The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  He pulled her closer. "This is serious, isn't it?"

  "Another problem has arisen with Edward," she finally said.

  "He threatened you again?"

  Isabel struggled for the right words. "It was more than a threat."

  Marshall coaxed her toward the inn, still holding her. A man watched them for a moment, then looked away. "I can see this is something you don't wish to discuss here. Come with me."

  Without a word, she followed him. His arm rested on her shoulders as they walked. Her well being was important to him. His actions made that clear. But her heart ached, wondering if she deserved it . . . if she had ever been so helpful to him.

  Marshall abruptly stopped moving and pinned her with a questioning stare. "How did you get here?"

  "In a hansom cab," she admitted.

  "A hansom? That's not proper at all." He shook his head and started to walk toward the inn, expecting her to follow. "Never mind. I need to take Miss Norcross home. She's on the way."

  Behind her, the stage that could have taken her back to Thorndale jolted into motion. She was out of options. Isabel hurried after Marshall, her umbrella banging against her leg. "You want me to go with you? With her as well?"

  When he stopped walking she almost slammed into his back. He looked at her. "Why? Is there a problem with my solution?"

  "No," she lied. She couldn't tell him she was frightened that jealous rage would prompt her to claw the woman's eyes out. Isabel would just have to make every effort to control herself.

  They walked into the cool, darkened inn again and she moved slowly until her eyes got over the rapid adjustment. Just like the first time, she didn't like what she saw. Miss Sarah Norcross gave her a look that made her think she would turn to stone on the spotrshall smiled. "We are going to have to cut our day short, Miss Norcross."

  Sarah's answering smile was fragile. "Do you mean that you must take the governess home? I would think that after we deposit her at your brother's house--"

  "No, I can't . . . well, it's not just that . . . I must . . ."

  "Mr. Templeton is going to have to explain my absence to his brother. He'll demand an explanation for my tardiness."

  "And what is your explanation? Where were you off to on this fine afternoon?"

  Isabel bit her tongue. She did not have to explain herself to Miss Norcross. She wasn't a servant. "Nowhere of note. And where is your chaperone?"

  Sarah's eyes narrowed with scorn. "My mother fell ill."

  "Send my regards."

  Sarah reluctantly got to her feet. "Don't worry, Miss Balfour. If they dismiss you, I'm sure you'll find another post. They can't be as rare as I hear, can they?"

  Marshall reached for Isabel's bag, face impassive and straight. "She isn't going to get dismissed."

  Sarah gave him a skeptical look as she followed. "Shall you make sure that she isn't then?"

  Isabel followed them in silence. She cursed Miss Norcross for asking such a question. Of course she would put Marshall on the spot and make him answer a question that was foolish in the extreme. What say did he have in the decision to keep her? He couldn't honestly say he could prevent anything.

  "Yes."

  Isabel eyes moistened and she looked away. Her heart turned over at the unexpected response. She hung behind them as they left the inn, discreetly wiping her face with her sleeve. It was still difficult to believe her ears.

  Maybe her fantasies of Marshall as her hero weren't so farfetched after all.

  * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, Marshall paced across his small quarters. It was a room he'd taken out over a club, not the appropriate place to bring a lady at all. "So what did Edward do?"

  Isabel touched her forehead. The beginnings of a headache splintered through her skull. "Mr. Templeton accused me of stealing."

  Marshall gently extracted the bag from her arms. He carried it some distance away and she knew he was serious about not letting her go. "Stealing? Please, sit down and explain."

  Isabel sat and looked anywhere but into Marshall's eyes. "He found a diamond broach in my bedroom that's identical to one Mrs. Templeton lost."

  "What?" Marshall knocked the mantle, making the carriage clock on top wobble. "But obviously it's not the same broach."

  "No, of course not. Mr. Templeton wouldn't listen to reason. He insisted it was one and the same."

  "How preposterous!" He took two strides across the room and grabbed her hands. "That must have been very upsetting to you."

