The Viscount's Scandalous Return

‘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.