The Viscount's Scandalous Return

She continued unashamedly to study him intently as his ice-blue eyes, betraying no emotion whatsoever, flickered briefly over the two unwelcome visitors. Even when he turned his head to study her cousin, still clutching the little girl to her skirts, incredibly there was nothing to suggest that he was possibly viewing one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen in his life. Only when his eyes finally came to rest upon her was there a suggestion of a slight thaw in those cool, strikingly blue depths a moment before he whipped off his hat to reveal a thick, healthy crop of perfectly arranged black locks.

‘My name is Blackwood,’ he announced in deeply rich cultured tones.

‘Yes, I rather thought you must be,’ Isabel returned candidly, as she felt Josh press against her. Instinctively she raised her left arm to place it reassuringly about the boy’s shoulders, and surprisingly glimpsed what she felt sure was the faintest of twitches at the corner of the Viscount’s thin-lipped mouth.

‘Would I be correct in assuming that at last I have the felicity of making the acquaintance of Miss Isabel Mortimer, daughter of the late Dr John Mortimer?’

‘Indeed you would, sir,’ she answered, reaching for the hand that was extended to her. She felt it close briefly round her own, warm and comforting. Since his arrival she felt as if she had experienced the whole gamut of emotions. Foremost now was a sense of relief, and an overwhelming belief that this impressive aristocrat would offer assistance if she had the gall to request it of him on so slight an acquaintance. But dared she …?

‘And your arrival, my lord, is most opportune,’ she told him, before she experienced any second thoughts. ‘Just prior to your own welcome appearance, my home was invaded by these two persons who are intent upon removing my cousin from under this roof … My cousin who just happens to be in your employ as governess to your wards, sir,’ she finished artfully.

But would the gambit work? Study him though she did, she could detect no change in his expression, not so much as a suggestion of sympathy in his eyes before they turned from her to the boy still clasped against her, and then flickered briefly in the direction of his younger ward.

‘Indeed?’ he said at last in a tone that hovered so perilously close to boredom that Isabel was almost obliged to accept that her audacious attempt to attain his support must surely have failed, when assistance came from a most unexpected quarter.

‘And I shall take leave to inform you, sir, that I have every right to do so!’ Mrs Pentecost announced boldly.

Instantly his lordship’s expression changed. He stared down his long aristocratic nose at the widow, a contemptuous curl to his lip. ‘If I evince any desire to converse with you, madam, you will be under no illusions about it.’

Even the case-hardened widow was not proof against such a superb put-down, and automatically closed her unpleasant mouth as she retreated a pace or two.

His lordship’s gaze again returned to Isabel. The contempt had vanished completely from his expression, though just what had replaced it was impossible to judge.

‘You have no reason to doubt the authenticity of this person?’

‘No, my lord,’ she responded promptly, while dropping her arm from about Josh’s shoulders, as though to convey to the boy that he need have no fear of the tall man standing before them. ‘I have no doubt that she is indeed my cousin’s stepmama. What I do challenge is her right to remove my relative from under this roof. Miss Pentecost was obliged to flee the family home because she was being coerced into marriage with this person.’

If Isabel’s look of disdain was nowhere near as accomplished as his lordship’s had been a short time earlier, Mr Sloane was left in no doubt about what she thought of him personally. ‘Any man who resorts to coercion in order to attain a wife is beyond contempt. My cousin came here desperately seeking my help, not looking for charity, my lord,’ she assured him, gazing earnestly up at him once more. ‘She is more than prepared to earn her own living and make her own way in the world. Surely she should be allowed to do that?’

‘Perhaps,’ was all he said before turning to the widow and her companion, who had gone very red about the jowls since Isabel’s condemnation of his conduct.

‘I shall obtain your direction, madam, from Miss Pentecost, and you shall be hearing from my lawyers in due course. No, be silent!’ he commanded, holding up one shapely hand against the protest the widow had been about to utter. ‘If it should come to light that you are indeed legally responsible for Miss Pentecost, be assured she will be safely returned to your home at my expense. If, however, I discover that, for whatever reason, you have been attempting to exceed your authority, then you may be sure I shall take matters a good deal further should Miss Pentecost request me to do so. In the meantime, you have my assurance that your stepdaughter will receive my protection for as long as she remains in my employ.

‘Now, if Miss Mortimer has nothing further she wishes to say to you, you may leave,’ he continued curtly. ‘I have matters I wish to discuss with her in private.’

