The Hidden Heiress (3 page)

She took a deep breath and entered the darkened common room.

In her letter, she'd claimed to be a clergyman's daughter. Her father had only recently passed away, which would explain her mourning dress. Hopefully, they knew to look for a woman in head to toe black bombazine.

"Pardon me?"

Isabel spun around when someone touched her shoulder. The man facing her was tall and lean with dark blonde hair that almost touched his shoulders. His sparkling blue eyes were a bright contrast to his dark, fashionable mustache and short beard.

He was handsome, she declared. Her heart beat faster at the realization. Her head spun. It made her dizzy and slightly lightheaded. It had to be an after effect of the poison, even though she hadn't experienced any relapses before.

"I'm Marshall Templeton," he finally said. "Are you my governess?"

"Not
your
governess, I daresay."

He smiled, his teeth bright and straight. "What can I do to convince you?"

Chapter 3

Mr. Templeton's gaze penetrated her skin. "Are you Isabel Balfour then?"

"Yes," Isabel replied. "Are you my employer?"

"No, not I. The Mrs. Templeton that hired you is my brother's wife, not mine. Your charge is my niece."

"I look forward to teaching her."

"That's because you haven't met her."

"Pardon me?" The throbbing Isabel had felt in her arm all day suddenly got worse. As the surgeon had warned her, her bullet scrape still gave her pain.

Mr. Templeton shook his head and turned. "It's nothing."

Isabel stared at his back, confused.

"You don't look at all like a governess," he said, leaning against the rim of an empty table.

"What are they supposed to look like?"

Mr. Templeton laughed and examined her. "Not like you. Paige won't be pleased. She will . . ." He held a silk top hat in his hand. "Never mind. Would you like to have something to drink?"

"I shouldn't--"

"I won't let you get into any trouble," Mr. Templeton assured her. "There isn't anything wrong with us staying for a little refreshment. You might need it when you meet my niece."

Isabel frowned. "I wish you would stop teasing me, Mr. Templeton."

"I'm sorry, Miss Balfour." He grinned and ushered her toward a table. "This must be your first job. I didn't mean to make you nervous."

Isabel nodded. It was foolish to allow him to affect her. She followed him to the table, the hot weight of his hand made her feel dizzy. If only he wouldn't touch her so intimately.

"We should get the cider," Marshall told her, then called to the serving girl. He turned to Isabel, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I come here a lot."

Isabel blinked a few times before looking away. With her hands hidden under the table, she crossed her fingers. Somehow she would find the strength to be unaffected by him. Somehow she would remember the way she usually saw men: shallow, base, and unfaithful. Men weren't worth the heartache.

Still, Marshall Templeton was a liability.

She sighed. When she'd planned her deception, she'd never considered the people who would take part in her dishonesty. She'd only intended to ensure they not know her true identity. But what if she were tempted to tell? She looked up at Marshall.

She couldn't have created a more tempting man.

Isabel broke the enveloping silence by saying, "What happened to your niece's last governess?"

"She inherited money."

Isabel crossed and uncrossed her ankles in rapid succession. "Was it a surprise?"

He nodded.

"That must have been quite shocking to her."

"More so to my sister-in-law. The woman she'd looked down on had suddenly become her equal." His expression changed from jovial to apologetic. "Miss Balfour, I hope you won't take offense at that last comment. I did not mean anything by it."

"Of course not," she quipped, "one never does."

"But I apologize," he said firmly, his silly smile long gone. "Tell me, Miss Balfour, where are you from?"

"Thorndale. No, Cheshire." Isabel bit her tongue. Hard. It wasn't right ense he should make her feel so flustered. He was nobody. No one at all.

"Have you forgotten where you grew up?"

"It's only that I was born in Thorndale, but my parents moved to Cheshire soon after."

He was thoughtful. "Shall you miss it?"

It was a good thing he couldn't hear her thoughts. She smoothed her hair with one hand. "No."

Marshall finished off his cider, never taking his eyes from her face. "Why not?"

"I just won't," she bit out.

"I must say," he said, "you act nothing like a proper governess. A proper governess is timid, mousy, and meek. You are none of those things."

