Книга - The Viscount’s Scandalous Return

The Viscount's Scandalous Return
ANNE ASHLEY


SHE PROVED HIS INNOCENCE. WILL HE TARNISH HERS? Viscount Blackwood left home amidst a blaze of scandal, accused of killing his father and brother. It was the testimony of a girl he’d never met that saved him from the gallows…Nine years later Sebastian can return – but the notorious Viscount has unfinished business. It’s lucky that Miss Isabel Mortimer, now heart-stoppingly beautiful, has a penchant for sleuthing… Together they must find the real culprit – while battling an ever-growing attraction…












‘Something appears to be troubling you, Miss Mortimer. I trust you are not concerned about being in here alone with me?


‘You are in no danger, I assure you,’ he continued. ‘And if, for any reason, I should experience an overwhelming desire to lay violent hands upon you, I’m sure your trusty hound would come to your rescue.’

‘Ha! I’m not so very sure he would!’ Isabel returned, quite without rancour. She was more amazed than anything else that Beau had taken such an instant liking to someone. Which just went to substantiate her belief that his lordship was not the black-hearted demon he had sometimes been painted.

‘So, what were you thinking about a few minutes ago that brought such a troubled expression to your face?’

Lord! Isabel mused. Was he always so observant? Had she not witnessed it with her own eyes she would never have supposed for a moment that those icy-blue orbs could dance with wicked amusement. He really was a most attractive and engaging gentleman when he chose to be. And she didn’t doubt for a second a damnably dangerous one, to boot, to any female weak enough not to resist his charm! Was she mad even to consider remaining with him a moment longer?




About the Author


ANNE ASHLEY was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a time in Scotland, but now makes her home in the West Country, with two cats, her two sons, and a husband who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humour. When not pounding away at the keys of her computer, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

Previous novels by the same author:

A NOBLE MAN*

LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS*

THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS

TAVERN WENCH

BELOVED VIRAGO

LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET

BETRAYED AND BETROTHED

A LADY OF RARE QUALITY

LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES

THE TRANSFORMATION OF

MISS ASHWORTH MISS IN A MAN’S WORLD

* part of the Regency mini-series

The Steepwood Scandal

Did you know that some of these novelsare also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




The Viscount’s Scandalous Return


Anne Ashley






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Chapter One







September 1814

Miss Isabel Mortimer’s return to her farmhouse-style home coincided with the long-case clock’s chiming the hour of eleven. She had been out and about since first light, and so might reasonably have expected a more enthusiastic welcome than the decidedly reproachful glance her ever-loyal housekeeper-cum-confidante cast her.

‘Oh, Lord, miss!’ Bessie exclaimed, as she watched her young mistress deposit the gun and the fruits of her labours down upon the kitchen table. ‘You’ve never been a’wandering over Blackwood land again? I’ve warned you time and again that there steward up at the Manor will have you placed afore the magistrate, given half a chance. Heard tell he weren’t best pleased back along, when them there high-and-mighty legal folk came up from Lunnon, asking questions about the night of the murders, and he discovered it were you had stirred things up again after all these years.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he was pleased.’ Not appearing in the least concerned, Isabel collected a sharp knife from a drawer and then promptly set herself the task of preparing the rabbits for the stew-pot. ‘What’s more, young Toby told me, this very morn as it happens, there’s been no sign of Master Guy Fensham these past two weeks. Which I find most revealing in the circumstances. After all, what had he to fear if he told the truth about the happenings on that terrible night?’

‘Well, that’s just it, miss. He couldn’t have done, now could he, if what the old master set down on paper be true? And I would far rather believe the old master, ‘cause there were nought wrong with him at the time of writing.’

‘Well, I, for one, never doubted the truth of Papa’s version of events. As you quite rightly pointed out, he wrote his account before he suffered that first seizure.’

Whenever Isabel thought of her late father she experienced, still, an acute sense of loss, even now, after almost two years. They had always been wondrous close; more so after he had become infirm and had come to rely upon her for so much. Yet nothing in her expression betrayed the fact that she had nowhere near fully recovered from his death. If anything, she seemed quite matter-of-fact as she said,

‘So you’ve no need to fear I shall fall foul of Fensham, especially as I didn’t take one step on Blackwood land. I’ve been in the top meadow, as it happens. Besides …’ she shrugged, emphasising her complete unconcern ‘… what would it matter if I had been trespassing? If and when his lordship does return, I shall make it perfectly plain that he owes me a deal more than the few fish I’ve removed from his trout stream for all the damage his overgrown ditch has done to my vegetable garden during his long absence. Why his father ever employed such a lazy ne’er-do-well as Guy Fensham as steward up at the Manor, I shall never know!’

Thoughtfully drying her hands on her apron, Bessie joined her young mistress at the table. ‘Well, miss, no matter what folks may say about the old Viscount—and you’ll find plenty hereabouts who never liked him—you’ll never hear anyone say he neglected either the land or the Manor. When the old Lord Blackwood were alive the steward did his work, and toed the line.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Now look at the place! It’s a year and more since you went to Lunnon to seek out Mr Bathurst,’ she reminded her mistress. ‘And never a word since!’

‘Now, that isn’t strictly true,’ Isabel corrected, striving to be fair. ‘We’ve never been precisely kept abreast of developments, I’ll agree. Even so, Mr Bathurst did take the trouble to send that one letter, confirming he’d set the wheels in motion, as it were, and thanking me once again for the trouble I’d taken in seeking him out personally in order to pass on Papa’s written account. And he fully reimbursed me for all the expense of travelling to London and remaining there for those few days. He was most generous, in fact!’

Isabel cast a long, considering look at the large dresser that almost covered the entire wall opposite. ‘How very fortunate it was that so many hereabouts recalled that it had been none other than Mr Bathurst himself who had sold this very property to my father, and had gone to London to study law. Fortunate, too, that so many remembered he and the Honourable Sebastian Blackwood had been upon the very best of terms in their youth. He was the ideal person for me to seek out and pass on what Papa had revealed about the Viscount’s younger son.

