The Hidden Heiress - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "By irritable, you mean . . ."

  "Words cannot describe." He knocked again. Harder. When there was no sound from within, he spoke to the door. "Paige, your new governess would like to meet you."

  "Another one?" a small voice asked through the door.

  Isabel eyed Marshall. "You might have warned me before I accepted the position."

  He grimaced. "Paige, come out right now!"

  The door opened to a petite girl with dark, messy hair. She stared at Isabel. "Are you her then?"

  "Try to be a little polite, Paige," Marshall demanded, pulling her into the hallway. "Miss Balfour is your new governess and deserves your respect. It would have been nice if you'd at least fixed your hair. What would your mother say?"

  Isabel fought back laughter, pursing her lips together to block the eruption.

  As if it were hard for her, Paige finally stuttered, "Hello, Miss Balfour. How do you do?"

  "Quite well, thank you."

  Marshall nodded. "Now show Miss Balfour the schoolroom, Paige." He smiled at Isabel. "It's a shame we're not at our country home. You could see the schoolroom Edward and I tried our best to tear apart."

  His niece looked over her shoulder. "Yes, uncle, I'm sure she would be fascinated." Paige shuffled her feet down the hall and pushed open a second door. "This is the schoolroom."

  Isabel glanced inside. "It's adequate."

  "What were you expecting, a--" Paige started and was cut off by her uncle's stern look.

  "Now show Miss Balfour her bedroom, Paige."

  Isabel watched Paige, wondering what Marshall would do if she disobeyed. Isabel crossed her arms in front of her chest and followed them down the hall.

  Paige threw open a second door. "This will be your bedroom. Small, but you're probably used to that."

  If she only knew. Isabel had the sudden urge to rub her true identity in the girl's face. She took a deep breath. Paige's taunting could only get to her if she sunk to her level. "The size won't be a problem, but thank you for your concern."

  "You'll have to watch the door," Paige told her. "If you're too rough with it, it sticks."

  "Then I shall have to remember not to get too angry with my door."

  Marshall flexed. "If that door gives you any trouble let me know."

  Paige sighed. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

  Isabel put one slender finger to her lips. "Hmm . . . what did you do to your last governess?"

  Marshall laughed. "She disappeared. Actually, she might still be in the house . . . somewhere."

  Isabel watched Paige react to their teasing.

  "I wouldn't laugh, if I were you," Paige said. "Where did my mother find you anyway?"

  "I answered the advertisement she posted in the paper."

  She narrowed her eyes. "And who did you last work for?"

  "Another little girl just like you," Isabel replied.

  "That must have been why you left," Marshall teased.

  Paige didn't laugh. "How did you become a governess in the first place?" she demanded.

  Isabel shrugged. "The same way any woman does."

  "That doesn't answer the question."

  Isabel looked at Marshall. He stepped forward. "Stop it, Paige! Your mother would be ashamed to hear you. Your interrogation of Miss Balfour is inappropriate."

  Paige rolled er eyes again. "Next time, he won't be here to protect you."

  Marshall gave her an incredulous look.

  Paige looked down the hall toward her bedroom. "May I be excused?"

  "Fine. Go," Marshall replied. "But wouldn't you like to know whether or not Miss Balfour shall agree to take the post?"

  "No. I'm sure she cannot afford not to."

  Isabel clenched her fist, sending splinters of pain down her wounded arm. She looked at Marshall. "Of course I'm going to educate Paige. I've never turned my back on a challenge."

  "I'm delighted to hear that," Marshall said as Paige erupted into laughter.

  * * *

  Isabel stared into space while Paige concentrated on her book. She wondered if her wardrobe was suspicious for a supposedly impoverished woman. It was a blessing she'd decided to wear a mourning dress since it forbade any expensive, rich fabrics, whether wealthy or poor.

  Paige looked up from the geography book. "Ceylon is an island off the coast of India. I knew that! I think . . ."