"Thank you."

"I don't know that it was a compliment."

Isabel sighed loudly. "Would you rather I am weak and let my charges walk all over me?"

"I thought you said this was your first job?"

There she went again, fouling things up. Isabel stared into her empty mug of cider. "It is. Shouldn't we be on our way?"

"Yes, but promise me one thing."

"Such as?" She stood and gazed down into his clear, shimmering eyes.

"Promise me we'll continue this conversation later." He rose, offered her his arm, and allowed an easy smile to return to his handsome face.

"Of course," Isabel replied as he guided her toward the door. She mentally kicked herself a thousand times.

She never wanted to be alone with him again.

Mrs. Templeton leaned forward in her chair. "I am Mrs. Jane Templeton and this is my husband, Mr. Edward Templeton. You will refer to us as Mr. and Mrs. Templeton. There seems to be a growing trend of overly familiar governesses and that's not how things are done in this household. Do you understand?"

Isabel mustered every ounce of poise and self-control she possessed to remain fixed to the antique Persian Rug. "Yes, I understand."

"Good. Our daughter Paige is waiting upstairs. You'll meet her in a moment. She is but thirteen years old, but do not let that lull you into a false sense of security."

Isabel smiled, thinking it a joke.

The woman blanched. "Pray, take me seriously, girl. This is no laughing matter."

Embarrassed, Isabel hated that Marshall was there to hear every word. Was she to be treated like a simpleton? It was a humiliation she wasn't sure she could bear. But her life was at stake. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Templeton."

Jane nodded. "I suppose you have already met the younger Mr. Templeton . . ."

Isabel looked at Marshall and wished they were back at the inn. When Isabel's gaze returned to Mrs. Templeton, the woman rolled her eyes. Isabel's hands twitched at her sides. "Yes, I have met him. I hope you will excuse me for being late. Mr. Templeton insisted on stopping for refreshments."

Mrs. Templeton scowled, then screwed her face up even more when she caught her husband's amused non-verbal exchange with his brother. Jane opened her mouth wide as though to yell, then caught herself. She took a deep, audible breath. "Miss Balfour, in the future, I expect you to be on time, no matter what the excuse. Do you think you can do that?"

"Of course."

"I don't suppose we need to go over your qualifications since they were all in your letter. Paige can show you the schoolroom and your adjacent bedroom while you get acquainted. I shall eagerly await your decision."

"Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. I'm sure it will be in the affirmative."

Marshall came to her side. "I will take you to meet Paige."

Before they could leave the drawing room, Mrs. Templeton delicately cleared her throat. "Your dress is quite attractive, Miss Balfour. Is it new?"

Isabel turned to look at her over her shoulder. "Yes."

"Really?" Mrs. Templeton's expression was keen and assessing. "I didn't realize one could afford such on a governesses' salary."

The elder Mr. Templeton raised his eyebrows as though he was thinking he knew
exactly
how she had acquired such a dress.

Isabel laughed and replied, "Oh, you think I ment it was entirely new? I only meant it was a gift to me from a wealthy cousin, only after she'd worn it countless times. So, it's new to me."

Isabel turned away from the assembled group feeling stupid for her big mouth.

They climbed the stairs to the first floor. "I hope Paige takes to me."

Marshall made an odd sound at the back of his throat. "It's difficult not to."

Isabel felt a flutter in her stomach and realized that stairs were difficult to climb with weakened knees.

At the top floor of the townhouse, Marshall knocked on a door and then twisted his body and looked back at Isabel. "I must warn you. Paige can be a little irritable at times."

"By irritable, you mean . . ."

"Words cannot describe." He knocked again. Harder. When there was no sound from within, he spoke to the door. "Paige, your new governess would like to meet you."

"Another one?" a small voice asked through the door.

Isabel eyed Marshall. "You might have warned me
before
I accepted the position."

He grimaced. "Paige, come out right now!"

The door opened to a petite girl with dark, messy hair. She stared at Isabel. "Are you her then?"