‘And you must remember,’ Isabel continued, after a further few moments’ consideration, ‘Mr Bathurst was in something of a precarious position. Just how much of a hand he had in effecting his friend’s escape from the authorities, after Sebastian Blackwood had been accused of murdering both his father and brother all those years ago, I can only speculate. All the same, for some considerable time Mr Bathurst has been a well-respected barrister, a veritable pillar of the community and a staunch upholder of the law. He would need to be circumspect and surely wouldn’t wish his name to be too closely connected with a man who, as far as we know, is still accused of committing the atrocities.’

After listening intently to everything her young mistress had said, Bessie nodded her head in agreement. ‘But do you know, Miss Isabel, long afore you found your father’s papers about the happenings on that terrible night, I never for a moment thought young Master Sebastian had gone and done that wicked deed. And I weren’t the only one who disbelieved it, neither. Now, I ain’t saying he were a saint, ‘cause he weren’t. For a start, he were a devil for the ladies, young as he was. Not that I ever heard tell he got any round these parts into trouble—think he preferred painted doxies, or maybe those nearer his own class.

‘Oh, but he were right handsome, so he were.’ Bessie continued reminiscing, her plump cheeks suddenly aglow at some private thought. ‘I can see him now—so tall, so proud, riding by on that fine horse of his. Why, he used to send my heart all of a-flutter, to be sure!’

‘Get a hold of yourself, woman!’ Isabel admonished lovingly. ‘I remember him too. And I’ll tell you plainly we’re far beneath his touch. Why, he’d never give the likes of you and me a second glance!’

‘Not me he wouldn’t, that’s for sure,’ Bessie acknowledged a moment before a surge of loyalty, borne of an ever-increasing loving respect, prompted her to add, ‘But you’re quite another matter. Well, you would be, if you’d trouble yourself about your appearance once in a while,’ she amended, frowning at her mistress’s shabby, worn attire, and windswept chestnut locks, numerous strands of which had escaped the confining pins.

Isabel responded with a dismissive wave of one hand. ‘I’ve better things to do than sit before a mirror for hours on end preening myself. I might have been born the daughter of a gentleman, and raised to be a lady, at least when dear Mama was alive, and had a hand in my upbringing, but even so I never was the sort to attract the attentions of any aristocratic gentleman, least of all one so high on the social ladder as the son of a viscount. And I’ve always had sense enough to realise it! I’m far too managing for a start. Besides …’ she shrugged ‘… I’m not altogether sure I really wish to marry. I’m happy enough as I am, and I enjoy my independence. No, if and when Lord Blackwood does return to take his father’s place up at the Manor, my only interest in him will be to see how long it takes him to improve the drainage on his land, and to improve, too, the lot of those unfortunate wretches who rely upon the estate for a living, not least of which, as you very well know, is poor old Bunting.’

At this Isabel became the recipient of a hard, determined look. ‘Now, miss, the old butler up at the Manor be none of your concern. I know ‘tis a sinful shame he weren’t pensioned off years ago, and given one of the estate cottages promised to him by the old Lord Blackwood. I think it’s wicked, too, that a man of his years should be alone up there in that great house, hardly seeing a soul. Why, if it hadn’t been for you and the young curate visiting him so regular last winter, I swear the influenza would have taken him off.’

‘You did your share of nursing too,’ Isabel reminded her.

Bessie, however, steadfastly refused this time to be won over by the warmth of her mistress’s lovely smile. ‘I know I did. But that don’t change matters. You simply can’t afford to take on any more waifs and strays. You’ve too many folk depending on you as it is.

‘And it’s no earthly good you looking at me like that!’ Bessie exclaimed, totally impervious to the reproachful glance cast in her direction. ‘I know you feel grateful to Troake for all the care he took over your father during those last years. And there’s no denying he worked well enough when the old master were alive. But even you can’t deny he’s become dreadful slow of late, not to mention a bad-tempered old demon. And then there’s young Toby. Now I ain’t saying the lad ain’t worth his weight in gold,’ Bessie went on, thereby successfully cutting off the protest her mistress had been about to utter. ‘The boy’s nothing less than a godsend, so he is, the way he repaired the barn roof last winter. But the wages you pay him could be put to better use.’

Bessie’s brown eyes slid past her mistress to the large shaggy dog lying sprawled on the floor, close to the range. Before she could voice any condemnation of the hound, which had been saved from a watery grave in the millpond, and which had become totally devoted to the mistress of the house, his rescuer forestalled any criticism by announcing,

‘Don’t you dare say a word against him! I won’t deny there is some justification in what you’ve said about both Troake and Toby Marsh. But I would never be without my darling Beau! Why, if it hadn’t been for him the house would have been broken into on at least three occasions that we know of these past months. Furthermore, but for him, we wouldn’t be having rabbit stew for supper. He managed to root out half a dozen in the top meadow.’

Bessie, ever sharp, wasn’t slow to pounce upon this interesting snippet. ‘In that case, where be the other two?’

Isabel had the grace to look a little shamefaced in view of what had been mentioned already. ‘I let Toby take them home to his mother.’

Bessie cast a despairing glance up at the ceiling. ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me none, I wonder! I don’t suppose you took a moment to consider we’ve an extra mouth to feed, now that young cousin of yours has taken refuge in the house. Now, I ain’t saying you shouldn’t have taken her in the way you did, she being the only child of your papa’s dear sister, and the only close kin you’ve left in the world that’s ever had any dealings with you. And there’s no denying she, too, be worth her weight in gold,’ she hurriedly conceded. ‘I do declare the house has never looked so clean and tidy for many a long year. I defy anyone to find a speck of dust about the place! And sew …? I’ve never known anyone set a neater stitch than Miss Clara, not even your sainted mother. It’s a pleasure to show folk into the front parlour nowadays, what with the new curtains, and all.’

