The Guardian's Dilemma

by Gail Whitiker

  'Mr Wymington, I beg you not to pursue this,' Helen said in a low, urgent voice. 'It can have no future. Mr Brandon has made his feelings very clear with regard to you and your relationship with Miss Gresham.'

  It seemed to Helen that just for a moment a look of cunning appeared in the man's brilliant blue eyes, replacing the expression of amusement that had been there only moments before. 'I sincerely regret that you have chosen to side with Mr Brandon in this matter, Miss de Coverdale,' he said softly. 'I thought perhaps that by bringing Gillian here this afternoon, you were evidencing sympathy towards our plight. But I see now that such is not the case. However, I am not one to be so easily cast aside.' He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. 'Perhaps we can arrange to meet, just you and I, to discuss the matter further. Perhaps I can convince you that I am not so shabby a fellow as Mr Brandon would have you believe.'

  Then, as he pressed his lips to her hand, he raised his eyes to hers—and Helen felt her insides go cold.

  He was looking at her in exactly the same way so many other men had, so many times before.

  'Miss de Coverdale, are you coming?' Gillian cried imperiously.

  Helen only just managed to conceal her shudder as she withdrew her hand. 'I doubt there will be any need for us to meet again, Mr Wymington. Good day to you, sir.' Then, pausing as she hurried towards the carriage, added, 'I do hope your uncle makes a speedy recovery.'

  If Helen had expected him to give himself away, she was again to be disappointed.

  'I shall indeed extend the wishes of two such lovely ladies to him,' Mr Wymington said with aplomb. 'Thank you, Miss de Coverdale. Arrivederci ad un altro giorno.'

  Helen's foot faltered on the step. The expression, spoken in near-perfect Italian, was not one to signify a farewell. It simply meant goodbye—until another day.

  Gillian waited all of twenty seconds before commencing the inquisition.

  'There, now what do you think of my dear Mr Wymington?' she demanded, clearly very pleased with herself and with the visit. 'Is he not a perfect gentleman? Is he not as wonderful as I have been telling you?'

  'He is a handsome gentleman with very nice manners,' Helen forced herself to say, 'but beyond that, 1 do not believe I am in a position to offer any kind of informed opinion about him. I still know very little of his character.'

  'But how can you say that? Did you not hear him evidence concern towards his uncle? Did you not find his stories amusing, and his speech and company all that could be admired?'

  Helen turned away to hide her sigh. It was painful having to listen to Gillian go on about the man. The excitement and hopefulness in her voice was evidence of her infatuation, and it was obvious that she wanted Helen to share that enthusiasm.

  Helen could understand that. Had she been Gillian's age, and at her stage in life, she would probably have felt the same way. But she wasn't Gillian's age and she certainly wasn't in her situation. At one-and-thirty, Helen had far more experience of life than Gillian ever would. She knew what motivated men like Sidney Wymington, and she was deeply troubled by their meeting this afternoon. Certain aspects of his character worried her, as did the manner in which they had parted. If what Helen was beginning to suspect was true, Gillian was destined to fall very hard when she learned the truth about him.

  But even more frightening than that, was whether or not she would learn the truth before it was too late!

  Helen was tidying her room after the last class of the day when she heard the sound of a knock on the door. She turned around—and drew a startled breath. 'Mr Brandon!'

  'Good afternoon, Miss de Coverdale. I hope I haven't come at a bad time?' he said hesitantly.

  Helen glanced at him in surprise. His voice lacked the hard edge it had held before, and there was something almost apologetic in his tone. Nevertheless, she kept her voice cool as she leaned against the edge of her desk, suddenly finding herself in need of its support. 'A bad time for what?'

  'To speak with you?'

  'I thought we had said all that needed to be said.'

  Oliver took two steps into the room. 'On the contrary, there is a great deal more I would say to you. If you will give me the chance.'

  Helen's first impulse was to say no. After all, what more could he possibly wish to say? What other insults had he to fling at her? Then, she glanced into his eyes and saw something that gave her pause. 'What is this about, Mr Brandon?'