After being so summarily dismissed, not even the hardened widow dared to utter anything further. Isabel watched them closely before they finally departed and thought she could detect a troubled look in Mr Sloane’s eyes, even if the widow’s remained hard and defiant.

Lord Blackwood waited only for the housekeeper to close the door behind them before turning once again to Isabel. ‘Clearly I have not chosen the most auspicious of occasions to become acquainted with you, Miss Mortimer,’ he announced, a ghost of a smile hanging about his mouth as he uttered this gross understatement. ‘So I shall call again tomorrow, if I may—say, at eleven, when I shall hope to spend a little time with my wards and discuss certain matters with Miss Pentecost.’

‘I assure you, my lord, that will be most convenient,’ Isabel answered for her cousin, who seemed to have lost the power of speech since her stepmother’s unexpected appearance. ‘Please allow me to show you out.’

Isabel’s final farewell was not protracted, as she too needed time to reflect on the unfortunate happenings of the morning. After closing the front door behind the distinguished visitor, she headed for the kitchen once more, pausing briefly as she did so before the large mirror in the passageway.

‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me I look such a fright, Bessie! she exclaimed the instant she had returned to the others. ‘Not only is half my hair dangling about my ears, I’d flour on the end of my nose!’

Bessie almost found herself gaping. In all the dozen or so long years she had known her young mistress, not once had she ever heard her voice the slightest concern over her appearance. Furthermore, she very much doubted the first two callers were behind this surprising show of disquiet over grooming.

‘Chances are he never noticed,’ she returned above Josh and his sister’s impish chuckles. For all the effect the assurance had, however, she might well have saved her breath.

‘Not noticed …?’ Isabel was momentarily lost for words. ‘Lord, Bessie! Where have your wits gone begging? I’ve no notion where or what Lord Blackwood has been doing in recent years. But by the look of him I’ll lay odds he hasn’t been enjoying life’s luxuries. What’s more, I’d wager those blue eyes of his miss nothing!’

Isabel’s assessment was remarkably accurate. As it happened his lordship hadn’t enjoyed a comfortable existence during the past half-decade or so out in the Peninsula, spying for Wellington. Working mostly alone, he had needed his wits about him at all times, and had become intensely observant as a consequence.

Determined to discover the answers to several puzzling questions, Lord Blackwood returned directly to the Manor, and sent for his aged butler, the person he considered most able to satisfy his curiosity over certain matters.

He awaited his arrival in the library, which had been the first room in the house to be redecorated in readiness for his eventual return. Although age-old tomes still completely lined the shelves on two of the walls, everything else was new. His lordship had even ordered the painting of a hunting scene, which had graced the area above the hearth for many a long year, removed and replaced with one of his adored mother resting her arm about the shoulders of a handsome boy with jet-black locks and strikingly blue eyes. The pose instantly conjured up a much more recent memory, and his lordship smiled to himself as he poured a glass of wine.

The door behind him opened, and he turned to see his aged butler, who had now officially retired and was remaining at the Manor only until such time as his promised cottage on the estate was ready for habitation.

Knowing Bunting was a rigid upholder of the old order, whereby a servant knew his place and never attempted to get on a more familiar footing with his master, his lordship neither offered him a glass of wine, nor the chance to rest his aching joints in the comfort of one of the easy chairs. Any such consideration, he felt sure, would have made the retired major-domo feel distinctly ill at ease, and therefore very likely less forthcoming with information.

Consequently, maintaining the status quo, Lord Blackwood took up a stance before the fire, and rested one arm along the mantelshelf. Outwardly he appeared completely at ease in his surroundings, every inch the relaxed, aristocratic master of the fine Restoration mansion, even though he had utterly loathed his ancestral home as a youth.

‘I recall, Bunting, shortly after my long-awaited return here yesterday, you mentioning that you are acquainted with Miss Mortimer,’ he said, getting straight to the point of the interview. ‘Naturally, I’m curious about her. Not only was she instrumental in clearing my name, but also, as you may possibly be aware, she has been responsible for my wards these past months.’

