The Reluctant Guardian

by Susanne Dietze

  Amy’s eyes communicated she knew well what else was, and she’d tell Gemma the moment she had the opportunity. Then they ascended the stairs at last, and Petey cast a last, lingering look at the cabinet. Gemma bit back her smile.

  After viewing rooms of manuscripts, vases and minerals—which did not belong to any knights, according to the under-librarian when Petey asked—they at last entered the rooms where Elgin’s marbles were displayed. They passed a series of metopes depicting scenes of life in ancient Athens, replete with warriors. Since the under-librarian was more concerned with impressing Wyling, she took on the role of the boys’ guide. “The Earl of Elgin brought these back to England from Greece, and now we may view them. Are they not remarkable?”

  “What is that?” Eddie pointed at a broken frieze.

  “Charioteer.” Tavin’s voice was gentle, as if there was nothing he’d rather be doing than accompanying a female and two children through a museum. “See here, the front wheel of the chariot, and the man’s arms, holding the horse’s reins.”

  “These friezes were at the Acropolis, fixed to the Parthenon, when Jesus walked the earth.”

  “Did He see these?”

  “No, but Paul visited Athens and told the people there about God.” Tavin tipped his head and related the Bible story.

  His words jolted Gemma. Not many individuals spoke of faith outside of church. St. George’s, Hanover Square, was oft packed on Sunday mornings, yet many of the parishioners looked down their noses at one another. Her first Sunday in London, Gemma had smiled down the pew at a young woman with the looks of a fellow come-out. But Gemma’s smile had not been returned. The lady had scrutinized her clothing during the prayers and sighed during the homily.

  The Lord was not much discussed among the beau monde. Yet He was discussed among spies, it seemed. Tavin had made reference to his faith before, but did his beliefs run deeper than most of his peers?

  What a strange man he was, up to his neck cloth in secrets and danger. Why was he a spy? His pockets were plump enough without a government salary, so it wasn’t money.

  Gemma’s feet protested every step, but she urged her nephews toward a long frieze of warriors on horseback, their togas flowing behind them.

  Tavin put a hand on Petey’s shoulder and gestured toward a warrior carved into a frieze. “See the quiver on his back, and the bow in his hand? How I should like to have my hands on those weapons. I should feel like Robin Hood. Have you shot an arrow before?”

  They shook their heads, but Petey’s eyes glowed. “I wish we could do it now, right here.”

  Tavin smiled. “The notion is tempting, but we haven’t a decent target in here.”

  Eddie frowned. “And Aunt Gemma would grow angry with you.”

  “True, and her wrath is considerable.” Tavin winked at her.

  Petey’s arms twitched, as if eager to pull a shaft from an imaginary quiver. “I would shoot the arrow across the Thames.”

  “Here is another bow and arrow, Mr. Knox.” Eddie tipped his chin toward the frieze. “And another.”

  “Indeed. What sharp eyes you have, lads.” Tavin nodded.

  Then he turned so his back was to the frieze, his gaze on the others in the chamber. A casual move, but there was nothing relaxed about the set of his shoulders. His gaze scanned the crowd. The thought that the Sovereign might visit her here in so public a place, with the boys at her side, lifted the hairs at Gemma’s nape.

  How quickly she had forgotten. She had not paid attention to her surroundings, but Tavin had never ceased. How did he manage to distract the children and watch the crowd, all while managing to show her kindness?

  He was a far better man than she’d first judged. A fresh rush of guilt washed over her. “I am sorry you must keep watch like this.”

  “We are all sorry for something.” His glance flicked at the direction of her hem. “I, for one, am sorry your feet are sore from last night.”

  So he wished to keep the conversation light, did he? “Pah. I could still be dancing.”

  “If I had danced as many sets, I would not be walking about London today.”

  “As many sets? You did not dance a single one.”

  “I was clear on that point. I do not dance.”