  'Something which is very important to both of us. But especially to you.'

  Something important to her? Helen sighed. 'Very well. I have a few minutes before tea. What have you to say to me that is so terribly important?'

  'I wonder...' Oliver glanced around the room. 'Is there somewhere we might go that would be more conducive to conversation?'

  For the first time, Helen allowed herself a smile. 'I have always found my classroom to be most conducive to conversation, Mr Brandon. It is one of the functions it serves.'

  To her surprise, Oliver smiled too. 'Yes, I am sure it is. But I think it is still quite pleasant outside. Perhaps you would care to join me for a stroll about the gardens?'

  Deciding that a breath of fresh air might not be such a bad idea, Helen picked up her shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She led the way to the backstairs and then out into the late afternoon sunshine. Soon, they were walking together down the length of the gravelled drive. The large trees provided cover from both the road and the school and would, with any luck, prevent her from being treated to a barrage of questions in class tomorrow morning about the gentleman she had been seen strolling with this afternoon.

  'Very well, Mr Brandon, we are outside in surroundings which are hopefully more conducive to adult conversation,' Helen said, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice. 'What is it you wish to say to me?'

  'To tell you the truth, Miss de Coverdale, I hardly know where to begin,' Oliver admitted slowly. 'I fear the errors I have made are grievous indeed. But I suppose I should commence by extending my most humble apologies for the mistake I made so many years ago, and for the tremendous embarrassment I have caused you as a result.'

  It was not at all what Helen had been expecting to hear. An apology? From Oliver Brandon?

  Too shocked to do more than stare at him, Helen waited for him to continue.

  'By chance I met someone in London a few nights ago,' Oliver continued. 'Someone with whom we are both acquainted, but whom neither of us has seen in a very long time.'

  The remark brought a frown to Helen's face. 'I cannot imagine who you are talking about, sir. There are few people I know in London any more.'

  'Nevertheless, this is someone with whom you are acquainted. And not happily, I regret to say.' When Helen continued to look blank, Oliver said softly, 'Lord Talbot.'

  The name caused Helen to stumble awkwardly. Lord Talbot!

  Immediately, Oliver reached for her, the warmth of his hand closing firmly around her arm. 'Are you all right?'

  'Yes, I'm...fine. That was clumsy of me. I wasn't watching where I was going.' Helen pretended to concentrate on the ground ahead of her, but all she could see was Lord Talbot's face. It loomed like a dark spectre in her mind, bringing back all of the unpleasant memories of the past. She was also aware of Oliver's hand still resting on her arm, and of the comforting warmth it offered. 'Please...go on.'

  'I chanced to encounter Talbot at my club.' Oliver withdrew his hand as they walked on. 'And as is so often the case, he had been drinking. Apparently, he had just lost a large sum of money to a man most gamblers know to avoid.'

  'Mr Brandon, I have no wish to hear about Lord Talbot's losses or about his drunkenness,' Helen interrupted. 'In fact, I have no wish to hear anything about him.'

  'Not even a confession he made to me whilst in his cups?'

  'No, because I cannot imagine what kind of confession he might make to you that would be of any interest to me.'

  'What about one which pertained to that infamous night in the library?'

  Hele
n stared at him in surprise. Then, warily, she nodded. 'Go on.'

  'Lord Talbot admitted to me that he had forced himself upon you that night,' Oliver said. 'He told me it had been his intention to seduce you from the moment you first walked into his house. He also told me that you refused to have anything to do with him.'

  Helen listened to his words, too surprised by what he was saying to offer any kind of comment. She knew she should have been delighted at hearing Oliver Brandon—the only other person who had been a witness to her humiliation—say that she was not to blame for what had happened. She should have been happy and relieved that after all this time, she had finally been vindicated.

  And yet, she wasn't ecstatic or happy or even particularly relieved. It was almost as though he was talking about someone else. Someone she didn't know any more. All she felt was a strange kind of numbness around her heart. Because when it came right down to it, what had she really gained from Lord Talbot's admission?

