of annoyance darken the headmistress’s eyes. ‘Of course. Have you any reason to believe she would not?’
His shrug was purposely evasive. ‘I am merely curious as to the nature of Miss de Coverdale’s past employment.’
Mrs Guarding abruptly rose and crossed to the bell pull. ‘Miss de Coverdale’s work as governess to the children of Lord and Lady Peregrine was spoken of in glowing terms. The letter was written by Lady Peregrine herself, if that is of any consequence.’
Oliver smiled faintly. He had put the headmistress on the defensive, and her message to him was quite clear. She did not care to entertain intrusive questions about her staff, nor did she feel compelled to answer them. ‘I shall take up no more of your time, madam. I ask only that you provide me with periodic reports as to Gillian’s progress. I have reason to believe she will experience some difficulties in settling in, but I am sure everything will be fine once she comes to know the other girls.’
‘I am confident she will fit in very well, Mr Brandon. But I shall keep you apprised of her progress.’ The door opened and a black-garbed maid entered. ‘Molly will show you out.’
Oliver bowed. ‘Thank you.’
As Oliver followed the maid down the hall, he admitted to feeling a certain degree of frustration. He was no further ahead after his conversation with Mrs Guarding than he had been before it. It was clear the headmistress thought well of Miss de Coverdale, and it was equally clear there was nothing in her past that would have precluded her from being taken on as a teacher here.
But how could a woman who had been employed in a household where she might well have been the lord’s mistress, receive a glowing report from the lord’s wife? Had she been that good at concealing the nature of her relationships? Oliver wondered. Or had she simply been fortunate enough to end up in a household where the wife knew of her husband’s behaviour, and had been equally willing to turn a blind eye to it?
Helen set her easel close to the base of the linden tree and checked to make sure that the footing was secure. ‘Now, girls,’ she said, turning to smile at the eight young women who were gathered around her, ‘I thought today we might begin work on a new landscape. Miss Tillendon, did you not express the opinion that it would be challenging to paint the varying shades of blue in the sky?’
‘Yes, Miss de Coverdale.’
‘Then I think that is what we shall undertake. Now, to begin with, we should spend a little time studying the sky. We should look up and see how the colours in it change. Notice the way the blue is lighter there, and how the clouds come across it and make it appear—’
‘Miss de Coverdale, who is that gentleman?’ Rebecca Walters enquired suddenly.
Helen abruptly turned away from her study of the sky to glance in the direction Rebecca was pointing. To her astonishment, she saw Oliver Brandon striding down the path towards them, his face set in grim lines. He covered the distance between the school and the pasture in short measure, but then, as if uncertain of his welcome, stopped at the edge of the field and leaned against the fence.
Helen felt a quick surge of colour to her cheeks. What was Oliver Brandon doing out here? Surely he wasn’t expecting to have a conversation with her right in the middle of her lesson? But why else would he have come? He would hardly be interested in watching a group of young girls learn how to paint.
‘The gentleman’s name is Mr Brandon,’ Helen said, seeing no reason not to tell them. ‘He is the guardian of one of our new students, Miss Gresham.’
‘But why is he watching you?’ Lydia McPherson piped up.
‘He isn’t watching me, Miss McPherson. He is watching all of us attempt to paint the sky.’
‘I think he is looking at you, Miss,’ little Eliza Howard said shyly. ‘He is too old to care about the rest of us, or about our paintings.’
The girls started to giggle and Helen felt the blush in her cheeks spread to the rest of her face. ‘If he is looking at me, it is only because he wishes to see how I conduct my classes. His ward is to be a pupil here. No doubt he wishes to see what kind of teacher I am.’
‘I shouldn’t mind his watching me,’ Rebecca Walters said on a sigh. ‘He’s ever so handsome.’
Elizabeth Brookwell gave a disparaging snort. ‘You think all gentlemen are handsome.’
‘I do not!’
‘Yes you do!’
‘Ladies, please!’ Helen interrupted firmly. ‘It is not for us to wonder why Mr Brandon has chosen to stand by the fence and watch us. He is perfectly within his rights to do so, and I am sure it is nothing more than curiosity. Now, kindly return your attention to the sky. If you will recall, I was remarking on the number of shades of blue to be seen. Who can tell me how many different shades there are?’
The question served to focus the attention of most of the girls back on their work, and gave Helen a legitimate reason to ignore Oliver Brandon. But she could not so easily dismiss the awareness of his presence standing some thirty feet away. It was all very well to say he was only there to observe the activities of girls at their lessons. It was another thing entirely to believe it.
Oliver stood by the gate and watched Helen de Coverdale conduct an art class for the small cluster of girls gathered around her. They had each brought easels, paints and papers with them, and from what he could see, they were all diligently trying to replicate the ever-changing shades of blue in the afternoon sky. Even from this distance, however, it was obvious that most of them would never be called upon to make a living from their art. But what about the woman standing in the middle of the circle? What had happened to bring about such a change in her life?
There was no question in Oliver’s mind that Helen de Coverdale was wasting her time here. With those full pouting lips and that blatantly sensual figure, she could have been one of the most sought after courtesans in London. Wealthy, aristocratic gentlemen would have vied with one another to offer her their protection, while handsome young bucks would have been lined up outside her door.
And who could blame them? Oliver had never seen such a combination of innocence and sensuality in a woman before. Her skin was itself a palette upon which an artist might sketch. But unlike canvas, it invited touch. Even from this distance, he had an overwhelming urge to run his fingers over her face and see if it felt as warm and as soft as it looked. And her movements fascinated him. Helen de Coverdale walked amongst the girls with the same languid grace she had demonstrated in the dining-hall; her hips following her legs in a movement that was decidedly provocative, yet totally instinctual. Her attire, a simple, round gown of unadorned muslin, was not designed to flatter her figure, yet the voluptuous curves of her hips and the fullness of her breasts caused it to appear enticing in spite of it being so plain. Furthermore, in direct contrast to what was expected of a woman in her position, she did not hide her hair under a cap or restrain it in a matronly style. The glorious tresses rippled freely down her back, falling almost to her waist in a dark, shimmering stream.
Yes, she was certainly a woman to be desired, Oliver acknowledged. And given what he had seen of her conduct in the library at Grovesend Hall, she was not inexperienced in the arts of love. But if that was the case, what was she doing here? Sophie had assured him that the teachers at the Guarding Academy were all of the highest moral character. Yet what he had witnessed of Helen de Coverdale’s conduct in the past had been impropriety, plain and simple. How could a woman like that be hired to teach moral rectitude to the young women in her care?