  "You didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have spent the last five minutes looking it up." She looked down at the watch pinned to her bodice. "I think we've spent enough time with that book for today."

  Paige slammed the book shut. "Thank heaven, I hate geography."

  Isabel wished she had the freedom to agree with her. Instead, she said, "It's necessary."

  "I looked through your things this morning," Paige said, her small eyes dark with mischief.

  "You did what?"

  Paige shrugged. "Well, I came looking for you and you weren't there."

  "So you thought to spy on me?"

  "It wasn't like that at all! I just wanted to see what kinds of dresses you had. I'm sure my uncle would like the low-cut evening gown. It would be a much quicker way to get his attention than what you've been trying."

  "You assume far too much, Paige." She took a deep breath. If she exploded, she let her student win. Isabel stacked the schoolbooks. "There was no reason to go behind my back. I would have been happy to show you what I brought if you had just asked."

  "What you brought? That isn't all you own?"

  Isabel looked away. "Well, of course it is."

  Paige shrugged. She didn't seem convinced.

  Isabel stood up and moved to the door. "We'll do botany tomorrow. Perhaps we can go to the park? Isn't Hyde only a few blocks away?"

  "Yes. I went often with my last governess."

  "Then we shall too. It's late. We'll resume tomorrow," she said, and she hurried out.

  Alone in hall, Isabel stomped on a loose floorboard. She was foolish to pretend to be someone she was not. Paige was asking far too many questions.

  Isabel supposed it was a part of Fate's sinister plan to make life as difficult as possible for her. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out what she'd done to deserve it. "Why me?"

  "Past sins?"

  Isabel nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard Marshall come up the stairs.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

  "Of course you scared me!" she said, crossing her arms in front of her body. "Especially with a comment like that."

  "Past sins? Only a sinner would have any reason to be afraid." He held his hands up in front of his chest. "Just teasing. I wanted to know how your first day went with Paige."

  "She's an intelligent girl, but headstrong."

  Marshall's eyes grew. "What, Paige? She's a well-behaved angel. She just must not like you."

  At the narrowing of her eyes, he corrected himself. "Teasing you, again," he chuckled. "My niece most certainly is a brat. No, I correct myself again, she's worse than a brat."

  "How did she get that way?"

  "There's no obvious answer, sorry to say." Marshall shook his head, then said, "You'll have to figure out what demons torment Paige yourself, because I don't know any more than you do."

  Isabel stared at him for a moment and wondered if he spoe the truth. Did he truly not know what pained her or was it family secret? "I won't be able to discover anything if she has her way."

  "Is she already threatening you to have you dismissed? She does that to every governess that comes here. You don't have to worry about that. Jane won't let you go now that she has you trapped."

  She laid her hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. "How many of them have there been?"

  He smiled. "My lips are sealed."

  The hallway suddenly seemed frightfully narrow. "Thank you for your kind interest in how I am faring. Good evening to you."

  He stepped closer. "Why so formal?"

/>   "It is appropriate for my position. And for yours."

  "What harm could there be in relaxing?"

  "Relaxing?"

  He was suddenly even closer. "Flirting?"

  Isabel shook her head and reached for the handle of her bedroom door. "I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression, Mr. Templeton. I came here to teach your niece, not to seek a husband."

  "That's good to hear because I'm not the marrying kind."

  His words were a bucket of cold water upturned on her head. "I must prepare for tomorrow. Good night, sir."

  His expression made it quite clear that he was endlessly amused by the entire exchange, but before he could reply, Isabel hurried into her room and locked the door fast behind her.

  Whatever was she to do with him?

  Chapter 4

  Isabel sat up in bed, nightmarish images raced through her mind. She panted and wiped her brow with the edge of her sheet. It was wet. Her entire body was damp, her white nightgown soaked through.

  She coughed, her throat hoarse and dry. It was a miracle she hadn't woken the entire household when she'd called out. She covered her face with her hands, willing the images to go away.

