The Wicked Guardian

by Vanessa Gray

  “Thank you.” She raised her head then and opened her eyes at him. “But you did not take Mr. Austin’s word...”

  “Not precisely. As I said, I went to Penryck Abbey myself to inspect the repairs and see whether all was suitable for your return.”

  “You did?” She faltered.

  “I do take my duties seriously,” he said. He pulled out a chair and set it down facing her. “Now, then, if I could just persuade you that my intentions are better than you think, I should consider myself a success.”

  “I had no thought that you were not a responsible guardian,” she said, once more in charity with him. “To think that you would have taken the trouble! But you expected to find me there? How I wish I had been!”

  “No doubt,” he said wryly. “But you may rely upon my careful attention to your welfare. Whether I am here in Bath or in London.”

  “But ... you will escort me back to Penryck Abbey, will you not?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “But ... anything can happen, sir. We might be beset by footpads—”

  “Not on the highway,” he said quellingly. “Footpads are in London. Along with child thieves, purse snatchers, and other manner of criminals. On the highway, on your way back to Dorset, you might meet only highwaymen.”

  “And you would not protect me from them?” It was a small little cry.

  “My child,” he said, “I would have the strongest sympathy for the highwayman. Lest you think me captious, I must tell you that while I was at Penryck Abbey, I made a discovery.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “I discovered that I was right, all the time. I cannot trust you. I do not understand what you hope to gain, but certainly I must keep a much stronger guard upon you than I had at first expected to do.”

  Her heart sinking, she managed to moisten her lips and say, “I do not understand.”

  “If you are determined upon a wayward life, I must recommend that you take better care in dealing with your accomplices. For you must know that you have been sadly mistaken if you think that Tom Swann would not talk.”

  Truly bewildered, she shook her head. “You speak in riddles, Lord Choate.”

  ‘Tom confessed all. I found the pole, you know. The pole with which you loosened the ceiling plaster. Ah, I am gratified to see that you do understand me now. But you should have removed the traces of plaster before you turned the disposal of the ... the weapon, I should say, I suppose, over to your stablehand. He utterly broke down when I asked him how the plaster came to be loosened so far from the source of the water.”

  “But it was darker there!” she protested hotly.

  “Ah, but it was an older stain, and not fresh.” He grinned with satisfaction. She was dismayed. She had given herself away with her protest, instead of denying the entire episode. She had wondered whether anyone had seen her. Now she had the answer. Tom must have been watching through the window all the while she worked at the ceiling, once where it was truly wet, and the other mistakenly.

  “I should fire Tom if I were you,” he said conversationally, “for if he is faithless in little, he will be faithless in much.”

  “That is an odious platitude,” she said with returning spirit. “He was not an accomplice. You must know that I should never put such a burden on a servant. I confess that I did the loosening of the plaster. But I did it alone.”

  “I am glad to hear it. It is always injudicious to put yourself in the hands of another. Especially a servant. He did say that he had watched you, and you did not know he was there.”

  “You tricked me!”

  “Indeed I did,” he said evenly. “You must learn to be wary of traps, if we are to deal together.”

  “You admit that you will set traps for me in the future?”

  “It will not be necessary,” he said calmly. “I am sure you have gained your goal, to stay here in Bath, and while I do not like it, I am not prepared to learn to what lengths you would go to thwart my instructions.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “I confess you have managed to surprise me.”

  She pounced upon one word he had said. “Stay here in Bath? What do you mean, sir? Am I not to go back to Penryck Abbey?”

  “I fear that if you did, I might find the entire place burned down, and since I am responsible for keeping your assets intact, I should not like to be criticized for allowing you sufficient rein, So I have decided to let you stay here in Bath.”

  “Do you mean it? Oh, you are so good, sir!” she said, jumping up and reaching for his hand.

  “Not at all,” he said. “I simply want to be reasonably sure that you will get into no more mischief.”

  “But Miss Peek will see that I’m all right.”

