by Juliet Moore
"Miss Balfour?" A voice came a voice from outside the door. It sounded like Mary, one of the maids.
Isabel gasped and yanked the covers away from him to cover her nakedness. "Someone is going to catch you in here," she hissed.
Marshall laughed, then whispered, "When we announce our engagement, it won't matter."
The doorknob rattled. "Miss Balfour? Is the door stuck?"
"That's a pretty decent excuse," Marshall mused. "Too bad we're not at the townhouse."
She stared at the lock on the door, grateful for the foresight. "What is it, Mary?"
"Mrs. Templeton would like to see you downstairs."
"Thank you, Mary." Isabel slid to the edge of the bed. "Tell her I'll be down in a moment."
Marshall's large hand gripped her waist. "Where are you going?"
"You heard her. To see Mrs. Templeton."
"Now?" he demanded, his eyes liable to pop out of his head.
Isabel placed his hand on the mattress, then set her feet onto the floor. She went to her dressing table. "I need some time to think."
Marshall got out of bed and, his back to her, retrieved his trousers and shirt from the floor. After he'd finished putting them on, he walked to the door. "I thought this would be a lot . . . easier."
"Yes, well . . . there are some things you don't understand."
"Explain them to me," he said. He stared into her eyes, waiting.
"Later."
"Fine." He left the room.
* * *
"Miss Balfour, please come in." Jane was seated on the horsehair sofa, a tea service laid out on the small table before her. "Would you like some tea?"
"I would be delighte Thank you." Isabel sat across from her in a club chair, more than a little apprehensive about the conversation to come. What could Jane possibly have to say to her? Isabel gnawed on her bottom lip and wondered if she knew where Marshall had spent the night and if that was what she wished to talk about.
No. That was highly unlikely. Jane would never presume to bring up such a subject. Good etiquette decried it.
Jane poured out the tea into two delicate bone china cups. "This is difficult for me to say, Miss Balfour."
"Please, Mrs. Templeton, come right out and say it. I promise I won't react poorly."
"Oh no, it isn't bad."
Isabel sipped her tea, waiting.
"I spoke to Paige a few moments ago. We're going riding as soon as she's changed into her habit."
Isabel exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding and smiled. Even though she hadn't had much time to think directly on it, she'd worried that last night's game would only have negative consequences. It was good to be wrong. "That sounds like great fun."
"If you would like to join us--"
"No, thank you. You should be alone."
Jane nodded. "Maybe next time."
Isabel sipped her tea, waiting. She was sure Jane hadn't invited her downstairs merely to inform her of her riding plans.
Jane deposited her cup on the table, the spoon rattling in the saucer. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for my family."
Isabel felt a funny feeling in her stomach and looked away. "You don't need to thank me."
"But you've made such a difference with Paige. I wouldn't hesitate to call it a breakthrough."
She set down her cup, spoon inside, and Jane immediately refilled it with tea. "Paige is a good girl. It has been difficult for her these past few years."
"All because I've been too foolish to see what was right under my nose!"
"I can't pretend to know what you're going through, Mrs. Templeton, but don't blame yourself. I can see that you want the best for Paige."
"I do," she said. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. "I just wish you had come to us sooner."
Isabel shook her head. No words of consolation escaped her lips. She was a fraud. A complete fake. Jane wouldn't be so thankful if she knew who was really living under her roof.
An heiress playing a dangerous game of hide and seek.
She also knew exactly how Jane would react. Indignation at being tricked and embarrassment at having treated an equal as a commoner. Isabel released her teacup, spoon in saucer. "Please don't, Mrs. Templeton. I don't think I did anything monumental."
Jane dabbed her moist eyes. "But you did, just the same," she said. "You gave me back my daughter. I know you orchestrated that game last night."
Isabel stared into her empty cup.
"I also want to apologize for treating you poorly in the beginning. Though it's no excuse, I was of the same mindset as my daughter. I've become too accustomed to scheming governesses."