It was clear that Bessie was at least a staunch supporter of the young woman who had surprisingly turned up on the doorstep late one evening a month before, almost begging sanctuary. Isabel hadn’t recognised the beautiful stranger as the young cousin she had seen only a few times in her life, and then many years ago, when her aunt and cousin had paid the occasional visit to London. None the less, she hadn’t doubted her authenticity. Nor did she regret for a moment the decision she had made to help her hapless relation, who had been fleeing from a forced union with a man old enough to be her father. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling that her act of kindness might bring trouble in the future.

She tried not to dwell on this uncomfortable possibility as she enquired into the whereabouts of her relative, and by so doing gave rise to a look of comical dismay in her ever-faithful companion.

‘The young curate were round here again, bright and early this morning, with a few more newspapers from up at the vicarage. It’s good of him, I suppose. But it do put queer notions into your cousin’s head. Now, I ain’t saying Miss Clara ain’t in the right of it not wishing to be a burden on you,’ Bessie went on, somehow managing to preserve a serious countenance. ‘But what wife and mother in her right mind would ever employ such a beautiful girl as a governess? She seems to suppose someone will, though, and begged a lift with the local carrier into Merryfield so that she might visit the sorting office with her reply to an advertisement she spotted in one of them there journals.’

Smiling wryly, Isabel shook her head. ‘Yes, you’re right. Clara has the sweetest of dispositions. She’s hard-working, can set a stitch better than most, and she is far from dull-witted. Sadly, though, she isn’t very worldly.’

She was suddenly thoughtful. ‘I just hope she doesn’t come to regret this determination of hers to find employment. I cannot help but feel that the fewer people who know her present whereabouts the safer it will be for her. Should her stepmother discover where she is, I’m not altogether sure I could prevent her from removing Clara from under this roof.’

The application of the front-door knocker successfully brought an end to the conversation. The housekeeper made to rise from the table, but Isabel forestalled her by saying she herself would go. Although mistress of the house, she had never been too proud to answer her own front door, should the need arise.

Consequently, as soon as she had washed her hands, removed her soiled apron and made herself reasonably presentable by repositioning a few wayward strands of hair, she went along the passageway to discover a man of below-average height awaiting her on the other side of the solid oak barrier.

Everything about him suggested a professional man, so Isabel wasn’t in the least surprised to have a business card thrust into her hand bearing the names of Crabtree, Crabtree and Goodbody, a firm of lawyers based in the metropolis.

‘And you are?’ Isabel enquired, her great fear that he might have come in connection with her cousin Clara’s present whereabouts diminishing somewhat by the fact that the notary was flanked by two young children. By their clear resemblance to each other, Isabel felt they must surely be brother and sister.

‘Mr Goodbody, ma’am,’ he answered promptly, doffing his hat, whilst all the time favouring her with a scrutiny that was no less assessing than her own had been. Evidently he had decided that, although not in the least stylishly attired, she bore all the other characteristics of a young woman of refinement, for he added, ‘Would I be correct in assuming I have the pleasure in addressing Miss Mortimer, daughter of the late Dr John Mortimer?’

Isabel would have been the first to admit that she had been reared to conduct herself in a genteel manner, at least for as long as others had had an influence on her behaviour. Years of increasing responsibilities had tended, however, to persuade her to disregard social niceties, and adopt a more forthright approach when dealing with her fellow man. Some, it had to be said, found her abrupt almost to the point of rudeness, whilst others considered her no-nonsense approach commendable.

Seemingly Mr Goodbody fell into this latter category, for he betrayed not a modicum of disquiet when she demanded to know precisely why he had called, and answered promptly with, ‘I am here at the behest of the present Lord Blackwood, ma’am.’

Although intrigued, and quite naturally interested to discover the seventh Viscount Blackwood’s present whereabouts, Isabel couldn’t help experiencing a feeling of disquiet where the two children were concerned. She could detect no resemblance whatsoever to the dapper little lawyer, which instantly begged the question of whose children they were. An alarming possibility instantly sprang to mind. None the less, although renowned for her no-nonsense manner, she was also known for her innate acts of kindness. The little girl, clearly weary and afraid, clung to the older child like a limpet, instantly rousing Isabel’s sympathy.

‘In that case, sir, you’d best bring the children into the house, and we’ll discuss the matter which has brought you here in the comfort of the front parlour.’

Bessie had not exaggerated about the transformation that had taken place since Clara’s arrival in the house. Tirelessly she had worked on making new curtains. She’d repaired all the upholstery where she could, and had even taken the trouble to embroider new covers and cushions to place over those worn areas that had been beyond her skill to repair. Clearly Mr Goodbody was favourably impressed, for he cast an admiring glance about him the instant he entered the largest room in the house.

After settling the two children on the sofa, and furnishing the lawyer with a glass of Madeira, Isabel once again asked for an explanation for the visit, adding, ‘And would I be correct in assuming that his lordship’s whereabouts is no longer a mystery, and he is presently in the country?’

All at once the little man’s expression became guarded. ‘I’m afraid I am not in a position to divulge his lordship’s current whereabouts, Miss Mortimer. All I am able to reveal is that a successful outcome to the enquiries regarding past—er—unfortunate happenings will not be long delayed now. In the meantime, his lordship feels himself unable to take up his responsibilities with regard to these two young persons.’

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of compassion in the glance Isabel cast the children this time, before fixing the notary with a haughty stare. ‘And what, pray, has that to do with me, sir?’ she enquired in a voice that would have frozen the village pond on the warmest summer’s day. ‘His lordship’s private domestic arrangements are entirely his own affair.’

‘Indeed, yes, Miss Mortimer,’ he readily concurred, having seemingly realised in which directions her thoughts were leading. ‘Perhaps if you were to read his lordship’s letter first,’ he added, delving into the leather bag he had carried into the house. ‘It might set your mind at rest on certain matters.’

Still very much on her guard, Isabel, with some reluctance, took the missive from the notary’s outstretched hand, and broke the seal to read:

My dear Miss Mortimer,

I am fully cognisant of the debt of gratitude I already owe you, and the charge I would settle upon you now. Believe me when I tell you the decision to place my wards into your care was not taken without a deal of consideration, and I can only trust to your forbearance in this matter.

