by Juliet Moore
* * *
"Miss Darton, what a surprise!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, a warm hand pulled Isabel inside the London townhouse.
"It's been too long," Isabel replied. She handed her baggage to a maid. "But I'm afraid I don't bring good news."
Mrs. Jones placed a hand over her heart. "Oh no, is it Magda or Cyril?"
Isabel shook her head. "It's Robert. He's been killed."
"That's horrid. You poor dear!" She guided Isabel to a chair. "Killed, you say?"
"Shot. In the woods near Darton Manor."
"But why? Why would someone do such a thing? He had no enemies."
Isabel shrugged. Her entire body unwound as she leaned back in the plush chair. "There is no good reason for it."
The woman looked her over. "So why are you locking yourself away up here?"
"I just needed to get away from it all."
"Of course, you poor thing."
Isabel finally found the strength to stand. She pushed herself off the brocade chair and glanced up the stairs. "I assume my room will be ready by now?"
"I'm sure."
Isabel climbed the stairs, her stomach churned in pain.
For the first time in her tenure, she was behaving irresponsibly. She didn't know how her cousins, distant Magda and gadabout Cyril, would handle the estate without her.
She opened the door to her suite, more confident once she was alone. Maybe she shouldn't have left Darton Manor at all.
* * *
Two days later, Isabel had almost convinced herself she'd imagined everything. Escaping to her house in London had been the salve she'd needed to calm her overactive imagination.
It was absurd to think someone wanted her dead.
Isael went down to the library, like she had each day since her arrival. She made herself comfortable on the chaise lounge and tried to immerse herself in the book she'd started the day before.
The maid pushed the teacart into the library. "Would you like me to serve, Madam?"
"No, that's quite all right. I'll ring for you when I'm finished. It will probably be a while."
The maid walked out jauntily, her generous hips rocking.
Isabel sighed when she looked at the bulky cart. All of that, just for her. She poured herself a cup of tea and retrieved her book.
The novel made her laugh at its fanciful descriptions of love. One did not hear angels sing the moment they saw a handsome man. Isabel had met her fair share of men whose appearance made her heart beat just a little faster. But that wasn't love in her book. Love was much more. She'd known too many men to claim admiration only to be unavailable when she actually needed help.
The preposterous thought that love could be so effortless and simple affected her physically. She dropped the teacup onto the small nesting table beside her and clutched her stomach.
The room spun. Isabel only vaguely heard her book drop to the floor. She tried to stand and realized her legs were as heavy as lead. She swayed to one side and fell against the teacart. China shattered onto the floor as she stumbled past, the bell rope in sight. Feeling herself falling forward, she made one last desperate grab for the gold tasseled rope.
* * *
"Poor girl."
Isabel felt a cool hand against her forehead. She stretched out, soft cushions against her back. All she wanted to do was turn over and go back to sleep. Instead, she forced her eyes open.
Her London doctor was looking down at her with a welcoming grin. "Miss Darton, you're awake."
"Yes." She coughed violently from the effort to speak. Her throat was sore, and her entire mouth felt like she'd been sucking on a lemon. "What's wrong with me?"
He tilted his head to one side. "It seems you've ingested something that didn't agree with you."
Her eyes watered and stung while Isabel tried to sit up. The room began to spin again so she stopped moving, afraid she'd pass out again. "What happened to me?"
The doctor pulled at his collar. "You were drinking the tea in the library, correct?"
"Yes."
"I found a white sediment at the bottom of your cup. Most peculiar. I think you'll want to send for the constable when you feel better."
"Are you suggesting I was poisoned?" Isabel started to shake her head, then remembered. She touched her painful forehead with one hand. "Will I be all right?"
"You just need to sleep it off," he replied, rooting through his bag. "And this should help you stay asleep in case you're restless."
The bottle he handed her was a small vial of amber-colored glass. She blinked hard. "Would you mind not telling anyone about this?"