  Yes, Oliver Brandon now knew that she hadn't been to blame for any part of the seduction he'd witnessed that night. But that did not change the fact that he'd had to hear it from Lord Talbot himself before he'd given it any credence. He hadn't rushed to ask her about the truth of the matter. In fact when she had tried to tell him, he had put his own interpretations on it and, once again, made her feel culpable.

  Furthermore, Helen knew that the only reason the peer had made any admission of guilt was because he'd been in his cups. Had he been sober, he would never have embarrassed himself by admitting that a lowly governess had spurned his advances.

  'Thank you for telling me, Mr Brandon. It is... good to know that your fears have finally been laid to rest.' Helen managed a fleeting smile. 'Hopefully, you will no longer worry about the time Gillian and I spend together, or about any topics we might choose to discuss. And now, I think I should return to the school.'

  'But...is that all you have to say to me?' Oliver reached for her arm and turned her around to face him. 'After the shoddy way I treated you, have you no words of reprisal? No harsh expressions of condemnation? I thought you would have been pleased with the news.'

  Helen sighed. 'I see nothing to be pleased at in being told something I already knew, sir. It was you who jumped to the conclusion that I was in the library with Lord Talbot of my own choice. You put your own interpretation on what you saw there and you weren't inclined to believe me when I tried to tell you differently, so I fail to understand why I should feel happy now that you have finally learned the truth from someone else.'

  Oliver appeared taken aback by her response. 'I simply thought you might have enjoyed being given the opportunity of telling me I was wrong.'

  Helen tried to rally a smile, but this time, even that simple gesture eluded her. 'It really doesn't matter what you think any more. I have tried to put the past behind me and move on with my life. Your coming here and reminding me of what happened twelve years ago forced me to take an unpleasant step backwards, but that is all. I was foolish to let your bad opinion weigh upon my mind, and I would be even more foolish to allow myself comfort now that you have changed it. A great man once said that truth is always the strongest argument. I have always believed that to be the case. Sometimes, it is just a matter of waiting for others to recognise it. And now, I would bid you a good afternoon, Mr Brandon. And... goodbye.'

  Chapter Eight

  Helen was quite sure that her conversation with Oliver would be the last one she would ever have with him. He had offered his explanation and his apology, and as far as she was concerned, the matter was closed. She saw no reason for their paths to cross again, except, perhaps, as it concerned Gillian. To her surprise, however, Oliver seemed reluctant to let it go. It was almost as though he felt obliged to make up for the error in judgement he had made all those years ago, and for the embarrassment he had caused her as a result. So when Gillian told her that he was planning an outing to Castle Ashby, and that she was to be included, Helen had naturally felt compelled to object.

  'But there is no reason for Mr Brandon to include me on such an outing. Our acquaintance is not of the kind that would warrant my being invited to participate in a family excursion of this kind.'

  'But did you not say you would enjoy visiting the castle if you ever had an opportunity to do so?' Gillian retorted.

  'Of course, but that does not mean I thought to do so with you and Mr Brandon.' Helen's brow furrowed as she walked around the empty classroom collecting slates. 'I hope you did not suggest to your guardian that I come along.'

  'Well, I suppose I might have mentioned your passion for the Italian Renaissance once or twice,' the girl admitted. 'And I understand that Castle Ashby has a particularly fine collection of paintings from the period, as well as some splendid tapestries.'

  'Be that as it may, it was still no reason to ask Mr Brandon to include me in your visit. If he has arranged an outing, it is because he wishes to spend time with you.'

  'But he told me I might bring along whomever I wished. And when I thought about everything Castle Ashby had to offer from an educational point of view, I immediately thought of you.'

  Helen pressed her lips together. She was beginning to understand why Mr Brandon felt it necessary to warn people about his ward. Gillian was very good at getting her own way, but in such a manner that one seldom felt as though one was being manipulated. Such was the case here, in that an innocent family outing had suddenly become an opportunity for an educational experience.

