The Guardian's Dilemma. Gail Whitiker

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, and felt her breath catch painfully in her throat. She recognised a brief flicker of surprise, followed by confusion, and then disbelief as forgotten memories stirred to life like the cold ashes of a long dead fire.

      Helen’s heart plummeted. It seemed that her hopes of escaping recognition were to be dashed. The man knew exactly who she was. And it was clear from the look on his face that time notwithstanding, he thought no better of her now than he had all those years ago.

      Oliver stared at the young woman standing before him and felt as though he’d gone tumbling backwards in time.

      Good God, was it really her? After all these years, could it possibly be the same woman?

      He blinked hard, wondering if it was just his memory playing tricks on him. It had, after all, been years since he’d last seen her, and what he had seen of her at the time hadn’t been all that much. But if it wasn’t the same woman, it could surely have been her twin. The resemblance was uncanny. She had the same dark, lustrous hair and the same exotic beauty of the woman he had encountered so briefly all those years ago. But if it was the same woman, what the hell was she doing here?

      How had a nobleman’s whore become a teacher at a private girls’ school?

      ‘Mrs Guarding, might I have a word with you in your study?’ Oliver said finally.

      The headmistress glanced briefly at Miss de Coverdale, and then nodded. ‘By all means, Mr Brandon. Miss Emerson, would you be so kind as to show Miss Gresham to her room?’

      ‘Yes, Mrs Guarding.’

      ‘Thank you, ladies. You may all return to your classes.’

      As silent as little grey mice, the teachers filed out. Oliver saw a few cast surreptitious glances his way, but he noticed that none of them met his eye. And Helen de Coverdale did not look at him at all. She turned and walked away, not scurrying as the others had, but seeming to float across the floor, her movements slow and graceful, indicative of a poise and refinement he would not have expected in one of her class. At the door, she hesitated.

      Oliver held his breath. Would she turn and look at him? If she did, it would be tantamount to an admission of familiarity. He waited as the seconds seemed to drag into hours.

      In the end, she did not turn. Helen de Coverdale left the room and quietly closed the door behind her. She did not look back at him once.

      Oliver slowly let go the breath he’d been holding. It had to be her. He’d seen the tell-tale flash of recognition in her eyes. She’d known who he was as surely as he’d known who she was. Which meant that his suspicions had to be right.

      Helen de Coverdale was the young woman he’d stumbled upon in a darkened library, clutched in the passionate embrace of the married lord who had employed her.

      Helen sat on the stone bench in the rose garden and thought back to the one and only time she had seen Oliver Brandon. It seemed a lifetime ago now, and in many ways, it was. She had been employed as a governess to Lord and Lady Talbot at the time. A dreadful position, and one which, had she had a choice, she would have turned and run away from as far and as fast as her legs would have carried her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had a choice. She had taken the job because she’d needed money to live on after her father had died. But she had seen the look in Lord Talbot’s eyes the first time he had spoken to her, and had known what it would portend. Men had been looking at her like that since she was a child of thirteen, their hungry eyes lingering on her face and on her already ripening body.

      Helen hadn’t always had to worry about her appearance, of course. Before her father had died, her life had been very different. Robert de Coverdale had been a barrister, and as his only daughter, Helen had been a most eligible young lady. Indeed, her father had held out great hopes of her achieving a respectable marriage, perhaps even to a titled gentleman of some fortune.

      What he had not expected was to see his only daughter fall in love with an impoverished clergyman who had come to the village during the summer of her seventeenth year.

      Helen shuddered as she cast her mind back to her youth. Her father had refused to countenance an alliance between his daughter and Thomas Grant, the young vicar who’d claimed to love her. He’d said it was so far beneath her as to be laughable, and he had forbidden Helen to see him. And dutiful daughter that she was, Helen had obeyed. But it had taken years to recover from the heartache of losing Thomas. He had been her first true love, and the loss of that love had nearly destroyed her.

      Over the next two years, more unhappiness had plagued Helen’s life. Her mother had died in a freak riding accident, and her father, devastated by the loss of the woman he had loved more than life itself, had fallen into a series of personal and financial disasters. Unable to cope with a life in ruin, he had eventually taken his own life, and suddenly, Helen had discovered what it was to be dependent upon others. She’d had no relations in England. Her mother’s family was still in Italy, and her father’s only brother had been killed in the Americas. She’d had no one to turn to and no reputable avenues left open to her. It was then she started trying to disguise her natural beauty. She’d had no wish to appear attractive to the men who passed her in the street, or desirable to the husbands of other women.

      Unfortunately, not even the wearing of plain clothes or the scraping back of her hair into a matronly style had been enough to disguise the true loveliness of her features. Helen had not been able to make her heavily lashed eyes appear any the less noticeable, or her full-lipped mouth any the less appealing. She hadn’t been able to hide the fact that she wasn’t as slim and dainty as were so many of the English ladies she met. She had inherited her mother’s lush, exotic beauty, and it was that lushness which men found so attractive, Lord Talbot included. He had been hosting a shooting party at his country estate in Somerset that fateful weekend. The huge house had been filled with guests, many of whom had come all the way from Scotland to partake of the sport and to enjoy the lavish entertainments Lady Talbot had planned for the evenings.

      Helen had not been invited to enjoy any of the amusements, of course. She had been included in the outing to Grovesend Hall simply to look after the children, but as a lowly governess she was not expected to participate in any of the festivities. So after tucking her two little girls into bed, she had gone down to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk and had then headed for the library. Lady Talbot had told Helen she could avail herself of his lordship’s libraries. She had discovered Helen’s passion for reading, and had assured her that as long as the master was not about, she was welcome to browse through his extensive selection of books.

      Helen often wondered if Lady Talbot had known of her husband’s philandering СКАЧАТЬ