The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "Are you all right, Isa--"

  "Yes, thank you," she said quickly.

  Marshall nodded, but she could see he didn't believe her.

  Suddenly remembering Bethany appearance as a friend accompanying her on a walk, Isabel realized her acting left something to be desired. If she truly wanted Marshall to think nothing was amiss, an introduction was in order. Isabel glanced back at Bethany, trying to keep the disgust from her expression. "Please, Miss Tavish, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Templeton."

  Marshall moved to take her hand, but Bethany remained still. His arm fell back to his side. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

  "Yes, a pleasure."

  Marshall raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

  Bethany had been patient enough. Isabel doubted it would last much longer. She gestured to the man Marshall had left alone on the lawn. "I don't want to keep you from your colleague."

  "He can wait," he replied.

  If only he knew how it much worse it pained her to do it.

  Marshall continued, his gaze locked on hers. "I was hoping we could arrange a meeting for this afternoon. Perhaps then, you'll have some answers for me," Though his expression hadn't changed, he tapped his foot on the grass.

  Isabel tried to ignore the weapon pressing into her back and replied, "Yes, that sounds nice."

  "Shall we meet in the winter parlor?"

  "I would like that," she replied, chin raised, determined she would make their rendezvous.

  "I'll look forward to seeing you then," he said, then smiled one last time before turning away.

  As Isabel stared at his back, big tears escaped and streaked down her face. She knew she was doing the right thing. She didn't know how Marshall could help her, how he could stop Bethany from pulling the trigger. So it was better this way. At least one of them would live to see another sunset.

  Bethany giggled. "Oh, is he your beau? How adorable! Perhaps I should shoot him in the back."

  "If you do, you won't live to shoot another round."

  She dug her fingers into her wound. "False bravado, Isabel? I didn't think you had it in you."

  Isabel ignored the jibe and allowed herself to be taken closer to the woods. Though they still had more than a few meters to go, Isabel doubted she would be able to think of something to say to Bethany that would prevent her from dragging her into its depths. Her head pounded with the effort and her failure nearly made her vomit. Her life depended on her thinking of one clever thing to do and she just couldn't do it.

  She could only drag her feet, forcing Bethany to walk slower, but not so slow that she would notice the tactic. She glanced over her shoulder at Marshall and frowned when she saw his back. Isabel felt more hot tears course down her cheeks. How could she be disappointed in him when he hadn't a clue anything was wrong?

  Maybe if he'd known her better . . .

  Now he'd never get the chance.

  Chapter 14

  Marshall smiled, thoroughly satisfied with Isabel's response. She would meet him in the winter parlor and give him the answers he richly deserved. He could forgive her for her deception. He just wanted to know why.

  It was too painful to consider that she might have been lying about her affections, just as she'd been lying about everything else.

  Tremaine watched him approach, probably wondering whe women weren't accompanying him back. Marshall didn't know how he'd explain without making Isabel seem rude, but he had more important things to worry about.

  He pulled the watch out of his breast pocket. He'd count the minutes until he saw Isabel again. It would only be--

  Marshall spun on his heels and quickly turned around. He hadn't told Isabel what time to meet him!

  The two women were farther away now, moving away from the estate. He should have asked them where they were going. He couldn't imagine anything of import in the direction they headed. Strange.

  Marshall jogged across the lawn, keeping them in his line of vision. He wanted to yell, but the croquet players would hear him and it would cause uncomfortable gossip for Isabel. Besides, he would catch up.

  Isabel's companion walked slightly behind her, also a little unusual. Not to mention how close together they walked. Was the woman actually touching Isabel's waist?

  Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Marshall's gaze locked on a shiny object Isabel's friend was holding. No, it couldn't be. He leaped another few meters toward them, still focusing on the object. It looked like a pistol.

  Marshall ran, heart pounding in his throat. The woman walking with Isabel wasn't her friend. She was her kidnapper. And he'd been too stupid, too obsessed with her answer to his proposal, that he hadn't noticed the risk to her life. Maybe he could limit the damage by getting to them quickly.

