The Gallant Guardian (7 page)

“Would I?” William could barely speak for excitement. Then his face fell. “No, tomorrow is my long day for lessons with Dr. Moreland. That is my day for sums and I am dreadfully slow at them so it takes most of the day.” He brightened as a sudden thought occurred to him. “But I could ask Charlie if I might have my lessons the next day instead.”

“No, there is no need to apply to your sister to change your schedule. You have your lessons as usual and we can go driving the next day.”

“Will you be staying with us the next day as well?” Such a happy thought had not occurred to William and he looked to be much cheered by it.

“I hope so, but it all rather depends on your sister.”

“I shall talk to Charlie,” William responded confidently. “We never have anyone visit except Cousin Cecil. Charlie frowns a great deal when he is around, but I expect that she would like to have someone as top-of-the-trees as you are as a visitor.”

The marquess laughed. “I am not sure that those things that make me an interesting guest for you would make me an interesting guest for your sister, but we shall have to hope I can offer something that she enjoys.”

William was silent for a moment, his forehead wrinkled in deep concentration. “You must talk to her of books. Charlie loves books and she never has anyone to talk to about them.” He paused for a moment, fixing the marquess with an anxious look. “You do like books, do you not, sir?”

“Yes, I do like books, perhaps not the same sorts of books your sister likes, but I do like books.”

“Then it is settled.” William beamed, relieved to learn that his new friend was still the paragon he had at first taken him to be. “For Charlie likes all sorts of books—big ones, small ones, with pictures, or without pictures—and she is always reading. Yesterday my cousin Almeria was scolding her for reading poetry by some man who is very naughty, and the day before she told Cousin Cecil that he must not really have read Mr. Roo…Mr. Ruu…well, anyway, she said that he must not really have read him if those were the ideas Cousin Cecil thought he had.”

“I
see”
Maximilian grinned. He could just imagine how happy the Wadleighs would be with an intelligent young woman who read Byron and Rousseau. Truly, his visit was promising to be more enlivening than he had hoped. Armed with the information William had just supplied him, he looked forward to a most interesting conversation at the table that evening. Undoubtedly the freethinking Lady Charlotte was a supporter of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin, and he felt quite certain that the very mention of either or both of these names was likely to make the Wadleighs exceedingly uncomfortable.

With this in mind, Lord Lydon complimented his hostess at dinner that evening on the fineness of Harcourt’s library. But before Charlotte could draw breath to reply, Almeria broke in. “Why yes, we have a superb library here at Harcourt. The carving is by Grinling Gibbons himself and there is none finer to be found anywhere in the country.”

“Most fascinating indeed, but I confess that I find the books themselves more worthy of interest than the room, as, I have no doubt, does Lady Charlotte. I took the liberty of examining it this afternoon and I can see that it has been the work of generations of collectors going back in time a good deal farther than Mr. Gibbons and continuing to the present day. Is that not so, Lady Charlotte? The collection of contemporary volumes must be the result of your tastes, as I know that your father spent little time at Harcourt.”

Effectively silenced, Lady Wadleigh subsided with an audible sniff while Charlotte, directing a grateful look at Lord Lydon, could barely repress a smile at the wicked twinkle dancing in his eyes. It was all too clear that he was baiting Cecil and Almeria—successfully too, if Almeria’s heightened color and angry expression were any indication.

“Why yes, I have continued the work of previous Winterbournes, though I have also added the volumes from Papa’s library in London. Reading is one of my chief pleasures.” Here she darted a defiant glance at her cousin that the marquess was hard put to interpret. In all probability Cecil and Almeria might have criticized her for cultivating tastes that were far too intellectual and too liberal to be attractive in a female, but the expression in Charlotte’s eyes hinted at something deeper than that. Maximilian wondered what it was and resolved to delve deeper.

“Surely that is a most admirable pursuit.” He probed delicately.

