The Guardian's Dilemma. Gail Whitiker

to do with it? Jane Twickingham was betrothed to Lord Hough when she was only sixteen, and you have told me yourself she was a silly little chit. What has my age to do with Mr Wymington’s courting me?’

      Oliver’s eyes turned the colour of stone. ‘Since when did Mr Wymington’s visits take on the aspect of a courtship? He has not sought my permission to address you.’

      As if realising she had said more than she should, Gillian’s pretty cheeks flushed. ‘Well, no, of course not, because we are only acquaintances. But that is not to say that I…that is, that he—’

      ‘Gillian, what do you really know of Mr Wymington?’ Oliver asked, deciding to try a different approach. ‘That he is charming, I have no doubt. That he knows how to turn a young girl’s head, I have seen with my own eyes. But what do you know of the man’s character or background? Has he spoken to you of his family? Do you know where he comes from or who his people are?’

      ‘Of course I do.’ Gillian lifted her chin in defiance. ‘We have spoken of all those things. Mr Wymington has nothing to hide from me.’

      ‘Then what has he told you of himself?’

      ‘That his parents are dead, and that he has a sister living in Cornwall to whom he is not close. He also told me he has hopes of achieving a higher rank in the militia.’

      ‘I see. And what is he now—a lieutenant?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Has he the funds to purchase his next commission?’

      ‘I do not believe he has,’ Gillian admitted reluctantly, ‘but he did tell me he was like to come into a considerable amount of money.’

      Oliver was immediately on his guard. ‘Did he say how?’

      ‘Well, no, not precisely.’

      ‘Did he say when he might expect this good fortune?’

      Gillian coloured. ‘No, nor did I ask. Why should I when one day I shall have money enough for us both?’

      That was precisely what Oliver had been afraid of hearing. ‘And I suppose you told him that?’

      ‘Yes.’ Gillian’s golden brows drew together in a frown. ‘Why would I not?’

      Oliver suppressed a sigh. There was no point in answering the question. His naïve young ward might not realise how tempting was the carrot she dangled in front of Mr Wymington’s nose, but he certainly did. ‘I’m sorry, Gillian, my mind is made up. We leave for Steep Abbot in a week’s time. Say goodbye to whichever friends you wish to and then begin your preparations to leave.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘And you are not to see Mr Wymington again.’

      ‘But that is not fair, Oliver! Why can I not say goodbye to him? He is a friend, and you told me I may say goodbye to whomever I wished.’

      ‘You know very well I was not referring to gentlemen when I said that. You may write Mr Wymington a farewell note, but that is all. And I wish to read it before you send it away.’

      Oliver could see that Gillian was angry. There was a defiant sparkle in her bright blue eyes and her chin was thrust out in the gesture he had come to know so well.

      ‘I think you are being beastly about this, Oliver,’ she flung at him. ‘You are sending me away to some dreadful school because you do not like Mr Wymington and because you do not wish me to see him.’

      ‘I am sending you to Steep Abbot so that you may complete your education,’ Oliver replied with equanimity. ‘I do not share in the opinion that all a young lady need know how to do is arrange flowers and engage in polite conversation. You are far too bright for that, as you yourself have told me on more than one occasion.’

      ‘I do not have to listen to you!’

      ‘Ah, but you do. At least until the occasion of your twenty-first birthday. I promised your mother that I would look after you until that time, and I intend to keep my word. Now, I would ask you to respect my wishes and abide by my instructions. We leave in six days.’

      ‘Six!’ Gillian’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘You said we were leaving in seven!’

      ‘I was, but your decision to argue has persuaded me to move it up a day.’

      ‘But you cannot—’

      ‘And for every objection you make, we shall leave one day sooner. The choice is yours, Gillian.’

      With that Oliver turned and walked towards the door. He could feel his ward’s eyes boring into his back, but he did not give way. He had learned that the only way to deal with Gillian was to be firm, regardless of what Sophie or anyone else thought. He was doing what was best for the girl and with any luck, she would eventually come to realise that.

      In the interim, it did not lessen his awareness that had looks been sufficient to kill, he would have been lying on the floor suffering his final moments even now!

      Chapter Two

      September 1812

      Helen de Coverdale sat in the small, walled garden behind the main body of the school building and breathed a sigh of pure pleasure.

      What a glorious morning it had turned out to be! With the sun so warm and the air so mild, it was hard to believe that the first of September had already come and gone. In fact, if she closed her eyes and tried very hard, she could almost convince herself that it was the fragrance of spring flowers perfuming the air rather than the dusky scent of autumn signalling the end of yet another summer.

      How quickly time passed, Helen thought wistfully as she gazed out towards the gardens. Indeed, with the arrival of each new year, the days seemed to tumble over one another with ever-increasing speed. When she was a child, the summers had stretched on endlessly. She remembered long, golden afternoons spent in the Italian countryside, when there had been nothing more pressing to do than paint pictures of olive groves and fields of brightly coloured flowers. She remembered sitting with her grandmother in the little stone house, listening to her tell the same wonderful stories she had told Helen’s own mother when she had been a child growing up there. How blissful those days seemed now, and how very long ago. Before the long years of war had begun to change everything.

      Thank goodness her memories of the past hadn’t changed, Helen reflected silently. They would always be there for her, reminding her of a time when her future had loomed bright and hopeful. Before the heartbreak of love and the harsh realities of life had intruded to shatter her expectations and chase away her dreams.

      Helen picked up the letter she had placed on the seat beside her and smiled as she read it over one more time. It was from her dear friend Desirée Nash. Desirée lived in London now, but before that she too had been a teacher at the Guarding Academy. She had taught Latin, Greek and philosophy for over six years, until a most unfortunate incident had forced her to leave.

      Helen’s smile faded as she thought back to that dreadful time. In the spring of last year, Desirée had been caught in a compromising position with the father of one of the students. The fact that she had been completely innocent of any wrongdoing meant nothing. The episode had been witnessed by Mrs Guarding and two of the girls, and it had effectively put an end to Desirée’s future at the school. It had also been a particularly difficult time for Helen. She and Desirée had become close in the brief time they’d known each other, and Helen had shed many a tear as a result of her friend being so cruelly sent away. But she knew there was nothing she could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done. It was simply the way young single women were misused by society.

      But now, Desirée was having the last laugh on them all. She had gone up to London and become the companion of an aristocratic lady, and had then fallen in love with the lady’s dashing young nephew. Now, she was betrothed to marry him. Her letter was to inform Helen of the date of the wedding, and to say how very much she