The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  Just Cyril.

  * * *

  Edward shoved Isabel's reticule in her face and grinned. "I found another reason, Miss Balfour."

  Isabel stood up, her back ramrod straight. "Paige, would you excuse us?"

  Paige eyes narrowed on her father. "I'll be waiting just next door."

  Edward tapped his foot impatiently. "This won kill hke long."

  As soon as the door shut behind Paige, Isabel snatched her reticule. "How dare you go through my belongings!"

  "You're living under my roof."

  "That doesn't mean I'm not entitled to my privacy."

  He leaned against the schoolroom table. "How I discover your wrongdoing is unimportant."

  "Wrongdoing?" She yanked open the bag, her eyes going wide when she saw what it contained. She'd only just found the pin yesterday!

  "Yes," he said, "that broach is covered in diamonds and only available to members of the Red Letter Club."

  She forced herself to breathe, her mind quickly ran over the possibilities. Was Cyril a member of that club? Edward had just given her a vital clue and all because he was too meddlesome to keep his nose out of her affairs. She casually deposited the bag on the table. "I haven't done anything wrong."

  He scoffed as he waved the reticule in front of her. "You don't think stealing is wrong?"

  Stealing? She should have known his implication from the start. "I didn't steal that broach."

  "This broach belongs to Mrs. Templeton. She lost it around the time you moved in."

  "I didn't steal from Mrs. Templeton." Isabel fiddled with the jet beads on her bracelet, the only shiny, attractive portion of her dark attire. "Did you say that broach is from the Red Letter Club? Is that an establishment only for women?"

  Edward wrinkled his nose and squinted down at her. "What are you talking about?"

  Isabel stared back at him. "I merely wondered if one had to be a woman to be in the Red Letter Club."

  "No. But only the dandy boys with too much time on their hands are involved."

  A description that fit Cyril like a glove. Isabel fell back toward the table and moaned. "That doesn't narrow it down at all."

  "Narrow what down?" Edward shook his head. "You're trying to change the subject and I won't allow it. Tell me where you got the broach, Miss Balfour."

  "I found it."

  He shook his head. "Where? In Mrs. Templeton's bedroom?"

  Isabel organized the items on the table. "You're being ridiculous, Mr. Templeton."

  Edward wound his fingers around her wrist and pulled her toward him. "Then tell me how you got the broach, if not from this house. Was it a gift? Are you a prostitute?"

  "No! I told you, I found it."

  He squeezed, and the pressure made her hand go numb. "Liar. I thought your manipulation of Mr. Templeton was bad enough. I didn't realize until now that you are a true gold digger."

  She struggled to get away, the nerves in her wrist cried out in protest. "You're a nasty man."

  "That's not the proper way to speak to your betters."

  Isabel shook with rage. She tried to slap him with her other hand, but he seized it too. "I am not a . . . what you accuse me of. Let go of me this instant!"

  He leered down at her. "If you're not a loose woman, then you stole that broach from Mrs. Templeton. Either way, I've found you out."

  She regained her composure and met his stony gaze. "I found the broach on the street, on one of my personal days."

  "Fibbing again. You won't get away with this, Miss Balfour!"

  She blinked, then squeezed her eyes shut. "What do you want from me?"

  "Need you even ask? If I have to sit here and watch you destroy Mr. Templeton's life, you might at least reassure me with your favors."

  "I would rather lose my job."

  "Then start packing," he replied. He released her and gave her a gentle push away from him.

  Isabel stumbled into the table. "You can't prove I've done anything wrong."

  He shrugged. "Proof is not as important as evidence. Just as I have, Mrs. Templeton will assume the pin belongs to her and dismiss you without a second thought."

  Isabel rubbed her aching wrists and glanced at the door. "If I leave, won't you be disappointed that you no longer have anyone to torment?"

  "Don't tempt me, Miss Balfour. I could do far worse than fire you."

  She frowned. "When I leave, I'll be sure to tell your wife how I felit proper to decline your suggestion of how I might keep my post."

  He leapt across the tiny room and grabbed her shoulders. His thick fingers dug into her skin. "You'll do no such thing!"