  Her hands trembled and burned within his grasp. "Yes, it was."

  "What are we going to do about this mess?"

  Isabel stared down at his large hands enveloping hers, resting in the cushion of her petticoats. "I don't know. Mr. Templeton doesn't understand how I could have such an expensive pin. But I found it . . . before I took the post."

  He released her hands and rose to his full height. "Why didn't you sell it?"

  "I'd sent a letter to Mrs. Templeton, looking for employment," she replied, watching the suspicion in his eyes dissipate. "As long as I had some place to live, I figured I could save the pin for a rainy day."

  "While it continues to appreciate." He began to pace in front of the fireplace. "You told this to my brother and he didn't believe you. When did Jane lose her broach?"

  "Soon after I started my post. That's why he's so insistent." Isabel crossed her ankles and leaned back in the chair. "Mr. Templeton said the broach is one worn only by the members of the Red Letter Club."

  "That club is a ridiculous show of superiority," he replied, rocking back on his heels.

  "You're familiar with it then?"

  Marshall nodded, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "They are the worst snobs. It was meant to be a book club, started by the Duke of Crestland. Now it's nothing more than an elitist gathering of London's biggest gossips."

  Isabel gripped the arms of the leather club chair with taut hands and leaned forward. "You do believe me, don't you, Mr. Templeton? I understand that the evidence points to--"

  "Don't say another word," he said. "I believe you, Miss Balfour. You've never given me cause to doubt your word."

  Isabel swallowed over the lump in her throat, her guilty conscience painfully aroused. "Mr. Templeton has made it clear he wishes to dismiss me."

  Marshall approached the mantel, then leaned against it in repose. "I'll do my best to ensure that doesn't happen. But if Jane also believes you stole--"

  "I don't think Mr. Templeton had spoken to Mrs. Templeton yet." Isabel squirmed in her stiff corset, a dislodged steel bone poking her upper thigh. "But when he does, I'm sure she'll be on his side."

  "Not necessarily." He turned and stared into the unlit fireplace. "Is there any way you can prove you found the pin? Maybe you showed it to someone before you came to us?"

  "No," she replied, gaze falling to her lap. She tried to lose herself in the herringbone knit of her black merino skirt. She was deuced tired of wearing black. Her entire world was dark.

  "That's too bad." His footsteps became louder, then faded away. "Maybe you could . . . no, that wouldn't work."

  Isabel gnawed on her bottom lip. It was over. She was going to be on her own again. Even she wouldn't believe an employer over such obvious proof. The lady of the house lost her broach, and then the broach was found in the governess's room. End of story.

  Isabel would do the same thing in her household, she was positive.

  "I don't know, Miss Balfour," he finally said, reaching for his silk hat and crisp gloves. "I can think of nothing that would convince my brother of your innocence."

  "Well," she started, nearly leaping from her seat. "I suppose I should go home and pack."

  Laughter erupted from deep within his chest. "That's not what I meant at all. We shall go home and face the music together."

  Her chest contracted in fear. It was useless. Edward wouldn't put any weight on his brother's opinion. Isabel adjusted her shawl and retrieved her umbrella, not meeting Marshal
l's gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Templeton. You don't know what this means to me."

  "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

  Isabel turned to look at him, trembling with anticipation. She wasn't ready for this. She promised herself she wouldn't get too close, but if he actually began courting her . . . how could she resist the temptation?

  "I'm sorry I mauled you in the garden," Marshall said, looking everywhere in the room but at her. "I shouldn't have forced myself upon you like that."

  What did one say to such a comment? Oh, no, I was happy to be molested? His apology was a far cry from her fantasies of desire-filled declarations. Isabel shook her head. "Erase it from your mind."

  He gazed down at her with kindness in his eyes so thankful that she had absolved him of his guilt. Now he wouldn't have to worry about any pesky accusations that he had led her on. How wonderful for him.