He nodded, moving toward the door. "Mrs. Jones will take good care of you. I'll send her in."
Isabel's eyes fluttered closed. Scared, she forced them open, looking around her bedroom for shadowy villains.
The doctor turned and looked at her with pity. "It's a good thing you didn't drink more of that tea. If you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Isabel blinked back the tears and wished she didn't have to face everything on her own. She was in real trouble and there wasn't a soul in the world who'd stepped forward to rescue her.
Dr. Wesson walked out and Mrs. Jones rushed in a moment later. "You poor dear!"
Isabel offered a weak smile.
The housekeeper fiddled with every item in the room. "I can't believe something like this could happen!"
Isabel watched the woman bustle about. Her head spun horribly. She needed sleep. "Mrs. Jones, will you stay by my side until I wake up? I know it's an unusual request, but--"
"You don't have to explain yourself to me." She dragged a chair ted. "I'll sit right here."
"You're priceless, Mrs. Jones." Isabel pulled the covers up to her chin. "Can you do something else for me? Don't let anyone in to see me."
"Of course not."
"Absolutely no one, not even my family."
The housekeeper looked at her askance. Finally she replied, "I won't let anyone in. I swear it."
Isabel released the breath she'd been holding and allowed herself to drift off to a fitful sleep, the laudanum sitting untouched on the bedside table.
* * *
Much later, Isabel woke. The candle had burnt down to a stub, dripping wax all over the bedside cabinet. Mrs. Jones was asleep in her chair, the London Times folded on her lap.
Isabel stared into the shadows and frowned. Why was someone trying to kill her?
She tried to think of the usual reasons people killed. They killed for love, they killed for revenge, and they killed for money. Since she'd never had a suitor, Isabel couldn't imagine anyone would kill her in a jealous rage. No, love couldn't be the answer.
As for revenge, it was impossible to know if she'd ever offended anyone. She certainly couldn't remember wronging someone so severely they'd want her dead. That couldn't be the motive either.
Money. Money was something Isabel had in bounds, but a stranger would gain nothing from her death. Only her family could benefit . . . more specifically, her two cousins.
But Cyril was the only one who knew where she was hiding.
Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make the realization go away. She refused to believe Cyril could do such a thing. Surely he wouldn't kill his own cousin?
Whether or not Cyril was to blame, her killer had followed her all the way to London. She shuddered, imagining a villain lurking through her house. She had to leave immediately. But where else did she have to hide?
There was only one thing she could do. Go somewhere no one would ever think to look.
Isabel leaned out of bed and lifted the newspaper from her housekeeper's lap. She opened it and scanned the pages. She didn't know what she thought she would find, but anything would be an improvement from her current situation.
The advertisement jumped out at her: "Governess needed. Must be able to start immediately." The short paragraph continued with a list of qualifications, all qualities Isabel possessed.
She'd not
considered taking a job. Under normal circumstances, it would be unthinkable. She was a wealthy heiress and ladies did not work. But if she accepted the post under an assumed name, she might be safer than if she continued to be Isabel Darton.
It was definitely worth consideration. Her heart beat faster as she read the advertisement a second time. Yes, a governess would be perfect. Her family would never think to look for her among the working class. So often Isabel had felt imprisoned by her expensive Parisian dresses and fine jewelry. It would at least be a chance to escape her bonds, and to see how the other half lived.
Isabel read the paper one more time before she scooted out of bed and over to the writing desk. She placed the newspaper beside her and wrote a letter to her prospective employer.
* * *
Isabel arrived at the Doffcocker Inn, stepping off the hansom cab at the last possible moment. Once on her feet, she walked quickly and tried not to meet anyone's gaze. She perspired in the unseasonably warm weather and had to force herself to keep walking.
It was difficult to know if she'd made the right decision. But she hadn't committed herself yet. Her letter had been unconventional, but it was worth a try. Not wanting to reveal the address of her townhouse, Isabel asked them to meet her at the inn if her qualifications met their criteria. Soon, she would know the outcome.
