The Hidden Heiress (16 page)

Jane Templeton nodded.

"I am not involved with Mr. Templeton."

"Don't lie to me, Miss Balfour. I'm not stupid." She looked at her like she was something unpleasant stuck on the bottom of her boot. "I implore you to take my advice seriously. I am not trying to be cruel or hard."

"I understand, Mrs. Templeton." Her hands quivered in her lap. "Mr. Templeton and I have certainly struck up a friendship, but nothing else--"

"You must know that nothing could
ever
come of it," she continued. "And one cannot give these things away for free, you know."

Isabel fought the words that were about to come out of her mouth, but her impulsive nature won out. "If there was something going on, what makes you so sure that nothing could come of it?"

Mrs. Templeton laughed. "Because it's not appropriate. Marshall will marry a woman of his rank."

"Marshall shall marry whomever he pleases."

Mrs. Templeton's eyes narrowed in concern. "The woman that will please Marshall will be a woman of quality. Nothing less. I'm quite sorry if he's given you a different impression."

Isabel took a deep breath and held her lips together to prevent her eyes from burning. She tried not to blink as she replied, "You can be assured that there is nothing between Mr. Templeton and I."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, obviously accustomed to reprimanding her dependents. "Though I find your assurance a little difficult to believe."

"It's true. If there is anything between us, it is mere flirtation."

"I suppose that's innocent enough."

Isabel nodded.

"Just make sure it stays that way." Jane shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You must understand that I also do not want you setting a poor example for my daughter. I am not telling you these things to hurt you."

"I understand."

Mrs. Templeton looked away.

Isabel stood and retrieved her traveling case from the rack above her head. "If you'll excuse me," she said, "I shall fix my chignon. It was quite windy on the platform."

Her employer nodded imperiously, not looking at her. "Perhaps you'll also be able to repair your bodice."

Isabel cringed, not having to look down to know what she was referring to. How could she have forgotten to fix her button? Fool.

Isabel knew her reply would only make her appear worse and she buried her head in her case, searching for the pins to fix her hair. Jane couldn't be a more effective mood killer.

Her hands shook as she fixed her hair. Even though reality may have been different from the lie she was living, Mrs. Templeton still made her feel like a peasant. Jane must have practiced her belittling techniques. She certainly had it down to an art.

She'd managed to make an heiress feel like a beggar.

But telling Jane she was a ladyship and therefore outranked both Marshall and herself, was unappealing. She'd much rather prove Jane wrong by announcing her engagement to Marshall.
You see
, Isabel would say,
Marshall loves me enough to overlook my position
.

But that wasn't reality. Isabel didn't even know if Marshall loved her.

Paige finally returned to the compartment and moments later, the train chugged back into motion. Silence pervaded the car, making it all the more difficult to avoid her thoughts.

Love.

One more obstacle in the mess that was her life.

"Paige, I'm not going to let you avoid me forever," Isabel said, entering the drawing room.

When Isabel approached, Paige hung her head lower and continued to work on the scrapbook spread out on the small table front of her.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she demanded. After two days in the country house being ignored by everyone, Isabel was no longer concerned with embarrassing Paige mbarr words. She went straight to the point. "You overheard my conversation with your father."

Paige snipped furiously with a small pair of scissors. "Yes."

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

Isabel took a deep breath and approached the table. "And you heard me say something you didn't approve of?"

She banged on a picture that wouldn't glue to the page. "No."

"Then what is the problem?" Isabel threw up her hands, glaring down at Paige. "I care about you, Paige. If you're upset with me, I would like to know why. I don't appreciate the silent treatment, and while I haven't told your mother about that prank you played on your uncle and I--"

The scissors clattered onto the table. "I don't have a problem with you, Miss Balfour!"

Isabel pulled one of the table's other chairs closer to Paige then sat down. "Then what's wrong?"

She looked down at her scrapbook. "I didn't believe you when you used to say you weren't involved with my father."

"But you do now?"

"I heard your conversation." She slowly turned the page. "There's no doubt in my mind you're innocent."

"I'm glad you finally know it."

"I am too, but . . ."

Isabel waited patiently, the mantel clock ticked loudly in the silence.

Paige exhaled. Magazine clippings soared across the table. "I'm sorry I treated you poorly."

"That's all right." She touched Paige's hand and held it even while she flinched. "Though it's wrong to assume things, I understand you were accustomed to your governesses dallying with your father. How were you to know it wasn't a common practice?"

Paige laughed, her tiny lips trembling. "I should have known that it wasn't a coincidence. My father always helped choose my governesses, probably judging which would be best for his purposes."

The man had no shame. Isabel shook her head. "That's terrible, Paige."

"I get so angry at my mother! How could she be so blind?"

"Maybe she doesn't know how to stop it."

Paige flipped the scrapbook open to a previous page and ripped out an elementary drawing of Edward. "I hate my father."

"Paige . . ."

"I do. I'm never getting married. I don't even like boys."

Isabel couldn't help but smile. "I felt the same way when I was your age."

"How do you feel now?"

She resisted telling her that nothing had changed. The truth was, she hadn't changed her opinion until she met Marshall. No man that had come before him had been able to coax her into marriage. Being a considerable heiress, there had been many offers.

Isabel scooted closer to Paige. "Though I don't think I'll ever have the opportunity to marry, I no longer detest the idea."

Sympathy flooded Paige's eyes. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. I believed my father had seduced you and I wanted so much to hate you."

"I forgive you, Paige. I'm just happy that you're finally on my side. I don't have anyone else."

Paige accepted her proffered hug and rested her head on Isabel's shoulder. "I don't have anyone either."

"How can you say that?"

She pulled away. "Mama and papa are ghosts. They're too busy with their lives to pay any attention to me."

