ANNE ASHLEY - The Viscount's Scandalous Return

‘You have no reason to doubt the authenticity of this person?’

‘No, my lord,’ she responded promptly, while dropping her arm from about Josh’s shoulders, as though to convey to the boy that he need have no fear of the tall man standing before them. ‘I have no doubt that she is indeed my cousin’s stepmama. What I do challenge is her right to remove my relative from under this roof. Miss Pentecost was obliged to flee the family home because she was being coerced into marriage with this person.’

If Isabel’s look of disdain was nowhere near as accomplished as his lordship’s had been a short time earlier, Mr Sloane was left in no doubt about what she thought of him personally. ‘Any man who resorts to coercion in order to attain a wife is beyond contempt. My cousin came here desperately seeking my help, not looking for charity, my lord,’ she assured him, gazing earnestly up at him once more. ‘She is more than prepared to earn her own living and make her own way in the world. Surely she should be allowed to do that?’

‘Perhaps,’ was all he said before turning to the widow and her companion, who had gone very red about the jowls since Isabel’s condemnation of his conduct.

‘I shall obtain your direction, madam, from Miss Pentecost, and you shall be hearing from my lawyers in due course. No, be silent!’ he commanded, holding up one shapely hand against the protest the widow had been about to utter. ‘If it should come to light that you are indeed legally responsible for Miss Pentecost, be assured she will be safely returned to your home at my expense. If, however, I discover that, for whatever reason, you have been attempting to exceed your authority, then you may be sure I shall take matters a good deal further should Miss Pentecost request me to do so. In the meantime, you have my assurance that your stepdaughter will receive my protection for as long as she remains in my employ.

‘Now, if Miss Mortimer has nothing further she wishes to say to you, you may leave,’ he continued curtly. ‘I have matters I wish to discuss with her in private.’

After being so summarily dismissed, not even the hardened widow dared to utter anything further. Isabel watched them closely before they finally departed and thought she could detect a troubled look in Mr Sloane’s eyes, even if the widow’s remained hard and defiant.

Lord Blackwood waited only for the housekeeper to close the door behind them before turning once again to Isabel. ‘Clearly I have not chosen the most auspicious of occasions to become acquainted with you, Miss Mortimer,’ he announced, a ghost of a smile hanging about his mouth as he uttered this gross understatement. ‘So I shall call again tomorrow, if I may—say, at eleven, when I shall hope to spend a little time with my wards and discuss certain matters with Miss Pentecost.’

‘I assure you, my lord, that will be most convenient,’ Isabel answered for her cousin, who seemed to have lost the power of speech since her stepmother’s unexpected appearance. ‘Please allow me to show you out.’

Isabel’s final farewell was not protracted, as she too needed time to reflect on the unfortunate happenings of the morning. After closing the front door behind the distinguished visitor, she headed for the kitchen once more, pausing briefly as she did so before the large mirror in the passageway.

‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me I look such a fright, Bessie! she exclaimed the instant she had returned to the others. ‘Not only is half my hair dangling about my ears, I’d flour on the end of my nose!’

Bessie almost found herself gaping. In all the dozen or so long years she had known her young mistress, not once had she ever heard her voice the slightest concern over her appearance. Furthermore, she very much doubted the first two callers were behind this surprising show of disquiet over grooming.

‘Chances are he never noticed,’ she returned above Josh and his sister’s impish chuckles. For all the effect the assurance had, however, she might well have saved her breath.

‘Not noticed …?’ Isabel was momentarily lost for words. ‘Lord, Bessie! Where have your wits gone begging? I’ve no notion where or what Lord Blackwood has been doing in recent years. But by the look of him I’ll lay odds he hasn’t been enjoying life’s luxuries. What’s more, I’d wager those blue eyes of his miss nothing!’

Isabel’s assessment was remarkably accurate. As it happened his lordship hadn’t enjoyed a comfortable existence during the past half-decade or so out in the Peninsula, spying for Wellington. Working mostly alone, he had needed his wits about him at all times, and had become intensely observant as a consequence.

Determined to discover the answers to several puzzling questions, Lord Blackwood returned directly to the Manor, and sent for his aged butler, the person he considered most able to satisfy his curiosity over certain matters.

He awaited his arrival in the library, which had been the first room in the house to be redecorated in readiness for his eventual return. Although age-old tomes still completely lined the shelves on two of the walls, everything else was new. His lordship had even ordered the painting of a hunting scene, which had graced the area above the hearth for many a long year, removed and replaced with one of his adored mother resting her arm about the shoulders of a handsome boy with jet-black locks and strikingly blue eyes. The pose instantly conjured up a much more recent memory, and his lordship smiled to himself as he poured a glass of wine.

The door behind him opened, and he turned to see his aged butler, who had now officially retired and was remaining at the Manor only until such time as his promised cottage on the estate was ready for habitation.

Knowing Bunting was a rigid upholder of the old order, whereby a servant knew his place and never attempted to get on a more familiar footing with his master, his lordship neither offered him a glass of wine, nor the chance to rest his aching joints in the comfort of one of the easy chairs. Any such consideration, he felt sure, would have made the retired major-domo feel distinctly ill at ease, and therefore very likely less forthcoming with information.

Consequently, maintaining the status quo, Lord Blackwood took up a stance before the fire, and rested one arm along the mantelshelf. Outwardly he appeared completely at ease in his surroundings, every inch the relaxed, aristocratic master of the fine Restoration mansion, even though he had utterly loathed his ancestral home as a youth.

‘I recall, Bunting, shortly after my long-awaited return here yesterday, you mentioning that you are acquainted with Miss Mortimer,’ he said, getting straight to the point of the interview. ‘Naturally, I’m curious about her. Not only was she instrumental in clearing my name, but also, as you may possibly be aware, she has been responsible for my wards these past months.’

‘Although Miss Mortimer didn’t make the children’s true identities commonly known, sir, she did confide in me,’ the aged butler confirmed, before frowning slightly. ‘I believe the children have been happy enough living with her, sir,’ he then added, having quickly decided that this must surely be what his master wished to know. ‘At least I’ve not heard anything to the contrary. She brought them up to the house a few weeks back, and asked me to show them round, as it would be their home sooner or later. She wouldn’t look round herself, sir. Not one to take liberties, Miss Mortimer isn’t. Never known her attempt to venture any further than the kitchen and my rooms on the ground floor, sir, in all the times she came up to the Manor last winter, when I was poorly. If it hadn’t been for Miss Isabel and that housekeeper of hers, I think the good Lord would have taken me. She’s an angel, sir, that’s what she is … an angel!’