  “All gentlemen dance.” She pretended to scrutinize a sculpture of an armless, headless woman. “But my discomfort is nothing. I promised the boys we would come today. And I am not tired.” Her toes were another matter.

  His gaze stayed fixed on the passersby. “At least your popularity at the Hartwoods’ ball proved one thing. I did not ruin your social standing. The gentlemen lined up to dance with you.”

  A hum escaped her lips. “Wyling’s friends were tricked into partnering me, I am certain.”

  His mouth curved open in the way she had come to associate with a tease, but before he spoke, Amy fell behind and drew them back.

  “I have learned most distressing news, and I feel you should be aware in the event an acquaintance spies us and makes mention. I would not wish you caught unawares.” Amy leaned toward Gemma and Tavin. “There was a duel last night. Mr. Scarcliff.”

  Tavin’s head tipped forward. “Who was the other party?”

  “Mr. Edward Dillard. Did you know him?”

  His eyes darkened. “Ned? Yes, I did. Many years ago.”

  Amy frowned. “Mr. Dillard, I regret to say, is deceased. Mr. Scarcliff is nowhere to be found. Remember how Wyling heard he was deep in debt? He must have tried to get out of it by cheating at cards. Mr. Dillard caught and challenged him.”

  Gemma’s hand pressed her heart and stared at Tavin, whose features remained inscrutable. “I am sorry for the loss of your acquaintance.”

  “He lived by the sword, and died by it, too.”

  “Mayhap we should go home, after hearing such news,” Gemma offered.

  Tavin shook his head, but smiled at her. “I will not disappoint the children.”

  “Then let us attempt to enjoy ourselves. I am sorry for bearing ill tidings. I’d no idea you knew him.” Amy sighed and moved toward the children. “What have been your favorites so far, gentlemen?”

  “The seven gemstones of the brotherhood of knights,” Petey said. Eddie nodded. Little imps.

  Amy took Eddie’s hand, and Wyling set a hand on Petey’s shoulder. Walking ahead, they left Gemma to walk alongside Tavin.

  “Receiving shocking news is difficult, but in public? There is no need to continue on.”

  He shrugged. “I no longer knew Dillard. And how can I leave the museum? Look at the boys. They are good lads.”

  “You are kind to them.”

  “I am not an ogre. I was once a child.”

  “Alas, patience with children does not spring from having once been a child one’s self.”

  “If it did, everyone would make a proper parent.”

  So he had noticed the distance between the boys and Peter and Cristobel was not just in miles? “Our parents were loving and generous with us. I cannot explain why my brother does not show the same interest in his children.”

  “I did not refer to your brother or parents.” His eyes darkened. “I referred to mine.”

  Oh. “You were not close?”

  “They were seldom at home. They were in love and could not be expected to devote their attentions anywhere but on one another. Then my grandmother made arrangements for my schooling in England. When they died, I had not seen them in two years.”

  “I am sorry.” If only she might touch his hand.

  “Thank you. But it was many years ago.” Wrinkling his brow, he paused beside another sculpture of a headless female form, his gaze on a solitary man passing by. Gemma sensed the discussion would not continue.

  Eddie turned around and grinned at Tavin.

  Tav
in smiled back, but Gemma bit the inside of her cheek. Of course the boys liked Tavin. They had also grown to care for Hugh. Mayhap they liked any gentleman who showed them attention. In a few weeks, there would be no man in their lives except their father. She had better pray more often for Peter to see what gifts he had under his roof.

  Tavin leaned toward her. “What do you think of the marbles?”

  A safer subject than wounds inflicted by parents’ negligence. “I do not like thinking of how they arrived here, hacked off the Parthenon. But they are beautiful. Walking past these antiquities, it is easy to picture myself among the ruins in Athens. Bright sun, hot breeze, the dust of a past civilization swirling about me.” She took a deep breath through her nose and imagined it carried the scents of exotic spices.

  “Perhaps a journey to Greece is in your future.”