  Now all she could do was wonder if Marshall's apology meant such a tryst would never happen again. It was unfortunate. She'd been looking forward to it ever since.

  * * *

  "You won't convince me of anything. I know exactly what's going on here!"

  Isabel froze when she heard the angry voices thundering in the drawing room. She tiptoed toward the stairs. It wasn't proper to eavesdrop . . . even when ones entire future rested on an argument.

  "Tell me then. What is going on here?" Marshall yelled back.

  Isabel cringed. This was exactly why Marshall had asked to speak to his brother alone when they'd returned to the townhouse. He'd known the accusations would be fien't ha/p>

  "Miss Balfour stole that broach and you're just too blind to see it," Edward said. His dangerous lilt sent chills down her spine.

  Though she tried to force her legs to move, Isabel remained immobile. Just as the ache in her chest persisted, even though she'd used the rest of her meager will to make it stop.

  "I'm entitled to my opinion, whether or not it matches yours. Miss Balfour is not a thief."

  "Then how did she obtain Jane's broach? It went missing the day after she hired that woman."

  Marshall made a sound of utter disbelief. "Jane loses things all the time."

  Edward laughed. "Just admit it, brother. You're too besotted with her to see the truth."

  Isabel leaned forward, the fear of discovery overrode by her determination to hear his answer. Her foot slipped on the polished floor. She teetered for a moment before stumbling across the marble hallway, her arms outstretched in front of her.

  The two brothers came out of the drawing room just as she grabbed the wall to steady herself.

  Marshall came forward to offer her his right hand, a black morning coat and hat in his other. "Are you all right, Miss Balfour?"

  "Of course. I merely stumbled over the rug," she said, looking down.

  "You are as graceful as you are honest," Edward commented.

  Marshall turned to his brother, still holding Isabel's arm. "Why must you continue to torment her? Is there a woman you wish to install in her place?"

  Edward grimaced and waved him away. "Don't insult me with such base insinuations."

  "I wouldn't make them if they didn't have a foundation in the truth."

  Isabel hung back, uncomfortable seeing Edward wearing only his shirtsleeves. "Please, Mr. Templeton, you must believe me. I swear I didn't steal that broach."

  "The story you told me is a complete falsehood," Edward said. "I refuse to listen to your lies."

  "I am not lying!"

  Marshall gripped his brother's shoulder and pushed him against the wall. "You're the liar, Edward. Admit it. You're unable to even consider there might be an alternate explanation because you're determined to put her out. Miss Balfour found that broach."

  "Of course she found it," Edward sputtered, "in Jane's bedroom!"

  Isabel put her hands on Marshall's shoulders and tried to pull him away from his brother, but he didn't budge.

  Marshall slammed Edward against the wall again and said, "She found it on the street."

  "That's preposterous, Marshall. You can't expect me to swallow that."

  "You have no choice." He released his brother, shaking his head with disgust. "Paige needs a governess and Miss Balfour is the only one in years who hasn't run off screaming in a week. Jane won't permit you to send her away without any proof."

  "Proof? The proof is in my hand," Edward said, waving the diamond stick broach in his face. "What better evidence could I have?"

  "Might I say something?" Isabel asked, her lower back throbbing with each bellowed insult.

  "What?" the brothers chorused. They were so revolted by each other they'd forgotten she was even there.

  Isabel blinked back tears, never having known how difficult it was to defend ones innocence in a single matter when everything else was a lie. She pulled herself away from Marshall. His proximity addled her brains and probably made her look worse in Edward's eyes.

  "I found that broach kilometers from here, on the street. Everything Mr. Templeton is telling you is true."

  Edward clapped. "Thank you, Miss Balfour. You've really added to the conversation. I'm so glad you were here to chime in."

  Marshall growled. "I think you should remember your manners before you embarrass yourself."

  "Yes, Edward, that sounds like a good idea," Jane said, entering the foyer from the back of the house.

