other than family members and female friends.’
Mrs Guarding nodded. ‘I will ensure that my staff are made aware of your wishes, Mr Brandon.’
Oliver hesitated, not sure whether he detected a note of censure in the woman’s voice, and even less sure why he should be disturbed by it. ‘It is not my intention to sound like an overbearing parent, Mrs Guarding. Gillian is an amiable child but at times she can be…impulsive.’ He gave the headmistress a rueful smile. ‘She has done an excellent job of winding her tutors and her family around her little finger, and I regret to say she has become accustomed to getting her own way. I simply wish to prevent her from making a terrible mistake.’
The reluctant explanation brought a smile to Mrs Guarding’s face. ‘I understand your dilemma, Mr Brandon. It is an unfortunate truth that all too often young women are guided by their feelings rather than by their good sense, and I would not wish to see your ward come to grief. However, having said that, I must remind you that Miss Gresham is not a prisoner here. I cannot restrict all of her activities nor force her to remain on school property. If she is not to leave the grounds or to venture into the village unescorted, you must be the one to tell her that. I shall then endeavour to enforce your instructions as best I can.’
‘That is only fair,’ Oliver conceded. ‘Gillian is well aware of my feelings regarding Mr Wymington, but as I’ve said, she’s a strong-willed girl used to getting her own way. I am hoping that you and your staff will be able to strengthen and refine certain aspects of her character. I have been assured that moral development and intellectual growth are encouraged here.’ Oliver took a deep breath. ‘I wish her to understand that a young lady in possession of a considerable fortune cannot always be ruled by her heart, since the gentlemen who are courting her seldom are.’
Helen accompanied Jane to the dining-hall and smiled at the other teachers who were gathered there. They were a quiet group of women, made that way by their upbringing as much as by their choice of livelihood. They had all been forced to seek employment as a result of neither having had the good fortune to secure a husband, nor being in the enviable position of not needing one.
Helen had come to the Guarding Academy with a slight advantage over the others in that she had once been a pupil here. But she had never had cause to regret her decision. Even now, as she approached the beginning of her third year, she still enjoyed the opportunity of working with the young women in her care. That was not to say that all the young ladies liked being shown the best way to apply watercolours to a page, or how to conjugate Italian verbs. Indeed, with travel on the Continent so restricted, many of them felt there was little need for any language other than French in their daily lives, and some even balked at the learning of that.
For all of the attendant aggravations, however, Helen was not unhappy. There was a sense of belonging here; a feeling that they were all part of a small community, and that was important to Helen. She had spent too many lonely years forced to live without it.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused the low murmur of voices to cease, and in silent expectation the ladies turned towards the door where three people had just entered. Mrs Guarding led the way, followed by a very pretty young woman of about sixteen, and behind her, a gentleman who looked to be somewhere in his late thirties.
The young lady was dressed in the first style of fashion, from the brim of her attractive straw bonnet to the tips of her dark brown kid boots. She wore a short pelisse of deep lilac trimmed with white, and her light blonde hair was attractively arranged in loose curls around her face. She had high, round cheeks, a pert little nose, and a soft, rosebud mouth. But Helen could tell from the petulant expression on that mouth that the young lady was anything but pleased at the prospect of becoming a pupil at Mrs Guarding’s Academy.
The gentleman behind her was equally well dressed. He was garbed in a dark blue jacket over fawn-coloured breeches, and was wearing a pair of highly polished Hessians. The perfectly tailored garments accentuated the width of his shoulders and the musculature of his legs, but there was nothing foppish about him. The fabric of his single-breasted waistcoat was tastefully subdued, while his snowy white cravat was well but not fussily tied.
Unfortunately, it was not the manner of his dress that gave Helen cause for alarm. As she slowly raised her eyes to his face, icy fingers tightened around her heart, and for a moment, she could scarcely breathe.
No! It could not be! Not now, after all this time, surely it was not him…
‘Ladies, thank you for gathering so promptly,’ Mrs Guarding began in her usual brisk manner. ‘I am very pleased to introduce our newest student, Miss Gillian Gresham. Miss Gresham comes to us from Hertfordshire and will remain with us until the spring. I know you will all make her feel welcome at the Guarding Academy.’
The young lady introduced as Miss Gresham glanced briefly at the cluster of women in the room, but she did not smile, nor did she respond to a whispered comment made by the gentleman beside her. She kept her eyes on the floor, refusing to look up or even to acknowledge him.
Helen bit her lip. She wished with all her heart that she could smile, but her face was frozen from top to bottom. Dear heavens, was the gentleman truly the young woman’s father? She would not have thought him old enough…
‘I would also like to introduce Mr Oliver Brandon, Miss Gresham’s guardian,’ Mrs Guarding went on to say. ‘Mr Brandon has been good enough to donate an excellent selection of books from his own library for our use, and we are exceedingly grateful to him for his kindness. And now, Miss Gresham, Mr Brandon, if you would be so good as to follow me, I shall introduce you to the members of my staff.’
Helen nervously clasped her hands in front of her as the three began their perambulation. She kept her eyes down, wishing with all her heart that she could turn and run from the room, but she knew she dare not. Mrs Guarding would never forgive such a breach of etiquette from a member of her staff. Worse, it would only serve to draw attention to herself, and that was the last thing Helen wished to do. Which meant that she would just have to stay and see it through.
Perhaps he would not recognise her, she thought with sudden hope. After all, it had been nearly twelve years since he had last seen her and her appearance had certainly changed from the time she was a young woman of nineteen. There was also the possibility that he might not remember her, given that the room in which he’d found her had been very dark. And considering the awkwardness of the situation, he could have had only the briefest glimpse of her before—
‘And this is Miss Helen de Coverdale,’ she heard Mrs Guarding say. ‘Miss de Coverdale has been with us for two years and instructs the girls in the areas of watercolours and Italian.’
Helen was aware of Miss Gresham and her guardian stopping in front of her and knew there was nothing she could do but acknowledge the introduction. She slowly raised her head and smiled tentatively at the young woman. ‘Good morning, Miss Gresham.’
‘Good morning,’ came the lack-lustre reply.
Finally, with a reluctance borne of fear, Helen turned her head and looked at Oliver Brandon, trying all the while to ignore the butterflies swirling madly inside her stomach.
He, too, had changed over the past twelve years. His face, a striking mixture of lines and angles, was no longer that of a youth but of a man; one who had experienced life, both the good and the bad of it. He had a slender nose poised above a firm chin, a beautifully sculpted mouth and eyes that glowed a rich shade of brown. His hair was so dark as to appear almost black, as were his brows and lashes.
And he was tall. Helen had to tilt her head back to look into his face. Unfortunately, as she did, she saw the change in his expression,
