The Hidden Heiress (2 page)

She smiled gratefully at his theatrics. "I think that's a good idea."

Isabel slipped past her cousin and pulled open the library door. In doing so, she almost collided with Bethany Tavish. "Bethany! What a surprise."

Bethany looked around. "I know I'm late, but I wanted to pay my respects."

Isabel's forced a smile, confident that Bethany's presence had more to do with Cyril than with Robert. "Miss Tavish, please feel welcome in our house. It's been far too long since your last visit."

Her lips twitched. She was probably thinking of the many times she
had
been in the house, only seeing the walls of Cyril's bedroom. "Thank you, Miss Darton," Bethany said.

Cyril leaned over Isabel's shoulder. "How nice you could make it, Miss Tavish. As Miss Darton is retreating to soothe her ills, I hope you will permit me to entertain you."

Isabel was thankful her cousin was making it so easy for her. "Yes, I was just leaving."

Bethany followed Cyril into the library. Isabel watched for a few moments, amused by her cousin's flirtatious nature. Then she entered the hall and hurried upstairs. There wasn't much time.

Isabel needed to be on her way to London before she was missed. Perhaps there, safe in her family's residence, she would realize her fears were exaggerated.

Chapter 2

"Eight ball, right side pocket," Marshall Templeton said, tapping the white cue ball with his billiard stick. With a satisfying click, it rolled across the green felt and skimmed one side of the eight ball. Marshall held his breath as the black ball teetered on the edge of the pocket. Then it plummeted into the cup. "Sorry, brother, but I win again."

"Good game, Marshall," Edward admitted grudgingly, retrieving his drink from a side table.

Reeds patted Marshall on the back. "I can't say I'm surprised at the outcome."

Edward grumbled at the insult. "You could at least pretend astonishment."

Reed laughed. "That would ruin half the fun!"

Marshall smiled. He wished he was able to join in their laughter, but all he could think of was the Prime Minister's comments earlier that evening.

He relinquished the billiard table to a waiting gentleman and gestured for his friends to join him at a table. "What did you make of PM's rant tonight?"

"It was amusing," Reeds replied. "He was in fine form."

Edward shoulde his head. "He was absolutely right. Grant cannot expect the promotion now."

"So you thought he was serious?" Marshall swallowed the rest of his gin. "Isn't it a little frightening that a man can't marry the woman of his choice, even if she's below his station?"

Reeds grinned, smacking Marshall on the shoulder. "Becoming a romantic on us, are you? I know a lady on Saxon Street who can cure that particular ailment in only one night."

He grimaced. "I don't like being told who I can and cannot marry. Reportedly, Grant loves the girl."

"Love," Edward repeated in a cynical tone. "That will pass."

He watched his brother finish his tenth drink of the evening. "Of course none of this matters to you. You're already married."

"And my life is over." He burped. "That's the way it's supposed to be."

Reeds pulled back the drink Edward tried to steal. "As I said before, I know a lady on Saxon Street that can cure all ills."

Edward's eyes widened. "Jane spends so much money; I can't even afford a good mistress!"

Marshall waved away the waiter. He looked at Reeds. "So you think it's as simple as that? Grant has married a poor companion and now he'll never be a junior lord."

"I'm afraid so." His friend smiled. "Which puts you in a very good position. You know, Grant was the only man in the House more qualified for the position than you. Now that he's cut his own throat . . ."

"I'm next in line for the promotion."

"Well, there's Frederick, but he has only one advantage over you."

Marshall looked around the club for the man in question and saw him sitting a few tables over. "Yes, he's married to a wealthy, titled, suitable lady."

Reeds nodded. "And you're a confirmed bachelor."

"Lucky man," Edward muttered before passing out onto the table.

"You might consider following Frederick's example, Templeton. I don't need to remind you that, as a second son, you've achieved a great deal. Don't throw it all away on a lark."

Marshall glared down at the dark wood table. "I might get to be a junior lord by jumping through hoops, but at least Grant got to choose his mate."