  Edward scrambled to stand straighter and separated himself from his brother. "I'm so glad you're here. Marshall is trying to claim Miss Balfour didn't steal your pin, even though he has no evidence to the cntrary."

  Jane shook her head. "Didn't I tell you not to accuse Miss Balfour of taking my broach?"

  "Yes, but you were being too kind."

  "No, Edward." Jane looked away from her husband, as though the sight of him disappointed her. "I needed more time to search my room. I found my broach an hour ago."

  "What?"

  She jutted out her hand, the diamond broach in her palm. "I found it, Edward! I asked you to not assume anything, yet you did it anyway."

  With a triumphant laugh, Marshall snatched the other broach from his brother. "I hope you feel very stupid right now. You certainly look it."

  Jane shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Miss Balfour. No one deserves to be accused of something they didn't do."

  Throat constricted, Isabel just nodded.

  Edward said, "Fine, you found the broach. But how do we know Marshall didn't replace it with another?"

  All the muscles in Marshall's upper body tensed. Isabel touched his arm and held him back.

  He settled for words. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Edward. It's over."

  "Yes," Jane said, as she started to walk away. "This has been embarrassing for everyone."

  Edward sneered at Isabel one last time before stalking off in the opposite direction, face flushing red and sweat darkening his shirt. Jane gave Isabel another apologetic look and followed him.

  Isabel was stunned. It was difficult to believe the emotional highs and lows she'd gone through in just one day. All because Jane was careless with her belongings and Edward was vindictive with his rejecters. Tears filled her eyes, and Isabel turned away and sprinted to the stairs. "Goodnight, Mr. Templeton."

  "Don't go."

  Isabel froze on the bottom step. Maybe the entire embarrassing day had been worth it.

  * * *

  Marshall crossed the foyer and stood at the foot of the stairs. "Let me walk you to your bedroom."

  "After all that," she started, gesturing to the area behind him. "I would think you'd want to put as much distance between us as possible."

  "Why would you think that? You weren't at fault."

  "I know, but . . ." She climbed the next step backward. "Perhaps I should just go upstairs."

  He followed her up the stairs, replacing her on the first step. "I couldn't blame you for Edward's poor judgment. You're just his unfortunate victim. I did what I could to help you today and I don't regret a minute of it."<
br />
  "Thank you," she said, staring at the wall behind him. "Your support was invaluable."

  Marshall tentatively touched her corseted waist, delighting in its small size. "Then let me walk you to your bedroom."

  Isabel held him back with one, delicate arm, her eyes moist with tears. "That isn't necessary."

  "The best things in life never are."

  She shook her head. "It would also be highly improper."

  "The best things in life--"

  "Yes, I know, Mr. Templeton," she interrupted, absentmindedly tracing the swirling pattern embroidered on his vest. "You don't need to finish."

  He gripped her fingers before she could pull away. "It wasn't proper for me to wait for you in your bedroom the first night you were here."

  "And yet you did it anyway," she said.

  "Afterwards, you were glad I did."

  She tried to pull away and turn from his gaze. "That's not true."

  "No?"

  "No!" she replied. Her eyes cast about looking for an escape and she felt her body stiffen.

  Marshall reached around her back, pulled her against his chest and inhaled her heady scent. His groin throbbed. "Why lie to yourself, Isabel? There's no one to hear you but me."

  "I just remembered what you said that evening, Mr. Templeton."

  He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. "What did I say?"

  She tried to lean away from him. "I shouldn't have to remind you," she said.

  "If my words offended you, I am entitled to have them repeated."

  "Or perhaps you should be obligated to remember them."

  Marshall redown and cupped her buttock. He squeezed, watching her eyes go wide with shock. "I'm sorry, Miss Balfour, but all I can remember of that night is all the things I wanted to do to you, but wasn't able to."

  Her eyelashes fluttered. "Please don't touch me."

  "I'll release you when you tell me what I said." He squeezed again, laughing at her struggle for indifference.