‘You could send her away to school,’ Sophie said slowly. ‘Do you remember me telling you about the Guarding Academy for Girls?’
Oliver began to pace. ‘No. Should I?’
‘I suppose not. A friend of mine, Lady Brookwell, mentioned it to me in passing a few weeks back. She said that her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, was there and that she was very pleased with her progress. The headmistress is a woman by the name of Eleanor Guarding and from what Lady Brookwell tells me, she is quite a unique person. Not at all the sort one usually finds running schools of this nature.’
Oliver stopped pacing. ‘And where is this Guarding’s Academy for Girls?’
‘In Northamptonshire. I believe Steep Abbot is the name of the village.’
‘Steep Abbot?’ He frowned. ‘Why would that name be familiar to me?’
‘Possibly because it is where the Marquis of Sywell was murdered three months ago.’
‘Good God! And you would have me send Gillian there?’
Sophie chuckled as she let the curtain fall back across the window. ‘I hardly think Gillie is in danger of suffering a similar fate, my dear. From all I’ve heard, Sywell was not undeserving of his reward. But the reason I mention it is because the teachers at the Academy are purported to be more liberal-minded than most. They strive to impress upon their girls the importance of thinking for themselves.’
Oliver sent her a sharp glance. ‘Gillian does quite enough thinking for herself as it is, Sophie. That is one of the problems I am trying to overcome.’
‘You miss my point, dearest.’ Sophie walked back towards the green velvet settee and sat down. ‘The staff at Guarding’s attempt to expand the intellectual minds of their pupils by providing tutelage in subjects not normally offered to young ladies. How many schools do you know of, for example, where girls are given extensive instruction in advanced mathematics and archaeology, as well as in Latin, Greek and philosophy? And from what I understand, Mrs Guarding is herself something of an emancipationist and historian.’
‘A female emancipationist?’ Oliver frowned. ‘The last thing I need is someone else filling Gillian’s head with nonsense. I suspect Mr Wymington does quite enough of that as it is.’
‘All right. Then what would you say if I told you that the teachers at the Guarding Academy would be far more likely to impress upon Gillian the importance of knowing what she stands to gain and to lose in a marriage to a man who is not her social or financial equal, than would a teacher in a fancy London seminary?’
Oliver thought about that for a moment. Sophie was an intelligent woman and he respected her opinion, but sending Gillian away to a girls’ school was not going to be easy. He knew that in his ward’s mind she had long ago finished with that kind of schooling. ‘What could I say that would persuade her to go?’
‘That, I’m afraid, is something you are going to have to work out for yourself, Oliver. I merely put forward the suggestion as a solution to the problem of how to separate Gillian from Mr Wymington for a while.’ Sophie smiled as she rose to kiss her brother affectionately on the cheek. ‘After all, a year spent at a boarding school might be time enough for her to see the gentleman in a different light. And if Mr Wymington is the adventurer you think, it may be all the time we need.’
Oliver gave his sister’s words considerable thought over the next few days, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to see that the plan had merit. Gillian had always resented the fact that young ladies were not offered the same quality of education as young gentlemen, and by the sound of things, spending the better part of a year at Mrs Guarding’s Academy would give her precisely that opportunity.
In the end, however, it did not come down to a matter of choice as to whether or not he sent her away to school, but rather, how quickly could he get her there. Gillian’s conversations were becoming far too full of Mr Wymington for Oliver’s liking. It seemed that every utterance was prefaced by ‘Mr Wymington said this,’ or ‘Mr Wymington thinks that,’ until by the end of the week Oliver was sick to death of hearing about Mr Wymington. But even in his frustration, he saw the way Gillian’s face closed down whenever he expressed negativity towards the man, and knew that he was fighting a losing battle.
It was that stubbornness which convinced him that Sophie was right. Gillian was impulsive, and she was used to getting her own way. She was also at the age where, like most young women, her thoughts were turning more frequently towards marriage. Oliver could not be sure that if he pushed her too hard, she wouldn’t do precisely what Sophie had suggested and elope.
For that reason, little more than a week after his conversation with her, he contacted the headmistress at the Guarding Academy for Girls in Steep Abbot, and then, a few days later, told Gillian of his plans.
Needless to say, she was not pleased.
‘You intend to send me where?’ she echoed in disbelief.
‘It is called Mrs Guarding’s Academy for Girls,’ Oliver informed her calmly. ‘I thought that since you did not have occasion to finish your lessons with Monsieur Deauvall and Miss Berkmore, you might welcome the opportunity to do so now.’
‘But I have no wish to go to school!’ Gillian cried petulantly. ‘I am nearly eighteen years of age, Oliver! I have far more important things on my mind than silly lessons. Mr Wymington says—’
‘I don’t give a…that is to say,’ Oliver said, catching himself just in time, ‘I don’t think anything Mr Wymington has to say on the matter is relevant, Gillian. I am your legal guardian and I will be the one to decide how and where you complete your education. And after due consideration, I have determined that the Guarding Academy is the place for you to do that.’
Gillian stamped her dainty little foot and set her blonde curls dancing. ‘But I don’t want to go to any stuffy girls’ school!’
‘From all I’ve heard, the school is anything but stuffy. The headmistress is a female emancipationist and the teachers are all somewhat radical in their thinking. A young lady with your intelligence and personality should get on very well there.’
‘But I do not wish—’
‘Gillian, the discussion is at an end. We leave for Steep Abbot in a week’s time. I have already sent a letter to Mrs Guarding advising her of your enrolment, and have received a letter back confirming your place. I would advise you to make whatever arrangements you feel are necessary and then tell me when you are ready to depart.’
Gillian’s face darkened. ‘What about Mr Wymington?’
‘What about him?’
‘Oh, how can you be so heartless, Oliver! You must know that I care for him. And it cannot have escaped your notice that he holds me in considerable esteem.’
‘It hasn’t escaped my notice at all, but neither has the fact that you are only seventeen.’
‘I shall be eighteen in January, but what has that to do with it? Jane Twickingham was betrothed to Lord Hough when she was only sixteen, and you have told me yourself she was a silly little chit. What has my age to do with Mr Wymington’s courting me?’
Oliver’s eyes turned the colour of stone. ‘Since when did Mr Wymington’s visits take on the aspect of a courtship? He has not sought my permission to address you.’
As if realising she had said more than she should, Gillian’s pretty cheeks flushed. ‘Well, no, of course not, because we are only acquaintances. But that is not to say that I…that is, that he—’
‘Gillian, what do you really know of Mr Wymington?’ Oliver asked, deciding to try a different approach. ‘That he is charming, I have no doubt. That he knows how to turn a young girl’s head, I have seen with my own eyes. But what do you know of the man’s character or background?