The Viscount's Scandalous Return

‘I’ll give him one thing at least—he’s punctual,’ Isabel remarked as she headed for the door leading to the passageway. ‘Let’s hope he’s also fair-minded.’

The housekeeper’s silent judgement had been uncannily accurate. Isabel didn’t wish Clara to be dismissed from her post, simply because of yesterday’s unfortunate occurrence, if she could possibly do anything about it. Although she would have been the first to admit that her cousin was not very worldly, and could never be described as a blue-stocking, she was far from stupid, and was at the very least quite capable of teaching little Alice all the necessary female accomplishments.

After pausing only briefly before the passageway mirror, Isabel opened the front door, very well pleased with her appearance. Yet there was nothing, not even so much as a faint widening of blue eyes, to suggest that the Viscount noticed anything different about her from the day before. Had she been in the least conceited she might easily have taken umbrage at such a blatant display of indifference towards her as a woman. The truth of the matter was, though, she was more interested in whether she could persuade him to overlook yesterday’s débâcle and retain her cousin’s services as governess.

She invited him to step into the parlour, and could see at a glance that this at least met with his approval, even before he said, ‘I’ve always considered this a most charming room, Miss Mortimer. I was a frequent visitor when my good friend Charles Bathurst resided here with his parents. You are to be congratulated. There is a wonderful homely quality about it still. One senses it at once. Would that the Manor could feel so welcoming!’

‘It is mostly thanks to my cousin’s efforts that the room is now so pleasing, my lord,’ she returned promptly, thereby not wasting any opportunity to point out Clara’s accomplishments, while at the same time wondering what had been at the root of his remark about the Manor. Surely he was happy to be back in the ancestral home? Or was the realisation of what had taken place there just too harrowing to forget?

‘Do sit down, my lord,’ she invited, realising suddenly she was staring at him rather intently. What was worse, she was receiving close scrutiny in return! ‘May I offer you some refreshment? I have a rather good Madeira here I’m sure you’d enjoy.’

‘Only if you join me, Miss Mortimer,’ he returned in that deeply rich velvety voice that was both oddly reassuring and faintly disturbing at one and the same time.

She had already decided that his years away hadn’t been altogether kind to him. He was still the same fine figure of a man she well remembered, perhaps a little more so now that sinewy muscle had replaced any slight excess of flesh he might have been guilty of carrying in his youth. Nevertheless, of those handsome, youthful looks there was precious little sign now. His features had grown markedly more severe. The hawk-like nose, the thin-lipped mouth and the square line of his jaw might not have seemed quite so harshly defined had they been tempered by doe-like orbs of a softer hue. Furthermore, the thin line that now ran from the corner of his left eye down to his top lip gave his mouth a slightly contemptuous curl. Yet, for all that, Isabel didn’t consider him unattractive. In fact, the opposite was true. There was about him a sardonic quality that she found strangely alluring.

Although she refrained from imbibing in strong liquor as a rule, at least so early in the day, she decided in this instance that it might be wise to humour him, and so settled herself in the chair directly opposite before sampling the contents of her own glass.

‘My lord, I am glad to have this opportunity to speak with you in private,’ she announced, at last giving voice to the well-rehearsed speech she had been mentally practising since early morning. ‘It offers me the opportunity to ask your forgiveness for my behaviour yesterday. I cannot apologise enough for the way I quite outrageously embroiled you in that fiasco. The truth of the matter is, though, sir, I was at a loss to know just how to proceed.’

Once again she thought she could detect the faint twitching of a muscle at the corner of his mouth, before he sampled the contents of his glass and then gave his assessment by a nod of approval. ‘On the contrary, Miss Mortimer, you appeared to be in full control of the situation. I’m reliably informed you are no novice where the use of firearms is concerned.’

‘Oh, pray don’t remind me, sir!’ she begged, her suddenly heightened colour proof of the mortification she still felt over her behaviour. ‘I should never have threatened them in such an outrageous fashion had I known how to proceed. But the fact is, sir, I didn’t know whether Mrs Pentecost could legally remove my cousin from this house, as Clara does not attain her majority until the middle of May. And I simply couldn’t allow that to happen! Poor Clara has looked to me, quite five years her senior, to protect her since her arrival here.’

His lordship stared across at her in silence for several moments, his cool gaze revealing nothing except, perhaps, a flicker of sympathy. ‘The widow may well be within her rights, ma’am,’ he told her bluntly. ‘But do not be too disheartened,’ he didn’t hesitate to assure, when she appeared slightly downcast. ‘If she had proof of guardianship with her, I believe she would have been back with the authorities. As this quite obviously didn’t occur, I rather fancy there’s nothing official in writing. It may well be that the late Mr Pentecost merely expected his wife to take care of the child from his first union. However, it might be that he did make provision for his daughter in his will. I’ll wager that female was concealing something. And her companion didn’t appear altogether comfortable either!’

