by Juliet Moore
A wave of nausea consumed her and she swayed on the spot. "Of course not," she stuttered. "Naturally, I would assume that Mr. Templeton has business in the city."
"I don't know that it's business keeping him away." Her curious gaze waited for a reaction.
A reaction that Isabel would never give willingly.
She wondered if she had seen more than curiosity in Jane's eyes. Something like sympathy seemed hidden beneath her frosty exterior. Isabel shrugged, saying, "I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Good. We'll leave tomorrow morning. I'll expect you to be packed by then."
Chapter 10
Isabel's belongings were so diminished, putting them in a bag hardly deserved the distinction of being called "packed." Perhaps it was a foolish, paranoid thought, but she had the strong feeling Jane realized that and had laughed over it.
But that was meaningless. Though she might never know, Isabel was the one who'd laugh last when she finally returned to her life of privilege. Why had she ever been scornful of it? The constraints of responsibility were far preferable to the fetters of servitude.
She forced the fourth, and last, dress into the carpetb, wondering how Paige was coming along. The maids would be packing her bags. But perhaps Isabel might drop in and discover if Paige was to be punished by her parents. Had Marshall even told his brother or Jane about last night's incident?
She walked out of her bedroom and directly into Edward Templeton.
"Hello, Miss Balfour. How is you packing coming along?" He looked over her shoulder. "It looks like you're finished."
"No, in fact," she said, backing into her room, "I just remembered something I need to finish."
He gripped her arm and pulled her into the hallway. "None of that, Miss Balfour. I need to talk to you and I would hate to give any impression of impropriety."
"Of course not," she replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
"I want you to know I have nothing against you personally."
She rolled her eyes at the incredulous statement. How could he make such a ridiculous claim? Isabel moved away from her bedroom door to lean against the hallway wall. "Mr. Templeton, this is very personal. If I were a different woman, we wouldn't be having this problem."
"I suppose you're right," he mused, "I've never had this problem with any other of Paige's governesses."
Because they were all sharing your bed. Isabel merely nodded.
Edward adjusted his jacket sleeves. "My brother's career is very important to me. I don't want to see him throw it away on a . . . person like you. You have the ability to make him so agitated and passionate, even if it's in rage. That cannot be good."
She tapped her foot. Anger suffused her entire body. "Please, Mr. Templeton, what is the purpose of your visit?"
"I want you to leave."
She stared at his moving lips, wondering if she'd misheard. "Leave? Do you mean you would like to see me dismissed?"
He raised both eyebrows. "Surely you can't be so dense?"
"If you wish me to stop being dense, perhaps you should stop being vague."
Every shred of amusement vanished from his face. "I want to be rid of you, Miss Balfour. Obviously, if I could convince Mrs. Templeton to dismiss you, I would do it that way. Unfortunately, you've been lucky enough to escape every attempt I've made to incriminate you."
Isabel focused on a few key words and stopped him. "You seem to refer to more than one attempt. What have you done besides accuse me of stealing?"
He curled his lips in disgust. "Being so vain, you wouldn't realize it, but I never wanted to make you my mistress. That was only so Mrs. Templeton would hate you."
She raised her eyebrows at his incredulous statement. "Did you also want her to hate the rest of Paige's governesses?"
"I suggest you don't put your nose where it doesn't belong." Edward rocked on his heels. "May I finish?"
"I wouldn't dream of stopping you."
"As I was saying, since I can't convince Mrs. Templeton to dismiss you, I was hoping you would leave voluntarily."
If she hadn't known how severely it would aggravate him, she would have laughed. "I have no wish to leave."
"But you haven't heard the best part." He cleared his throat, glancing up and down the hallway. "I'm willing to reward you."
"You want to pay me to leave?"
He clenched his hands in the air in front of her as though he were fitting them to her neck. "Must you repeat everything I say? Yes, I want to pay you to leave. The sooner the better!"
She couldn't understand why he thought she would agree to such a mercenary agreement. Of course, she shouldn't be surprised at all. With his offer, Edward was telling her exactly what he thought of her. He truly believed she would accept. She shook her head, unable to understand how he had formed his opinion. All he'd seen between she and Marshall was one stupid kiss.
"Are you thinking?"
Isabel met his stare without blinking. "No. I won't take your money."
"You haven't even asked how much," he replied in a supercilious tone.
"It matters not."
Edward frowned. "Let me guess. Your ethics are worth more than a few shillings."
She started to edge away, tired of the demeaning conversation and needing to understand where she'd gone wrong. Her plan to hide away as an inconspicuous governess had failed miserably. She didn't have the right demeanor.
But instead of a quick escape, Edward pulled her back. "Well?"
"It's more than that, Mr. Templeton. I don't even understand why you're making me this offer. Aren't we going to your home in the country? Mrs. Templeton made sure to mention that Mr. Templeton will not be joining us, so the danger should be over."
Edward laughed and ran his hand down her arm. "My brother won't stay away from you for long, no matter what he claims. I have a good idea what he's been getting from the relationship and while he could get the same in London, with you he gets it for free."
