My Fair Guardian Read online

  My Fair Guardian

  Suzanne G. Rogers

  Idunn Court Publishing

  My Fair Guardian, Copyright © 2019 by Suzanne G. Rogers

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Idunn Court Publishing

  7 Ramshorn Court

  Savannah, GA 31411

  Published by Idunn Court Publishing, April 2019

  This book is licensed to the original publisher only. Duplication of distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover Design: Suzanne G. Rogers

  Couple Image: Period Images

  London Background Image: Brigitte Werner, Pixabay

  Chapter One

  Ambition Thwarted

  May, 1890

  Bethany had just drifted off when she was startled awake by a loud argument outside, as if men were fighting. She hastened to her second-floor window and peered out at the moonlit grounds just in time to see one large man strike another on the jaw. When the unfortunate fellow went down on his knees, the victor grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of view.

  Bethany groaned, donned her wrapper and slippers and lit a candle. As she made her way from her room and through the dark hallway, she was glad to discover her younger sister’s door was still shut. She prayed the girl would sleep soundly through whatever was disturbing the peace at Lansings Lodge.

  She descended the stairs, and reached the entrance hall as the butler rushed through the front door with a lantern in hand.

  “What has happened, Richmond?”

  The man’s clothes were askew, as if he’d rolled out of bed and jumped into them, willy-nilly. He straightened his jacket with his free hand. “Forgive my disarray, Miss Christensen. It seems we have had another attempted burglary.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, no. Not again!”

  “I’m afraid so, but one of the men has apprehended the rascal.”

  Her lips tightened. “Let me have a look at the thief.”

  She put the candle down on the entrance hall table and pulled her wrapper around her body more securely before following the butler from the house and onto the gravel-covered courtyard beyond. Her groundskeeper and a tall young man in his shirtsleeves stood over a fellow lying on his stomach, squirming. Richmond lifted his lantern higher to show the thief’s wrists were bound with rope and his face was streaked with blood.

  “Lay still if you know what’s good for you!” The groundskeeper stuck the toe of his boot in the thief’s ribs for good measure.

  The young man at his side pulled the rope taut. “If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t have come, Mr. Troy.”

  Bethany glared at the burglar before glancing at Mr. Troy. “What have we here?”

  The groundskeeper wore a pained expression. “I’m sorry you were disturbed, Miss Christensen.” He cocked a thumb toward the man holding the rope. “Will saw someone lurking outside the house and went to investigate.”

  “You’ve made a mistake!” The burglar spit out a mouthful of gravel. “I was just passing through!”

  Will’s fists clenched as he gave the rope another yank. “With a crowbar and a sack?”

  “Those aren’t mine, I swear it!”

  Bethany sighed. “Has the constable been summoned, Mr. Troy?”

  The groundskeeper nodded. “I’ve sent one of the stable hands to fetch him. In the meantime, Will and I have the scoundrel under control.”

  Distant lightning lit up the night sky. As a rumble of thunder reached Bethany’s ears, she beckoned Mr. Troy over and lowered her voice. “This is the second time in two months we’ve found an intruder at Lansings Lodge. We must redouble our efforts at security.”

  “The gate at the end of the driveway is almost complete, Miss Christensen. We’ve also begun planting hedges around the perimeter.”

  “Jane and I are departing for London tomorrow. I hope to see some significant progress by the time we return in three days.”

  “Aye, Miss Christensen.”

  Before she turned back toward the house, she caught Will’s eye. “Are you new here?”

  “Willoughby Winter, at your service, miss.” He gave her an awkward bow. “Been working at Lansings Lodge nearly a week now.”

  “Thank you for your diligence, Will. You must be a light sleeper.”

  “A bit.” He shrugged. “’Twas my pleasure, miss.”

  She returned to the house, exchanging a harried glance with the butler along the way.

  “Make sure no one speaks of this to Jane. I don’t want her to worry.”

  He nodded. “I shall instruct the staff to exercise the utmost discretion.”

  “Thank you.” She made a sound of frustration. “This sort of thing never used to happen when Mr. Leopold was alive.”

  “They did, in fact, but you and your sister were never told. Mr. Leopold didn’t want you to feel as if you were in any danger.”

  Bethany shuddered. “There is something to be said for ignorance, I think.”

  She picked up the candle and ascended the stairs. But for the watchfulness of the new hire, a burglar had almost broken into the house. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and allowed her shoulders to relax.

  “Thank heavens for Willoughby Winter’s vigilance.”

  ∞∞∞

  London

  “What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you, Miss Christensen.” The older man gave Bethany a beaming smile as he seated himself behind the staid oak desk in his office. “I had the highest respect for your late guardian, Mr. Leopold. He was a gentleman of the highest caliber and his death was too sudden.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ryder. My sister and I feel the same way. Even though he’s been gone over six months now, we still miss him cruelly.”

  “Understandable. How is your sister doing?”