‘Ah, so you noticed that too!’ Isabel returned, feeling inordinately pleased that she hadn’t imagined those wary expressions just prior to her unwelcome visitors’ departure. ‘Mrs Pentecost certainly seems determined Clara should marry Mr Sloane.’

‘Well, she could do worse,’ his lordship pointed out, ever the pragmatist. ‘His dress alone would suggest he’s a man of reasonable means. Your cousin would no longer be obliged to earn a living.’

Isabel was appalled at the suggestion, and it clearly showed. ‘My beautiful young cousin married to that portly tailor’s dummy …?’ she returned in disbelief. ‘Why, it’s obscene! Not only is he more than twice her age, and therefore old enough to be her father, he also has a most unpleasant, wet mouth. Besides,’ she continued, ignoring the odd choking sound emanating from the chair opposite her own, ‘Clara and I might not have a great deal in common, but neither of us is avaricious, and would never consider marrying for financial gain.

‘And speaking of my cousin,’ she went on, when all he did was to stare thoughtfully down into his glass. ‘I’m sure you wish to see her and your wards.’ So saying, Isabel rose and went over to the bell-pull.

Soon afterwards Bessie was showing the children, followed by their governess, into the room. Isabel herself made to leave, but his lordship forestalled her by requesting her to remain. She was then able to observe his treatment of his wards.

Clearly he was more at ease with Josh who, after an initial hesitancy, began to ask numerous questions about his late father, a gentleman who had been one of his lordship’s closest friends, and who had died almost three years before during the capture of Badajoz. Alice, of course, couldn’t remember her father in the least, and it rather amused Isabel when his lordship, betraying a faint disquiet when innocent brown eyes stared fixedly up at him, attempted to converse with the little girl.

Yet, as had happened the day before, Isabel could detect nothing in his lordship’s demeanour to suggest he was in the least impressed by Clara’s loveliness. His tone was quite impassive when he questioned her about the various subjects she had been attempting to teach his wards during the time they had been in her care, and although he showed no reluctance in retaining her services, at least where Alice was concerned, he evinced no delight whatsoever when his offer was readily accepted.

‘I do not think there is anything further we need discuss at this time, Miss Pentecost,’ his lordship said, at last rising to his feet. ‘If you would have the children’s belongings packed, my carriage will be here to collect you in the morning, and will return you to the Manor later in the day.’

He then took his leave of his wards and their governess, before surprising Isabel somewhat by requesting she accompany him round to the stable to collect his horse.

‘For the time being it would be best if your cousin remains under your roof.’ The Viscount registered the look of mingled surprise and doubt in her eyes. ‘I know what a censorious world we live in, Miss Mortimer. It wouldn’t be too long before your cousin’s hitherto spotless reputation suffered as a result of residing permanently under my roof. But that hopefully will be avoided by her returning to your protection each evening.’

Easily guessing the reason for the lingering concern she cast up at him, he added, ‘And pray do not trouble yourself over any possible actions of the stepmother’s. I think we can safely rely on the excellent Mr Goodbody’s abilities to delay proceedings until such time as your cousin attains her majority, should it prove that Mrs Pentecost is within her rights to remove her stepdaughter from under your roof. I shall write to him on my return to the Manor, requesting his help in the matter. He hasn’t failed me yet.’

This admission brought something else to the forefront of Isabel’s mind. ‘And the children, sir—are they now safe from any claims to guardianship their uncle might make?’

His lordship’s smile was not pleasant. ‘The last I heard of Danforth, he was making for the Channel in an attempt to flee the authorities. He was proved to be the very worst kind of scoundrel. What might have happened to the children had they been left in his care, I shudder to think. Suffice it to say, he’d be unwise to show his face again in this country for a considerable time.’

Having reached the yard, Isabel noticed his lordship surprisingly frowning at the lad whom she employed to do odd jobs about the place, as Toby emerged from the stable, leading his lordship’s fine bay.

‘Is there something amiss, my lord?’

‘I seem to recognise this lad.’

A thought occurred to Isabel. ‘Possibly a family resemblance. His brother worked up at the Manor for several years, so I understand. He disappeared around the time of the murders. Is that not so, Toby?’

The boy confirmed it with a nod of his head. ‘Disappeared on that selfsame night, so Ma said. Went out for a tankard of ale, and never came ‘ome again. Not a word been ‘eard of ‘im since, neither.’

After learning this his lordship raised his head and stared across the meadow into the far distance. ‘Yes, I remember, now, my friend Charles Bathurst mentioning something about young Jem disappearing on the night of the murders. I suppose I thought he’d just upped and left and got himself another situation somewhere else. Couldn’t have blamed him in the circumstances.’ His frown deepened. ‘But he would never have gone without a word to a soul.’

