The peer's expression was blank. 'Grovesend?'
'Yes. Nearly twelve years ago.'
'Good God, man, I barely remember what I was doing twelve hours ago, let alone twelve years.'
Oliver smiled faintly. 'I think you would remember this particular night. I walked into the library and found you in an embrace with a young woman by the name of Helen de Coverdale.'
'Helen de...what?'
'Coverdale. I believe she was your governess at the time.'
'A governess.' Talbot's eyes clouded. 'We went through an endless succession of governesses. Why would you expect me to remember one in particular?'
'Because this young lady was exceptional,' Oliver said quietly. 'She had long, black hair, and was, as I recall, exceedingly lovely.'
'Really?' Talbot was silent for a moment. 'Long black hair, you say?'
'Yes.'
'And pretty?'
Oliver filled his glass again. 'Exceptionally.'
It was evident from the look on Talbot's face that his recollection of the past was faulty. So much so, that Oliver began to wonder if he would remember it at all. But then, very slowly, Talbot began to smile. 'Wait a moment. Yes, now that I think about it, I do remember a governess like that. Couldn't tell you what her name was but I remember the long black hair. Fell almost to her waist. And she had the most seductive eyes I'd ever seen.' The peer's smile broadened, but in a way that sent chills down Oliver's spine. 'Yes, damn it, she was beautiful, but she wasn't my mistress.'
Oliver's hand froze halfway to his lips. 'She wasn't?'
'Cold little bitch,' Talbot spat out. 'Wouldn't have anything to do with me. I'd been trying to bed her from the day she walked into the house, but she wouldn't have any part of it. Told me to... well, never mind what she told me to do.'
A flurry of emotions tumbled through Oliver's mind. 'But you were with her that night. When I walked into the room, you were holding her—'
'Of course I was holding her,' Talbot snapped. 'And I would have done a damn sight more if you hadn't walked in when you had.'
'Then...she wasn't your mistress?'
Talbot shook his head. 'Never so much as kissed her. She left the next morning. Never saw her again. But by God, if ever I did, I wouldn't mind picking up where I left off.' He rose unsteadily from the chair. 'She had the most beautiful... Ouch! Damn and blast the bloody table!' he shouted, kicking the offending object aside. He rubbed his hand over the sore spot on his thigh and then limped away, seemingly unaware he'd been halfway through a sentence.
Oliver was more relieved than he cared to admit. What an idiot he'd been. No wonder Miss de Coverdale had been so angry with him. She hadn't been lying to him at all. Obviously, Talbot had come upon her in the library and thought to take advantage of the situation. And Helen, being so much smaller, wouldn't have had a hope of defending herself.
All the way home Oliver thought about the things he'd said to her—and wished he could take every one of them back. Well, there was one thing he knew for a certainty. The moment he concluded his business here, he was going back to Steep Abbot. The sooner he straightened out this mess with Helen, the better.
The only question was, would she be willing to listen to anything he had to say?
In a quiet section of deserted hallway, Helen glanced from the letter in her hands, to Gillian's radiant face, and then back to the letter again. She did not even attempt to hide her feelings of alarm. 'How did Mr Wymington get this to you?'
Gillian was beaming. 'Does it matter?'
'Yes, Gillian, it does. If you are using one of the other girls to pass these notes along, it must stop immediately.'
'But there is nothing in the letter to which anyone could object.' Gillian's happiness shone through her eyes. 'Mr Wymington has simply written to tell me that his uncle's health is improving and that he will soon be returning to Hertfordshire.'
'And that he wishes to see you before he goes.'
'Well, yes, but I am sure it is only because he would like to say goodbye.'
Helen folded up the letter and handed it back to her. 'You must know that I cannot go along with this.'
Gillian's face fell. 'But why not? What does it matter to you if I see him?'
'It matters nothing to me, but it matters a great deal to Mrs Guarding. And to the' future of this school. What do you think Mr Brandon would say if he were to learn that you had both been seeing and receiving correspondence from Mr Wymington, and that I had been privy to it?'