  “That reminds me,” he said gravely. “I fear that I have reposed too much confidence in Miss Peek’s influence over you. So I shall remove you from her charge.”

  Her eyes, fixed upon him, filled with tears. She could not see the hesitation that flitted over his face, but it lasted only a moment. He moved as though to say something to her, his hand outstretched to her, but he changed his mind and reverted abruptly to the chilly note that she knew well but which had so far been absent from this conversation. “I have made arrangements for you to lodge elsewhere in town.” He glanced around him with scarcely veiled distaste at the small shabby rooms. “With Lady Thane,” he said. “She has come down at my request and taken a house in Laura Place. So you will find yourself much more comfortable with her, I know.”

  She could not stop the tears that slipped rapidly down her cheeks.

  “If you turn into a watering pot,” he said repressively, “I shall regret my leniency.”

  “No, no,” she said over the lump in her throat. “I shall not cry.” The tears slipping down her cheeks were signs of helpless anger, and not of gratitude, as he seemed to think. “So I am to be placed with Lady Thane? And what does my godmother say to that? Or did you give her any choice?”

  He surveyed her critically. “I do not know where your misunderstanding arises, but I assure you that I have no influence over what Lady Thane does.”

  “Whereas you have every power over me,” said Clare.

  “As you say.”

  “But what then of your plans?” Clare resumed after a small brimming silence. “Are you staying in Bath?”

  “I am not. I ... have things to do in Kent.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Clare, nodding her head wisely. “For your marriage. I thought it must have already taken place, from the expectations I understood you to have?”

  “As you see, it has not. But Miss Morton is planning a great fete at her mother’s home in Essex, and I am expected to be in attendance.”

  “But you do not wish to?”

  He grimaced slightly. Then, recollecting himself, he once more donned the impassive mask that was almost a part of him. “It is my duty, so I am told, to assist.”

  It was not what she expected to say, but Clare’s next words surprised her. “You’re full of duty,” she flung at him. “That’s the only word I’ve ever heard of substance from you. Duty!”

  “You are quite right,” he said, adding outrageously, “I must commend it to you. Duty, properly carried out, is most satisfying. I am sure, if you thought well upon the matter, you would discover certain duties that come to your hand. Such as obedience!”

  Thoroughly angry now, she flared, “And it is your duty, I collect, to watch my every move?”

  “No,” he said with a smile she could only consider gothic, “I must deprive myself of that duty.” Bowing, he took his leave, and she heard him passing down the steps. But she herself buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow as they would.

  20.

  Clare was not sorry to see the last of the cramped quarters of the Misses Peek’s lodging. At first she railed against the fate that had decisively removed Uncle Horsham and substituted a wicked, selfish, arrogant, unfeeling man like Lord Choate.

  But stepping inside the foyer of Lad
y Thane’s rented house on the Crescent, Clare insensibly began to think that life had not treated her quite so badly, after all.

  “And I don’t know what you thought Choate should do,” said Lady Thane, passing a cup of tea to Clare in the narrow drawing room upon her arrival. It was papered in maroon, and not at all to Lady Thane’s taste, which ran more to gilt and ivory, but the owner of the house was a gentleman advanced in years, and he had no wish to change the furnishings merely to suit a tenant. The heavy hangings at the windows succeeded in shutting out a view of the street below, and swallowed up the candlelight from the candlesticks on the mantel and on the long table, leaving the room in wavery dimness.

  “I don’t know,” said Clare in a small voice. The entire drawing room, she reflected, was as large as the apartment over the milliner’s, and she realized with a pang how thoughtless she had been to quarter herself and Budge upon the Misses Peek.

  “Surely you are better off with me,” said Lady Thane comfortingly, “and I must confess it will be good to visit with many of my old friends. I have heard that Lady Courtenay is here, and the Duchess of Argyle, and Margaret Strawn. And even some eligible gentlemen, and while it would not do to encourage their addresses quite yet, I always say that it never hurts to enlarge one’s acquaintance.” She seemed struck with thought, and then decided she might be misunderstood. “Among quite proper people, of course,” she added.