She took a deep breath and entered the darkened common room.
In her letter, she'd claimed to be a clergyman's daughter. Her father had only recently passed away, which would explain her mourning dress. Hopefully, they knew to look for a woman in head to toe black bombazine.
"Pardon me?"
Isabel spun around when someone touched her shoulder. The man facing her was tall and lean with dark blonde hair that almost touched his shoulders. His sparkling blue eyes were a bright contrast to his dark, fashionable mustache and short beard.
He was handsome, she declared. Her heart beat faster at the realization. Her head spun. It made her dizzy and slightly lightheaded. It had to be an after effect of the poison, even though she hadn't experienced any relapses before.
"I'm Marshall Templeton," he finally said. "Are you my governess?"
"Not your governess, I daresay."
He smiled, his teeth bright and straight. "What can I do to convince you?"
Chapter 3
Mr. Templeton's gaze penetrated her skin. "Are you Isabel Balfour then?"
"Yes," Isabel replied. "Are you my employer?"
"No, not I. The Mrs. Templeton that hired you is my brother's wife, not mine. Your charge is my niece."
"I look forward to teaching her."
"That's because you haven't met her."
"Pardon me?" The throbbing Isabel had felt in her arm all day suddenly got worse. As the surgeon had warned her, her bullet scrape still gave her pain.
Mr. Templeton shook his head and turned. "It's nothing."
Isabel stared at his back, confused.
"You don't look at all like a governess," he said, leaning against the rim of an empty table.
"What are they supposed to look like?"
Mr. Templeton laughed and examined her. "Not like you. Paige won't be pleased. She will . . ." He held a silk top hat in his hand. "Never mind. Would you like to have something to drink?"
"I shouldn't--"
"I won't let you get into any trouble," Mr. Templeton assured her. "There isn't anything wrong with us staying for a little refreshment. You might need it when you meet my niece."
Isabel frowned. "I wish you would stop teasing me, Mr. Templeton."
"I'm sorry, Miss Balfour." He grinned and ushered her toward a table. "This must be your first job. I didn't mean to make you nervous."
Isabel nodded. It was foolish to allow him to affect her. She followed him to the table, the hot weight of his hand made her feel dizzy. If only he wouldn't touch her so intimately.
"We should get the cider," Marshall told her, then called to the serving girl. He turned to Isabel, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I come here a lot."
Isabel blinked a few times before looking away. With her hands hidden under the table, she crossed her fingers. Somehow she would find the strength to be unaffected by him. Somehow she would remember the way she usually saw men: shallow, base, and unfaithful. Men weren't worth the heartache.
Still, Marshall Templeton was a liability.
She sighed. When she'd planned her deception, she'd never considered the people who would take part in her dishonesty. She'd only intended to ensure they not know her true identity. But what if she were tempted to tell? She looked up at Marshall.
She couldn't have created a more tempting man.
Isabel broke the enveloping silence by saying, "What happened to your niece's last governess?"
"She inherited money."
Isabel crossed and uncrossed her ankles in rapid succession. "Was it a surprise?"
He nodded.
"That must have been quite shocking to her."
"More so to my sister-in-law. The woman she'd looked down on had suddenly become her equal." His expression changed from jovial to apologetic. "Miss Balfour, I hope you won't take offense at that last comment. I did not mean anything by it."
"Of course not," she quipped, "one never does."
"But I apologize," he said firmly, his silly smile long gone. "Tell me, Miss Balfour, where are you from?"
"Thorndale. No, Cheshire." Isabel bit her tongue. Hard. It wasn't right ense he should make her feel so flustered. He was nobody. No one at all.
"Have you forgotten where you grew up?"
"It's only that I was born in Thorndale, but my parents moved to Cheshire soon after."
He was thoughtful. "Shall you miss it?"