  But Isabel's abductor had seen him. She dragged Isabel toward the woods, her pace increasing. She looked over her shoulder every few moments to check if he was still following.

  As if he would just stop.

  Marshall ran faster when the pair slipped between the tall oak trees, never blinking for fear they might disappear. It was a good thing his quarry had an extra person to drag along to slow her down. Marshall only had to account for himself.

  He would catch up. Then he'd make her exceedingly sorry she ever attempted such a thing.

  He reached the edge of the woods. The tall trees cast the ground in darkness. A cool breeze sent leaves dancing across the path. He looked for footsteps in the moist, late morning soil. The biggest disturbance was directed north. He started in that direction.

  Isabel screamed. Marshall continued to run.

  Her scream had sounded close. It was likely they'd slowed once within the shelter of trees. Marshall ran, nearly tripping over a fallen log, and stumbled into a clearing.

  The woman, on the other edge of the clearing, heard him break through the bushes. She gripped Isabel by the arm and whirled to face him.

  Marshall stepped farther into the open space. "Let go of her."

  "I can't do that," the woman replied.

  Though he'd known it wouldn't be that easy, he still felt deflated at the response. All he wanted to do was rush at the two women and spirit Isabel away. One thing was certain. He'd never let her go again. Marshall took another hesitant step toward them.

  Isabel's abductor raised the gun to Isabel's head. "Don't move."

  He froze, pinning Isabel in his gaze. In desperation, he tried to ask her questions with his eyes. Was she all right? Could she think of any way to escape . . . to distract her kidnapper?

  Isabel looked back at him, her face filled with sadness. She'd given up.

  He would never give up. He held his hands up, palms facing out, and said, "What do you want with Isabel?"

  "She wants everything," Isabel said.

  The woman yanked on her hair, bringing her head down to her height. "I told you not to speak!"

  His body moved of its own volition, Marshall jumped forward. His arms reached out, his fingers squeezing an invisible throat.

  She pointed the gun at him. "And I told you not to move!"

  Isabel glanced up at the gun no longer pressed against her skin.

  Marshall glanced it too. Did she follow his train of thought? If the woman shot at him, Isabel might overpower her and give Marshall the opportuniteach them before the pistol was able to shoot again. Considering the distance between them and the likelihood that the woman hadn't much experience shooting, he doubted he'd be injured.

  Before he could determine whether or not Isabel followed, the woman caught herself and brought the gun back to Isabel's head.

  "Who are you?" Marshall demanded.

  "That's none of your concern," she immediately said. A smirk played about her lips. "Just consider me a poor woman whom her ladyship has destroyed."

  Isabel squirmed, furiously mouthing 'no'. For her efforts, she was hit again, this time in the shoulder. Isabel's knees gave out at the blow.

  Though Marshall's legs twitched, he still stared at the l
oaded gun. "Isabel, why don't you tell me who she really is?"

  "Don't say a word, Isabel," the woman stressed, forming her free hand into a fist. "I don't want to have to kill you both."

  Isabel flinched. "Aren't you going to do that anyway?"

  "Not if you cooperate."

  "I don't believe that. He can identify you," Isabel said. She looked across the clearing at Marshall. "Her name is Bethany. She's Cyril's lover."

  Bethany slapped Isabel across the cheek.

  It took every ounce of self-control Marshall possessed to remain where he stood. He briefly satisfied himself with fantasies of her swinging from a hangman's noose. His momentary fear would soon be her reality. She wasn't going to get away with it.

  Marshall was surprised. "She's Cyril's lover? But wasn't Cyril the man we saw in the park?"

  Bethany glared at Isabel. "You saw Cyril?"

  Marshall nodded. "Yes. But we must be speaking of different men. The Cyril we saw was with a woman and he seemed quite besotted with her."

  Her face ugly with rage, Bethany replied, "You must have been mistaken."

  "No, I don't think so. I believe her name was Miss Catherine Walters. Wasn't that it, Isabel?"