  The reference to Harry Rowse was clear to Clare, but she did not respond. She had used Harry Rowse to bring Benedict to Bath, and it had worked as she had planned. But then what? Nothing more except that she would now be housed in luxury, a prisoner just the same. She was restless in her mind, her thoughts in turmoil. She did not know what she expected of Benedict, but she knew that she disliked him excessively, and her rebellious spirit chafed under the yoke she considered too heavy.

  Lady Thane prosed along, and Clare murmured responses she hoped were appropriate. When Clare at length was taken upstairs by Mrs. Bishop, the housekeeper, she entered a room that lifted her spirits more than anything. It was yellow, with gold brocade at the windows, and a sunny carpet; the mantel was painted yellow to match; and the chair before the hearth was deep and comfortable. If she were to be a prisoner, she thought, she might as well enjoy it.

  “The master’s daughter had this room, miss,” said Mrs. Bishop, “and her maid next door. I put Budge there. I thought it would suit you, having heard that a young lady was to come. Lord Choate was particularly concerned that you be made comfortable, miss, so if this room does not suit, I shall try to ready another.”

  Mrs. Bishop looked anxiously at Clare. Clare turned to her with a sunny smile and said, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Bishop. I shall be very comfortable here, thank you. You have made a very good choice for me.”

  Mrs. Bishop, gratified, took her courteous leave, and Clare sank into the deep yellow chair and stared mournfully at the black grate, contemplating her future.

  Her future, as it went along the next weeks, was not what she had expected. Lady Thane, mindful of Clare’s mourning, turned down the cards that came her way as soon as it was learned that she was staying in Bath—that information having been current from the time that her traveling coach lumbered in on the Bath Road.

  But she managed to visit the Pump Room on a regular basis, and daily took tea in the Assembly Rooms, and required Clare’s constant attendance. Lord Choate had been more exercised than Lady Thane had ever seen him the day he came to call on her in her house in Grosvenor Square.

  Fortunately he had caught her as she was about to close up her house and retire to the country. Her daughter, Harriet, had been most importunate that she come to visit her, and since Lady Thane knew from past unpleasant experience that a visit to Harriet entailed endless conversation about her son and heir, about her servants, and the great damage done to woolen blankets by the moth, Lady Thane had resisted as long as she was able.

  Lord Choate’s request—really an intimidating request, given in strong terms by an agitated man—that she come down to Bath and take Clare under her wing was most welcome, and Lady Thane had agreed with alacrity.

  She saw now that Clare was dressed demurely, and behaved with meek propriety. And above all, she saw to it that Harry Rowse kept his distance.

  To tell the truth, she did not remark any particular glance from Clare to Rowse, and she detected no undue attention to Clare on his part. But she too knew the danger that Choate spoke of, and while she had not been made privy to that disastrous event in the gardens of Carlton House, yet she was wise in the ways of the world, and what she did not know, she could shrewdly guess.

  And Harry Rowse was not allowed within speaking distance of her goddaughter.

  It was a different matter with Sir Alexander Ferguson. Impeccable of manner and most unexceptionable of reputation, Sir Alex provided escort from time to time. And Lady Thane eyed Clare watchfully, trying to detect a spark of regard for him, in vain.

  Clare, dutiful at first, soon found the rigid routine chafing, and longed for the company of Evalina Courtenay. At length, seeing Clare far from the rebellious miss that Choate had described, Lady Thane allowed her to go with Evalina and a maid to visit certain shops.

  “The lending library,” said Evalina. “I know that Mama is so much better now that she has taken the waters, and it is felt that in another two weeks she will be well enough to travel home. But in the meantime, I am sadly at loose ends.”

  “I wish I had brought with me Lady Melvin’s basket,” said Clare. Seeing the blank look on her friend’s face, she hastened to explain. “Lady Melvin brought over a great number of library books that she had finished with. I had Wisby send them back when we came to Bath, but I regret the ones I had not read.”