  “As well as can be expected, thank you. I’m endeavoring to give Jane as much stability as possible.”

  “I commend you for that, Miss Christensen. Stability is very important for a young girl her age.” He checked his pocket watch before returning his attention to Bethany. “I confess I was a trifle surprised to receive your letter. What brings you to Ryder Publishing?”

  Bethany retrieved a manuscript from the brown leather valise in her lap. The pages were tied together with a length of string, and as she put the package on Mr. Ryder’s desk, she gave it a proud pat.

  “I’m a writer, sir, and I would like you to consider my Gothic romance for publication. It’s entitled House of Whispers, and the story revolves around a woman who goes to work as a housekeeper for a mysterious widower. The widower, who has—”

  “Forgive me, Miss Christensen, but no. I’m sure your novel is riveting in its own way, but I would never consider publishing a female author.” Mr. Ryder chuckled and shook his head. “I’d be a laughingstock in the industry.”

  Bethany’s spine straightened. “Why should that be? There have been plenty of women who have written wonderful stories. Jane Austen, Mar
y Shelley, the Brontë sisters, and George Eliot are just a few who come to mind.”

  The man regarded her over the top of his spectacles, almost as he would an adorable child. “Oh, my! As an unpublished and untested writer, do you really consider your work to be in that rarefied atmosphere?”

  Her eyebrows drew together, but she tried to cover her annoyance with a pleasant smile.

  “All I’m asking is for my work to be evaluated by the same criteria as anyone else. If it doesn’t suit Ryder Publishing, I would thank you for your time and be on my way.”

  The silver-haired man tucked his spectacles into his breast pocket. “I shall not insult your intelligence by pretending to read your manuscript, Miss Christensen.” He stood. “I’m honored, however, that you sought my advice and I wish you and your sister health and happiness.”

  She swallowed her disappointment as she picked up the manuscript that contained her hopes, dreams, and aspirations and slid it back into her valise.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Ryder.” She rose. “I don’t mean to seem churlish, but I plan to prove you wrong about me someday.”

  His countenance was wreathed with merriment. “As soon as you are wed and have a baby, I daresay your ambitions will return home where they ought to be.”

  Bethany’s face felt tight as she nodded and left Mr. Ryder’s office with her valise gripped in her hand.

  ∞∞∞

  When Bethany returned to the hotel room midday, her sister Jane tossed her book aside and jumped off the sofa, quivering with the sort of excitement only a twelve-year-old could display.

  “Well?”

  Bethany’s smile was muted as she put the valise down on the desk, unfastened her cape, and draped it across the back of a chair. “Six meetings, five exceedingly polite refusals to look at my work, and one outright rejection.”

  Jane’s lips parted. “Do you mean five publishers wouldn’t agree to read House of Whispers, even though they were friends with Mr. Leopold?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” Bethany tugged off her gloves, and unpinned her hat. “They all say the same thing. No female authors.”

  “That’s not fair!” Jane stamped her foot. “Literature should not be judged by whether the author wears a skirt or trousers.”

  “I am at an impasse nevertheless.”

  “Why did the sixth publisher reject you?”

  “Mr. Gerard read one chapter before kindly telling me my work lacked passion.” She bit her lip. “Since I’ve never been in love, I’m not so sure he isn’t right.”

  “Don’t be silly! You don’t have to murder anyone to write murder mysteries, do you?”

  Bethany smiled. “I should hope not. Unfortunately our journey to London has been a dreadful waste of time.”

  Jane’s eyes became round. “We are still going to the theater tonight, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, of course. We might as well have a few hours of enjoyment before we leave.”

  “I’m so glad.” Jane leaped back onto the sofa, bounced up and down on the springy cushions, and kicked her legs. “Nevertheless, I’m sorry you are disappointed.”

  “That’s not ladylike, dearest.” Bethany fixed her gaze on the oriental carpet. “Maybe I should heed Mr. Gerard’s opinion and write about something I know—like embroidering screens.”

  Jane stopped kicking her legs. “Since you dislike embroidering screens, that’s stupid. Besides which, I’ve read everything you’ve ever written and I think you’re terribly talented.”

  “Thank you, dearest, but you must admit you are prejudiced.”

  “Yes, but I think I can be fair even so. If you have to be a man to get your work published, why don’t you choose a pen name like Harold Pumpleshook or Marcus Dweezlebum?”

  Despite a heavy heart, Bethany laughed at her sister’s creativity. “I think you may have a future as a writer.”

  “Jane jumped to her feet. “I’m famished. Can we go to the dining room and order lunch?”

  Although food was the last thing on her mind, Bethany nodded. “Of course. Give me a few moments to freshen up.” She crossed into the adjoining lavatory.

  ∞∞∞

  As Bethany waited with Jane in the theater lobby prior to the doors opening, she reached over to tweak one of her sister’s curls. The youngster looked sweet in a blush pink and white lace frock, and her taffy-colored tresses were held back from her face with a satin ribbon. Her face, although still childishly round, held the promise of great beauty one day.