The estimable Mr Goodbody is in a position to answer any questions you might have with regard to my wards, and has been instructed to reimburse you in advance for the expenses you will undoubtedly incur whilst the children are in your care. If, however, you feel unable to burden yourself with the responsibilities of a surrogate guardian, I shall perfectly understand.

And will have the honour to remain,

Your obedient servant,

Blackwood

Although there was a certain familiarity in the tone of the missive, Isabel couldn’t find it within herself to be offended. At least it had vanquished the idea that she was being asked to care for the Viscount’s by-blows!

After reading the letter through again, she raised her eyes. ‘So these children are Lord Blackwood’s wards.’

‘Indeed, they are, ma’am,’ the lawyer duly confirmed, before instructing the boy to stand and make his bow. ‘This is Master Joshua Collier, who has recently celebrated his ninth birthday, and his young sister, Alice, who is six.’

Isabel, having had little experience of children, was at a loss to know what to say to the siblings to put them at their ease, while she considered more fully the errant Viscount’s request. The boy stared back at her now with an almost defiant gleam in his dark eyes, as though he was more than ready to challenge any authority she might in the future attempt to exert over him, while his little sister merely stared, awestruck, as though she were looking at a being from another world. Fortunately the slightly embarrassing silence was brought to an end by Isabel’s cousin unexpectedly entering the room.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Bessie quite failed to mention you had visitors.’

‘No need to apologise,’ Isabel assured her. ‘Your arrival is most timely.’

She was now quite accustomed to the effect her strikingly lovely cousin always had on members of the opposite sex, most especially those who came face to face with her for the very first time. And Mr Goodbody was no exception! Although he refrained from gaping, there was no mistaking the look of appreciation he cast the stunningly lovely girl who glided towards him in order to clasp his outstretched hand.

Few gentlemen, Isabel suspected, would be proof against such wide, brilliant blue eyes, and the sweetest of smiles, set in a heart-shaped face. It was a countenance truly without flaw, and crowned with the brightest of guinea-gold curls.

‘Would you be good enough to take Master Joshua and his sister into the kitchen and provide them with something suitable to eat and drink, Clara? I’m sure they must be hungry after their journey.’

‘Of course,’ she obligingly replied, holding out her hand to the little girl who, after a moment’s hesitation, seemingly decided she would be happy to go with the pretty lady with the kindly smile. Her brother, evidently less impressed by Clara’s physical attributes, frowned dourly up at her before following them from the room, the prospect of plum cake and apple tart seemingly having won the day.

‘Now that we are able to discuss the matter more freely, Mr Goodbody,’ Isabel began, the instant they were alone, ‘perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me as to why his lordship felt himself unable to place the children with a relative or friend? After all, I am neither. His lordship and I have never exchanged so much as a pleasantry.’

‘And that, I strongly suspect, is one of the main reasons why he chose you above anyone else.’ Frowning, the lawyer considered more fully for a moment. ‘Given what you have unselfishly done on his behalf, his lordship must be satisfied as to your integrity. Naturally, he has the children’s best interests at heart. Until such time as he is able to undertake the duties of his guardianship, he wishes his wards kept well away from their uncle’s sphere—their late mother’s brother, that is.’

‘Does his lordship believe the children’s uncle means them harm?’

‘I shall be diplomatic here, Miss Mortimer,’ he responded after a further moment’s consideration, ‘and say that neither his lordship nor myself believe the gentleman to be in the least trustworthy. He resided with his sister throughout the last year of her life, during which time certain irregularities came to light with regard to her finances. One can only speculate as to why so many large sums were withdrawn from her bank during this period. Furthermore a letter, supposedly written by the children’s mother, unexpectedly came to light shortly after her death. In it she requested an adjustment to her will, naming her brother sole guardian to her children, and sole beneficiary in the event of their deaths, giving the reason for the changes as a staunch belief that the present Lord Blackwood would be an unfit guardian. I am now in possession of certain letters written over the years by Sarah Collier to his lordship, the last one penned no more than three months ago, that clearly refute this. Therefore, it is my belief that either pressure was brought to bear upon the lady, when she was not in full possession of her faculties, to make adjustments to her will, or the letter is a complete forgery. I strongly suspect the latter.’

‘There was nothing suspicious about her death, though, surely?’ Isabel asked gently.

‘Nothing whatsoever, Miss Mortimer,’ he assured her. ‘She died of typhus.’

Isabel was far from sure that she wished to burden herself with the responsibilities of caring for two recently orphaned children. After all, what would happen if the uncle should happen to come to Northamptonshire in search of his niece and nephew?

‘I think that most unlikely, Miss Mortimer,’ the lawyer assured her, after she’d voiced this fear aloud. ‘The uncle, Mr Danforth, is completely unaware of his lordship’s present whereabouts. If he chose to make enquiries, all he would discover is that the Manor and his lordship’s town house are still unoccupied, as they have been for more than eight years, save for one reliable servant in each. Furthermore, Danforth knows I removed the children from their home. I know for a fact that my own house has been watched during this past week. I strongly suspect that he believes, you see, I

have the children safely hidden in London. By the time he has exhausted every possibility, and I have several sisters residing in the metropolis, it is fervently hoped that his lordship will have been cleared of all charges against him, and I myself shall have proved beyond doubt that Sarah Collier’s supposed adjustment to her will is entirely fraudulent.

‘But until such time, and if you are agreeable,’ he went on, when all Isabel did was to stare at him in thoughtful silence, still unsure what she should do, ‘his lordship has instructed me to give you this, in advance, in the hope that you will accept the responsibility he would place upon you.’

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.

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.

‘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.

‘Miss Isabel! Miss Isabel!’ he cried joyfully, almost launching himself into her outstretched arms. ‘You’ve come to see us at last! Why has it taken you so long? Have you come to take me fishing?’

