A Proper Guardian

by Carolyn R. Scheidies

  Trust. She thought about the death of her father and of the accident that had disabled her and took the life of her dear mother. She demanded that God provide an explanation for what He had allowed to happen.

  For the first time she began to understand that God never promised to tell her why. He asked her to trust Him. Despite everything, had He not taken care of her?

  “Lord,” she cried, “forgive me. I condemn Justin, but look at me. Help me to let You take care of me without always demanding to know why things happen as they do. Lord, take care of Justin, as well. I...I love him.”

  A smile touched her lips. As her eyes closed she mouthed the refrain.

  Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

  In the forests of the night,

  What immortal hand or eye

  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  * * *

  While Winter struggled to trust her Lord even for her relationship with her guardian, Alistair stood on the deck of his specially appointed yacht, the Arabella, feeling the sea spray against his enigmatic features.

  In the darkness, a prayer dropped from unaccustomed lips. “Lord, protect us this night and make us successful. Lord, help me get safely back to Winter.”

  Under the cover of the night, the English spies boarded the Arabella. Only after the ship pulled away from the French coast did Alistair observe the dark shadow of a French ship pursuing them. They had been betrayed!

  Alistair sent up a prayer of thanks that the French ship lacked the maneuverability of his yacht. Before dawn, the Arabella lay safely in the British harbour.

  Later that day, the secretary, with Viscount Melton at his side, listened, unsmiling, to Alistair’s report. “As soon as we make plans here, the Frenchies know it. We must find that leak or next time, you might not be so successful.”

  * * *

  While Alistair met with the secretary, Lord Hollingsworth called at Alistair House. The duchess pressed her lips together as James showed him into the parlour.

  Hollingsworth bowed to the duchess before taking a seat near Winter. “Lord Hollingsworth?”

  “Charles,” he protested.

  “Lord Hollingsworth,” repeated Winter firmly. “Why have you come to call?”

  “Because I have missed seeing your lovely face.”

  “I’ve been out and about. Where have you been?”

  She was surprised that he seemed at a loss, but only momentarily. “Business in the country, m’lady. Nothing to concern that pretty head of yours.”

  Winter started a slow burn at his condescension. “I trust you have completed it successfully.”

  His calculating smile chilled her blood. “Successfully enough. But I hurried back to you.”

  “I don’t see why you are attending me when you already have a fiancée. Mayhap you were visiting her.”

  Hollingsworth laughed. She drew back from the intensity in his eyes. “What does my fiancée have to do with us?”

  Winter’s eyes widened. “What would your fiancée think if she knew you were pursuing other women?” She thought of Derik with disgust.

  “You misunderstand the situation, Winter. She is a country miss. What does she know of a man’s needs? I am going to marry her after all.”

  “What wish you with me?” Seeing the answer in his eyes, she pulled away. “Please leave.” The duchess looked up, but kept quiet.

  Hollingsworth captured Winter’s hand. “Now, Winter, don’t be a crosspatch.” He lowered his voice. “Tell the dragon lady you’re going to get me a book I requested from the library. I am sure I can make you understand in private.”

  Winter thrust out her chin. “Lord Hollingsworth, what you suggest is most improper, and you know it.”

  “Don’t get high in the instep. I meant no harm. I do want a book.”

  Too late. Winter was on her feet, her hand on the bell pull. James answered her summons so quickly she suspected he waited outside.

  “James, please escort Lord Hollingsworth from the house.” She gave Hollingsworth no time to protest. “I will not be in to him in the future.”

  Hollingsworth dipped a mocking bow before exiting. Winter turned to the duchess. “Thank you, your grace. If you had not been here, I shudder to think of the liberties he might have taken. Now if you will excuse me.”

  She gravitated toward the library. As she entered, she found Alistair just locking a drawer in his desk.

  “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “That’s all right, Winter. I only just arrived home and planned on working here for a while before luncheon.” He sat down.

  Slowly she walked toward the gateleg table to pick up the book she had left lying there the day before. Book in hand, she hesitated.

  Alistair glanced her way. “You will attend church with me on the morrow?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Something is wrong?”

  Winter didn’t meet his eyes. “Lord Hollingsworth was here.”

  Alistair’s jaw tightened. “Did he make inappropriate advances?”

  “The duchess was with me the entire time. He, ah, tried to get me alone in here.”

  At the fury in her guardian’s eyes, she sputtered, “He is a dreadful man. I told James I won’t receive him again.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He took a deep breath. “Are you upset because I have been gone?”

  Winter wished she could hide the color staining her cheeks. Alistair sucked in another deep breath. “I’ll try not to leave you without notice again, Winter. I should have told you.”

  Nodding, Winter turned and left him to his work.

  * * *

  The next morning Alistair glanced around at the unpretentious worshippers, sitting with bowed heads all around them. Not one wore clothes as fine as those Winter wore, even though she wore one of Mrs. Duncan’s loving creations.

  Many wore threadbare, poor-quality garments. Many faces were lined with years of hard living. Yet those same faces held an unmistakable peace.