  “You certainly won’t lack for suitors when you’re ready to make your debut five or six years from now,” Bethany said.

  Jane gave her sister’s ice blue gown and blond coiffeur an admiring glance. “I hope I look like you.”

  “You’ll be far prettier, I assure you.”

  “Miss Christensen!” A male voice called out.

  A slender young gentleman in evening clothes hastened toward them. Although Bethany cast a desperate glance over one shoulder to determine the best means of retreat, the lobby was too full for her to avoid the encounter.

  “Miss Christensen, how jolly it is to find you in London after such a long absence.” The man’s slick hair gleamed in the gas lighting from the sconces and chandelier overhead. “Dare I hope you are in town for the Season?”

  “Alas, my sister and I came only for a few days.” Bethany glanced at her sister. “Jane, this is Mr. Halliwell. Mr. Halliwell, this is my sister, Jane.”

  Her sister bobbed up and down in a curtsy and the fellow bowed.

  “Charmed to meet you, Miss Jane.” His gaze returned to Bethany’s face. “Can I not tempt you to stay a little while longer? Mother is to have a soiree on Thursday and she would be delighted to extend an invitation to you.”

  “Your mama has always been kind.” The doors to the theater opened just then and the crowd surged forward. “I-I’m not accepting any social engagements at present. It’s still too soon since Mr. Leopold’s passing.”

  The gentleman’s countenance fell. “If there is anything Mother and I can ever do for you, please let us know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Halliwell.”

  As Bethany escorted Jane into the theater, she felt her sister’s eyes on her.

  “Why did you put him off? Mr. Halliwell seems nice.”

  “He is nice enough.” Bethany shrugged. “Nevertheless, he is two years younger than I am and I have no wish to encourage him. The fellow and I just don’t suit one another.”

  “What sort of gentleman would suit you?”

  She sighed. “I haven’t met him yet. It would have to be someone exceedingly dashing and terribly interesting. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t exist.”

  An usher brought them to their seats in almost the exact center of the theater. After Jane gawked at the chandeliers overhead, the box seats, and the patrons, she stole another glance at Bethany.

  “I’m worried about you. Except for tonight, you’ve not gone out since Mr. Leopold died.”

  “Mourning dictates—”

  “Mr. Leopold was a dear man and a wonderful guardian, but he wasn’t our papa.” Jane’s large gray eyes were perceptive for a girl of twelve. “When we were in London last Season, you went out every night and were so much more cheerful. Now, all you do is stay home and work.”

  “It takes a great deal of practice to improve as a writer.” Bethany opened her program and pretended to be absorbed in it.

  “I can tell you’re lonely.”

  “Nonsense. I have the best of society in the nib of my pen, and your inestimable company. Therefore, I can want for nothing more.” Her eyes grew moist, but she covered her emotion with a bright smile. “Now, let me read over my program before the theater dims the lights.”

  Her gaze returned to the printed page, but she didn’t take in a bit of it. Since Mr. Leopold’s passing, she’d been obliged to feign strength on Jane’s behalf. Although she had tried to pour her grief into her work, pen and ink could never take the place of her
guardian’s warmth and steady companionship. Still, she’d not met a man who could tempt her into marriage and probably never would. Over the last few months, she had almost convinced herself that she didn’t need anyone at all.

  ∞∞∞

  Bethany gazed out the window as the hackney drove her and Jane from the Andover railway station. They’d left home during a downpour and although the weather was currently fine, water was still pooled alongside the road.

  “Thank you for taking me with you to London.” Jane looked a perfect little lady in her gray traveling suit with red plaid frog closures. “I wish we could live there year-round.”

  “Perhaps we can visit more often.” Bethany noticed her sister seemed downcast. “Why don’t you invite a friend over to play later this week? You may have the run of the house and even host a tea party, if you wish.”

  “Everyone else is in London, but I could ask Liza Southerly. She’s only the vicar’s daughter, but I like her very much.”

  “Send her an invitation.”

  “Couldn’t I walk to the vicarage to speak with her in person?”

  “You may ride over in the carriage.”

  Jane wrinkled her nose. “How terribly stuffy. Why can’t I walk about the neighborhood, just like every other girl in Andover?”

  “You may walk, so long as you have a servant with you.”

  Her sister made a sound of disgust. “Mr. Leopold never required me to have a servant tagging along.”

  “Yes, but things are different now. When our guardian was alive, he was a force with which to be reckoned. Now that we are on our own, a child of twelve might pose an irresistible target for wrongdoers.”

  “You worry too much.” Jane crossed her arms in obvious pique. “If you insist, however, I’ll send a servant over with a note, asking Liza to come Friday afternoon.”

  “Thank you.” Bethany reached out to touch Jane’s cheek. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to my dear Jane.”