The Viscount's Scandalous Return. ANNE ASHLEY
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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.
Although she refrained from imbibing in strong liquor as a rule, at least so early in the day, she decided in this instance that it might be wise to humour him, and so settled herself in the chair directly opposite before sampling the contents of her own glass.
‘My lord, I am glad to have this opportunity to speak with you in private,’ she announced, at last giving voice to the well-rehearsed speech she had been mentally practising since early morning. ‘It offers me the opportunity to ask your forgiveness for my behaviour yesterday. I cannot apologise enough for the way I quite outrageously embroiled you in that fiasco. The truth of the matter is, though, sir, I was at a loss to know just how to proceed.’
Once again she thought she could detect the faint twitching of a muscle at the corner of his mouth, before he sampled the contents of his glass and then gave his assessment by a nod of approval. ‘On the contrary, Miss Mortimer, you appeared to be in full control of the situation. I’m reliably informed you are no novice where the use of firearms is concerned.’
‘Oh, pray don’t remind me, sir!’ she begged, her suddenly heightened colour proof of the mortification she still felt over her behaviour. ‘I should never have threatened them in such an outrageous fashion had I known how to proceed. But the fact is, sir, I didn’t know whether Mrs Pentecost could legally remove my cousin from this house, as Clara does not attain her majority until the middle of May. And I simply couldn’t allow that to happen! Poor Clara has looked to me, quite five years her senior, to protect her since her arrival here.’
His lordship stared across at her in silence for several moments, his cool gaze revealing nothing except, perhaps, a flicker of sympathy. ‘The widow may well be within her rights, ma’am,’ he told her bluntly. ‘But do not be too disheartened,’ he didn’t hesitate to assure, when she appeared slightly downcast. ‘If she had proof of guardianship with her, I believe she would have been back with the authorities. As this quite obviously didn’t occur, I rather fancy there’s nothing official in writing. It may well be that the late Mr Pentecost merely expected his wife to take care of the child from his first union. However, it might be that he did make provision for his daughter in his will. I’ll wager that female was concealing something. And her companion didn’t appear altogether comfortable either!’
‘Ah, so you noticed that too!’ Isabel returned, feeling inordinately pleased that she hadn’t imagined those wary expressions just prior to her unwelcome visitors’ departure. ‘Mrs Pentecost certainly seems determined Clara should marry Mr Sloane.’
‘Well, she could do worse,’ his lordship pointed out, ever the pragmatist. ‘His dress alone would suggest he’s a man of reasonable means. Your cousin would no longer be obliged to earn a living.’
Isabel was appalled at the suggestion, and it clearly showed. ‘My beautiful young cousin married to that portly tailor’s dummy …?’ she returned in disbelief. ‘Why, it’s obscene! Not only is he more than twice her age, and therefore old enough to be her father, he also has a most unpleasant, wet mouth. Besides,’ she continued, ignoring the odd choking sound emanating from the chair opposite her own, ‘Clara and I might not have a great deal in common, but neither of us is avaricious, and would never consider marrying for financial gain.
‘And speaking of my cousin,’ she went on, when all he did was to stare thoughtfully down into his glass. ‘I’m sure you wish to see her and your wards.’ So saying, Isabel rose and went over to the bell-pull.
Soon afterwards Bessie was showing the children, followed by their governess, into the room. Isabel herself made to leave, but his lordship forestalled her by requesting her to remain. She was then able to observe his treatment of his wards.
Clearly he was more at ease with Josh who, after an initial hesitancy, began to ask numerous questions about his late father, a gentleman who had been one of his lordship’s closest friends, and who had died almost three years before during the capture of Badajoz. Alice, of course, couldn’t remember her father in the least, and it rather amused Isabel when his lordship, betraying a faint disquiet when innocent brown eyes stared fixedly up at him, attempted to converse with the little girl.
Yet, as had happened the day before, Isabel could detect nothing in his lordship’s demeanour to suggest he was in the least impressed by Clara’s