  The arm she held the gun with trembled. Bethany directed her searing gaze at Marshall. "But I don't understand. Didn't he get my letter? Doesn't he know I'm expecting?"

  Isabel turned her head to look at her abductor. "You're increasing? Surely, murdering me isn't the answer."

  "Cyril is leaving England to make his fortune. If he inherits the estate, he won't leave me."

  "Has he told you that?" Marshall asked, carefully analyzing her confused expression.

  "No, but that's the only reason he's leaving."

  Isabel shook her head. "I don't think it is, Bethany. Just look at his behavior in the park and last night even."

  Bethany gazed at nothing and got a firmer grip on her gun. "That just means I need to get your fortune more than ever. Once he inherits, we can marry. Then he won't want to dally with the prima donnas."

  Marshall felt sick. He took a step toward Bethany. "That's never going to happen."

  Bethany growled, taking the gun off Isabel to point it at Marshall. "Take it back."

  He suddenly had second thoughts. Was he risking Isabel's life with his hasty plan? But no, he knew what would have happened if he hadn't intervened. It wasn't something he was willing to consider. He knew for a fact that if Bethany pulled the trigger on him, she wouldn't have the opportunity to fire again.

  Marshall laughed. "Your logic is skewed. Don't you know what will happen if Cyril has an unexpected windfall? He'll buy himself a worthier bride."

  The gun shook madly in her hand. "You shouldn't find it so amusing. The woman who's been playing impoverished governess in your home actually has a fortune, and a vast estate, to her name. And you, a second son, hopes to win her heart. Pathetic."

  Marshall wished there were a pistol in his hand, even though he might very well have pointed it at himself. "It's not as pathetic as a woman killing for a man who doesn't even want her as his whore, not to mention his wife."

  The pistol exploded. Marshall jumped to one side. He rushed at the two women struggling with the smoking gun.

  Isabel managed to dislodge it from Bethany's hand. It fell onto the grass and Marshall seized it with both hands.

  He pointed it at Bethany. "Get away from her."

  Bethany released her hold on Isabel. "I wasn't going to kill her. I swear."

  Isabel came to Marshall's side and patted him down. "Did she hit you anywhere? Are you all right?" she asked.

  "She didn't get me."

  "Are you sure? When I was shot in my arm, I didn't even register it until Cyril pointed it out."

  "I'm sure," he said, smiling at her anxious concern. "And she didn't hurt you either?"

  "No. I'm fine."

  Marshall saw the relief in her eyes and couldn't wait until they were alone. He'd kiss her until his lips were numb and then they would talk. Marshall handed Isabel the gun. "Point it at Bethany while we walk."

  Isabel nodded, glaring at her captor. "Gladly."

  Marshall gripped Bethany by the shoulder, looking for something to tie her hands. "I hope you realize it's in your best interest to not give me any trouble."

  Bethany rolled her eyes and walked slowly through the trees. "I'm sure the judge will take into consideration that I didn't actually shoot anyone. You still can't prove that I killed Robert. Add my interesting condition to the pot and I certainly won't hang."

  Isabel made an outraged sound. "You have absolutely no regret for what you've done. Even now that it's over."

  While she adjusted her disarrayed hair, Bethany glared at Isabel. "I wasn't going to delight in killing you, Isabel. But it was the only way to keep Cyril near me."

  Though Isabel made a disgusted sound, she didn't reply.

  In the silence, Marshall panicked. He didn't want to believe Bethany had been right. She'd only been trying to upset him, just as he'd been doing to her. Isabel didn't care he was a second son. She would have rebuffed his advances long ago if she did.

  But hadn't she been doing just that? As feelings of inadequacy coiled in the pit of his stomach, he realized his mistake. He'd always assumed Isabel was telling the truth. When she turned him away, she told him it was because it was improper to do otherwise. Her morals didn't permit a liaison. Now he knew that everything she'd told him about herself was a lie. Perhaps her excuses were as false as her background.

