ANNE ASHLEY - The Viscount's Scandalous Return

‘Believe me when I tell you, Miss Mortimer, it is my one cherished wish to do everything humanly possible to ensure my stepdaughter’s future happiness,’ she continued in the same fawning tone, ‘and I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t attempt to arrange the best possible match for dear Clara. I’m sure a sensible young woman like yourself must appreciate that it is much better to marry an upright gentleman of property, like Mr Sloane here, who can offer a future wife most every creature comfort in life, than to retain foolish, girlish dreams of meeting a dashing knight in shining armour whose interest would very soon wane.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, ma’am,’ Isabel quickly intervened before the widow could develop the theme. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that Clara doesn’t wish to marry Mr Sloane. Nor, indeed, any profligate in armour, as far as I’m aware. Let me assure you that she is more than happy to make her own way in the world, and not be a burden on you any longer, by engaging in a genteel occupation.’

Hard-eyed and tight-lipped, the widow transferred her gaze to her stepdaughter. ‘I am fully aware of it,’ she unlocked her nutcracker mouth to acknowledge, thereby clearly heralding the return to her former inflexible stance. ‘How do you suppose we managed to locate your whereabouts, you foolish girl! The gentleman with whom you attempted to attain employment several months ago just happened to read the notice we were eventually obliged to place in the newspapers regarding your disappearance and, recalling the name, wrote to Mr Sloane, providing us with this address.’

She looked her stepdaughter up and down, the contempt in her eyes all too discernible. ‘Governess, indeed! Who would ever employ you as a governess?’

‘It might surprise you to learn, ma’am, that somebody already has,’ Isabel informed her, experiencing untold delight, before she turned to her cousin, who was holding a now, tearful Alice to her skirts. ‘If you have no desire to accompany these persons back to Hampshire, Clara, perhaps you would be good enough to return to the schoolroom with your charges.’

‘You stay precisely where you are!’ the widow instantly countered as Clara made to leave the kitchen. ‘Until you attain your majority, my girl, you remain under my control, and you will do precisely as I tell you.’

Whether this was true or not did not alter Isabel’s resolve to protect her cousin at all costs from such a harridan. Very slowly she moved across the kitchen and, by dint of using a low stool, was able to reach up far enough to remove the pistol that she always kept ready for immediate use on top of the dresser, much to Josh’s evident astonishment.

‘No, you didn’t know I had this, did you, Josh? I keep it primed and ready for just such an unfortunate occurrence as this.’ Smile fading, Isabel turned to face her unwelcome visitors again. ‘You shall both leave my house at once, otherwise I shan’t hesitate to use this.’

Even the case-hardened widow fell back a further pace or two when the pistol was levelled in a surprisingly steady hand. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, young woman,’ she threatened in return, though keeping a wary eye on the firearm. ‘You may force us to leave now, but we shall be back with the constable, you mark my words!’

‘Spill her claret, Miss Isabel,’ Josh urged with bloodthirsty delight.

A moment’s silence followed, then, ‘I sincerely trust you will refrain from doing any such thing, my dear young woman,’ a softly spoken voice from the doorway strongly advised.

Apart from his superior height and faintly haughty bearing, Isabel could detect no resemblance whatsoever to the handsome young aristocrat whom she had glimpsed all those years ago riding by on a fine bay horse. Yet instinctively she knew that the elegantly attired gentleman framed in the doorway was none other than the late Viscount Blackwood’s younger son, home at last to claim his inheritance and take his rightful place up at the Manor.

His unexpected arrival had an immediate effect upon all those present. Silence reigned as all eyes turned on the distinguished gentleman who came sauntering languidly into the kitchen, removing his gloves as he did so. Out of the corner of her eye Isabel saw Bessie check in the act of reaching for the rolling pin, which undoubtedly her trusty housekeeper had intended brandishing as a weapon. Surprisingly, even Beau ceased his growling to turn his head on one side to study the new arrival, and Isabel found herself automatically lowering the pistol on to the table, somehow sensing that its use now would not be necessary.

She continued unashamedly to study him intently as his ice-blue eyes, betraying no emotion whatsoever, flickered briefly over the two unwelcome visitors. Even when he turned his head to study her cousin, still clutching the little girl to her skirts, incredibly there was nothing to suggest that he was possibly viewing one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen in his life. Only when his eyes finally came to rest upon her was there a suggestion of a slight thaw in those cool, strikingly blue depths a moment before he whipped off his hat to reveal a thick, healthy crop of perfectly arranged black locks.

‘My name is Blackwood,’ he announced in deeply rich cultured tones.

‘Yes, I rather thought you must be,’ Isabel returned candidly, as she felt Josh press against her. Instinctively she raised her left arm to place it reassuringly about the boy’s shoulders, and surprisingly glimpsed what she felt sure was the faintest of twitches at the corner of the Viscount’s thin-lipped mouth.

‘Would I be correct in assuming that at last I have the felicity of making the acquaintance of Miss Isabel Mortimer, daughter of the late Dr John Mortimer?’

‘Indeed you would, sir,’ she answered, reaching for the hand that was extended to her. She felt it close briefly round her own, warm and comforting. Since his arrival she felt as if she had experienced the whole gamut of emotions. Foremost now was a sense of relief, and an overwhelming belief that this impressive aristocrat would offer assistance if she had the gall to request it of him on so slight an acquaintance. But dared she …?

‘And your arrival, my lord, is most opportune,’ she told him, before she experienced any second thoughts. ‘Just prior to your own welcome appearance, my home was invaded by these two persons who are intent upon removing my cousin from under this roof … My cousin who just happens to be in your employ as governess to your wards, sir,’ she finished artfully.

But would the gambit work? Study him though she did, she could detect no change in his expression, not so much as a suggestion of sympathy in his eyes before they turned from her to the boy still clasped against her, and then flickered briefly in the direction of his younger ward.

‘Indeed?’ he said at last in a tone that hovered so perilously close to boredom that Isabel was almost obliged to accept that her audacious attempt to attain his support must surely have failed, when assistance came from a most unexpected quarter.

‘And I shall take leave to inform you, sir, that I have every right to do so!’ Mrs Pentecost announced boldly.

Instantly his lordship’s expression changed. He stared down his long aristocratic nose at the widow, a contemptuous curl to his lip. ‘If I evince any desire to converse with you, madam, you will be under no illusions about it.’

Even the case-hardened widow was not proof against such a superb put-down, and automatically closed her unpleasant mouth as she retreated a pace or two.

His lordship’s gaze again returned to Isabel. The contempt had vanished completely from his expression, though just what had replaced it was impossible to judge.