"I understand."
Jane folded the handkerchief neatly and placed it on the arm of the couch. "Which brings me to another thing Paige tells me is to your credit."
Isabel leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. "Yes?"
"Is it true you openly criticized Mr. Templeton for his affairs?"
Isabel raised her eyebrows. "Well, I suppose I did. I was furious with his selfish behavior concerning Paige. He had no thought in his head of how his affairs were affecting his daughter."
"Then you'll be happy to hear that he listened to you."
Edward listened to her? She didn't believe it for a moment. Isabel shook her head. "Surely, you're mistaken."
Jane fluffed the pillows on the couch and replied, "Last night, he . . . apologized."
"He did?"
"Yes." Jane dropped the pillow. "It may not seem like much to you, but for Edward, it's a lot."
"I understand." Isabel stood. "I should go--"
"Yes, I know." Jane smiled.
Apprehensive about what the woman knew, Isabel crossed the drawing room and out to leave the room when Jane cleared her throat.
"I won't stand between you and Marshall," she said.
Isabel tripped over the edge of the rug. She steadied herself by gripping the doorframe. "Pardon me?"
"You've helped me, so I want to help you. You're a good woman, Miss Balfour."
Tears welled in her eyes; Isabel didn't know how she could feel guiltier. Now, not only did Marshall want to marry a governess, Jane was welcoming her into the family. She hoped they would be as accepting of a liar. Isabel smiled weakly. "Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. I appreciate your generosity."
"It's the least I can do," Jane said, then stood and reached for the bell pull. "Let me know if I can help you with anything."
Isabel nodded and left the room. She almost ran into the butler as he gave directions to one of the maids. Isabel hurried after them down the hall. "Did Mr. Templeton leave the house yet?"
"It's not for me to keep track of the family's goings about," the butler replied.
"Just tell me if he left!" she exclaimed.
A nearby maid giggled. "Mr. Templeton left only moments before."
"Thank you," she said, a genuine smile sprang onto her lips.
Isabel turned and ran outside. The bright sun paralyzed her as her eyes tried to adjust. But she could see enough to climb down the steps and hurry toward the sloping lawn on the side of the house. As far as she knew, Marshall's had had no plans to join the hunt. He had to be socializing with the rest of the house guests.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. When she turned to face the unknown intruder, her mouth fell open. "Bethany!"
Not blinking an eye at the use of her Christian name, she replied, "Hello, Isabel."
Isabel searched the street, eyes darting back and forth, looking for Cyril. "Is Cyril with you?"
"No," Bethany replied, strangely reticent. She wore an oversized cloak in the cooler than usual weather.
Isabel watched her cousin's paramour, wondering at her impractical dress and her strange expression. She backed up and moved closer to the manor house. "Miss Tavish, what are you doing here?"
The woman made no attempt to smile . . . no attempt at familiarity. "I've come to see you, Lady Darton. Aren't you happy to see me?"
> "We both know you aren't supposed to know where I am."
Bethany pretended confusion. "Why is that?"
Isabel took another step backward. "I forgot something inside. If you'll excuse me."
Bethany reached into her coat pocket and pointed a gun at Isabel's heart. "The only place you're going is with me."
Isabel stiffened, her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't close her mouth or move, only stare. "It was you?"
"Just come with me, Isabel. And whatever you do, don't scream." She waved the gun carelessly, as though she didn't realize any false move might set the gun off.
Isabel followed the gun's movements with her gaze. Scream? If only she could.
Bethany pointed with the weapon. "This way."
Isabel hesitated and wondered if there was any way to run. But when she looked into Bethany's eyes, she didn't see any remains of the woman she used to know. She was crazed, unpredictable. Running wasn't worth the risk of being shot in the back. There had to be a better way.
Isabel started walking. But she wouldn't be obedient forever.
"So it's always been you. I take it Cyril is a part of this?"