  Alistair sensed a new, deeper peace in Winter, who sat quietly beside him. How could she be so calm when his own emotions were tangled into knots?

  His shoulder brushed hers as he settled into a more comfortable position. She was so soft. With determination, he focused on the short, balding minister in a long, black frock coat whose voice reverberated throughout the small wooden structure.

  The minister paced from one side of the platform. “In Christ we find purpose and peace in our lives.”

  His words blazed a flame thrown to the members of the congregation who sat so still, Alistair could have sworn they were all hewn from stone.

  “Everyone seeks something or someone to hang on to,” the minister thundered. “Each of us builds our life around something. Some build their lives around their spouse, some around their wealth, some around the lusting after fortune and fame.”

  As Alistair’s grip on her hand tightened, Winter bowed her head. He sensed she prayed for him.

  The minister alternately pounded the lectern and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Whatever you build your life around, if it is not Christ Jesus—your life will disintegrate.”

  Pausing, he slowly contemplated the congregation. “You will not know peace until you accept Jesus Christ as your center, as your Lord and Savior. Only He can bring meaning and purpose into your life.”

  The minister thumped the lectern until it bounced. Suddenly he stopped and let silence fall, before continuing in a low voice, “Wouldn’t you like to make Jesus Christ your center right now? You can. Will you come to Him today?”

  Stepping down from the platform, the minister waited at the front of the building, his head bowed. Quietly, one after another among the crowd stood and slowly, reverently, moved forward. Genuine joy shone f
rom the minister’s face as he welcomed each one who stepped forward.

  Alistair tensed and leaned forward. From the expression on Winter’s face, he knew she expected he’d follow the others to the front. Instead, he assisted Winter to her feet and indicated his desire to leave.

  Once in the carriage, he let out a long-held breath of relief. His relief faded in the light of the disappointment in Winter’s eyes. “He is your center, isn’t He?”

  “He is, but I am still learning to trust Him,” she told him. “I wish you would also learn to trust Him.”

  Alistair stared beyond her out the window. “Years ago, before Mother died, I did make a decision to follow Christ.” His eyes flickered to Winter’s astonished face, then away. “Surprises you?”

  Winter nodded, and he continued. “When she died it didn’t seem to mean much any longer. I drowned my grief in the social round, but it didn’t work. I guess I never did make Him the center of my life.”

  “You can now.”

  Alistair cleared his throat. The velvet of Winter’s eyes made it difficult for him to concentrate. “I will think on it, Winter, my dear. I am thinking on it.”

  He knew his decision made every difference to Winter. He’d think about it...tomorrow.

  Chapter 9

  Winter chose a dramatic silver-over-white gown with shimmery black panels down the full sleeves and along the hem. At a time when debutantes wore either white or pastels, her gown would definitely stand out.

  Surveying herself in the mirror, she knew the gown became her. Alistair caught his breath as she entered the parlour.

  Her white skin glowed, as did her eyes when she found approval in his eyes. “I take it you like my choice.”

  “You know I do.” He brought her hand to his lips.

  Her eyes alight with mischief, she appraised him as he did her. Her own eyes widened at his magnificence in his black breeches and satin jacket. “Quite dashing.”

  Their gazes locked, and they stood together as time merged.

  “Justin. Winter.” The two blinked and stared at the duchess as though returning from some far place not shared by the rest of the world. Winter noticed a smile tugged at the mouth of the older woman, who must have just entered the room. Though she glanced from Winter to Justin, she refrained from comment.

  Totally in charity with one another, the two followed the duchess into the ballroom. A murmur rose from the guests and quizzing glasses snapped up at the dramatic pair. A few frowns appeared on the faces of several dowagers, but most nodded their approval of Winter’s gown.

  Lord Heywood motioned for them to join him. “Alistair, Lady Renton.” His eyes twinkled as he perused her attire. “I am honored to pay my debt to you, Alistair. What other debutante would have the courage to wear such a spectacular and original gown?” He glanced around the room before continuing. “From the looks of it, her boldness meets with approval.”

  Smiling sweetly, Winter thanked him, then added, “Since, in truth, I won the wager, I believe it only fair that I get to decide where that money goes.”

  Alistair’s eyes narrowed with cynicism. “How would my lady wish to spend my ill-gotten gains? A sapphire necklace?”

  Winter’s eyes flashed, letting him know he had made a mistake. “I have little need of such trifles, m’lord.” Alistair flinched, before his lips turned up slightly as she continued to speak. “But I do believe there is a small, nonconformist congregation who could use the money, if they are not made aware it is tainted money.”

  Alistair dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Heywood, the lady is correct. She won the wager and the winnings shall be designated as she wishes.” His laughter rang hollow as he gave the peer the direction of the pastor.

  Drawing Winter onto the highly polished floor, he whispered, “Don’t want me to keep my ill-gotten gains.”

  Winter stiffened in his arms. “’Twas only fair. You tricked me into coming to London. You did so with less than upright motives.”

  He acknowledged her rebuke with a slight bow. “My apologies. I should have known better.”