Isabel smacked him hard across the cheek and then trembled when she realized what she'd done. She couldn't believe she'd just struck her employer.
Edward touched his cheek, already red with the imprint of her fingers. "Don't commit the sin if you can't justify it."
"Do you think that's clever?" she demanded, pushing off the wall. "How about this one? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone!"
"You're calling me a sinner?"
"I am," she said, raising her voice with each harsh word. "Your sins are far worse than mine could ever be."
Edward backed away from her. "You're addled, Miss Balfour. You don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" She gestured to her bedroom with both trembling hands. "How many women have you seduced in this bedroom? Five, ten, maybe even twenty?"
"That should be of no consequence to you."
"You're right. It isn't. But it is to your daughter."
Confusion flitted across his face. "What, Paige?"
"Have you any other daughter?" Isabel laughed. "What am I saying? You probably do."
"What does Paige have to do with any of this?" he demanded, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"Paige knows about your propensity for her governesses and she hates you for it." The word "hate" hung on her tongue, unwelcome and distasteful. But now that it was said, she couldn't take it back.
"You're just trying to shift the conversation away from yourself," he said, but his eyes showed something else. Surprise. Sadness.
"Why do you think she terrorized all those poor women? She isn't a malicious child. She was merely punishing them for your actions and for their acceptance of them."
"And you're trying to appear above them? You are living the same life, only with a different Templeton."
"Wrong. Mr. Templeton is a bachelor. Nor have we been intimate, though I realize you find that hard to believe."
"Regardless of that important detail, your actions are nonetheless immoral."
"At least my affair i
s motivated by love." Isabel's knees went weak. It took every effort not to let it show. All that was left was for her to strip naked. He was privy to everything else. She pointed to the stairs. "I am finished speaking with you, Mr. Templeton. I don't want your money or your company."
To her surprise, he backed away. "I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions concerning my daughter to yourself. You're wrong about Paige. She doesn't hate me."
Isabel shook her head. "Of course you don't believe me. I didn't expect you to. Any change of personality would be too detrimental to your love life."
Edward smacked the balustrade hard and trudged downstairs.
Isabel covered her face with her hands, shaking with every breath. She went over the argument in her mind and cringed. Too many things that shouldn't have been said had flown out her mouth in quick succession. And then she'd blurted that she loved Marshall. Had he noticed?
Isabel's head shot up when a quiet whisper broke through her sorrow.
It was Paige, standing at the end of the hall and watching her with large, unblinking eyes. "Are you all right?"
Isabel stifled the urge to shake her head and replied, "'m fine, Paige. What about you?"
Now her gaze was downcast. She shrugged. "Same as usual."
"If you need anything . . ." Isabel started, but Paige was already gone.
* * *
Isabel sat impatiently at the train station, her bag at her feet and her hat shielding the worst of the sun's rays. She sighed. She hadn't been alone with Paige since the incident in the hallway. Though she didn't want to pry into Paige's emotions, she knew she needed to talk to someone. But Paige wouldn't even meet her gaze.
Isabel had to wonder if the topic was just too embarrassing for her to bring up. For a girl on the crux of adulthood, her father's affairs were probably the last thing she wished to speak to her governess about. It was hard enough for Isabel to talk about it and it still surprised her that she'd been able to confront Edward.
She'd grown up a lot in the past two months. She had far worse things to concern herself with than the propriety of certain topics of conversation. Such as the fact that she was leaving London and Marshall hadn't even come to say good-bye.
Perhaps it was for the best. What would a goodbye do for her? What she wanted was him, heart and soul, so a polite farewell would hardly compensate.
The train heralded its arrival long before coming into the station with its hypnotizing, repetitive chugging. Focusing on the new, unusual sound was almost enough to distract her from her woes. But unless Marshall appeared within the next few minutes, the nauseous feeling in her stomach was likely permanent.
The paved floor blurred before her eyes and she let it. It was foolish to worry about leaving London after her fight with Marshall. If he truly cared for her, he wouldn't let the distance between them affect him. If he needed her, he would show up at some point. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure her prolonged stint as a governess was accomplishing anything.
She looked up when the train came into the station, slowly, after losing most of its momentum on the approach. Her eyes went wide at the sight. It was truly amazing. She couldn't believe it would be carrying them to Manchester, in less than half a day.
"Would you like help with your bag, Miss Balfour?"
Isabel jumped at the sound of Marshall's voice, foolish tears collecting in her eyes. "I was told you wouldn't be joining us."
He picked up her bag and walked it to the train, where they'd have different compartments. "I wasn't supposed to."
"What changed your mind?"
"I don't know." He looked away. "It's not important."
"No, of course not." But it was important. They both knew it.
Marshall finally looked at her then, actually giving her his full attention. "I'm sorry."
He was sorry. She knew how difficult it was for him to say it. After all, her pride had been too strong for her to make the first reference to their argument. If he was apologizing, he truly cared about her.
He wasn't willing to let her walk away.