  'Oh, do say you will come with us, Miss de Coverdale,' Gillian urged as the silence dragged on. 'It would make the outing far more enjoyable for me. And I am sure Oliver would be grateful for your company.'

  'Grateful?'

  'Yes. He often complains that my constant chattering about inconsequential matters bores him excessively.'

  Helen found the notion of Mr Brandon's being grateful for having her along for any reason hard to accept. Why would he, when she was little more than a stranger to him?

  'Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I have also asked Elizabeth Brookwell to join us,' Gillian said. 'Her mother is a good friend of Sophie's, so he can have no concerns about the connection.'

  'Yes, but will he not mind the intrusion of yet another person? I cannot help but feel that his desire to spend time with you has suddenly blossomed into a full-blown party.'

  'Oliver won't mind.' Gillian gave her a confident smile. 'He can be very accommodating when he wishes to be.'

  'I am surprised to hear you in such charity with him,' Helen remarked. 'I thought you were still angry at him for sending you here.'

  'Oh, I always get angry with Oliver, but I seldom stay angry with him. I am not happy with him for taking me away from Mr Wymington, of course, but I did promise I would not mention that subject again, so I shall not. But I can assure you that Oliver will be pleased to hear I have invited you and Elizabeth along. Besides, four is a much nicer number than three for an outing, don't you think?'

  Helen made no reply, for in truth, she could not think of one. She wasn't even sure that anything she might say would make a difference. Gillian's mind was made up and she was beginning to learn that once it was, there was very little chance of it being changed.

  But what about Oliver Brandon? How would he feel about having her come along when only a few days ago she had told him, in no uncertain terms, exactly what she thought of him and of his apology!

  On the appointed day, Oliver arrived at the Guarding Academy at promptly half-past twelve. And, as Gillian had predicted, he did not seem in the least concerned at the prospect of escorting three ladies to Castle Ashby, rather than one. In fact, he seemed decidedly pleased at the unexpected mix of company awaiting him. He settled the two giggling girls in the carriage first, and then turned to offer his hand to Helen.

  'I am delighted you agreed to join us, Miss de Coverdale. Gillian told me she had invited you but I was not sure you would come.'

  A blush danced across Helen's cheeks. 'Your ward can be
very persuasive when she wishes to be, Mr Brandon. She all but told me that because the visit was to be of an educational nature it would be remiss of me, as her teacher, -not to come along. Unfortunately, she also appealed to my love of art and that made it very difficult for me to refuse.'

  Oliver's eyes crinkled with amusement. 'Then I am grateful for Gillian's persuasiveness, as you have so nicely phrased it. There have been times in the past when I have been tempted to call it otherwise, but since it has convinced you to make up one of our party, I shall not condemn her for it. And now, let us be off. A most pleasurable day awaits.'

  Castle Ashby was a sprawling Elizabethan house set in the countryside six miles east of Northampton. It had been built in the early sixteen hundreds and contained a wealth of paintings from the Italian Renaissance period, along with fine examples of the seventeenth-century Dutch school. Oliver had already determined that the Marquis and Marchioness of Northampton were not at home, and so had applied to the housekeeper to show them around.

  The girls exclaimed at length over the elegant furnishings and priceless hangings inside many of the rooms, and while they were initially awed by the stateliness and grandeur of the house, they both agreed they would be most happy to be mistress of such a fine establishment. Helen would have preferred them to stay close, but they were more inclined to walk ahead, talking in excited whispers, and leaving her frequently in the company of Mr Brandon alone.

  Helen was very conscious of his eyes on her as they stopped in the dining-room to admire the beautiful dishes and exquisite appointments. She felt very plain indeed against the opulence all around her, and suddenly wished she'd had something more fashionable to wear than the plain muslin dress under a mantle of twilled sarcenet. But she knew it would have been foolish to spend her hard-earned wages on such unnecessary extravagances. A stylish pelisse like the one Gillian was wearing, or even the shorter one Elizabeth sported, would have cost far more than her meagre income allowed.