  Though he had no way of knowing it, his hands probed her bullet wound. Her eyes burned with tears. "I won't say anything."

  "Why should I believe you?"

  "I swear!" she sobbed. "Please, let me go."

  Edward complied, looking at her as though she were a disgusting sight. "Good-bye, Miss Balfour. Find some other rich man to manipulate. Mr. Templeton is out of your league."

  Tears ran down Isabel's face. It wasn't right that such a man should get his way. If only she had the power to refute him . . .

  It was pointless. She was powerless. She might never see Marshall again, all to save a career that his brother thought was his responsibility to protect.

  Edward snorted with disgust then stomped out of the room.

  Isabel slammed the door behind him, shaking with rage. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and wondered how much Paige might have heard. She stared at the connecting door, not wanting to witness her student's smug satisfaction in seeing things get worse for her governess.

  Paige came into the room without being called. "He's gone?"

  Isabel nodded but didn't meet her gaze. "I am going to cut our lessons short today."

  "I didn't realize it was a holiday," Paige replied.

  "Thank you, Paige, for making this easier for me," Isabel replied.

  She opened the door to the hallway and stood there for a moment, looking up and down the hall, frozen. She didn't even know where Marshall's bedroom was located, though it was doubtful he'd be there at that hour. He was the only one who could help her and she didn't know where to find him.

  "Miss Balfour?"

  Isabel looked over her shoulder, surprised at the meekness in Paige's tone. "Yes?"

  "I don't know what my father said to you, but--"

  "But what?"

  Paige shuffled her feet, staring down at the floor. "I'm sorry if you thought he was in love with you. My last governess was heartbroken when Papa rejected her."

  Isabel took a deep breath. "I know you mean well, Paige, but you assume too much. As I told you before, I am not having an affair with your father."

  Paige shrugged, the familiar indifference returning to her expression. "I was only trying to help."

  Isabel sighed and wished she would have been able to stay long enough to help the confused girl.

  * * *

  "Look, here he is now. We're down here, Mr. Templeton," Jane said as she walked into the hall. "You're right on time."

  Marshall stared down at his brother's wife in bewilderment. "What?"

  "Come say hello, Miss Norcross." Jane winked at him. "I was just entertaining her until you got here, Mr. Templeton. Don't look so alarmed, I haven't stolen her from you!"

  He descended, rapidly moving past Jane to take Sarah's hand. Jane pinched him, hard, as he passed. "Ah, Miss Norcross. How could I possibly be late to greet such an angel?"

  Sarah leaned forward and whispered, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Templeton."

  He forced a smile to cover his distaste.

  Jane stepped forward. "Miss Norcross was telling me how excited she is about your day together."

  "Stop that, you'll make me blush," Sarah tittered.

  "Yes, our day together. Of course," Marshall stammered, unable to think of a graceful exit.

  Jane nodded. "Lady Norcross was thrilled you sent the invitation."
/>   "Will she be accompanying us?"

  Sarah twirled her parasol like a weapon. "Mama had planned to come, but she unexpectedly came ill. Would you mind terribly if it were just the two of us?"

  Marshall frowned, hoping she hadn't poisoned her own mother. "I don't mind at all."

  "Wonderful!" Jane clapped her hands together with glee. "You can leave just as soon as Miss Norcross finishes her tea."

  "I'm finished," Sarah replied.

  Marshall watced the door. Perhaps if he escaped through the back door and--

  No. There was no evading it. He bowed to Sarah. "Please excuse me for a moment, Miss Norcross. I need to have a word with my brother."

  Behind Sarah's back, Jane winked again. "I must also . . . speak to Mr. Templeton."

  Marshall tried not to run into the study too quickly. He yanked open the door. Even though he still hadn't forgiven Edward for his outburst in the garden, the desk's empty chair filled him with dismay. He turned in time to see Jane barreling through the door.

  She hurried inside and shut the door behind her.

  He glared at her as he paced. "Jane, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "A little matchmaking," she replied with a confident air. "Miss Norcross has been waiting for your invitation for months. I think you should know, her first season is nearly at its end and she's received many impressive offers."

