Gail Whitiker - The Guardian's Dilemma

“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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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.

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

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

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, had married Oliver’s father just over nine years ago. She had become his legal ward when Catherine had succumbed to pneumonia two years later. Surprisingly, Oliver had grieved deeply over his stepmother’s death. More so, perhaps, than he had over his own mother’s. The bond between them had been surprisingly strong, and Oliver knew that Catherine had come to feel the same respect and admiration for him as he had for her. It was the reason she had left Gillian in his care, and that she had died at peace, secure in the knowledge that her only daughter would be well taken care of.

The guardianship hadn’t been bad to begin with, Oliver admitted. Gillian had been an amusing little minx and, for the first few years, had behaved in a manner suitable to her age and in way that gave him little cause for concern. But over the last four years she had developed into a very determined young woman indeed. So much so that when she thought she was right, there was little hope of convincing her otherwise. At times, even his mild-mannered sister had been tempted to throw up her hands in despair.

At the moment, however, Gillian was happily engaged in the garden below, gathering a colourful selection of roses and placing them in a large straw basket. The fact that the basket was being held by a handsome officer who seemed only too happy to perform such a menial task accounted for a large part of her happiness, Oliver reflected moodily, and for considerably less of his.

‘Challenging may be the more agreeable word, Sophie, but I think troublesome is the more appropriate one,’ he muttered. ‘At least when she was ten I had no need to worry about who she might be running off to Dover with.’ Oliver’s brow furrowed as he studied the disturbing scene below. ‘I do not like Sidney Charles Wymington. I have no doubt he has a flattering tongue and that his looks are as elegant as anyone might wish, but his glib manner disturbs me very much. He is forever offering opinions on matters that do not concern him, and he is seldom caught without an answer. And I, for one, do not trust a man who is never at a loss for words.’