It was a good thing he couldn't hear her thoughts. She smoothed her hair with one hand. "No."
Marshall finished off his cider, never taking his eyes from her face. "Why not?"
"I just won't," she bit out.
"I must say," he said, "you act nothing like a proper governess. A proper governess is timid, mousy, and meek. You are none of those things."
"Thank you."
"I don't know that it was a compliment."
Isabel sighed loudly. "Would you rather I am weak and let my charges walk all over me?"
"I thought you said this was your first job?"
There she went again, fouling things up. Isabel stared into her empty mug of cider. "It is. Shouldn't we be on our way?"
"Yes, but promise me one thing."
"Such as?" She stood and gazed down into his clear, shimmering eyes.
"Promise me we'll continue this conversation later." He rose, offered her his arm, and allowed an easy smile to return to his handsome face.
"Of course," Isabel replied as he guided her toward the door. She mentally kicked herself a thousand times.
She never wanted to be alone with him again.
* * *
Mrs. Templeton leaned forward in her chair. "I am Mrs. Jane Templeton and this is my husband, Mr. Edward Templeton. You will refer to us as Mr. and Mrs. Templeton. There seems to be a growing trend of overly familiar governesses and that's not how things are done in this household. Do you understand?"
Isabel mustered every ounce of poise and self-control she possessed to remain fixed to the antique Persian Rug. "Yes, I understand."
"Good. Our daughter Paige is waiting upstairs. You'll meet her in a moment. She is but thirteen years old, but do not let that lull you into a false sense of security."
Isabel smiled, thinking it a joke.
The woman blanched. "Pray, take me seriously, girl. This is no laughing matter."
Embarrassed, Isabel hated that Marshall was there to hear every word. Was she to be treated like a simpleton? It was a humiliation she wasn't sure she could bear. But her life was at stake. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Templeton."
Jane nodded. "I suppose you have already met the younger Mr. Templeton . . ."
Isabel looked at Marshall and wished they were back
at the inn. When Isabel's gaze returned to Mrs. Templeton, the woman rolled her eyes. Isabel's hands twitched at her sides. "Yes, I have met him. I hope you will excuse me for being late. Mr. Templeton insisted on stopping for refreshments."
Mrs. Templeton scowled, then screwed her face up even more when she caught her husband's amused non-verbal exchange with his brother. Jane opened her mouth wide as though to yell, then caught herself. She took a deep, audible breath. "Miss Balfour, in the future, I expect you to be on time, no matter what the excuse. Do you think you can do that?"
"Of course."
"I don't suppose we need to go over your qualifications since they were all in your letter. Paige can show you the schoolroom and your adjacent bedroom while you get acquainted. I shall eagerly await your decision."
"Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. I'm sure it will be in the affirmative."
Marshall came to her side. "I will take you to meet Paige."
Before they could leave the drawing room, Mrs. Templeton delicately cleared her throat. "Your dress is quite attractive, Miss Balfour. Is it new?"
Isabel turned to look at her over her shoulder. "Yes."
"Really?" Mrs. Templeton's expression was keen and assessing. "I didn't realize one could afford such on a governesses' salary."
The elder Mr. Templeton raised his eyebrows as though he was thinking he knew exactly how she had acquired such a dress.
Isabel laughed and replied, "Oh, you think I ment it was entirely new? I only meant it was a gift to me from a wealthy cousin, only after she'd worn it countless times. So, it's new to me."
Isabel turned away from the assembled group feeling stupid for her big mouth.
* * *
They climbed the stairs to the first floor. "I hope Paige takes to me."
Marshall made an odd sound at the back of his throat. "It's difficult not to."
Isabel felt a flutter in her stomach and realized that stairs were difficult to climb with weakened knees.
At the top floor of the townhouse, Marshall knocked on a door and then twisted his body and looked back at Isabel. "I must warn you. Paige can be a little irritable at times."