"Perhaps we shall have to think of a way to get their attention, no?"

Paige smiled. "You'd do that for me?"

For the first time Isabel saw her student as she'd never seen her before. "It would be my pleasure."

Marshall watched Isabel leave the house, following at a discreet distance. The sunlight infused her hair, illuminating it in glowing splendor. He shook his head with shame at his thoughts. It was the same way every time he saw her. The moment she was within his view, he could think of nothing but her charms.

They'd arrived at Woodland Manor only yesterday and Isabel seemed to take to the house like a fish to water. He'd watched her eyes go wide with surprise at the splendor of the Templeton's ancestral estate.
His
family's estate, he thought with priy on my s/p>

It was a shame that she had come to work. He could only imagine how difficult Paige could be. It had been his niece's mischievous nature that had caused the last rift between he and Isabel and he was determined the same not happen again.

They had no future. Edward had made sure that Marshall realized that on the train ride there. At first, Marshall had laughed it off, thinking of what he had done to Isabel only moments before in that very compartment. But after listening to his brother proselytize over the next two hours, he began to realize the truth in his words.

Marshall had spent too long building his career to throw it away on a whim. What did he know about the poor governess? Nothing. This was made worse by his suspicion she was up to no good. So how could he risk everything just for a feeling in his gut? It wasn't enough.

"Isabel, what a surprise." He walked toward her, taking pleasure in the real alarm on her face.

Then she smiled. "Please, have a seat with me."

He smiled to himself. She was always so imperious. Like he'd told her when they'd first met, she was nothing like the typical governess.

Her eyes were dewy and large as she looked up at him and waited for him to join her.

He sat down on the bench, trying to sit as close to the edge as possible. "This reminds me of another time we were sitting in the garden."

Her fierce blush made him want to eat his words. "Not too similar, I hope," she said.

It was a warning. He scooted closer, just to spite her. "Well, we'll see what happens, won't we?"

"It's funny that you should mention that night because I've been thinking about it too . . . about everything, in fact." She gripped the fabric of her skirt with her tiny hands.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No. Well . . . yes."

Marshall suddenly felt that the foot and a half between them was far too much. He touched her quivering shoulder. "What is it?"

She met his unwavering gaze, opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing." He caressed the curve of her shoulder, wishing her bodice was not made of such thick brocade. "Perhaps I was a little mean to you in the train. I apologize if I frightened you."

"No, you had every right to ask me those questions."

It was the perfect opportunity to ask her some more questions, but he couldn't form the words. His mind had been taken over by his heart. All he could think about was how pretty her skin glowed and how the fragrant garden breezes tickled wisps of hair around her delicate chin.

She looked away. "I'm surprised that Mrs. Templeton is already planning a party."

"That's so like Jane. Although I suppose the engagement with be enjoyable. It's to be a masquerade ball."

Isabel nodded. "That does sound like fun."

Marshall was suddenly struck with an image of her pretty eyes framed by a seductive mask. "Would you allow me to escort you to the ball?"

Her eyes were suddenly wide again. "I hope my comment just now didn't make you feel obligated to ask."

"No, of course not! The only thing obligating me is the desire to be with the most beautiful woman in the room."

Her smile spoke volumes. "Then I shall be happy to go."

"Really?" He felt like an eager schoolboy.

"Of course." She stood. "I should go see what I have for a costume."

He nodded, but remembered his original intent when she started to step away. "Isabel, I would like to continue our discussion from the train--"

"Can we discuss it later? Let us not think of it until after the ball. Then we'll at least have one happy week, free of arguments, no matter what the future holds."

The bliss she described affected him too. He nodded slowly, captivated by her childlike exuberance. "Until later then," he promised, disoriented by the rapid shift.

Now he knew why some men broke engagements with a letter.

A masquerade ball. It was amusingly ironic. Who was more expert at disguise than Isabel?

She walked down a garden path and listened to the birds sing. Her head ached, and she wondered what she could possibly wear. Perhaps she could adapt a dress she already had, but everything she owned was dyed black. She looked down at her faded muslin day dress, now an even worse shade of dark gray. What could she possibly do with her worn-out wardrobe?

She leaned against a stone column, gazed up at the clear blue sky, wondered how long their good weather would last. It could rain all night and all day, for all she cared. Marshall had invited her to the ball. And it was a masquerade! She wouldn't have to worry about any of the guests recognizing her.

For all she knew, Jane or Edward could be acquainted with her cousins. In fact, she hoped they were. If her cousins were at the ball, she could watch them without exposing herself. Perhaps she could even trick them into showing their hand.

Isabel found another bench deeper in the fragrant garden and sat down to consider what she'd discovered so far. She'd learned the library window had been pried open on the day she was poisoned. She'd found a small swatch of fabric hanging from a nail on the windowsill and a diamond pin in the bushes. She'd almost conclusively decided the pin belonged to Cyril, a token of his membership in the Red Letter Club. And finally, she'd seen Cyril in London.

If the perpetrator wasn't Cyril, it was someone connected to him. But since Cyril hadn't been able to find her, she would have to bring him to her. Whichever way she could. Isabel knew one thing for certain: she was tired of hiding.

Light shone through the lead-paned windows onto a table cluttered with thin children's readers and lined books. Paige was hunched over her work, her long, brown tresses golden in the sun's rays. She scribbled madly, rushing to finish early so she could go riding.

"Watch your posture, Paige."

She straightened her back and moved her hand at a slower pace. She sighed, but didn't look up.

Ask her
! Isabel's stomach churned. Their relationship was fresh. She would hate Paige to think she was using her for her own nefarious purposes, but she didn't know what else she could do. Isabel covered the book with her hand and asked, "How would you like to take a break from your arithmetic?"