Josh’s enthusiastic greeting and subsequent barrage of questions had contrasting effects on the two adults: a look of enlightenment immediately flickered over the high-ranking servant’s long, thin face, for he was very well aware that the children’s surrogate guardian during past months had been none other than a Miss Isabel Mortimer; whereas the lady herself, after a brief glowing smile down at Josh, cast a look of comical dismay above the boy’s head in the general direction of the butler.

‘The truth of the matter is, Josh, I’m here to see his lordship. There’s something I need to discuss with him urgently. But I haven’t forgotten my promise,’ she assured him. ‘I will take you fishing. But we’ll need to seek his lordship’s permission first, and wait for warmer weather, of course.’

Out of consideration for the servants, Isabel first removed her boots, which not surprisingly had become caked with mud after her brisk hike across the sodden park land, before accepting the butler’s invitation to step inside the hall, and leaving her trusty hound to await her return in the shelter of the roomy, stone-built entrance-porch.

‘Why are you not at your lessons, Josh?’ she asked him, thinking it most strange that he should be wandering about the house by himself at this time of day.

‘Oh, I just happened to leave my book in the kitchen,’ he answered, raising wide, innocent eyes, which didn’t fool Isabel for a second. ‘I often do, you know.’

‘Yes, I can imagine,’ she responded, favouring him with a quizzical look. ‘And what prompts these lapses in memory—plum cake or apple tart?’

He chuckled impishly. ‘Plum cake. But it isn’t as good as yours.’

‘Artful little demon!’ she admonished lovingly. ‘You’d best run along then, and have your mid-morning treat, before Miss Pentecost wonders what’s become of you … although I expect she’s a pretty shrewd notion already of why you’re so forgetful.’

This touching exchange was witnessed by more than one person, as Isabel quickly discovered, when the butler requested her to take a seat whilst he discovered whether his lordship was available to see her.

‘Don’t trouble yourself, Tredwell. I’m quite at leisure,’ a smooth voice assured him, and Isabel swung round to see the master of the fine Restoration building leaning against a door jamb, his arms folded across his manly chest.

‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Mortimer,’ he declared, after moving to one side in order that she might precede him into the room. He then looked at her intently, studying her from head to toe, and paying particular attention to the wild and shining windswept locks, the glowing colour in her cheeks and her unshod feet, whilst all the time she took stock of her surroundings, in blissful ignorance of his scrutiny.

‘Had I not happened to witness that touching little reunion between you and Josh, I might have been forgiven for imagining some personal calamity had befallen you. I shall take leave to inform you, young woman, you look a positive fright! In fact, little better than any ill-groomed labouring wench!’

‘And so would you, if you’d traipsed across the park in this wind,’ she defended abruptly, clearly nettled by the criticism, though she did whip off the red ribbon that had earlier confined her locks at the nape of her neck and retied it as best she could without the aid of a mirror.

Secretly he had thought she looked stunningly attractive with her rich chestnut locks framing the healthy glow in her face. She was so different from so many of those high-born society ladies who made full use of any artificial aid to beauty. Miss Isabel Mortimer might never be considered by some to be a gem of loveliness, a pearl beyond price. But she was certainly out of the common way, he decided, and quite refreshingly natural.

‘Do sit yourself down, Miss Mortimer, and tell me how I may serve you,’ he invited, while pouring out two glasses of wine. ‘Here, drink it,’ he added, when she attempted to refuse the Madeira. ‘It will calm your nerves.’

‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my nerves,’ she assured him, reluctantly accepting the glass. ‘I’m merely damnably annoyed.’

‘About what, may I ask?’ he enquired, not wholly approving the unladylike language, which was strange, considering that he never objected to plain speaking as a rule.

‘For the past six years, my lord, the ditch on the western boundary of your property has repeatedly overflowed on to my land, after any prolonged spells of rain, to the detriment of my vegetable crops. Time and again I approached the last steward, Guy Fensham, to do something about it, but to no avail. Why your family ever employed such a lazy—’ Isabel pulled herself up abruptly, realising suddenly that she was going beyond what was pleasing by voicing opinions on matters that were absolutely none of her concern.

Taking a moment to fortify herself from the contents of her glass, she peered up at him through her lashes. He didn’t seem in the least annoyed by her outburst. But then it was sometimes very difficult to judge what was passing through the mind of this enigmatic aristocrat, she reminded herself. ‘But you do not need me to tell you how he neglected his duties during your time away, sir.’

Without uttering a word, his lordship went over to his desk and proceeded to write a brief note. The silence in the room was punctuated by the scratching of the quill across the sheet of paper, the steady ticking of the mantel-clock and a distant low and eerie howling. Which Isabel did her best to ignore whilst taking further stock of her surroundings.

It really was a very masculine room, with its dark wooden furnishings, and heavy leather-bound tomes lining two of its walls. The claret-coloured curtains at the window matched almost perfectly the shade of the leather upholstery on the heavy chairs. Only the fine painting of the woman and the boy above the fireplace might have been considered by some to be out of keeping with the rest of the room. Yet the more Isabel peered up at the portrait of the striking dark-haired woman, with her arm lovingly placed round the shoulders of a handsome boy, the more she considered it provided a necessary relief to the library’s ambience of rigid masculinity.

As his lordship rejoined her by the hearth, and Isabel watched him reach for the bell-pull, her eyes automatically returned to the portrait above his head. Then stark reality hit her like a physical blow, almost making her gasp.

‘Good Lord! That’s you, sir!’

He raised his eyes briefly to the likeness of himself as a boy. ‘Yes, handsome young rogue, wasn’t I?’

‘Indeed you were,’ she acknowledged. ‘And that woman is your mother, I assume? You certainly favour her in looks … Well,’ she amended, ‘at least you did. I believe, like myself, you lost your mother when you were quite young?’

Just for an instant his eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow before he tossed the contents of his glass down his throat, and placed the empty vessel on the mantelshelf behind him.

‘Yes, I was fourteen, and away at school when I learned of her death from typhus. She had been visiting one of the families on the estate, and contracted the infection there.’ He released his breath in an audible sigh. ‘The house was never the same after she’d gone. I grew to hate the place.’