  Even in her dreams, she wasn't safe from her assailant. He'd followed her all the way to the Templeton household, to her bedroom just off the schoolroom, merely to laugh at her. He laughed at the idea that she could escape him, that she would ever be safe again.

  Marshall had been in the dream too, trying to fend off her unknown enemy. Was that why she had felt so drawn to him? Did his masculine aura make her long for a hero . . . a protector?

  Isabel took another deep breath. The dream had felt so real.

  But it was no wonder. Even though she knew what she'd had was only a dream, it was too close to reality for comfort. Someone actually wanted to see her dead.

  If only she could set some sort of a trap.

  Unfortunately, a trap was only as good as its lure and she was the only compelling bait. Avoiding such a dangerous confrontation was the very reason she was in hiding. Even if it wasn't the only reason.

  It was difficult to think of herself as a sitting duck, waiting until her assailant finally found her. First he'd shot her from afar. Then he'd invaded her house to poison her drink. Next time, he'd wrap his disgusting arms around her neck and . . .

  Isabel shuddered and then leaned over to light the tattered wick of a tallow candle on the bedside table. The pool of light, albeit small, gave her comfort. She wished it were safe to keep it burning while she slept, but its pungent scent also reminded her that she was a servant in that household, no matter how gallant and gentlemanly the other occupants. As the governess, she wasn't entitled to Marshall Templeton any more than she was to getting a good wax candle for her bedroom.

  Her fantasies of him as her hero were foolish dreams.

  * * *

  Isabel hurried through the first door she saw, making sure Marshall hadn't spotted her. He'd been at least four doors down on Regent Street, alighting from a hansom cab and looking in the entirely opposite direction. He couldn't have seen her.

  Isabel took a deep breath and noticed her surroundings.

  She'd run into a fashionable mithe. Various stylish hats lined the walls, from the typical beaver with chiffon veil to all types of bonnets.

  Though she wouldn't be able to buy anything under her current circumstances, there was no harm in just browsing.

  A woman approached her. "Welcome, Madam. I'm Mrs. Wentley. Do you require any assistance?"

  "No, I'm just looking around. Thank you." She looked away to admire the selection of ladies hats, smiling at the latest outrageous styles.

  "Are you sure?" she asked again a moment later.

  "Yes. Thank you," Isabel replied and turned back to an ostrich feather concoction that had caught her eye. She then frowned, her face hidden from view. God save her from overzealous saleswomen.

  Isabel picked up a hat with a delicate tulle veil and elaborate floral arrangement on the crown. She turned it around and eyed it, then replaced it on the stand. She was about to pick up another one when she sensed a presence behind her.

  When she turned, Mrs. Wentley was watching her. "Are you in town for the season?"

  Isabel almost said yes before catching herself. "No, I just started a new post."

  "Oh. A post," she replied, her lips pursed as though she'd just tasted something bad.

  "Yes, a governess."

  The woman frowned. "I'll leave you to look."

  Isabel grinded her teeth on all the things she wanted to say. She moved to the next hat stand, to the hat that had caught her eye from the moment she'd entered the store. She'd saved the best for last. Why worry about an irritating clerk when perfection in millinery stared her in the face?

  She unpinned her hat, placed it on a nearby table and reached for the charming cavalier hat, complete with an oversized green plume. The bright green would contrast nicely with her black hair.

  Mrs. Wentley came by again, just as Isabel lifted the hat off the stand. "You realize that particular hat is quite pricey, miss?"

  "Yes, I do realize that."

  The woman first adjusted her hair, then brushed down the spotless front of her skirt. "We don't normally allow them to be tried on, you see."

  Isabel laughed nervously. "Of course, you must! How else would you sell any?"

  The woman stepped away, flustered. Over her shoulder, she squawked, "Please leave the hats on the stands."

  Isabel closed her eyes. She wanted to grab the most expensive hats in the store, plunk them on the counter, and tell them who she was.

  But she couldn't.