  She shook her head. “My imaginings are impractical, but I cannot help myself. I would like to see new things. A castle ruin in Wales would excite me to no end. I have always loved castles in books. Go on, laugh.”

  “I am not laughing.” His gaze fixed on her, dark and calm as the deep pond where she and Hugh had fished as children. “You should go.”

  He thought himself kind, but his suggestion cut to her marrow. She had made her choice. She would use every last shilling to care for the boys. There would be no adventure for her.

  “You know I cannot.”

  The way he stared at her eyes, her lips, the hair curling about her ears, sent Gemma’s stomach thrumming. His mouth was set in a serious line, but he did not appear the least bit angry. Why did he not look away?

  Her reticule slipped from her hand and fell to her feet in a soft thump. Tavin bent and retrieved the fist-sized, beaded bag.

  “How clumsy of me.” She took it from his hand. “Thank you.”

  An odd look crossed his features. “What about this? Is this yours, as well?”

  He pulled a green ribbon some six inches in length from his pocket. Similar to the medium-green shade of her bonnet trimmings, the adornment was duller and wider than her ribbon, and edged in a ragged cut. “A pretty hue, but no. Was it on the floor?” She glanced down.

  “It has been in my possession for weeks. I found it pinned under a stone atop Verity Hill, that day you met the Sovereign. I have since wondered what it means, if it is the promised clue from my contact.”

  “I doubt the Sovereign kills over shipments of ribbon.”

  He stuffed the ribbon into his pocket. “But its edge was intentionally weighted by the stone. That is why I think it might be important.”

  “A woman in red is not the quarry after all, then? Mayhap it was a woman in green.” She grinned at the silliness of the notion as they followed Wyling, Amy and the boys through the exhibition hall.

  “Is this your way of helping me with my case?”

  “You are allowing my help, after all? Delightful! Let us reason this out, then.” She clapped while a tolerant grin twitched at his lips. “Could the ribbon’s origin be a hint?” Her thoughts flew like sparrows. “What about the color? Perhaps it has literal significance. Could there be a Mr. Green? A location with the word green? The comtesse! Vert means green in French, does it not?”

  “You suggest the comtesse is involved?” His eyes narrowed.

  “’Twas merely a thought.” She waved her hand. “Perhaps the ribbon symbolizes something. A political matter? What was it they used in France? For the revolution.”

  His brow furrowed. “The guillotine?”

  “No, the rosette.” Her fingers flapped over her collarbone.

  “The tricolor cockade?”

  “Before that. Did not green symbolize something to the citizens?”

  His eyebrow arched, as if he thought her dotty.

  A thud against her shoulder pitched her forward. Tavin’s firm grip encircled her upper arm, and just as quickly as he caught her, he let her go. She had not been watching where she was going. “Pardon me, I was not attending—”

  The woman she had encountered wore a cloak of pale blue and a velvet bonnet over sunrise-gold curls. “Frances.”

  Her friend’s blue eyes widened. And then she was gone. The sweetness of her violet scent stuck in Gemma’s nostrils even as her form retreated.

  “I am sorry,” Gemma said, but Frances could not have heard her.

  Tavin’s full lips turned down in sympathy. And even though they stood in the middle of the museum, his hand extended to hers.

  And, without considering why she wished to so badly, she took it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Tavin made his farewells, after visiting Montagu House, with an offer to take her riding the next morning, Gemma agreed, although she no longer required his instruction. Nor did she plan to ride again with Frances. There wasn’t single excuse for them to ride together other than because they enjoyed it.

  Which she could not admit to anyone, but she did.

  The ride was pleasant, but cut short once the gentle mist gave way to a heavy rain shower. They returned to Berkeley Square, where Tavin dismounted and rushed to her side.

  Gemma’s breath hitched as Tavin’s hands went ’round her waist. His touch lasted just long enough to assist her from plump Kay, but the brief contact turned her legs to sponge. She stared up at him, breathing in the odors of wet horse and leather and rain, for far too long.