  He laughed hysterically and asked, "How many of them were for marriage?"

  A look of bewilderment clouding her eyes. "I don't understand, Marshall. Are you angry I've arranged this outing with Miss Norcross?"

  Marshall paced faster. "Yes, but as we both know, neither you nor Edward care about my feelings on the subject."

  "Of course we care! I just didn't think you'd pursue this on your own."

  "Then perhaps it's not worthy of pursuit!"

  "Keep your voice down!" she hissed, hurrying forward.

  "I am well within an acceptable range of volume, Jane. Obviously, I wouldn't want her to hear us. The only damn reason I'm going along with this charade is so I don't hurt her feelings. It's not her fault you belong in an asylum."

  "How dare you?" She poked his chest with one long, skinny finger. "I'm merely looking out for you."

  He crossed his arms in front of his body. "Did you borrow that phrase from Edward?"

  Jane sighed. "Well, Marshall, if you'd rather turn her down, I'm sure she'd understand."

  "Yes, that's just what I'll do. I'll bow out and blame the entire fiasco on you . . ."

  "Marshall!"

  "How could you do this to me? It's absurd! I don't even like the girl," he asked.

  "Why not? She's pretty, wealthy, and cultured."

  He shook his head. "She's also a hoyden!"

  "What a reprehensible thing to say." Jane narrowed her eyes and gave him the kind of look he'd seen her give the maids when they snuck out back to dally with the grooms. "I thought you were raised better than that."

  "Jane, you look nothing like my mother, so please don't attempt to emulate her."

  She shook her head, an expression of exaggerated awe distorted her face. "I can understand why Edward is so frustrated with you."

  "He's frustrated with me?" Marshall almost yanked a cigar from his brother's humidor, even though he detested the noxious habit. "Why don't you let him know I am just as frustrated? I'm tired of him telling me what to do."

  "He's trying to help you, you ungrateful--"

  "Having his wife intrude her protégés upon my private time is the exact opposite of helpful."

  Jane gazed up at the ceiling. "I caught you on your way upstairs, didn't I? Were you planning a rendezvous with my governess?"

  "That's none of your concern." He clenched his fists. "I wish you had a shred of human feeling, at least enough to refer to Miss Balfour by her name. She's more than just the title you bestowed on her."

  Jane smiled. "I never suggested otherwise. You've become paranoid over that woman."

  He ripped off his hat and squeezed it between his hands. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "This conversation isn't helping. I'll take Miss Norcross out, but only to save her the embarrassment. If you ever do this again . . ."

  "You need a suitable bride. Are you going to remain a bachelor your entire life?"

  "I'm beginning to consider the idea with much fondness." Marshall sneered. "Where is Edward? That was why I came in here in the first place, not so I could argue with you."

  "He's working," she replied, a note of secrecy in her voice.

  "Working? Now?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe he's looking at a promotion as well."

  Jane hurried out of the study before he could reply, leaving him staring at empty space. Was she implying that Edward was after his job? He'd kill him!

  He strode into the hallway, even less inclined than before to spend the day with Miss Norcross, but he could think of no way to get out of it. Any excuse he made would be taken as an affront. It wasn't worth it.

  Sarah Norcross was waiting where they'd left her, looking calm and unruffled. He smiled to himself, unable to imagine Isabel being so patient. But Isabel was one of a kind.

  He offered Sarah his arm. "Shall we go?"

  She came to his side with alacrity. She took his arm and smiled up at him.

  He heard something, perhaps even sensed it, on the staircase. He looked up to see Isabel gazing down at him, knuckles white. In her hand she clutched a small reticule.

  Sarah followed Marshall's gaze and smiled like a vicious tigress.

  "Hello, Miss Balfour," he said, wishing he could say more. Even though he was damn sure that he wouldn't ignore her for Sarah's sake, he couldn't say all the things he wanted to say. He couldn't tell her that he'd really come to see her before being sidetracked by Jane. He couldn't tell her that he was still losing sleep over what had happened in the garden.