‘That ‘ee wouldn’t,’ Toby confirmed. ‘Ma were expecting ‘im back that night. She reckons ‘ee must ‘ave been set on by footpads, or such like. But I don’t reckon that be right. ‘Cepting for that watch you give ‘im all them years back, m’lord, ‘ee couldn’t ‘ave ‘ad more than an odd penny in his pocket.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, Toby,’ Isabel agreed. ‘But it is strange, is it not, that no one has seen or heard anything of him since. Don’t you agree, sir?’

His lordship, however, continued to stare silently at some distant spot, his mind locked in the past.

Chapter Three

It was only to be expected that the children’s removal to the Manor would result in a return to normality at the farmhouse. Isabel was obliged to admit that it was much quieter for a start. A little too quiet sometimes, she increasingly began to feel as the days passed.

She couldn’t deny that their departure had resulted in a much lighter workload for both Bessie and herself. They were no longer obliged to slave over a hot range for hours a day in order to satisfy the appetite of a rapidly growing boy, not to mention his healthy younger sister. There was far less laundry to deal with each week as well. Yet, for all that the children had been hard work, Isabel missed not having them about the place.

Of course she looked forward to her cousin’s return to the house each evening. Over supper, Clara would regale them with all the latest gossip from up at the Manor, and keep them abreast of the improvements to the house that were, apparently, daily taking place.

None the less, even her cousin’s continued presence at the farmhouse couldn’t suppress the ever-increasing discontent Isabel was for some obscure reason experiencing.

As February gave way to March, even seeing evidence that spring was not too far away quite failed to lift her spirits. She was reminded of how she had felt during those first weeks after her dear father had passed away. Then, of course, there had been a good reason for the malcontent that had gripped her. What excuse was there now for her feeling totally dissatisfied with her lot? There was none, of course. Yet, try as she might, Isabel simply couldn’t shake off the mood of despondency.

A week of heavy rain did little to improve her spirits. Nor, it had to be said, did waking up one morning to discover her vegetable patch under a considerable amount of water.

Her prized garden had produced sufficient quantities of root and green vegetables to feed the household throughout the previous year, not to mention sufficient soft fruits during the summer months to preserve for leaner times. She doubted very much that this would be the case for the present year, for she very much feared that her attempt to produce early crops had been completely washed away by the deluge.

‘That is it!’ she declared, reaching for her cloak and stout, serviceable boots. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this any longer! I’m mindful of the fact that his lordship has been most generous to this household already, especially where Clara is concerned. But that doesn’t give him the right to neglect his duties as a landowner. So don’t you dare try to stop me, Bessie!’

The thought never crossed the housekeeper’s mind for an instant. She knew well enough that, when her mistress had reached the limits of her patience, only a forceful airing of views would restore calm, and return her to her normally sensible and controlled state. None the less, Bessie sensed that more lay behind this present show of fiery tension in her young mistress than the washing away of a few vegetable seedlings. All the same, she was at a loss to know quite what it might be.

From the kitchen window she followed her irate young employer’s progress up the drove to the meadow. Then she watched her clamber, in a most unladylike fashion, over the boundary fence that divided his lordship’s deer park from her own property, her faithful Beau padding along at her heels. Bessie smiled to herself as she recalled a story she’d heard many years before about an ancient warrior queen, fearless and determined, setting forth to do battle with her enemies. Which was exactly how Miss Isabel looked right now! And there wouldn’t be too many souls brave enough to stand in her way, she mused.

Although Mr Tredwell, the new butler up at the Manor, did not view the rather ill-groomed young woman, demanding to see the aristocratic master of the house at once, in quite the same reverential way as did her own devoted servant, her overall demeanour, quite frankly, did puzzle him. Had he been in town he maybe wouldn’t have thought twice about denying admittance. But this was not London. And unless his adroitness at assessing a person’s station in life had deserted him entirely, this was no country bumpkin either. Nor, he felt sure, was she a female of a certain disreputable calling.

None the less, having been in his lordship’s employ a few short weeks only, Tredwell had no intention of jeopardising his superior position in the household by not fulfilling his role as major-domo. He had a duty to deny admittance to all those who might importune his lordship. And this young woman, he strongly suspected, was more than capable of doing precisely that!

Consequently, he was on the point of demanding to know the caller’s name and business, when a high-pitched squeal from behind captured his attention, and he turned to see his master’s elder ward bounding down the main staircase.

The boy knew well enough that he was only ever supposed to use the back stairs, unless instructed to do otherwise, and Tredwell was on the point of reminding him of this fact, when he was almost thrust rudely aside by Josh in his enthusiasm to reach the caller.