Isabel felt saddened to hear him say this. ‘That’s a great pity, sir,’ she responded softly, echoing her thoughts. ‘It’s a fine old house, and this room is both elegant and comfortable.’

‘I had it completely refurbished before my arrival,’ he enlightened her. ‘I knew I should be obliged to spend at least part of each year here, and I had no intention of suffering constant reminders of my late father.’

She had heard rumours, of course, of how much he had loathed his father and half-brother, and now she’d had confirmation of the fact from the man himself.

She couldn’t help wondering from where the hatred had sprung. It would have been true to say that his father hadn’t been universally liked, and there were plenty round these parts who certainly hadn’t mourned his passing, she reminded herself. But to be disliked so intensely by one’s own child …? It was all so very sad.

She raised her eyes to discover him staring intently down at her. There was a decidedly saturnine smile playing about his mouth, an indication, perhaps, that he had guessed precisely what had been passing through her mind. She felt acutely uncomfortable, and for the first time in his company felt unable to meet that knowing gaze. Fortunately the butler came to her rescue by entering the room a moment later, thereby instantly capturing the Viscount’s attention.

‘Get one of the footmen to take this note over to my new steward without delay, Tredwell,’ his lordship instructed, handing over the folded sheet of paper. ‘I want as many of the estate workers as can reasonably be spared taken off other duties and sent down to the western boundary to clear the ditches down there.’

The butler was on the point of departure, when his lordship forestalled him by demanding to know, ‘What on earth is that confounded noise?’

Isabel acknowledged the butler’s apologetic glance with a smile, before she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame. It’s my dog, Beau. I’d better leave.’

‘Nonsense, child! Sit down, and finish your wine,’ his lordship countered, as she made to rise. ‘Leave the library door ajar, Tredwell, and let the misbegotten creature in. I don’t doubt he’ll locate his mistress’s whereabouts without causing too much mayhem.’

It was a matter of moments only after Isabel had detected the sound of the front door closing that Beau came bounding into the room. After satisfying himself that she had come to no harm, he did something that she had never known him do before. He stood on his long hind legs and placed his front paws high on his lordship’s chest. A lesser man might well have staggered, or at the very least betrayed signs of alarm. His lordship did neither. He merely looked appalled when the hound appeared as though he was about to lick his face by way of an introduction.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, you abominable creature! Get down at once!’

Although the dog surprisingly enough obeyed the command, his immediate compliance didn’t appear to impress the Viscount, who followed the hound’s subsequent exploration of the fine library with a jaundiced eye.

‘What did I hear you call him …? Beau, was it?’ At her nod of assent, he rolled his eyes ceiling-wards. ‘A singularly inappropriate name. A more ill-favoured brute I’ve yet to clap eyes on!’

More amused than anything else by this most unjustified criticism of her beloved hound, Isabel smiled up at him. ‘Ah, but you see, my lord, you do not view him through my eyes.’

He regarded her in silence, his expression, as it so often was, totally unreadable. Then he said, ‘What on earth possessed you to acquire such a breed? You know what it is, I suppose?’

‘Yes, a wolfhound—er—mostly,’ she responded. ‘When a pup he was discovered scavenging for food round the cottages in the village by some urchins, who then considered it would be wonderful sport to tie a large stone about his neck and throw him in the millpond,’ she explained. ‘I happened along at the time, rescued him and took him back with me to the farmhouse. Naturally I made enquiries about the village, and in

Merryfield, too, to see if anyone had lost a wolfhound pup, but no one came forward to claim him. So he’s been with me ever since.’

While she had been speaking Lord Blackwood had seated himself in the chair opposite. Not many moments afterwards Beau had returned to the hearth and had settled himself on the rug before the fire, making use of one of his lordship’s muscular thighs to rest his head.

Isabel watched as his lordship raised one long-fingered hand and began to stroke the hound gently. He appeared perfectly relaxed, and she would have been too, strangely enough, had she not been convinced that striking blue orbs were avidly scrutinising her from behind those half-shuttered lids.

‘Well, I’d better not waste any more of your time, my lord,’ she said hurriedly, suddenly feeling embarrassingly aware that the hem of her skirts and cloak were caked in mud.

Although she had always remained particular in her personal habits, she would have been the first to admit she had never spent an inordinate amount of time before her mirror, simply because being perfectly groomed at all times had never ranked high on her list of priorities. Yet she couldn’t deny that being likened to an ill-groomed country wench had touched a very sore spot indeed. Why suddenly should her appearance matter so much? Moreover, why should this aristocrat’s approbation all at once be so important to her?

‘It was good of you to see me,’ she added, ‘but now I’ll be on my way.’

‘Nonsense, child!’ he countered, when she made to rise. ‘Sit and finish your wine. As I mentioned before, I’m quite at leisure.’

She was forced silently to admit that he looked it too. Sitting there, with his long, muscular legs stretched out before him, and his eyes fully closed now, he appeared totally relaxed, completely at ease with himself. Had she needed more proof that he could never have committed that terrible crime all those years ago, she was being given it now. Surely no man who had carried out such a dreadful deed could look so at peace with himself?

Yet the murders did take place, she reminded herself, once more taking stock of her surroundings. There was no refuting that fact. Could the grisly events have taken place here, in this very room? She couldn’t help wondering.

‘Something appears to be troubling you, Miss Mortimer,’ he remarked, his eyes once again fully open and as acutely assessing as her own had been only a short time before. ‘I trust you are not concerned about being in here alone with me. You are in no danger, I assure you. And if, for any reason, I should experience an overwhelming desire to lay violent hands upon you, I’m sure your trusty hound, here, would come to your rescue.’

‘Ha! I’m not so very sure he would!’ Isabel returned, quite without rancour. She was more amazed than anything else that Beau had taken such an instant liking to someone. It had never happened before. Which just went to substantiate her belief that his lordship was not the black-hearted demon he had sometimes been painted.