“Admirable indeed, if not carried to excessive lengths, as our dear Charlotte is inclined to do. She is too studious by far, which cannot be good for her health.” The heartiness and concern in Cecil’s voice was belied by the coldness in his eyes. Obviously there was an issue of some importance here, so critical that his wife could not refrain from adding her opinion.

“I have warned our dear Charlotte that she is in danger of becoming a bluestocking, which would never do. Men of the world, as you well know, my dear Lord Lydon,” she simpered grotesquely at Max, “do not like a young lady to be forceful in her opinions, and they certainly would never marry such a one. We must see to it that Charlotte goes about in society soon, before she becomes too eccentric.”

“Which is of little account in this case, as I have no desire or need to marry, though naturally, I thank my cousins for their concern.” Charlotte smiled sweetly enough, but her eyes were flashing, and the iciness in her voice gave fair warning that this was dangerous ground indeed.

Max’s eyes gleamed. So that was their game! They wished to marry off Charlotte and take the care and supervision of William into their own hands while they enjoyed all the luxuries of Harcourt just as much as if Cecil had actually inherited it. It was a clever enough scheme and might very well have worked if Charlotte had had the tastes of an ordinary young woman. But Lady Charlotte Winterbourne was no ordinary young woman, nor was she likely to be talked out of any course of action on which she had set herself. The marquess had seen enough of his ward to be sure of that.

“Then it sounds to me as though there is an end to your worries. If Lady Charlotte is fully alive to the terror that a learned lady strikes in the hearts of prospective suitors and stands ready to accept the consequences of pursuing her unfashionable interests, then I see no difficulty here. But” —the marquess turned to Charlotte and intoned in mock seriousness— “be aware, young lady, that an intelligent young woman is a most forbidding person indeed and is very likely to wind up completely independent and on her own.”

Charlotte sighed inwardly with relief. Knowing the marquess’s distaste for his newly acquired responsibilities, she had become rather nervous the moment the question of marriage had been introduced, for marrying her off would certainly be one way to insure her future and take her mind off William. To be sure, the general consensus among Harcourt’s neighbors was that she should find a husband and relinquish the care of her brother to someone more suitable, but Charlotte would have none of that.

First and foremost, she could think of no one who understood William’s needs better or had his interests more at heart than she did, and, secondly, she had not the least inclination for handing her life over to the whims and dictates of someone else. Having to answer to a guardian was bad enough—a husband would be ten times worse. But for now, she smiled gratefully at Lord Lydon, thankful that at the moment it appeared she had a guardian who appreciated her and understood her.

Chapter Eight

Charlotte was not entirely correct in this. Though Lord Lydon heartily sympathized with her lack of enthusiasm for the married state, he did not fully understand this reluctance, so unusual in a young woman. His experience had taught him that single females, young or old, were all eager to rush into matrimony. In fact, most females seemed to make it the goal of their existences. He pondered this anomaly as he prepared himself for bed that night, but his curiosity was piqued. The next morning the marquess sought further enlightenment on what was a highly unusual outlook by approaching his ward as she was pruning roses in the garden.

“I have no need to be married,” Charlotte replied matter-of-factly as she snipped a heavy pink blossom and laid it in her basket.

Max had never quite thought of it in these terms before. Every unmarried female he had encountered thus far had been so intent on remedying the situation that he had naturally assumed that women became wives out of inclination rather than necessity. Still, there was something in the bald finality of her statement that made him suspect that there was more to it than that. He pondered a moment. “I feel certain that any man worthy of your regard would welcome your brother into his house.”

At last she looked up at him. Her face, shadowed by the broad brim of her chip bonnet, was grave. “I suppose so. However, it is not only William that I am concerned about. At the moment I am content as I am and since I do not need a husband to support me or care for me, I do not see why I should have to have one.”

The logic was unanswerable, but still the marquess sensed that there was more to it than that. “There
are
other reasons to marry, you know. Even those most desperate to gain a fortune or raise their rank in the world give at least some credit to the power of love. And these days, most modern young ladies will insist on having love, or at least the romantic appearance of it, and will have none of a match without it.”

