The Viscount's Scandalous Return

Delving into his bag once again, he drew out a bulging leather purse, which he promptly deposited on the low table between them. Isabel could only speculate on how much it contained. None the less, she suspected it held a considerable sum, perhaps more than she’d seen at any one time in her entire life.

‘His lordship will ensure that a draft on his bank is sent to you at the beginning of each month, until such time as he is able to make alternative arrangements. He wishes the children to be as little trouble to you as possible, and therefore requests that a governess be engaged, and any other help you deem necessary. I had no time to engage a suitable person, but if you are happy to accept the responsibility, I shall gladly do so on my return to London.’

‘No, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself, sir,’ she countered. ‘I happen to know of the very person.’

‘Do I infer correctly from that, Miss Mortimer, that you are agreeable to his lordship’s request?’

‘Yes, sir, you may be sure I am.’ The bulging purse on the table having comprehensively silenced the voice of doubt.

Although Clara had little difficulty in winning the trust and affection of little Alice Collier, her stronger-willed brother proved a different matter entirely. As Isabel had suspected, young Joshua had little appreciation of Clara’s beauty and, as things turned out, he wasn’t above taking wicked advantage of her innate good nature either.

On several occasions during those first weeks, Isabel was called upon to restore order to the upstairs chamber that functioned as a schoolroom-cum-nursery. Which she did in a swift and very effective fashion. Whether it was because she would tolerate no nonsense, or the fact that she was happy to take him along with her whenever she went out hunting or fishing that quickly won the boy’s respect was difficult to judge. Notwithstanding, by the time autumn gave way to winter, it was clear to all at the farmhouse that Master Joshua Collier had grown inordinately fond of the mistress of the house.

Naturally, having a young boy and girl residing under the roof resulted in a much more relaxed and cheerful atmosphere about the place. Bessie, however, considered there was more to it than just having two very contented children round the house.

The prompt payments sent by Mr Goodbody early each month had brought about numerous beneficial changes. Clara’s employment as governess had resulted in her feeling a deal happier knowing she was able to contribute something towards household expenses. The extra money had meant that items, once considered unnecessary luxuries, had been purchased, making life at the farmhouse so very much easier and agreeable. Most gratifying of all, as far as Bessie was concerned, was the non-appearance of those troubled frowns over financial matters that had from time to time creased her young mistress’s intelligent brow during recent years, whenever money for large bills had needed to be found.

Although he made no attempt to return to the farmhouse to see how the children fared, Mr Goodbody never failed to enquire after their welfare in the accompanying letter he always forwarded with the promissory note; Isabel duly replied, attesting to their continued well-being, and assumed he must surely pass these assurances on to the children’s guardian.

Of his lordship himself, however, Isabel saw and heard nothing; until, that is, the arrival of Mr Goodbody’s December letter, wherein he apprised her of the fact that the seventh Viscount Blackwood had finally been cleared of all charges against him, and was now at liberty to take up his rightful place at the ancestral home.

Isabel received this news with decidedly mixed feelings. On the one hand she knew it would greatly benefit many in the local community to have the Manor inhabited again; on the other, she would miss the children, most especially Josh. She was honest enough to admit, too, that she would miss the generous payments she had received over the past months for taking care of the orphans.

The New Year arrived with still no sign of the Viscount. Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that an army of local tradesmen had been hired to work in the Manor. So it stood to reason that Lord Blackwood was planning to take up residence at some point in the near future.

An unusually dry January gave way to a damp and dismal February, and brought with it no further news of his lordship. Then, in the middle of the month, an unexpected cold spell struck the county, making travel virtually impossible, even the shortest journeys, for several days. The vast majority of people, of course, were glad when at last the thaw set in, and they could go about their daily business unhindered; but not so Josh and Alice, who returned to the farmhouse with their governess, looking most disgruntled.

‘My snowman’s dying,’ Alice lamented, close to tears.

Both Isabel and Bessie, who were busily preparing the luncheon, tried to appear suitably sympathetic, unlike Alice’s brother, who was far more matter-of-fact about it all.

‘He’s not dying, you goose!’ Josh admonished. ‘He’s just melting. Snowmen aren’t alive, are they, Miss Isabel?’

She was spared the need to respond by Beau’s timely intervention. He had risen immediately the children had entered the kitchen, and was now receiving his customary pats and strokes.