"Is it worth it, chap?"

Marshall traced the wood grain with his finger. "Honestly? It depends on the lady."

"Miss Darton, what a surprise!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, a warm hand pulled Isabel inside the London townhouse.

"It's been too long," Isabel replied. She handed her baggage to a maid. "But I'm afraid I don't bring good news."

Mrs. Jones placed a hand over her heart. "Oh no, is it Magda or Cyril?"

Isabel shook her head. "It's Robert. He's been killed."

"That's horrid. You poor dear!" She guided Isabel to a chair. "Killed, you say?"

"Shot. In the woods near Darton Manor."

"But why? Why would someone do such a thing? He had no enemies."

Isabel shrugged. Her entire body unwound as she leaned back in the plush chair. "There is no good reason for it."

The woman looked her over. "So why are you locking yourself away up here?"

"I just needed to get away from it all."

"Of course, you poor thing."

Isabel finally found the strength to stand. She pushed herself off the brocade chair and glanced up the stairs. "I assume my room will be ready by now?"

"I'm sure."

Isabel climbed the stairs, her stomach churned in pain.

For the first time in her tenure, she was behaving irresponsibly. She didn't know how her cousins, distant Magda and gadabout Cyril, would handle the estate without her.

She opened the door to her suite, more confident once she was alone. Maybe she shouldn't have left Darton Manor at all.

Two days later, Isabel had almost convinced herself she'd imagined everything. Escaping to her house in London had been the salve she'd needed to calm her overactive imagination.

It was absurd to think someone wanted her dead.

Isael went down to the library, like she had each day since her arrival. She made herself comfortable on the chaise lounge and tried to immerse herself in the book she'd started the day before.

The maid pushed the teacart into the library. "Would you like me to serve, Madam?"

"No, that's quite all right. I'll ring for you when I'm finished. It will probably be a while."

The maid walked out jauntily, her generous hips rocking.

Isabel sighed when she looked at the bulky cart. All of that, just for her. She poured herself a cup of tea and retrieved her book.

The novel made her laugh at its fanciful descriptions of love. One did not hear angels sing the moment they saw a handsome man. Isabel had met her fair share of men whose appearance made her heart beat just a little faster. But that wasn't love in her book. Love was much more. She'd known too many men to claim admiration only to be unavailable when she actually needed help.

The preposterous thought that love could be so effortless and simple affected her physically. She dropped the teacup onto the small nesting table beside her and clutched her stomach.

The room spun. Isabel only vaguely heard her book drop to the floor. She tried to stand and realized her legs were as heavy as lead. She swayed to one side and fell against the teacart. China shattered onto the floor as she stumbled past, the bell rope in sight. Feeling herself falling forward, she made one last desperate grab for the gold tasseled rope.

"Poor girl."

Isabel felt a cool hand against her forehead. She stretched out, soft cushions against her back. All she wanted to do was turn over and go back to sleep. Instead, she forced her eyes open.

Her London doctor was looking down at her with a welcoming grin. "Miss Darton, you're awake."

"Yes." She coughed violently from the effort to speak. Her throat was sore, and her entire mouth felt like she'd been sucking on a lemon. "What's wrong with me?"

He tilted his head to one side. "It seems you've ingested something that didn't agree with you."

Her eyes watered and stung while Isabel tried to sit up. The room began to spin again so she stopped moving, afraid she'd pass out again. "What happened to me?"

The doctor pulled at his collar. "You were drinking the tea in the library, correct?"

"Yes."

"I found a white sediment at the bottom of your cup. Most peculiar. I think you'll want to send for the constable when you feel better."

"Are you suggesting I was poisoned?" Isabel started to shake her head, then remembered. She touched her painful forehead with one hand. "Will I be all right?"

"You just need to sleep it off," he replied, rooting through his bag. "And this should help you stay asleep in case you're restless."

The bottle he handed her was a small vial of amber-colored glass. She blinked hard. "Would you mind not telling anyone about this?"