  “You should.” They parted and came together in the slow, stately dance.

  “I was only angry when I thought you were forcing me into buying fripperies for you.”

  As they parted he saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes. Hurt at her judgment, he held her closer than decorum dictated.

  Afterward he led Winter aside. Seeing her tentatively lick her lips, an action that sent a shock through him, he asked, “Shall I get you something to quench your thirst?”

  “Thank you, Lord Alistair. I would so appreciate that.” She leaned against the column entwined in flowers. “If you do not mind, I’ll wait for you here.”

  Nodding, Alistair hurried off.

  * * *

  A shadow blocked out the light from the chandeliers. Winter looked up into Lord Hollingsworth’s taunting face. Taking her hand, he tucked it into the crook of his arm before she realized what he was about.

  “Lord Hollingsworth, please desist.” She tried to pull back her hand, but he held it fast.

  “I want you to take a short stroll with me.”

  “Not now.” She tried to smile.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke in a tone that sounded too smooth, too polished. “My dear Winter, Alistair has been detained.” He managed to make it sound as though she well knew what had detained him.

  “Lady Bridget?” Despite Alistair’s assurances, Winter wondered how he could not be tempted.

  “As I passed, he asked me to escort you to him. Not good for a young woman to be alone.”

  “If he is occupied,” Winter said as the excitement of the evening faded, “take me to her grace.”

  “I saw her go off to the card room. I fear, my dear, you must do as Lord Alistair asks. He is your guardian after all.”

  “I suppose.” Something warned Winter to stay put. Yet what harm could he do in the sad crush? Besides, Alistair would be in a spin if she refused his request.

  She permitted Hollingsworth to lead her triumphantly across the crowded room toward the balcony opening out from the French windows. Winter balked and pulled back. “My lord, I don’t believe I should leave the ballroom.”

  His eyes dark and smoldering, Hollingsworth grunted. “Don’t be a fool. Where else would a man bring his lady friend for some privacy?”

  “Are you saying Alistair is out there? I don’t know....” She still held back.

  “Oh, I see it now. You are afraid of Alistair. Has he already tried to take advantage of you?”

  Willing herself not to blush, Winter straightened. “No, I am not afraid of my guardian. Lay on, MacDuff.”

  Head high, chin out, Winter walked out onto the balcony on Hollingsworth’s arm.

  The night air was heavy with the fragrance of a variety of spring flowers. Through the windows she heard laughter and the murmur of voices, strains of a robust country dance and out on the balcony—silence.

  “Where is Alistair?” she demanded, trying to peer around Hollingsworth, who deliberately blocked her view.

  As he moved out of her line of sight, Winter searched for her guardian, but no tall form came toward her.

  “You lied,” she insisted. “I must return immediately.”

  Hollingsworth blocked her exit, his hands on her arms. “Winter, listen to me. I want you.”

  “What about your fiancée?”

  “She’s in the country, and I need a woman here. Listen to me.” He forced her to look at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to shower you with everything you could want. Diamonds? Sapphires?”

  “Aren’t you forgetting my guardian?” asked Winter.

  “Surely we can plan our rendezvous without putting him in mind of
our actions.”

  “Why would I want to do that? Alistair has been all that is kind.”

  “True, I cannot now provide for you as does your arrogant guardian so-called, but soon, soon I’ll be able to provide for you beyond your wildest imaginations.”

  Color rose in Winter’s cheeks. “So-called. What do you mean so-called? Alistair was appointed my guardian by my father.”

  He snorted. “I am not fooled by the presence of her grace. Alistair is your protector.”

  Outraged, Winter jerked away. “I, too, am a country woman like your fiancée, and I pity her for having to marry such a miserable excuse for a man.”

  Grabbing Winter to him, Hollingsworth bruised her soft lips with his brutal kisses. He released her only at the laughter of another couple walking toward the window.

  Taking the opportunity, Winter slapped Hollingsworth soundly across the face. Picking up her skirt she limped quickly back into the room almost bumping into her furious guardian.

  “Alistair, I am so glad you’re here.”

  “Now you are glad!” He slapped a glass into her hand. “It appears you worked up quite the appetite for this.” She shivered under the freeze in his eyes. “Or have you someone else awaiting your favors?”

  “It isn’t what it seems.” Her chin jutted even while she blinked back tears. “What was I to do with you off with your flirt?”

  He growled, “Have you run mad?”

  For a moment they stared at each other. Winter trembled. “Please, will you take me home?”

  He nodded curtly. Together they found the duchess. His face a cold mask, Alistair ushered them into their carriage. Though she felt his gaze, Winter refused to meet Alistair’s eyes.

  The duchess seemed to sense something seriously amiss and kept her peace. However, before her grace stepped gracefully from the carriage, she whispered in Winter’s ear, “I’m praying for him, too, my dear. Don’t give up on him.”

  Startled, Winter stared after the woman, her mouth gaping. Trying to take in the implication of the duchess’s simple statement, Winter hardly realized she was inside until Alistair released her arm.