Her response caught in her throat so she merely nodded.
"I'm not sure how we're going to fix this, but I'm determined that we shall," he continued, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
So he'd spent the entire night awake too. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, tell him everything. Show him that he could marry her after all. She wasn't a mere governess.
Isabel touched her stomach through her full skirt, wincing at the sharp pain. If he didn't love her enough to marry her as a poor woman, perhaps he didn't deserve to know the truth. But she didn't want him to give up his career for her. That would be foolish. No, she only wanted to know if he'd fight for her.
"It's time to board," Edward said, shooting his brother a look of distaste.
It seemed no one had been privy to Marshall's last minute decision. Isabel gave Marshall one last secretive smile before climbing into the women's compartment. "I'll see you at the first stop."
* * *
Marshall stared out the window of the train two hours later and wondered what was happening in the women's compartment. He felt like a snoop. He didn't know what had possessed him to return to Rotten Row and follow the man Isabel had been watching in the park. Now he couldn't take it back, no matter how hard he wished he could.
Beside him, his brother lit a cigar, fragrant fumes filling the small car.
Not being a complete simpleton, he hadn't actually spoken to the man, but he'd followed him long enough to discover his name. Cyril. And he was clearly quite wealthy, if his attire and the ladies crowding him were any indication.
The green fields he'd been staring at for an hour slowly came into focus and the rhythmic chugging of the train decreased until it finally stopped. A cloud of smoke burned Marshall's eyes and concealed his view of the Bolton platform. "Now that we've stopped, would you mind going somewhere else with that?"
Edward waved the cigar closer to Marshall's face. "Just like a woman! I might as well have ridden with the ladies."
Marshall slid toward the open window and replied, "You are welcome to join them now."
He stood. "Fine then. I'm going to take a walk. Stretch my legs."
Marshall didn't watch him leave. He sat there for only a few moments more before realizing that until he confronted Isabel, he would not get any rest.
If only his anger over their argument hadn't inspired him to jealously follow a stranger. But still, he had to know who Cyril was and what connection Isabel had to him.
Marshall left his compartment and caught Isabel as she was leaving hers.
She was flushed and hurried, wisps of hair stuck to her forehead. Her breath coming out in short gasps, she said, "Hello, Mr. Templeton."
Before she could step down onto the platform, he pulled her into his compartment. "My name is Marshall!"
Frantic, she searched the empty compartment. "You're all alone?"
He locked the door. "Yes, we are all alone."
"It isn't necessary to lock the door."
"No?"
Isabel wrapped her arms around her body. "You have to stop behaving in such a rash manner, Marshall. I cannot live like this."
"Like what?"
Her arms fell to her sides. "You seem to keep changing your mind as to whether or not you want me in your life. First you pursue me, even going so far as to follow me, then you decide to rid yourself of me by staying in London while I was forced to go to the country."
He closed the window and pulled down the shade. "I am quite clear about wanting you in my life. You are the one who is caught up in the details."
"Marriage is hardly a mere detail."
"Which is a good reason for me to avoid it."
"Please, I don't want to have this discussion again," Isabel cried in a high pitched voice.
Marshall sighed. "Perhaps that's why we're having such a difficult time trying to resolve it! But if that will make you happy, we'll drop it. For now."
Isabel sat on one of the benches that stretched along the length of the compartment. "I would be willing to speak of it if we weren't covering the same ground every single time without even the semblance of a resolution. Tell me the truth. Why did you change your mind and decide to come to the country house with us?"
Marshall leaned against the door and crossed one leg across the other. "Why do you want to know, Isabel? Is it that important to you?"
She unpinned her hat and placed it on the cushion beside her. "No. But if I had known, I would have been better prepared to avoid you."
He placed his hand across his chest. "That cuts to the heart."
She rolled her eyes.
"I know about Cyril."
Isabel sat up straight, her eyes large and scared. "Is that why you came then? To taunt me--"
"I followed him after I saw you watching him in the park--"
"How dare you!" She stood up, hair escaping from her chignon with the abrupt movement. "That's a despicabthing to do."
He made a grab for her hands, but she slipped away. "I'm sorry, Isabel, but I was insanely jealous!"
"Then perhaps you should have discussed it with me." Her eyes glazed over as her body came to a standstill.
He shook his head. "You wouldn't have confided in me."
Isabel leaned back, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "If I were you, I wouldn't assume things. There is much you do not know about me."
He reached for her hands a second time and this time, caught them. "You're absolutely right, my dear. I don't know enough about you. But I want to learn."
"Following people behind my back was not the way to go about it."
"I know." Marshall tried to find the truth in her eyes. "I was not spying on you to punish you. I care about you, Isabel, and I wanted to know what was going on. Many men would take advantage of you if given the chance. I refuse to see you get hurt."
She closed her eyes. "Please, don't trouble yourself. You're only making things more difficult by trying to drudge up a scandal. I know how your family reacts to any hint of a relationship between us . . . even a secret one."
Marshall squeezed her soft, tiny hands. "I don't care what they think."