He nodded, moving toward the door. "Mrs. Jones will take good care of you. I'll send her in."

Isabel's eyes fluttered closed. Scared, she forced them open, looking around her bedroom for shadowy villains.

The doctor turned and looked at her with pity. "It's a good thing you didn't drink more of that tea. If you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Isabel blinked back the tears and wished she didn't have to face everything on her own. She was in real trouble and there wasn't a soul in the world who'd stepped forward to rescue her.

Dr. Wesson walked out and Mrs. Jones rushed in a moment later. "You poor dear!"

Isabel offered a weak smile.

The housekeeper fiddled with every item in the room. "I can't believe something like this could happen!"

Isabel watched the woman bustle about. Her head spun horribly. She needed sleep. "Mrs. Jones, will you stay by my side until I wake up? I know it's an unusual request, but--"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." She dragged a chair ted. "I'll sit right here."

"You're priceless, Mrs. Jones." Isabel pulled the covers up to her chin. "Can you do something else for me? Don't let anyone in to see me."

"Of course not."

"Absolutely no one, not even my family."

The housekeeper looked at her askance. Finally she replied, "I won't let anyone in. I swear it."

Isabel released the breath she'd been holding and allowed herself to drift off to a fitful sleep, the laudanum sitting untouched on the bedside table.

Much later, Isabel woke. The candle had burnt down to a stub, dripping wax all over the bedside cabinet. Mrs. Jones was asleep in her chair, the London Times folded on her lap.

Isabel stared into the shadows and frowned.
Why was someone trying to kill her?

She tried to think of the usual reasons people killed. They killed for love, they killed for revenge, and they killed for money. Since she'd never had a suitor, Isabel couldn't imagine anyone would kill her in a jealous rage. No, love couldn't be the answer.

As for revenge, it was impossible to know if she'd ever offended anyone. She certainly couldn't remember wronging someone so severely they'd want her dead. That couldn't be the motive either.

Money. Money was something Isabel had in bounds, but a stranger would gain nothing from her death. Only her family could benefit . . . more specifically, her two cousins.

But Cyril was the only one who knew where she was hiding.

Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make the realization go away. She refused to believe Cyril could do such a thing. Surely he wouldn't kill his own cousin?

Whether or not Cyril was to blame, her killer had followed her all the way to London. She shuddered, imagining a villain lurking through her house. She had to leave immediately. But where else did she have to hide?

There was only one thing she could do. Go somewhere no one would ever think to look.

Isabel leaned out of bed and lifted the newspaper from her housekeeper's lap. She opened it and scanned the pages. She didn't know what she thought she would find, but anything would be an improvement from her current situation.

The advertisement jumped out at her: "Governess needed. Must be able to start immediately." The short paragraph continued with a list of qualifications, all qualities Isabel possessed.

She'd not considered taking a job. Under normal circumstances, it would be unthinkable. She was a wealthy heiress and ladies did not work. But if she accepted the post under an assumed name, she might be safer than if she continued to be Isabel Darton.

It was definitely worth consideration. Her heart beat faster as she read the advertisement a second time. Yes, a governess would be perfect. Her family would never think to look for her among the working class. So often Isabel had felt imprisoned by her expensive Parisian dresses and fine jewelry. It would at least be a chance to escape her bonds, and to see how the other half lived.

Isabel read the paper one more time before she scooted out of bed and over to the writing desk. She placed the newspaper beside her and wrote a letter to her prospective employer.

Isabel arrived at the Doffcocker Inn, stepping off the hansom cab at the last possible moment. Once on her feet, she walked quickly and tried not to meet anyone's gaze. She perspired in the unseasonably warm weather and had to force herself to keep walking.

It was difficult to know if she'd made the right decision. But she hadn't committed herself yet. Her letter had been unconventional, but it was worth a try. Not wanting to reveal the address of her townhouse, Isabel asked them to meet her at the inn if her qualifications met their criteria. Soon, she would know the outcome.