Bethany laughed. "Cyril doesn't have it in him. He knows nothing about my plans."
"But what about the diamond broach I found? That couldn't belong to you."
"Cyril gave it to me."
Isabel tried to walk slowly. "What exactly are your plans?"
"I want Cyril to inherit. Not you, not Robert," she said, her tone chillingly matter-of-fact. "Cyril deserves the fortune more than any of you."
"How is that?"
"You were willing to play governess for all this time. The money can't be that important."
If only someone would approach them, interrupt the foul plan Bethany had in store for her. She too a step backward. "I pretended to be a governess to hide from whoever was trying to kill me."
Bethany grabbed her, digging her nails into her arm, and pulled her away from the house, holding the gun in her other hand. "You didn't seem to be hiding last night. Your costume wasn't as good a disguise as you thought."
Isabel's eye started to twitch. "So you were the one who shot me on my estate?"
"Yes."
"And you killed Robert."
Bethany shrugged. "Of course. He was another obstacle in the line of descent."
"You speak of it so coldly. I can't believe you're the same person I played with as a child."
Bethany let go of her, anger distorting her features. "Isabel, you have no comprehension of how the other half lives."
Isabel raised her chin a little higher. "I assure you, these last two months have not been pleasant."
Bethany laughed. "You always knew you had an estate waiting for your return."
"Just as I know nothing of your life, you know nothing of mine," Isabel said with a raised voice. "Why don't we focus on the business at hand?"
Bethany waved the gun in Isabel's face. "You're absolutely right."
Isabel's head pounded as though someone were hammering the back of her neck with each breath. "What do you want?"
"Come with me."
* * *
Unable to meet the gaze of Lord Tremaine, senior member of Parliament, Marshall stared straight ahead as they walked across the manor's vast lawn. "I will not reconsider my decision to resign."
Especially not on such a beautiful day. The cloudless blue sky and cool climate wouldn't be witness to his broken heart. Isabel was going to say yes. He merely had to convince her to see things his way.
His friend shook his head. "I just don't understand it. You've worked so hard for your position."
"My career is important to me, but not if I cannot have it without sacrificing the one I love."
Tremaine exhaled. "If this woman is making you give up everything, I can't say I respect that."
"Neither would I, if that were the case," Marshall said, but silently wondered if it were the truth. Perhaps he would give up anything for Isabel, no matter how unfair or unwise. That was love.
"So that is not the case?" Tremaine asked.
Marshall shook his head. "Miss Balfour's position is through no fault of her own."
"What do you mean?"
"She's a governess," Marshall said, suddenly remember how ungoverness-like Isabel had been the night before. He stared up at the open sky, the brim of his top hat obscuring his vision. "Grant married a companion and you saw what happened to him."
Tremaine stopped walking. He was silent for a moment, the sounds of ladies playing croquet audible in the distance. Then he said, "But don't you realize Grant is still a well-respected MP? He was merely refused for the junior lord position you both so covet."
"I realize that."
"Is it all or nothing with you, Templeton?"
That was a good question. One he wasn't sure he had an answer to. "Well . . ."
"I can tell you haven't thought this through."
There was a lot of truth in that statement. But he had good reasons for what he was doing. He had to resign, otherwise Isabel would never marry him. She wouldn't let him sacrifice anything unless he'd already done it. She as much said so that morning and, even then, she was too shocked to answer his proposal. Marshall gazed at the lush, expansive lawn. "Tremaine, it's a little difficult to explain, but Miss Balfour won't marry me if I'm still an MP. She'll consider her duty to refuse me so I won't sabotage my career."
"But if you've already resigned--"
"It will be too late and she'll have to accept my sacrifice."
Tremaine chuckled. "I guess you have thought about this more than I thought. I still think you should convince the lady to accept you, even as an MP. You haven't officially resigned yet. There's still time."