“Oh
love.”
Charlotte swiped at another fragrant bloom and added it to the pile in the basket.

“Do you not need love in your life?” The marquess was incredulous.

“No. I
have
love. I have William and he has me. He needs me and is happiest when I am with him, and I love him dearly.” A tender smile flitted across her face at the thought of her brother. She turned to her interlocutor. “Do
you
need love, my lord?”

Maximilian was nonplussed. “Why, of course…” He faltered under the steady, questioning gaze. Did he need love? Until this moment, love was what he assumed he had been seeking in his numerous liaisons with the fair sex, but now that he considered it, he realized that it was not love at all, but something else, something even he, worldly and sophisticated as he was, was not prepared to discuss with this clear-eyed young lady.

Though Lord Lydon had begun the entire discussion, he now admitted to himself, for the sole purpose of shaking that cool self-possessed air of hers, to make her blush and lose countenance, the result was that he was losing his own. Such a thing had never happened to him before, at least not within recent memory. The conversation was not going at all as he had planned. “Ah, but we were not talking about me. I asked you. And I was not speaking of the love between a brother and a sister.” There! Now he had her.

Charlotte smiled faintly. Though he had neatly side-stepped the issue, her guardian looked distinctly uneasy, and she had the satisfaction of knowing she had at least disconcerted him. “The love and affection William and I feel for each other is more than enough for me, and far more than one finds in most marriages, I dare say.”

But there was a strangely shuttered look in her eyes as she responded to his question that made Max think it was more complex than that. There was something she was avoiding, something she would not or could not discuss, and he resolved to get to the bottom of it, though he could not have said why it mattered to him whether or not she wished to share her life with a man other than William. But for some strange reason, it did matter to him. Perhaps it was because he had witnessed that very affection between brother and sister that she had spoken of. Having observed her warm and loving nature, he found it difficult to believe that sisterly affection was enough for her. Even odder still, he did not want it to be enough for her. He had seen firsthand her passionate protectiveness of her brother, her intense devotion to his welfare, and he did not like to think that such passion would never have any other outlet than a simpleminded brother, that such a vibrant young woman would live out her days as a spinster buried in the countryside without ever having experienced all the richness—both emotional and physical—that life had to offer. It seemed such a waste somehow.

A slight cough startled the marquess out of his reverie and he glanced down to see Charlotte regarding him curiously.

“I had not thought my observation was such an unusual one, but it seems to have given you pause for reflection,” she remarked.

“What? Oh, the fondness one finds in most marriages, or the lack thereof.”

“How many of the unions you know were founded on love, or give any indication that love exists between those involved?” She demanded.

Max mentally reviewed the couples with whom he was most familiar, beginning with his parents. Certainly his mother and father had appeared to live in different worlds entirely as did most of his acquaintances in London. The men escaped to White’s or Brook’s in order to find true companionship and the women gossiped together over innumerable cups of tea.

“You see? People are forever urging marriage on single men and women, touting it as a blessed state, but if one stops to consider how things truly are, one comes up with a different perspective on it altogether. Surely as an eligible bachelor you must constantly have people telling you
to find a proper young lady and settle down.”
Charlotte shot a triumphant glance at him.

The marquess chuckled. For a young woman who had spent her days quietly at Harcourt, she had a keen grasp of society at large, but he still could not rid himself of the sense that she was avoiding something.

But all speculation was put to an end as William burst around the corner of the stone wall protecting the rose garden. “Charlie, Charlie, Mr. Griggs let me give an apple to…” He came to a full stop upon seeing his sister’s companion. “Oh, excuse me, sir, I did not know you were here.” He subsided into respectful silence for a moment, but then, unable to contain his enthusiasm, he continued, “Mr. Griggs is ever so nice, isn’t he, sir? He allowed me to feed your team and showed me all their finest points.”