Gillian had the grace to look contrite. 'I imagine he would be a little annoyed, but—'
'He would be exceedingly annoyed. So much so that in his anger he might do something to jeopardise the continued operation of this school.'
'Oliver wouldn't do that!'
'Are you so sure?'
For once, Gillian didn't have a ready answer. She merely crossed her arms and walked up and down the length of the room, the jerkiness of her steps evidence of her agitation. 'Then you will not let me' see Mr Wymington?'
'I think it best for everyone that you do not.'
Gillian turned and walked the length of the room again. Suddenly, she came to an abrupt halt. 'Wait! I have just had the most marvellous idea. What if I were to meet Mr Wymington—and you were to come with me?'
'Me!' Helen gasped.
'Yes. That way you could be sure that nothing untoward was taking place. After all, Mr Wymington could hardly say anything that Oliver would object to if you were standing right there. And since he has suggested that we meet at his uncle's cottage, there will be the presence of another chaperone as well!'
'It is not a question of chaperonage—'
'Oh, please, Miss de Coverdale. I know you think this is wrong, but I do like him so very much. In fact...I love Mr Wymington,' Gillian said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. 'And I am quite sure he loves me.'
'Has he ever told you that?'
'Not in so many words, but I can tell from the way he behaves when we are together. Oh, please, can you not allow us just this one chance to be together?' Gillian pleaded. 'It would mean so very much to me. And you needn't worry about Mrs Guarding finding out. Since Mr Wymington has said that his uncle's cottage is in the countryside outside Abbot Quincey, there is very little likelihood of anyone seeing us. And I truly have no wish to jeopardise that lady's reputation or the future of the school.'
'I understand that, Gillian, but it is not that simple...'
'If you let me see him just this once, I promise I shan't contact him again,' Gillian implored. 'I shall do as Oliver wishes and apply myself to my studies. I shall be as good as anyone could wish me to be. But please, Miss de Coverdale, please say that you will let me see him. Oliver would not allow me to say goodbye to him before we left Hertfordshire, and I should so very much like to do that now, in person. Is that so terribly wrong?'
Helen breathed out a long, heavy sigh. What a muddle this was turning into. Nothing good could come of allowing a meeting to take place between Gillian and Mr Wymington, she felt sure of it. If Mr Brandon found out, he would be furious. He would certainly take Mrs Guarding to task for her negligence, and then ensure that Helen was made to suffer the consequences. She had to be mad for even contemplating such foolishness.
The problem was, though it defied all logic, Helen knew that in some deeply buried part of her heart, she wanted Gillian to see her young man one more time. She knew what it was like to be separated from the one you loved. She had not been allowed to see Thomas once her father had learned of her feelings for him, and it had nearly broken her heart. More than that, she remembered how she had felt towards her father after that painful episode. She had come close to hating him for what he had done to her. Did she really wish to be the cause of Gillian resenting Oliver in such a fashion?
Helen took another long, deep breath, and then sent a prayer heavenward that she was not about to do something she would regret for the rest of her life.
'Very well, Gillian. I shall accomp
any you on a visit to see Mr Wymington. But I shall remain in the room the entire time, whether his uncle is there or not, and I shall allow the visit to take place only on the condition that you do not attempt to see or to correspond with him again. Do I have your agreement?'
'Oh yes, Miss de Coverdale, yes! And thank you so very much! I knew you would understand!'
Helen wasn't sure she understood at all. But there was one other motivating factor she hadn't told Gillian about. One she scarcely liked admitting even to herself.
Retribution. She wanted to strike back at Oliver Brandon for what he had said to her. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her, and the only way she could do that was through Gillian.
Helen knew it was a dreadful way to feel, and not in the least charitable, but given Oliver's wretchedly unfair opinion of her, she could not help herself. He had not asked her for an explanation as to what had happened with Lord Talbot. He had simply assumed the worst, believing her to be a willing participant in the seduction.