  "Hello," she said with a bewildered expression on her beautiful face. Then, as abruptly as she'd appeared, she turned around and hurried back upstairs.

  Sarah frowned with distaste. "Shouldn't she be using the servant's stairs?"

  Jane opened the door in a flurry of motion. "Yes, but you know how governesses are, considering themselves above the rest of the staff. What can one do?"

  "Governesses," Sarah said, then shivered. "Always such gloomy characters. I spoke to her a bit at your last dinner party, if you'll remember."

  Marshall bit down on his tongue. "Shall we go?"

  "Of course," she twittered, spinning her parasol with her other hand. "I can't wait to see where you take me, Mr. Templeton."

  Neither can I.

  Chapter 7

  "Follow that carriage!" Isabel was jolted as the hansom cab driver whipped the horses into action, her back hitting the worn upholstered cushions behind her. She ignored the look he gave her and pulled her shawl together to cover her bodice. Though a hansom wasn't fit transportation for a lady, she didn't have time to wait for an omnibus.

  She would not bemoan her fate. No tears would escape her lids over Marshall's outing with Miss Norcross. She knew where he was--even if she didn't know where he was going--and that was all that mattered. And if she hadn't interrupted their leave-taking, she'd still be wondering how to ferret out her only possible champion.

  Isabel rested her chin on the handle of her umbrella. She prayed that Marshall would know what to do. She knew he would be furious with his brother for trying to make good on his threats. As much as she hated coming between them, she couldn't leave the Templeton household so soon.

  Isabel leaned her head out the window and watched the Templeton's carriage put more distance between them. "Are you following the right carriage? The footman is wearing purple and black livery."

  "I'm working on it, Madam!"

  Seeing an object approach from the corner of her eye, Isabel snapped her hand back inside. She tapped her foot rapidly on the floor of the cab. Despite her aim not to worry herself over Miss Norcross, Isabel found her thoughts r
eturning to the smug smile that had been plastered across the catty woman's face. Obviously, she was used to winning in matters of love and didn't like to be shown up. There were many things Isabel liked too, but she didn't always expect to get her way. She hoped Miss Norcross wouldn't be too distraught when she interrupted their tete-a-tete.

  The hansom suddenly stopped, her ente body tossed against the front of the cab. She peered out the window. "They stopped?"

  "Doffcocker Inn," the driver replied. "That will be five shillings."

  Isabel stepped out of the cab and paid the fare. She turned to face the inn and smiled. The last time she'd been there seemed like ages ago, telling Marshall that she wasn't to be his governess. Clearly, she'd spoken too soon.

  She entered the inn, dark compared to the sunny street. After a moment, her gaze searched the room for Marshall. She found him quickly, sitting at a small table with his arms folded in front of his chest. He leaned back in his chair as Sarah spoke at him.

  Isabel took one step toward them and then she froze. What if he was enjoying his luncheon with Sarah? Was it callous of her to so carelessly interrupt them? Confused, she backed out of the bustling inn.

  A man nearby called out the leaving times for various stagecoaches, including Thorndale. She approached the coach that could take her home, back to her family, and back to the seat of danger. Perhaps she should just leave. Forget the whole thing.

  She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and jumped away from the strange touch. "I am a married wom--"

  "Funny. I wasn't invited to the wedding." Marshall gazed down at her.

  "Oh, it's you." Her gloves felt damp from anxious perspiration.

  With a large finger, Marshall touched the small wisps of hair curling at the side of her face. "What are you doing here?"

  "I . . . needed your help."

  "Why?" His voice gentled as he tucked the strands behind her ear. "What's wrong?"

  Now that he stood in front of her, Isabel couldn't quite speak. Her mouth half open, she stared at him, wishing he'd somehow divine the truth just by looking at her.

  "Are you all right?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "If you need anything, just tell me what it is."

  His serious expression and sympathetic touch spoke of sincerity. Isabel leaned into him in spite of herself, knowing she'd come to the right person. She shivered and thought of what might have happened to her if she didn't have him in her corner. Back on the street. In full view for the mysterious person who wanted to be rid of her.