ANNE ASHLEY - The Viscount's Scandalous Return

His lordship could not forbear a smile as his mind’s eye conjured up a clear image of the so-called angel brandishing a serviceable pistol in her right hand. And appearing as if she was more than capable of using it too!

‘Evidently a lady of many contrasting talents,’ he murmured, though loud enough for the butler to hear.

‘Well, sir, the poor young lady was obliged to manage for herself from quite a young age. Seem to remember she lost her mother a year or so after the family moved into the house, sir,’ he revealed, falling into a reminiscing mood. He cast his master an uncertain glance. ‘Then, not long after the terrible happenings here, the good doctor took bad, and poor Miss Mortimer, little more than a slip of a girl herself at the time, was obliged to care for him.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s not had an easy life, sir. Maybe if her mother had lived, she might have met and married some nice young gentleman by now. But as things turned out …’

His lordship had little difficulty in conjuring up an image of a face boasting more character than beauty; of a pair of large grey-green eyes whose direct gaze some might consider faintly immodest, of a determined little chin above which a perfectly shaped, if slightly overgenerous, mouth betrayed a lively sense of humour, even when confronted by adversity. When compared to her beautiful young cousin, she did perhaps pale into insignificance. Yet it was strange that it was the face framed in the disordered chestnut locks that should be more firmly imprinted in his memory.

And yet not so strange, he countered silently. After all, he owed that young woman a great deal, perhaps more than he might ever be able to repay. He felt a sudden stab of irritation. That didn’t alter the fact, though, it had been grossly impertinent of her, not to say outrageous, to have embroiled him in an affair that had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him. Had it been anyone else he might well have just walked away and left her to her own devices. Yet he had found he could not withstand the look of entreaty in those large eyes of hers.

He shook his head, wondering at himself. ‘I must be getting old,’ he murmured.

‘Beg pardon, sir?’

‘Nothing, Bunting, merely thinking aloud.’ He fortified himself from the contents of his glass whilst he gathered his thoughts and focused on what he wished to know. ‘Now, the cousin who’s living with Miss Mortimer has been acting as governess to my wards, so I understand. The girl, Alice, seems to have become quite attached to her.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me, my lord, though I couldn’t say for sure,’ the aged servant responded, scrupulously truthful as always. ‘I’ve only ever met the young lady once, and then only briefly. But she seemed a very gentle-mannered young woman. What I can tell you, sir, is the boy is very fond of Miss Isabel. Why, I’ve seen her time and again striding across the park towards the home wood, Master Joshua skipping happily alongside, and that great dog of hers not too far behind.

‘Not that I think they were up to no good, my lord,’ he hurriedly added, suddenly realising he may have revealed more than he should have done.

The Viscount, however, merely smiled to himself before dismissing the servant with a nod.

The following morning Isabel spent far more time over her appearance than she had ever been known to do before, a circumstance that certainly didn’t escape the keen eye of the housekeeper, when her young mistress finally came down to the kitchen shortly before eleven.

The new gown her cousin had made for her suited her wonderfully well, emphasising the perfection of a slender, shapely figure, the colour enhancing the green flecks in her large eyes. Around her shoulders she had draped one of her late mother’s fringed shawls, a stylish accessory she rarely donned, and her radiant, dark locks, although not artistically arranged, were for once neatly confined in a simple chignon.

Bessie almost found herself gaping at the transformation. Although it couldn’t be denied that in looks she was a mere shadow of her beautiful cousin, few would deny that she was a fine-looking young woman in her own right, and one who never failed to make a lasting impression on more discerning souls.

Bessie might have been slightly concerned, though, about the obvious attempts to impress had she not been very sure her young mistress had a sensible head on her shoulders, and had made every effort for the most selfless reasons. Unless Bessie very much mistook the matter, there was no thought to attract the aristocratic gentleman’s interest, merely a desire for all members of the household to appear in a more favourable light.

As the application of the door-knocker filtered through to the kitchen, Bessie made to break off from her task in order to answer the summons, but was forestalled by her young mistress who insisted on going herself.

‘I’ll give him one thing at least—he’s punctual,’ Isabel remarked as she headed for the door leading to the passageway. ‘Let’s hope he’s also fair-minded.’

The housekeeper’s silent judgement had been uncannily accurate. Isabel didn’t wish Clara to be dismissed from her post, simply because of yesterday’s unfortunate occurrence, if she could possibly do anything about it. Although she would have been the first to admit that her cousin was not very worldly, and could never be described as a blue-stocking, she was far from stupid, and was at the very least quite capable of teaching little Alice all the necessary female accomplishments.

After pausing only briefly before the passageway mirror, Isabel opened the front door, very well pleased with her appearance. Yet there was nothing, not even so much as a faint widening of blue eyes, to suggest that the Viscount noticed anything different about her from the day before. Had she been in the least conceited she might easily have taken umbrage at such a blatant display of indifference towards her as a woman. The truth of the matter was, though, she was more interested in whether she could persuade him to overlook yesterday’s débâcle and retain her cousin’s services as governess.

She invited him to step into the parlour, and could see at a glance that this at least met with his approval, even before he said, ‘I’ve always considered this a most charming room, Miss Mortimer. I was a frequent visitor when my good friend Charles Bathurst resided here with his parents. You are to be congratulated. There is a wonderful homely quality about it still. One senses it at once. Would that the Manor could feel so welcoming!’

‘It is mostly thanks to my cousin’s efforts that the room is now so pleasing, my lord,’ she returned promptly, thereby not wasting any opportunity to point out Clara’s accomplishments, while at the same time wondering what had been at the root of his remark about the Manor. Surely he was happy to be back in the ancestral home? Or was the realisation of what had taken place there just too harrowing to forget?

‘Do sit down, my lord,’ she invited, realising suddenly she was staring at him rather intently. What was worse, she was receiving close scrutiny in return! ‘May I offer you some refreshment? I have a rather good Madeira here I’m sure you’d enjoy.’

‘Only if you join me, Miss Mortimer,’ he returned in that deeply rich velvety voice that was both oddly reassuring and faintly disturbing at one and the same time.

She had already decided that his years away hadn’t been altogether kind to him. He was still the same fine figure of a man she well remembered, perhaps a little more so now that sinewy muscle had replaced any slight excess of flesh he might have been guilty of carrying in his youth. Nevertheless, of those handsome, youthful looks there was precious little sign now. His features had grown markedly more severe. The hawk-like nose, the thin-lipped mouth and the square line of his jaw might not have seemed quite so harshly defined had they been tempered by doe-like orbs of a softer hue. Furthermore, the thin line that now ran from the corner of his left eye down to his top lip gave his mouth a slightly contemptuous curl. Yet, for all that, Isabel didn’t consider him unattractive. In fact, the opposite was true. There was about him a sardonic quality that she found strangely alluring.