  “Then,” said Evalina promptly, “let us get some more.”

  The lending library was on a side street just off the promenade, and it was not long before both girls were engrossed in the latest shipment from London. Even Lowry, Evalina’s maid, peeped over their shoulders when she thought she was not observed, for she knew that sooner or later she would get her hands on the selections, and read the night away by a flickering working candle.

  There were such agonizing choices to be made. Whether to take Leonora or to indulge in The Inheritance. A reprint of Camilla, an old favorite due to be read again, or Charles Robert Maturin’s new tale called The Fatal Revenge. At length, flushed with anticipation of long, pleasant afternoons ahead, they emerged from the shop. Lowry was bowed down with a basket full of books, and the two girls were laughing as they stepped onto the sidewalk, directly in front of two well-dressed gentlemen.

  “What a happy accident!” said the older of the two, lifting his hat in salute. “Miss Penryck, Miss Courtenay, may I be permitted to present to you my good friend Fanhope? Come, Fanhope, make your bow.”

  Harry Rowse turned to his companion, an inarticulate young man with high points and a masterfully tied cravat. With acute embarrassment Fanhope bowed and with an effort managed a few strangled syllables by way of acknowledgment of the introductions.

  “We should like to escort you back to Lady Thane,” said Rowse. “It seems meant that we should do so, does it not? Meeting you by accident?”

  Clare did not know precisely how it happened, but she was soon walking with Harry Rowse at her side and a head full of chaotic thoughts. Evalina, behind her, was doing her best to set Fanhope at ease, without notable success.

  Clare hurried along the street, anxious to regain what she knew was the haven of Lady Thane’s presence. She should not have left it, even with Evalina, and Lady Thane’s permission.

  “Must you hurry so?” complained Rowse. “One would get the opinion that you did not want to be seen with me.”

  “How right you are!” agreed Clare cordially. “I wonder at you, really, Mr. Rowse. Surely you must know that I have no wish to talk to you.”

  “It wasn’t always like that, was it, Miss Penryck? But I see the thought of the past distre
sses you. Believe me, I am on my good behavior, and you have nothing to fear from me. But I truly cannot believe you prefer Sir Alex to me?”

  He dropped his voice, and entered into a remarkably apt imitation of his rival. “And on the left there, you see the Roman baths. One must wonder how great the Romans would have been had they not succumbed to the indolence engendered by the warm water, although, on the other hand, surely the taste of the waters must result in an eschewing of frivolity and a return to a world filled with mayhem as an agreeable alternative. But on the other hand...”

  Clare giggled. He was Sir Alexander to the life! But she was fast becoming aware that were someone to see her on such easy terms with Rake Rowse, she would be hard put to erase the stain on her reputation.

  The carriage moving across the end of the street caught her eye, and her heart sank. Of all people to see her, even though properly in company with a maid! She wished Lady Melvin had not passed by just then. In moments Clare and Evalina were restored to Lady Thane’s protection, but Clare was still anxious over the accidental encounter with Harry Rowse.

  While Harry Rowse had been on his good behavior, which was in fact very agreeable to her in her world, which seemed predominantly leaden, yet she realized that she was well out of the encounter. And she was not worried about her own person anymore, for Harry had been most correct in his behavior. But she was worried about her reputation. And although Benedict did not care about her—and since if he did hear that Rowse was paying her marked attention, he would simply put her into a closer confinement than he had already done—she did not wish to put his reaction to the test.

  She had not believed she could feel so low in her mind. Even Lady Thane, not a noticing person in general, spoke bracingly to her a few days later. “I must say I had not believed you would fall into such a decline. Whatever will Choate say?”

  “Nothing, Lady Thane, I am persuaded.”

  “You have not eaten above half your dinner, and I know that you had only a mouthful of soup at luncheon, and Mrs. Bishop makes the most delectable cream soup. I think she puts sherry in it,” said Lady Thane ruminatively. “Or perhaps a port? No, even a teaspoonful of port would make it quite a different color. I am sure it was sherry.