"Try to be a little polite, Paige," Marshall demanded, pulling her into the hallway. "Miss Balfour is your new governess and deserves your respect. It would have been nice if you'd at least fixed your hair. What would your mother say?"

Isabel fought back laughter, pursing her lips together to block the eruption.

As if it were hard for her, Paige finally stuttered, "Hello, Miss Balfour. How do you do?"

"Quite well, thank you."

Marshall nodded. "Now show Miss Balfour the schoolroom, Paige." He smiled at Isabel. "It's a shame we're not at our country home. You could see the schoolroom Edward and I tried our best to tear apart."

His niece looked over her shoulder. "Yes, uncle, I'm sure she would be fascinated." Paige shuffled her feet down the hall and pushed open a second door. "This is the schoolroom."

Isabel glanced inside. "It's adequate."

"What were you expecting, a--" Paige started and was cut off by her uncle's stern look.

"Now show Miss Balfour her bedroom, Paige."

Isabel watched Paige, wondering what Marshall would do if she disobeyed. Isabel crossed her arms in front of her chest and followed them down the hall.

Paige threw open a second door. "This will be your bedroom. Small, but you're probably used to that."

If she only knew. Isabel had the sudden urge to rub her true identity in the girl's face. She took a deep breath. Paige's taunting could only get to her if she sunk to her level. "The size won't be a problem, but thank you for your concern."

"You'll have to watch the door," Paige told her. "If you're too rough with it, it sticks."

"Then I shall have to remember not to get too angry with my door."

Marshall flexed. "If that door gives you any trouble let me know."

Paige sighed. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Isabel put one slender finger to her lips. "Hmm . . . what did you do to your
last
governess?"

Marshall laughed. "She disappeared. Actually, she might still be in the house . . . somewhere."

Isabel watched Paige react to their teasing.

"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you," Paige said. "Where did my mother find you anyway?"

"I answered the advertisement she posted in the paper."

She narrowed her eyes. "And who did you last work for?"

"Another little girl just like you," Isabel replied.

"That must have been why you left," Marshall teased.

Paige didn't laugh. "How did you become a governess in the first place?" she demanded.

Isabel shrugged. "The same way any woman does."

"That doesn't answer the question."

Isabel looked at Marshall. He stepped forward. "Stop it, Paige! Your mother would be ashamed to hear you. Your interrogation of Miss Balfour is inappropriate."

Paige rolled er eyes again. "Next time, he
won't
be here to protect you."

Marshall gave her an incredulous look.

Paige looked down the hall toward her bedroom. "May I be excused?"

"Fine. Go," Marshall replied. "But wouldn't you like to know whether or not Miss Balfour shall agree to take the post?"

"No. I'm sure she cannot afford not to."

Isabel clenched her fist, sending splinters of pain down her wounded arm. She looked at Marshall. "Of course I'm going to educate Paige. I've never turned my back on a challenge."

"I'm delighted to hear that," Marshall said as Paige erupted into laughter.

Isabel stared into space while Paige concentrated on her book. She wondered if her wardrobe was suspicious for a supposedly impoverished woman. It was a blessing she'd decided to wear a mourning dress since it forbade any expensive, rich fabrics, whether wealthy or poor.

Paige looked up from the geography book. "Ceylon is an island off the coast of India. I knew that! I think . . ."

"You didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have spent the last five minutes looking it up." She looked down at the watch pinned to her bodice. "I think we've spent enough time with that book for today."

Paige slammed the book shut. "Thank heaven, I hate geography."

Isabel wished she had the freedom to agree with her. Instead, she said, "It's necessary."

"I looked through your things this morning," Paige said, her small eyes dark with mischief.

"You did what?"

Paige shrugged. "Well, I came looking for you and you weren't there."

"So you thought to spy on me?"

"It wasn't like that at all! I just wanted to see what kinds of dresses you had. I'm sure my uncle would like the low-cut evening gown. It would be a much quicker way to get his attention than what you've been trying."

"You assume far too much, Paige." She took a deep breath. If she exploded, she let her student win. Isabel stacked the schoolbooks. "There was no reason to go behind my back. I would have been happy to show you what I brought if you had just asked."