  Bethany mumbled under her breath about always knowing Isabel's whereabouts until they reached the estate's lawn. He walked behind her, never looking back at Isabel for fear of what he might see in her eyes.

  Mr. Tremaine was talking to a local constable. When he saw Marshall, he gestured wildly. He ran forward. "Here he is. Templeton, what happened? I saw you turn around and start running like a madman. It didn't look good, so I sent a groom for the constables."

  Marshall nodded to one of the constables. "I started running when I saw a gun."

  Isabel handed the gun to the constable and replied, "Miss Tavish tried to kill me."

  "Is it true then?" Mr. Tremaine asked. "Are you Lady Darton?"

  Isabel watched them take Bethany into custody, her entire body slumped over even while she stood. "Yes, I am she."

  Marshall rushed to her side. "I'm here, Isabel. You can relax now. I'll take you inside."

  The constable standing nearest to him quickly replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but there are some questions we need to ask Lady Darton first."

  "Your questions can wait!" Marshall snapped.

  Isabel looked up at him, her coppery eyes identical pools of tears. "I'm so sorry, Marshall."

  "It's all right, darling," he said, not caring who heard. "Everything will be all right."

  * * *

  "You're Lady Darton?" Jane asked, speaking over the pandemonium outside of the study. They'd locked themselves away, but the rest of the guests couldn't stop talking about what happened. "I heard something about an heiress disappearing from her London townhouse. No one could figure out what had happened to her."

  Too tired to be proper, Isabel was slumped in her chair. "I had to go away af someone poisoned me. They were in my house. I didn't know what else to do."

  Jane sighed. "That must have been horrible."

  Isabel closed her eyes and wondered if her headache would ever go away. "I thought my cousin was responsible. I had to go somewhere he'd never think to look. Working as a commoner seemed like a solution."

  "Why did you choose us?" Jane asked.

  With a shrug, Isabel replied, "Yours was the first ad I read in The Times." She picked all the leaves off her skirt, then focused on Jane's supportive expression. "I'm so sorry I got any of you involved."

  Jane frowned. "You felt like you had no choice."

  A high-pitched, feminine voice could be heard just outside the study door. Then a bang. The door flew open, the handle hitting and den
ting the wall. Paige came through the opening, face flushed and excited. "Miss Balfour, I heard everything."

  "Paige, I told you to stay upstairs," Jane snapped, hurrying to shut the door.

  "But I wanted to see if Miss Balfour was all right." She rushed over to Isabel's chair still dressed in her burgundy riding habit. Paige couldn't have been home long from the ride with her mother when they had heard.

  Isabel smiled up at her. "It was a terrifying experience, but I'll get through it with my wits intact."

  "I heard you're quite wealthy. Richer than us!"

  "I really wouldn't know."

  "She's also a lady," Jane added. "You should be calling her Lady Darton."

  Paige screwed up her face. "Miss Balfour sounds better."

  With a tinkling laugh, Jane replied, "Whatever your name is, I think we're both pleased to discover your circumstances aren't as sad as we thought."

  "I agree," Paige said. "And I think it's all rather exciting."

  "Someone threatened Lady Darton's life, Paige. Don't say it's exciting," Jane corrected. "I suppose Marshall is still speaking to the constable?"

  "Yes. He insisted I not be bothered."

  Jane's gaze dropped to the floor. "And Edward . . . well, he needs some time to get used to this. But I assure you, he's not as bad as he seems."

  Though she wasn't so sure, Isabel nodded.

  "I don't mean to presume anything, but after such a trying experience, I am sure you don't want to sit here chatting all afternoon. You should rest."

  Paige frowned a little at her mother's words and said, "But there are so many things I want to ask her about."

  Jane rose to her feet and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Lady Darton may no longer be your governess, but she will always be welcome in our home."

  Warmth filled her at Jane's words. Isabel stood. "I assure you, Paige, I won't be a stranger."

  * * *

  "Come in," Isabel called from inside, not even asking who it was.

  Marshall opened her bedroom door and stepped inside, taking note of her hesitant smile. "Would you like some company?"