‘Although Miss Mortimer didn’t make the children’s true identities commonly known, sir, she did confide in me,’ the aged butler confirmed, before frowning slightly. ‘I believe the children have been happy enough living with her, sir,’ he then added, having quickly decided that this must surely be what his master wished to know. ‘At least I’ve not heard anything to the contrary. She brought them up to the house a few weeks back, and asked me to show them round, as it would be their home sooner or later. She wouldn’t look round herself, sir. Not one to take liberties, Miss Mortimer isn’t. Never known her attempt to venture any further than the kitchen and my rooms on the ground floor, sir, in all the times she came up to the Manor last winter, when I was poorly. If it hadn’t been for Miss Isabel and that housekeeper of hers, I think the good Lord would have taken me. She’s an angel, sir, that’s what she is … an angel!’

His lordship could not forbear a smile as his mind’s eye conjured up a clear image of the so-called angel brandishing a serviceable pistol in her right hand. And appearing as if she was more than capable of using it too!

‘Evidently a lady of many contrasting talents,’ he murmured, though loud enough for the butler to hear.

‘Well, sir, the poor young lady was obliged to manage for herself from quite a young age. Seem to remember she lost her mother a year or so after the family moved into the house, sir,’ he revealed, falling into a reminiscing mood. He cast his master an uncertain glance. ‘Then, not long after the terrible happenings here, the good doctor took bad, and poor Miss Mortimer, little more than a slip of a girl herself at the time, was obliged to care for him.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s not had an easy life, sir. Maybe if her mother had lived, she might have met and married some nice young gentleman by now. But as things turned out …’

His lordship had little difficulty in conjuring up an image of a face boasting more character than beauty; of a pair of large grey-green eyes whose direct gaze some might consider faintly immodest, of a determined little chin above which a perfectly shaped, if slightly overgenerous, mouth betrayed a lively sense of humour, even when confronted by adversity. When compared to her beautiful young cousin, she did perhaps pale into insignificance. Yet it was strange that it was the face framed in the disordered chestnut locks that should be more firmly imprinted in his memory.

And yet not so strange, he countered silently. After all, he owed that young woman a great deal, perhaps more than he might ever be able to repay. He felt a sudden stab of irritation. That didn’t alter the fact, though, it had been grossly impertinent of her, not to say outrageous, to have embroiled him in an affair that had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him. Had it been anyone else he might well have just walked away and left her to her own devices. Yet he had found he could not withstand the look of entreaty in those large eyes of hers.

He shook his head, wondering at himself. ‘I must be getting old,’ he murmured.

‘Beg pardon, sir?’

‘Nothing, Bunting, merely thinking aloud.’ He fortified himself from the contents of his glass whilst he gathered his thoughts and focused on what he wished to know. ‘Now, the cousin who’s living with Miss Mortimer has been acting as governess to my wards, so I understand. The girl, Alice, seems to have become quite attached to her.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me, my lord, though I couldn’t say for sure,’ the aged servant responded, scrupulously truthful as always. ‘I’ve only ever met the young lady once, and then only briefly. But she seemed a very gentle-mannered young woman. What I can tell you, sir, is the boy is very fond of Miss Isabel. Why, I’ve seen her time and again striding across the park towards the home wood, Master Joshua skipping happily alongside, and that great dog of hers not too far behind.

‘Not that I think they were up to no good, my lord,’ he hurriedly added, suddenly realising he may have revealed more than he should have done.

The Viscount, however, merely smiled to himself before dismissing the servant with a nod.

The following morning Isabel spent far more time over her appearance than she had ever been known to do before, a circumstance that certainly didn’t escape the keen eye of the housekeeper, when her young mistress finally came down to the kitchen shortly before eleven.

The new gown her cousin had made for her suited her wonderfully well, emphasising the perfection of a slender, shapely figure, the colour enhancing the green flecks in her large eyes. Around her shoulders she had draped one of her late mother’s fringed shawls, a stylish accessory she rarely donned, and her radiant, dark locks, although not artistically arranged, were for once neatly confined in a simple chignon.

Bessie almost found herself gaping at the transformation. Although it couldn’t be denied that in looks she was a mere shadow of her beautiful cousin, few would deny that she was a fine-looking young woman in her own right, and one who never failed to make a lasting impression on more discerning souls.

Bessie might have been slightly concerned, though, about the obvious attempts to impress had she not been very sure her young mistress had a sensible head on her shoulders, and had made every effort for the most selfless reasons. Unless Bessie very much mistook the matter, there was no thought to attract the aristocratic gentleman’s interest, merely a desire for all members of the household to appear in a more favourable light.

As the application of the door-knocker filtered through to the kitchen, Bessie made to break off from her task in order to answer the summons, but was forestalled by her young mistress who insisted on going herself.