‘So, what were you thinking about a few minutes ago that brought such a troubled expression to your face?’

Lord! Isabel mused. Was he always so observant? ‘Well, since you ask, I was experiencing a surge of morbid curiosity,’ she finally admitted. ‘I was wondering whether your father and brother were killed in this room.’

‘No, in the drawing room, as it happens. Should you like to visit the scene of the crime?’

Had she not witnessed it with her own eyes she would never have supposed for a moment that those icy-blue orbs could dance with wicked amusement. He really was a most attractive and engaging gentleman when he chose to be. And, she didn’t doubt for a second, a damnably dangerous one, to boot, to any female weak enough not to resist his charm! Was she mad even to consider remaining with him a moment longer?

‘Well, yes, I would, as it happens,’ she answered, curiosity having rapidly overridden sound common sense.

Rising smoothly to his feet, Lord Blackwood escorted her and his new-found friend across the woodpanelled hall and into the large room situated at the back of the house. Of all the ground-floor rooms, the drawing room boasted the most commanding view of the formal gardens at the rear of the house, which could be reached by means of tall French windows leading out on to a wide, stone terrace.

His lordship recalled vividly the many large parties held in the drawing room when his mother had been alive. It had once been, without doubt, the most elegant salon in the entire house. Sadly this was no longer the case. It smelt musty through lack of use, the wallpaper and curtains were tired and faded, and what few bits of furniture remained scattered about the floor were sadly worn and heralding from an age long gone by.

As she moved about, noting the dark, intricately patterned carpet and the elegance of the marble fireplace, Isabel didn’t experience, strangely enough, any sense of disquiet because of what had taken place in the room. If anything, she felt saddened by its neglect. Undoubtedly the carpet, the wallpaper and the curtains had been expensive. All the same, they were far too dark and oppressive, an ill choice for such a room as this in her opinion.

His lordship, easily detecting the tiny sigh of discontent, smiled ruefully. ‘No, not the most pleasant of atmospheres, is it, Miss Mortimer? Such a dark, depressing place!’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she returned at her most candid. ‘But it has little to do with what took place here. I do not know who might have chosen the décor, my lord, but whoever it was betrayed a sad want of taste, if you’ll forgive me saying so. The wall-coverings are far too dark, and totally at odds with the patterned carpet. And as for the crimson curtains …’

Isabel went over to the French windows, where the offending articles hung. Once it must have been a wonderful view. Now even the gardens were showing clear signs of neglect. As the windows were securely bolted, both top and bottom, denying access to the terrace, she wandered over to the windows in the east-facing wall, and was instantly reminded of how windy it was outside.

‘Great heavens! Little wonder it strikes so cold in here. This window, here, is very ill fitting, my lord.’

He came to stand beside her, and tested the catch himself. ‘That is something that must be put right without delay,’ he remarked. ‘The Lord only knows how long it has been like that. I’ve seldom set foot in here since my father had it redecorated some eighteen years ago.’ He looked about him with distaste. ‘You’re quite right, the room is damnably depressing. I dislike it intensely!’

No one could have mistaken the disdain in his voice, which she felt was a great pity, because it could have been made into such a lovely bright and airy room without too much effort.

Conscious of his nearness, and the fact that he was staring at her in that intensely disturbing way once more, she put some distance between them by wandering about again, noting what items of furniture were left in the room and, perhaps, more importantly, those that were quite obviously missing. Maybe the furniture had not been to his taste either. Or perhaps certain items still bore the evidence of what had taken place. After all, the old butler had told her once that it had been nothing short of a bloodbath.

Something in her expression must have betrayed her train of thought, for when she happened to glance in his lordship’s direction once more, she caught him staring back at her, that cynical curl to his lips very much in evidence.

‘My father, by all accounts, was found over there in his favourite chair.’ He pointed in the general direction of the impressive fireplace. ‘My brother somewhere over here, so I understand, on one of the sofas.’

She frowned. ‘So you never …?’

‘Saw for myself?’ he finished for her. ‘No. As soon as the bodies were discovered, Bunting, I believe, sent immediately for the local Justice of the Peace, Sir Montague Cameron, and the constable. I was still sound asleep when they arrived, covered in blood, with a bloodstained sabre on the floor by my bed.’ The cynical smile was suddenly more pronounced. ‘Pretty damning evidence, wouldn’t you say? Had it not been for your intervention, and the help of some good friends, I might still be living in obscurity across the Channel. But when one has none other than Wellington as a staunch ally, other influential people begin to take notice.’

Isabel’s ears pricked up at this. ‘You know the Duke personally?’

‘I was with him throughout most of the Peninsular Campaign,’ he revealed so casually that one might have supposed he had found the whole experience quite uneventful and dull. ‘I was on his staff, as it happens, one of his Exploring Officers. As you might already be aware, my mother was a Frenchwoman. She taught me to speak her native tongue so well that I could pass for one of her fellow countrymen. Which, as I’m sure you can appreciate, proved most useful when I was obliged to ride deep into enemy territory.’

It took Isabel a moment only to assimilate what she was being told. Then a feeling of bewilderment, not to mention irritation, gripped her. ‘You were a spy, you mean. You spied for Wellington. You put your life at risk attempting to discover things he needed to know?’

His faintly ironic bow confirming this only served to irritate her further. ‘Then why—for heaven’s sake!—with all your experience, have you never attempted to discover who tried to frame you for the murder of your father and brother? Your name has been cleared, yes. But mud sticks,’ she reminded him bluntly. ‘There will always be those who will wonder.

‘No, you might not care, my lord,’ she continued when all he did was to raise his broad shoulders in a shrug of complete indifference. ‘But your wife might, should you ever choose to marry. More importantly, so would any children you might one day be blessed to have. Do you suppose they would ever wish to hear their father called a murderer?’

He stared at her for so long in silence, his expression, yet again, totally unreadable, that she was convinced her words had fallen on deaf ears. Then he astonished her by asking, ‘So, where do you suggest we begin? The events, may I remind you, took place almost nine years ago. All the old servants were discharged soon afterwards, and found new positions, I know not where.’