And that was what had angered her the most. It was not the first time Helen had been judged because of her appearance, but that did not mean people had a right to believe her prone to certain types of behaviour simply as a result of it. She had never encouraged uninvited attention. Indeed, she went out of her way to avoid it. Unfortunately, some gentlemen seemed to believe that being a governess meant she was ripe for a tumble.
But that was simply not the case. Not even after her father's death, when things had been at their worst, had Helen had any desire to become a man's mistress. She knew it would have afforded her a far more enviable lifestyle than the one she had, but her sense of honour and self-worth were far more important to her than pretty clothes or sparkling baubles.
Yes, she would allow Gillian one last opportunity to see her young man. The child deserved that much. And if Mr Wymington turned out to be the honourable gentleman he seemed, she might even quietly encourage Gillian to keep her hopes up with regards to an eventual match. She would not purposely try to undermine Oliver's authority, but she would remind Gillian that in the fullness of time, she would be in a position to make up her own mind.
Yes, Helen decided with growing certainty. That much she would be willing to do—if Mr Wymington turned out to be the kind of man Gillian truly believed he was.
Chapter Seven
Helen did not inform Mrs Guarding of the planned visit to Abbot Quincey for two reasons. The first was because she had no desire to lie to that good lady. The second was because she could not bring herself to feel that what she was doing was entirely wrong. Gillian was not a foolish girl. She was merely a young woman blinded by her feelings. But Helen was not. If it turned out that Mr Wymington was not the charming gentleman he pretended to be and that he was only after Gillian's money, Helen felt sure she would be able to see it.
But to do that, she had to spend time in his company. She had to see how he behaved with Gillian. And if she were able to discover any kind of flaws in his personality, she would be in a better position to warn Gillian about them. Surely that was worth any risks that might be involved?
The visit began well enough. Mr Wymington greeted them at the door of the small, well-tended cottage, and then endeavoured to put them at ease by playing the part of the genial host. Gillian, as a result of having been cautioned by Helen beforehand, was somewhat more restrained than usual. She returned his greeting with the proper decorum, and smiled at him in a manner that even a dowager duchess would have approved of.
Helen's only concern was that there was no sign whatsoever of Mr Wymington's uncle.
'Alas, he suffered a bit of a relapse this very afternoon,' Mr Wymington informed them as he led the way into the tiny sitting-room. 'It forced him to retire in something of a foul mood to his bed. He did, however, ask me to pass along his most sincere regrets that he would not be able to make your acquaintance this evening.'
Gillian's disappointment was evident. 'Oh dear. I was so looking forward to meeting him.'
'As he was you, my dear Miss Gresham, but I told him his health must come first. And I live in hope that there will be other opportunities for the two of you to meet.'
'Perhaps you should have Dr Pettifer in to see him,' Helen suggested, anxious to keep the conversation from becoming too personal. 'A relapse can be very serious in a man your uncle's age.'
'I suggested that to him myself, Miss de Coverdale, but he told me that if the good Lord intended to call him home, there was nothing any mortal man could do to stop it.'
'But surely we could pay him a very brief visit?' Gillian persisted. 'Do you not think the sight of two happy, smiling faces would make him feel better?'
Mr Wymington laughed. 'I am sure it would do wonders for his spirits, but I doubt it would do much for his heart. The sight of two such lovely faces standing by his bed might be more than it could, stand. I know it would put a serious strain on mine.'
Gillian dimpled prettily, obviously finding the remark very much to her liking. Helen did not. She did not like to believe that Mr Wymington was lying, but for some reason she was hard pressed to think otherwise. As much as she wanted to believe that the cottage belonged to his uncle, and that the poor old gentleman was asleep in another room, she was finding it difficult to do so. She couldn't help wondering if this wasn't all a ruse of some kind; a fabrication intended to make them believe that it was his uncle's cottage and that Mr Wymington truly had a valid reason for being in the area.
She also wondered if Mr Wymington was really as pleased to see her as he pretended to be.