  Rain dripped from his beaver hat onto the collar of his ink-black greatcoat, but his teasing smile was warmer than an August afternoon. “At a loss for words, duckling?”

  What must the grooms who handled Kay and Raghnall’s reins be thinking, to hear Tavin call her such a name? Still, she could not stop a smile from tugging at her cheeks. “Pray tell, how am I duckish?”

  “What other creature would be out in this weather?” He tapped her soggy bonnet. “I should have returned you home once it started sprinkling.”

  “I am not afraid of rain. Perhaps I am part duck, after all.”

  He grinned. “Let us get you inside.”

  She shook as much rainwater from her vermilion habit as she could, so as not to drip all over the gleaming stone floor inside the house. “May I persuade you to stay for tea?”

  “It sounds just the thing. I must speak to Wyling, at any rate.”

  She excused herself to change while he handed his damp coat to a footman. When she returned downstairs, Tavin stood in the drawing room, his hands extended to the fire in the grate. His head swiveled toward her and he smiled. “Look at you. From a duckling to a swan.”

  Her fingers fumbled at the high neck of her white muslin gown. Corbeau ribbon, so deep a green as to appear black in the dim of the rainy afternoon, trimmed the ensemble. “Perhaps in color, but in all other respects, I am nothing like one. One would require a modicum of grace for that.”

  “And swimming skill, which you seemed to lack in the New Forest.” His teasing manner erased the faint lines around his eyes. “I had to carry you, as you recall.”

  Her blush brought much-needed heat to her chilled cheeks, but she would not thank him for it. “If you had been more forthcoming at Verity House, I would not have been out of doors to fall in the swollen pond.”

  “If I had not pulled the leech from you, you would have been bled dry before breakfast.”

  “If you had not slipped, the leech would not have sunk its teeth into me.”

  Their quantity of their bickering had not lessened over these past weeks, but the intent behind the words had altered. At least for Gemma. The tone behind their words had shifted from accusation to pleasant repartee. Tavin seemed to feel the same, for he wore a wide grin, and Gemma’s cheeks cramped from smiling so much.

  “We are at a draw, then.” His eyebrows wiggled, which always made her laugh.

  “Where is my family? The house is quie
t.”

  “Stott says Wyling and Amy took the boys toy shopping. They should return at any time, arms weighted with metal soldiers.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “I hope you do not mind I stayed despite their absence.”

  “Of course not. You have earned a cup of tea.”

  He stepped aside in invitation for her to join him at the hearth. “Come, warm yourself.”

  “The heat reaches me here.”

  “You have been both a duck and a swan today. Do not be a goose.” He bent to poke the logs, coaxing a wing of feathery flames to unfurl. Orange and sizzling, the flames grew in proportion to the rapid pace of her pulse.

  “I am warm enough.”

  “You shiver where you stand.” With a clank, he set the poker beside the hearth and reached out his hand.

  She stared at the smear of ash on the pad between his thumb and forefinger, small, insignificant, black as his coat. Just a dusting, but it brought to mind the memory of that day, when flakes of ash had fluttered about the ruins of her home, all that remained of her possessions. Her parents.

  She could not take his hand.

  “What is wrong?” His voice was soft as the ash.

  Words clogged her throat like smoke. She should sit, but her legs refused to move.

  Tavin was at her side before the first tear slid down her cheek. Wrapped around her, his arms were solid, warm, more comforting than any blaze.

  “You always stand away from the fire.” His breath warmed her ear. “I thought you sacrificial, leaving room for others to warm themselves. But I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

  His heart beat under her cheek, keeping rhythm with the mantel clock. Steady.

  He would hate her, but she couldn’t bear keeping it in any longer. “I killed my parents.”

  To her surprise, his arms neither tightened nor slacked. Nor did he speak, but held silent, as if allowing her to tell him when she was ready. If he judged her, he concealed it well.