  She could still, however, show the woman what she thought of her implications, rudeness, and arrogance. Isabel put down the pricey hat and turned to leave. The woman was still watching her when she turned, which infuriated Isabel even more. Did she think she was going to steal something?

  She'd only taken one step toward the door when she saw Marshall through the bow-fronted window.

  He came inside, the bell on the door tinkling its welcome. "Miss Balfour, I thought it was you."

  Isabel clenched her teeth and glared up at the ceiling. She'd tried her best to avoid him, but somehow he'd sniffed her out. "I was actually on my way out."

  He blocked her when she tried to walk past him. "No, you weren't. I don't want to interrupt your shopping. Please continue."

  "If you didn't want to interrupt, why did you come in?" she blurted.

  Marshall looked confused. "Um . . . well, I just came out of the bookseller's down the block. I saw you through the window and thought it would be polite to say hello."

  Even without a mirror, she knew she was blushing. "You're quite right to do so, Mr. Templeton. But I really was about to leave."

  He stopped her again, this time touching her lightly on the arm.

  It was enough to set her heart beating dangerously fast.

  "Please, Miss Balfour. Stay."

  She tried to whisper her response, but her voice trembled too much. "I can't afford anything anyway. Please, let's go."

  Mrs. Wentley snickered, the cruel sound echoing through the shop.

  Marshall glared at the odious woman, hs features dark. He gripped Isabel's arm and pulled her to a row of hats. "Which do you like?"

  "Pardon me?" Her arm burned where he touched her.

  Marshall pointed at the hats with his other hand. "Which of these hats is your favorite? It was this one, wasn't it?" He pulled it off the stand almost violently and made his way to the shop keep.

  Mrs. Wentley's lips were pursed, her expression disapproving. "May I help you?"

  "I would like to buy this hat," Marshall said. "Would you wrap it up immediately?"

  "Mr. Templeton, this isn't necessary."

  "Yes," he said, "it is."

  Isabel snapped her mouth shut after seeing the look in his eyes. She may not have understood much about men, but she knew when something was important to someone. And
right at moment--as improper as it was--it was important to Marshall that he buy her that hat.

  Moments later, under the scornful eyes of Mrs. Wentley, they left the store.

  Marshall carried the hatbox for her. "You'll look beautiful in this hat." He swung the box between them. "Not that you need a hat to be beautiful."

  She smiled. "It is a wonderful gift. Thank you. But I really shouldn't accept it."

  "Not accept it?" He walked beside her, cutting a handsome figure in his dark riding jacket and tall leather boots. "It's too late. I won't take it back now."

  "But Mr. Templeton--" she started.

  "Please accept my gift," Marshall said, tipping his hat to her. "You see, I already have my own. What would I do with another?"

  Isabel pictured him wearing the cavalier hat, pertly cocked to one side as was the fashion. She laughed. He'd left her with no option but to accept. She tugged at her gloves and replied, "Thank you. I'll think of you whenever I wear it."

  "Then I hope you wear it daily." Marshall stopped walking. "Oh look, we're already here. Unfortunately, I cannot join you. I have to be in session in less than an hour."

  She nodded, realizing that he didn't proclaim their arrival as something good. He was disappointed that they wouldn't be together any longer, as was she.

  She hadn't been true to her intent to stay away from him. She climbed the first step to the townhouse, then turned back to him. "Goodbye then."

  He reached for her hand, brought it up to his lips and gave it a firm kiss. "Thank you."

  "I should be the one thanking you."

  "I don't think so."

  When Marshall released her hand, Isabel placed it against her fluttering stomach. She received the hatbox and walked up the steps to the house, waving one more time before she hurried inside.

  * * *

  "Goodnight, Paige," Isabel stammered, as happy as her student was that the day was finally over. She watched Paige disappear into her bedroom, then turned to her own door.

  Isabel shut herself in her bedroom, sighing with relief. Finally, an escape.

  After taking another step toward her bed, she heard a noise. She wasn't alone.