It never ceased to amaze Isabel how differently the hound behaved towards the children nowadays. When they had first arrived at the farmhouse, it had to be said that he hadn’t been at all enthusiastic and had growled at them both whenever they had attempted to venture too close.

Quite understandable in the circumstances when one considered his life had very nearly been terminated by a group of village urchins, she mused. It hadn’t taken Beau very long, though, she reminded herself, while continuing to watch the by-play, to realise that children divided into two distinct factions—those who would cruelly tie a brick round his neck and hurl him in a pond; and those who offered tasty treats, and threw sticks in lively games.

Beau, now, was quite happy to accompany Josh and Alice whenever they went out to get some exercise under the watchful eye of their governess. More often than not, though, he would return in search of the mistress of the house, if she failed to put in an appearance after a short time.

‘Come, children, let’s go back upstairs to the schoolroom,’ Clara announced in her usual gentle way, making it sound more like a request than a command. ‘We’ve time enough, before luncheon is ready, to finish reading the story we began earlier.’

Both children obediently rose to their feet, and were about to accompany their governess, when there was an imperious rat-tat-tat on the kitchen door.

It wasn’t unusual for callers to use the rear entrance. More often than not it was the young lad whom Isabel employed to help her about the place seeking instructions on what work needed to be done. Toby Marsh had quickly become a firm favourite with Josh, who rushed across the kitchen to answer the summons, only to discover a forbidding-looking female standing there, dressed from head to toe in sombre black, accompanied by an equally unprepossessing gentleman, standing directly behind her.

Confronted by two such daunting strangers, Josh quite naturally fell back a pace or two, as did his governess, who also let out a tiny whimper, which not only captured Isabel’s attention, but also that of the unexpected female caller.

‘So there you are, you wicked, ungrateful gel!’ the visitor exclaimed, striding, quite uninvited, into the kitchen, with much rustling of wide bombazine skirts.

Although Isabel had never seen the middle-aged matron in her life before, her cousin’s suddenly ashen complexion and wide terrified eyes, as she fell back against the wall, gave her a fairly shrewd notion of who the harridan must surely be. Unless she was much mistaken, this was Clara’s stepmama, the woman her cousin’s loving father had married in the hope of replacing his beloved first wife. Well, it might have been beneficial for the late James Pentecost to remarry, but from things Clara had revealed during recent months her lot had not been improved by her late father’s second marriage, and the arrival in the family home of a selfish stepsister.

After calmly wiping her floured hands on her apron, Isabel placed herself squarely between her cowering cousin and the woman who was causing her young relative such distress. Evidently her resentment at having her home invaded by two complete strangers had conveyed itself to her faithful hound. Beau’s hackles rose as he let out a low, threatening growl, which had the effect of bringing the fleshy-faced man to a stop, as he made to follow into the kitchen, and even induced his equally unwelcome companion to retreat a pace or two.

‘My name is Isabel Mortimer, Clara’s cousin and mistress of this house,’ she said, managing to convey a calmness she was far from feeling.

Although she detected the sound of the front doorknocker being applied, Isabel considered she had more than enough to cope with at the present time without becoming sidetracked by a further caller, and so ignored the summons, as she turned to her cousin.

‘Would I be correct in assuming this female, who has dared to invade my home without the common courtesy of at least introducing herself first, is none other than your stepmama?’

‘Yes, I am Euphemia Pentecost,’ the woman responded, when all her stepdaughter did was to nod dumbly, and stare at her strong-willed cousin in awestruck silence for daring to remind such a formidable matron of basic good manners.

If Mrs Pentecost had been slightly taken aback, her discomfiture was not long lasting. ‘If I seem rude, miss, then I apologise!’ she snapped, sounding anything but chastened. ‘But let me tell you I have been sorely tried these past months in attempting to trace this wicked, ungrateful gel, who left her loving home without so much as a word to anyone!’

She gestured towards her companion who, keeping a wary eye on Beau, had been attempting to edge ever closer to her. ‘And poor Mr Sloane, here, has been almost out of his mind with worry over his fiancée’s well-being.’

‘Really?’ Isabel raised her finely arching brows in mock surprise as she studied the fleshy-faced gentleman closely for the first time, noticing in particular the lack of neck and wide, thick-lipped mouth. ‘Now, that is most interesting, because I have been led to believe that my cousin flatly refused to marry Mr Sloane, and that she was obliged to flee the family home because of the pressure being brought to bear upon her by you to form the union, ma’am,’ Isabel countered, the accusing note in her voice all too evident. ‘Which begs the question, does it not, of who is speaking the truth?’