In the end, however, Helen was forced to admit that it was likely only scepticism on her part. Mr Wymington behaved like a perfect gentleman the entire time. He entertained them with humorous tales of his adventures in the militia, and served them tea and biscuits, apologising all the while for the basic fare and saying that, as a poor bachelor, he was woefully inexperienced at such feminine arts as entertaining.
Gillian, of course, saw nothing of his faults. She saw only a handsome gentleman who smiled at her with uncommon warmth, and whose gaze softened every time she looked at him. She hung on his every word and laughed at even the most inconsequential of his remarks, evidencing no awareness that once again she was baldly exposing her feelings to him.
Perhaps that was why, as the visit progressed, that Helen was better able to understand Oliver Brandon's concerns about his ward's behaviour. There was no question of Gillian's being infatuated with Mr Wymington. It was clear that she could—and would—see absolutely nothing bad about him. And that was a most precarious position for a young lady of fortune to be in.
'Well, I think it is time we were on our way, Mr Wymington,' Helen said abruptly. She placed her cup and saucer on the small table and stood up. 'Thank you so much for your hospitality.'
'Yes, it was very good of you to have us,' Gillian agreed. She also rose, but far more reluctantly than Helen. 'What a shame the time has gone by so quickly.'
'It is a shame indeed, Miss Gresham.' Mr Wymington's voice was warm, his eyes gently caressing as he looked at her. 'But hopefully the months until you are home again will pass swiftly.'
'They cannot pass swiftly enough for me,' Gillian cried, forgetting for a moment the warning Helen had given her.
'Come along, Miss Gresham,' Helen said briskly. 'We must not overstay our welcome.'
'Ah, but you could never outstay your welcome, Miss de Coverdale,' Mr Wymington said gallantly. 'I trust you will remember that my door is always open to you as well as to Miss Gresham.'
The look that accompanied his words was almost as warm as the one he had given Gillian, and for some reason, that troubled Helen. She knew there was nothing in his words to which she could take exception, and yet, once again, she did.
'Thank you, Mr Wymington. But now we really must be leaving.'
With that, Helen turned to lead the way out of the cottage. All of a sudden, she was in a desperate hurry to get back to Guarding's.
She shoul
dn't have come here today. She knew that now. She had made a mistake in allowing Gillian to see this man. Unfortunately, only time would tell how big a mistake it really was, and what would come of it.
After a somewhat prolonged goodbye at the gate, Gillian finally allowed Mr Wymington to hand her up into the carnage. Helen observed the way he held on to her hand, frowning as she saw the manner in which he gently pressed her fingers, and bit her lip when she heard Gillian assure him in the most fervent of tones that she would be counting the days until she was back in Hertfordshire once more.
At last, Mr Wymington turned to smile at her. 'I am so pleased you came along, Miss de Coverdale. And it was very kind of you to arrange this meeting. I am well aware of Mr Brandon's feelings regarding the association between Miss Gresham and myself.'
'It will be the only time, Mr Wymington,' Helen told him quietly. 'Mr Brandon has made his wishes clear with regard to the situation, and while I admit I had my reasons for allowing Miss Gresham to see you today, it will not happen again. I trust you will not endeavour to contact her in the future.'
Mr Wymington inclined his head fractionally. 'Perhaps I can communicate with you directly, Miss de Coverdale. That way you can convey my sentiments to Miss Gresham without anyone being aware of it. For surely you are free to receive correspondence from gentlemen?'
Helen glanced at him sharply. 'I am free to receive whatever correspondence I wish, Mr Wymington, but you should know that I am as bound by Mr Brandon's wishes as Miss Gresham is. And I will not violate his trust.'
'Ah, but that is just the thing, Miss de Coverdale,' Mr Wymington said, his voice a silken whisper. 'By bringing Miss Gresham here this afternoon, that is exactly what you have done.'
'Miss de Coverdale, Mr Wymington, what are the two of you whispering about?' Gillian called from the carriage.
Helen sent the girl a worried smile. She was not at all pleased with the way the conversation was going, but she could hardly stand here and continue it now with Gillian only a few feet away and listening to every word they said.
The Guardian's Dilemma Page 8
