“Mr. Brandon, I must confess to a certain…surprise at having received your letter.
“It is most unusual for a schoolmistress to spend time alone with the parent of one of her girls,” she observed.
“I seldom trouble myself with what is or is not unusual, Miss de Coverdale,” Oliver replied. “I wished to speak to you alone and perceived this to be the best way of doing that.”
“But what did you wish to speak to me about?”
Oliver sent her a mocking glance. “Do you really need to ask that, given the nature of our first aquaintance?”
The Guardian’s Dilemma
Gail Whitiker
GAIL WHITIKER
Originally hailing from Pembrokershire, Gail Whitiker now lives on beautiful Vancouver Island on the west coast of Canada. When she isn’t indulging her love of writing, you’ll find her enjoying brisk walks along the island’s many fine beaches, or trying to catch up her second love, reading. She wrote her first novel when she was in her teens, and still blesses her English teacher for not telling her how bad it really was.
THE STEEPWOOD SCANDAL:
Lord Ravensden’s Marriage, by Anne Herries
An Innocent Miss, by Elizabeth Bailey
The Reluctant Bride, by Meg Alexander
A Companion of Quality, by Nicola Cornick
A Most Improper Proposal, by Gail Whitiker
A Noble Man, by Anne Ashley
An Unreasonable Match, by Sylvia Andrew
An Unconventional Duenna, by Paula Marshall
Counterfeit Earl, by Anne Herries
The Captain’s Return, by Elizabeth Bailey
The Guardian’s Dilemma, by Gail Whitiker
Lord Exmouth’s Intentions, by Anne Ashley
Mr. Rushford’s Honour, by Meg Alexander
An Unlikely Suitor, by Nicola cornick
An Inescapable Match, by Sylvia Andrew
The Missing Marchioness, by Paula Marshall
Contents
Chapter One
August 1812
‘Elope!’ The shocked exclamation burst from Oliver Brandon’s lips as he turned to stare at the young woman standing by the window. ‘What in the world are you talking about, Sophie? Gillian would never do such a thing.’
‘Wouldn’t she?’ Mrs Sophie Llewellyn glanced at her brother with an expression of amused indulgence. ‘You know what a headstrong young girl our stepsister is. She has the determination of three and she has shown in the past that if she is pushed too hard, she will rebel. Do you not remember that little incident several years ago?’
Oliver snorted. ‘Gillian was ten years old when she set off for Dover on her pony. At seventeen, I expect her to have more sense.’
‘And at seventeen she should have, dearest, but that is not to say that she has. For all her protestations to the contrary, Gillian is very young. She has been pampered and cosseted most of her life and has not half the maturity you or I had at that age.’
Oliver’s dark brows arched upwards in surprise. ‘Are you saying I’ve spoiled her?’
‘No, but she has certainly been indulged. And not only by you, so you needn’t look at me like that.’ Sophie’s mouth twitched. ‘I too am guilty of having given in to her whims. But Gillian has such a sweet, amiable nature that one cannot help oneself. However, you cannot deny that she likes to have her own way, Oliver, and when she doesn’t get it, she can become…’
‘Troublesome?’
‘I prefer to use the word challenging.’ Sophie smiled as if hoping to soften the criticism. ‘Troublesome has such a disagreeable connotation to it, don’t you think?’
‘Hmm.’ Oliver clasped his hands behind his back and joined his sister at the window. It was easy to discern the resemblance between the two. They both had the same dark, wavy hair and finely sculpted features of the Brandon side of the family, and the same height and physical stature of their late mother’s Howden connections. But that was where the similarities ended. In matters of personality and temperament, they were as different as night and day. Oliver might be only four years older than his sister, but his brooding countenance and serious nature often made him appear considerably more.
At thirty-five, he was as fit as a man ten years his junior, but unlike such greenheads, there was nothing of the dandy about him. He did not wear his hair in a Brutus crop or pad his calves to show a shapelier leg. He had no need to, given his propensity for strenuous exercise, both in the boxing ring and with the foil. But he was not so easily moved to laughter as was his sister, nor so trusting of the outside world.
In contrast to both of them was their seventeen-year-old stepsister, Gillian Gresham; a blonde, blue-eyed child who no more resembled either of them than did a rose a cornstalk. She had the round face and bubbly personality of her late mother, and standing at just over five feet tall, she barely reached Oliver’s shoulder. She was a happy, good-natured child, inclined, as Sophie had said, to cajole people into giving her what she wanted, but in such a way that no one could truly resent her for it. And she was forever falling in and out of love. Oliver had had more than his share of emotional battles with her over the past two years.
Gillian had come to live at Shefferton Hall when her mother, Catherine,