek revenge by seizing innocent travelers?” Alistair swirled the dark liquid in his glass. “So you think he will invade England?”
“He’s going to try. We need more information. That’s where you come in.”
“I’ll send the Arabella out again tonight.”
Shaking hands, the two men exchanged a look of perfect understanding before parting. Determination in his eyes, Alistair left the club. He had some serious business to attend before returning to the house.
* * *
Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. The anticipation of attending services excited Winter. She fidgeted as Mary helped her into one of her own simple muslin gowns. From what Alistair had told her, Winter decided the less pretentious gown might be more appropriate for the setting.
She was rewarded by her guardian’s approval. “Good. Very good. You are a lady of rare sensibilities, my dear.”
His endearment made her palms sweat beneath her gloved hands, but she managed to tease. “Mayhap I just wished to be comfortable.” She smiled to ease the challenge of her words.
“I hope you do feel comfortable at these services. Puts me in mind of our small village church at my primary seat.” Taking her arm, he led her from the house and handed her into the waiting landau.
He sat down beside her and waited until the coachman guided the vehicle safely onto the street. “I do believe you are as excited about attending church as you were about going to the ball.”
“More so. I’ve been feeling starved for fellowship with other believers.” Her tone was soft and sincere. “I will probably feel more at home at church than in a fancy London establishment.”
She did. The building housing the congregation was small, square and hardly distinguishable from the squat, square buildings around it. The inside was austerely furnished with hard, backless benches.
The service had already begun when Alistair, his arm guiding Winter, slipped through the door and settled on a back bench. Other than a nod or two acknowledging their presence, few took notice of the late arrivals.
A well-modulated voice filled the sanctuary. Closing her eyes, Winter drank in the powerful words of the song.
Christ the Lord is risen today. Alleluia.
* * *
Surreptitiously Alistair watched his ward. Serenity and joy shone from her face in a way that made him realize such peace radiated from deep within her. He watched her listen intently to the forceful message that followed the spirited singing.
He could see this was more than a passing experience for Winter. This religion—no, faith—was the very core of her being. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She had a center and a peace that came not from rusticating in the country, not from lack of contact with the outside world, but from her deep, personal faith.
For the first time since he was a lad in leading strings, Alistair wished for the same reality in his own faith, what there was of it.
Chapter 7
Winter desc
ended the stairs dressed for the evening in a blue silk gown with antique lace inserts. Alistair’s silk formal jacket over the de rigueur knee breeches was almost the same shade of blue as her gown. At Winter’s inquiring gaze, Alistair chuckled. “Aunt Helen mentioned you were in blue tonight.”
“At least this gown is simpler than that heavy court dress I wore to my official court presentation.” Winter grimaced as she recalled the previous day with the long wait, the elaborate gown worn with hoops and the suffocating rooms of the official court. “I am glad that’s over.”
Alistair’s lips twisted. “It’s on to Almack’s tonight, where only the crème de la crème are allowed.”
“Now stop discouraging Winter, Alistair,” the duchess scolded. “You well know getting vouchers for Almack’s is not easy.”
“The famed marriage mart.” Alistair rolled his eyes as Winter stifled a giggle.
His aunt frowned at her nephew. “It is an honor.”
“Hmm” was all Alistair answered, taking Winter’s arm.
Inside the famed assembly rooms on King Street, St. James, the duchess greeted the patronesses who presided over the exclusive assembly rooms. With aplomb she introduced Winter, who held her breath and curtsied as the duchess had instructed her. As at the court presentation, Winter prayed her leg would not fail her.
She sighed with relief when her guardian was free to escort her onto the floor, and she relaxed at his adroit ability to hold her during the dance. Afterward, he drew her toward a group of gentlemen conversing quietly to one side.
Amusement simmered in his eyes as he introduced Winter. “My ward, Lady Renton.”
A tall nervous peer bowed. “Lord Sear at your service, m’lady.”
After prettily acknowledging the introduction, Winter encountered the searching gaze of a short, balding gentleman at his side.
“Lady Renton, may I make you acquainted with Lord Heywood.”
A Proper Guardian Page 8