Having seemingly appreciated already that she was having to deal with a young woman of character and determination, the antithesis of her stepdaughter, in fact, the widow adopted a different tack, becoming nauseatingly apologetic and ingratiating as she bemoaned her widowed state, and the extra burdens placed upon her since her husband’s demise.

‘Believe me when I tell you, Miss Mortimer, it is my one cherished wish to do everything humanly possible to ensure my stepdaughter’s future happiness,’ she continued in the same fawning tone, ‘and I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t attempt to arrange the best possible match for dear Clara. I’m sure a sensible young woman like yourself must appreciate that it is much better to marry an upright gentleman of property, like Mr Sloane here, who can offer a future wife most every creature comfort in life, than to retain foolish, girlish dreams of meeting a dashing knight in shining armour whose interest would very soon wane.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, ma’am,’ Isabel quickly intervened before the widow could develop the theme. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that Clara doesn’t wish to marry Mr Sloane. Nor, indeed, any profligate in armour, as far as I’m aware. Let me assure you that she is more than happy to make her own way in the world, and not be a burden on you any longer, by engaging in a genteel occupation.’

Hard-eyed and tight-lipped, the widow transferred her gaze to her stepdaughter. ‘I am fully aware of it,’ she unlocked her nutcracker mouth to acknowledge, thereby clearly heralding the return to her former inflexible stance. ‘How do you suppose we managed to locate your whereabouts, you foolish girl! The gentleman with whom you attempted to attain employment several months ago just happened to read the notice we were eventually obliged to place in the newspapers regarding your disappearance and, recalling the name, wrote to Mr Sloane, providing us with this address.’

She looked her stepdaughter up and down, the contempt in her eyes all too discernible. ‘Governess, indeed! Who would ever employ you as a governess?’

‘It might surprise you to learn, ma’am, that somebody already has,’ Isabel informed her, experiencing untold delight, before she turned to her cousin, who was holding a now, tearful Alice to her skirts. ‘If you have no desire to accompany these persons back to Hampshire, Clara, perhaps you would be good enough to return to the schoolroom with your charges.’

‘You stay precisely where you are!’ the widow instantly countered as Clara made to leave the kitchen. ‘Until you attain your majority, my girl, you remain under my control, and you will do precisely as I tell you.’

Whether this was true or not did not alter Isabel’s resolve to protect her cousin at all costs from such a harridan. Very slowly she moved across the kitchen and, by dint of using a low stool, was able to reach up far enough to remove the pistol that she always kept ready for immediate use on top of the dresser, much to Josh’s evident astonishment.

‘No, you didn’t know I had this, did you, Josh? I keep it primed and ready for just such an unfortunate occurrence as this.’ Smile fading, Isabel turned to face her unwelcome visitors again. ‘You shall both leave my house at once, otherwise I shan’t hesitate to use this.’

Even the case-hardened widow fell back a further pace or two when the pistol was levelled in a surprisingly steady hand. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, young woman,’ she threatened in return, though keeping a wary eye on the firearm. ‘You may force us to leave now, but we shall be back with the constable, you mark my words!’

‘Spill her claret, Miss Isabel,’ Josh urged with bloodthirsty delight.

A moment’s silence followed, then, ‘I sincerely trust you will refrain from doing any such thing, my dear young woman,’ a softly spoken voice from the doorway strongly advised.

Chapter Two

Apart from his superior height and faintly haughty bearing, Isabel could detect no resemblance whatsoever to the handsome young aristocrat whom she had glimpsed all those years ago riding by on a fine bay horse. Yet instinctively she knew that the elegantly attired gentleman framed in the doorway was none other than the late Viscount Blackwood’s younger son, home at last to claim his inheritance and take his rightful place up at the Manor.

His unexpected arrival had an immediate effect upon all those present. Silence reigned as all eyes turned on the distinguished gentleman who came sauntering languidly into the kitchen, removing his gloves as he did so. Out of the corner of her eye Isabel saw Bessie check in the act of reaching for the rolling pin, which undoubtedly her trusty housekeeper had intended brandishing as a weapon. Surprisingly, even Beau ceased his growling to turn his head on one side to study the new arrival, and Isabel found herself automatically lowering the pistol on to the table, somehow sensing that its use now would not be necessary.