"Yes." Still looking into the distance, Marshall squinted at the two women walking at the edge of the lawn. He smiled at the coincidence. It was Isabel and a woman he didn't recognize. "There she is now, Tremaine."
"Wonderful. I'd hoped to meet the woman for which you'd give up everything."
Marshall watched the two women. "They are walking rather fast. I should try to catch them, then bring them back here."
With a confused expression on his face, Tremaine looked in the same direction. "Is Miss Balfour the shorter of the two, the brunette?"
An inexplicable fear settled in his stomach. "No, Miss Balfour is the taller, with black hair. Why do you assume it is the other lady?"
Tremaine took a few steps toward the women. "Because I believe I recognize the other lady and she's certainly not a governess."
Marshall tried not to panic. He'd never thought Isabel looked like a governess either. It would be easy to explain his colleague's mistake. He laughed weakly. "You must be mistaken."
Tremaine moved closer and replied, "No, I don't believe I am. Lady Isabel Darton is a striking woman and difficult face to forget."
Isabel. That was too coincidental. Marshall closed his eyes for a moment, slowly catching his breath. Then he said, "Who is Isabel Darton?"
Tremaine shifted. "That's the strange part. Isabel Darton is a wealthy heiress who recently disappeared after being attacked."
"Attacked?"
"She was shot while riding on her estate. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it."
She'd been shot. It all suddenly made sense. The scar on Isabel's arm that hurt when he touched it. The way she'd jumped when he slammed the door or when he dropped the heavy dictionary in the library. At the time, he'd thought her reactions had been extreme.
But why would she do such a thing? Pretending to be a governess had to have something to do with the threat on her life. Whatever her reasons were, he wished she hadn't had to lie to him to do it.
Marshall sighed. "No, I haven't heard of it. Or, if I have, I disregarded it as more useless gossip."
Tremaine patted his back and replied, "I hope there's an honest explanation to all of this."
With a laugh, Marshall stared at Isabel. "I hope so too."
*
* *
It was Marshall. What a horrible coincidence!
Isabel turned her head in the hopes he wouldn't distinguish her at such a distance. She walked a little faster, the cool tip of the pistol against her neck a like spur in her side.
"What are you doing?" Bethany demanded. She squeezed her arm violently and pushed her toward the trees.
"Nothing."
Bethany pressed the gun firmer against her skin. "You were walking faster. Do you see someone?"
If only she knew. All Isabel wanted was to get away from the person she'd just seen. She knew she could find a way to convince Bethany not to kill her. Getting Marshall involved would only make it messier. She wanted so much to look behind her, hoping he was still walking with his friend. Isabel glanced at the small woodland. "I didn't see anyone."
Bethany was silent again. It was the worst part.
She gazed at the woods Bethany was taking her into. They were dark . . . isolated. Though she still didn't know how she was going to save herself, her odds had suddenly gone a lot lower.
Bethany gripped her shoulders and spun her around so she faced the house. Marshall was jogging across the grass toward them, an all too familiar smile on his face.
Bethany lowered the gun's position to her waist. Both her large skirt and Bethany's oversized cloak blocked it from view. "Don't move," Bethany whispered. "If he discovers what's going on, I might as well shoot both of you and take my chances escaping through the woods."
Isabel's throat tightened. She nodded.
"Miss Balfour," Marshall said, stopping only a meter away from them. "I was hoping I'd catch up with you."
"You didn't desert your friend to come over here, did you?"
"Aally, he's a colleague. Though it wasn't very polite of me to walk off, as I told you, I've already closed that chapter."
Isabel gritted her teeth at the uselessness of it all. "Please don't do that, Marshall."
Marshall replied, "You've already said that, but you still haven't told me why."
"I would like to tell you, but now isn't a good time." Then again, later might not be a good time either. She touched her stomach, imagining his reaction if he found her murdered on the same day he proposed. Her eyes burned, realizing she wasn't saving him by trying to keep him out of her trouble.