‘With one exception,’ she reminded him.

‘Bunting was questioned at the time by Sir Montague. He neither saw nor heard anything,’ he responded.

Isabel, knowing this to be true, acknowledged it before adding, ‘I’m certain what he did reveal was the absolute truth. But I should still like to know how the murderer managed to get into the house without using force, and left it again, without anyone being any the wiser.’

‘In that case, Miss Mortimer, we’d best go and ask him.’ Leading the way back into the hall, his lordship gave orders for the carriage to be brought round to the door as soon as possible, before he turned to discover an expression of doubt flicker over a finely boned face. He guessed at once the reason behind the troubled look. ‘Had you come here alone, ma’am, I wouldn’t have hesitated to consider the proprieties. However, as you have your own four-legged duenna to hand, I think we might dispense with the services of a maidservant for the short journey to Bunting’s cottage, don’t you?’




Chapter Four







The journey to the old butler’s cottage on the edge of the estate was conducted almost in silence. His lordship couldn’t quite make up his mind whether this was because his fellow passenger felt uneasy at being in the close confines of a carriage alone with him, or she was merely not garrulous by nature. Whatever the reason, he considered her a restful young woman for the most part. For instance, he could never envisage her getting into a state over trifles. Or ever succumbing to a fit of the vapours, come to that. None the less, he could well imagine she could be a managing little madam on occasions, if not sufficiently bridled.

He couldn’t resist smiling to himself. Few in his life had ever exerted sufficient influence over him to bestir him into doing something he had no real desire to do, or to persuade him to look at something from a totally different viewpoint. Miss Isabel Mortimer had succeeded in doing just that, however. No mean feat!

he was silently obliged to concede. Whether he would thank her for it in the long run was another matter entirely. But he had embarked, now, on this quest to solve the mystery of who had killed his father and brother, and he had no intention of changing his mind.

‘You may relax now, Miss Mortimer, we’ve arrived at our destination,’ he teased gently, as the carriage drew up before a double-fronted cottage at the end of a row of newly limewashed dwellings. ‘You’ll not be obliged to suffer my baneful presence alone any longer.’

The implication was clear. ‘I do not feel in the least ill at ease in your company, sir,’ Isabel assured him. ‘Why should I? You’ve never given me any reason to mistrust you. I apologise, though, if I seemed a little distant. It’s merely that I’ve never travelled in such a comfortable carriage before, and I’ve been enjoying the experience hugely, not to mention travelling across part of the estate where I’ve never ventured before.’

As he threw wide the door to allow Beau to jump out, his lordship felt something within him stir. It wasn’t pity, he felt sure. What she had revealed was the simple truth, not an attempt to arouse compassion. Yet it had moved him none the less.

He let down the steps himself, and as he helped her to alight, and she placed her hand briefly in his own, he could feel the calluses in the palm. His old butler had revealed that, for a gentleman’s daughter, she hadn’t enjoyed the most favourable existence. The elderly retainer clearly had not lied.

Yet again something within him stirred.

Making use of his silver-handled walking stick, the

Viscount made their presence known, and it wasn’t long before Bunting answered the summons.

‘Why, your lordship!’ he declared, clearly astonished. ‘This is a most unexpected pleasure! And Miss Isabel, too! Oh, do come in, please!’

‘Don’t wait for Beau,’ Isabel advised the old man as she stepped over the threshold. ‘He’s obviously picked up the scent of a rat, or something or other. He’ll come and find me when he’s ready.’

‘So long as he doesn’t present any vermin he does happen to locate to me on his return,’ his lordship remarked drily, which resulted in Isabel gurgling with mirth.

The Viscount’s immediate smile in response held the old butler transfixed for a second or two before he turned to close the door. Not since his lordship had been a boy had he seen him smile so naturally or so warmly.

His astonishment was no less marked than Isabel’s when she stepped into the low-ceilinged front parlour and first glimpsed the elegant furnishings. She had a fairly shrewd idea from where they had come. At least his lordship had put some of the old drawing-room furniture up at the Manor to good use, and no doubt Bunting had been most appreciative. Undeniably it was a deal more respectable than hers at the farmhouse, and she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy.

After taking a seat, but refusing the offer of refreshment, his lordship didn’t waste time in coming to the reason for the visit, which resulted in the old man’s smile instantly disappearing.

If the truth were known, it was something the ex-butler would far rather forget. A lifetime in service, however, could not be so easily forgotten. He would never consider disobeying one of the Viscount’s requests, even though, strictly speaking, he was no longer in his lordship’s employ. None the less, the young master had been generous since his return by providing a comfortable little home, fully furnished. It was little enough to ask in return, Bunting decided.

‘What precisely do you wish to know, my lord?’

‘I’d like you to go through the events of the evening before, when my cousin Francis came to dine. That much I can remember, and storming out of the house in a rage just prior to his arrival, after a—er—slight altercation with my sire.’ His lordship’s teeth flashed in one of his saturnine smiles. ‘Which I’m positive you must surely have overheard, or, at the very least, learned about later.’

‘Quite so,’ the old butler acknowledged apologetically.

Something occurred to Isabel as rather odd at this point in the discussion, but she decided to keep her own counsel for the present, and listened intently to what the old man had to say.

‘Mr Francis Blackwood arrived around six. Dinner that evening was not what you might term an enjoyable affair, as I recall. His lordship was still angry with you, sir. And I have to say your brother didn’t help the situation by reminding his father of certain of your past—er—misdemeanours, though Mr Francis came to your defence on more than one occasion, as I recall, suggesting a career in the army might be the best thing for you.’

‘How very magnanimous of him!’ his lordship put in, still smiling faintly. ‘I must remember to thank him when next we meet. And thank him, too, for taking some responsibility for the Manor during my absence.’ His lordship ceased to contemplate the logs in the hearth, and looked across at his old servant once more. ‘But I interrupted you, Bunting. Pray continue.’





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