The Viscount's Scandalous Return. ANNE ASHLEY

and although he showed no reluctance in retaining her services, at least where Alice was concerned, he evinced no delight whatsoever when his offer was readily accepted.

      ‘I do not think there is anything further we need discuss at this time, Miss Pentecost,’ his lordship said, at last rising to his feet. ‘If you would have the children’s belongings packed, my carriage will be here to collect you in the morning, and will return you to the Manor later in the day.’

      He then took his leave of his wards and their governess, before surprising Isabel somewhat by requesting she accompany him round to the stable to collect his horse.

      ‘For the time being it would be best if your cousin remains under your roof.’ The Viscount registered the look of mingled surprise and doubt in her eyes. ‘I know what a censorious world we live in, Miss Mortimer. It wouldn’t be too long before your cousin’s hitherto spotless reputation suffered as a result of residing permanently under my roof. But that hopefully will be avoided by her returning to your protection each evening.’

      Easily guessing the reason for the lingering concern she cast up at him, he added, ‘And pray do not trouble yourself over any possible actions of the stepmother’s. I think we can safely rely on the excellent Mr Goodbody’s abilities to delay proceedings until such time as your cousin attains her majority, should it prove that Mrs Pentecost is within her rights to remove her stepdaughter from under your roof. I shall write to him on my return to the Manor, requesting his help in the matter. He hasn’t failed me yet.’

      This admission brought something else to the forefront of Isabel’s mind. ‘And the children, sir—are they now safe from any claims to guardianship their uncle might make?’

      His lordship’s smile was not pleasant. ‘The last I heard of Danforth, he was making for the Channel in an attempt to flee the authorities. He was proved to be the very worst kind of scoundrel. What might have happened to the children had they been left in his care, I shudder to think. Suffice it to say, he’d be unwise to show his face again in this country for a considerable time.’

      Having reached the yard, Isabel noticed his lordship surprisingly frowning at the lad whom she employed to do odd jobs about the place, as Toby emerged from the stable, leading his lordship’s fine bay.

      ‘Is there something amiss, my lord?’

      ‘I seem to recognise this lad.’

      A thought occurred to Isabel. ‘Possibly a family resemblance. His brother worked up at the Manor for several years, so I understand. He disappeared around the time of the murders. Is that not so, Toby?’

      The boy confirmed it with a nod of his head. ‘Disappeared on that selfsame night, so Ma said. Went out for a tankard of ale, and never came ‘ome again. Not a word been ‘eard of ‘im since, neither.’

      After learning this his lordship raised his head and stared across the meadow into the far distance. ‘Yes, I remember, now, my friend Charles Bathurst mentioning something about young Jem disappearing on the night of the murders. I suppose I thought he’d just upped and left and got himself another situation somewhere else. Couldn’t have blamed him in the circumstances.’ His frown deepened. ‘But he would never have gone without a word to a soul.’

      ‘That ‘ee wouldn’t,’ Toby confirmed. ‘Ma were expecting ‘im back that night. She reckons ‘ee must ‘ave been set on by footpads, or such like. But I don’t reckon that be right. ‘Cepting for that watch you give ‘im all them years back, m’lord, ‘ee couldn’t ‘ave ‘ad more than an odd penny in his pocket.’

      ‘I’m sure you’re right, Toby,’ Isabel agreed. ‘But it is strange, is it not, that no one has seen or heard anything of him since. Don’t you agree, sir?’

      His lordship, however, continued to stare silently at some distant spot, his mind locked in the past.

      Chapter Three

      It was only to be expected that the children’s removal to the Manor would result in a return to normality at the farmhouse. Isabel was obliged to admit that it was much quieter for a start. A little too quiet sometimes, she increasingly began to feel as the days passed.

      She couldn’t deny that their departure had resulted in a much lighter workload for both Bessie and herself. They were no longer obliged to slave over a hot range for hours a day in order to satisfy the appetite of a rapidly growing boy, not to mention his healthy younger sister. There was far less laundry to deal with each week as well. Yet, for all that the children had been hard work, Isabel missed not having them about the place.

      Of course she looked forward to her cousin’s return to the house each evening. Over supper, Clara would regale them with all the latest gossip from up at the Manor, and keep them abreast of the improvements to the house that were, apparently, daily taking place.

      None the less, even her cousin’s continued presence at the farmhouse couldn’t suppress the ever-increasing discontent Isabel was for some obscure reason experiencing.

      As February gave way to March, even seeing evidence that spring was not too far away quite failed to lift her spirits. She was reminded of how she had felt during those first weeks after her dear father had passed away. Then, of course, there had been a good reason for the malcontent that had gripped her. What excuse was there now for her feeling totally dissatisfied with her lot? There was none, of course. Yet, try as she might, Isabel simply couldn’t shake off the mood of despondency.

      A week of heavy rain did little to improve her spirits. Nor, it had to be said, did waking up one morning to discover her vegetable patch under a considerable amount of water.

      Her prized garden had produced sufficient quantities of root and green vegetables to feed the household throughout the previous year, not to mention sufficient soft fruits during the summer months to preserve for leaner times. She doubted very much that this would be the case for the present year, for she very much feared that her attempt to produce early crops had been completely washed away by the deluge.

      ‘That is it!’ she declared, reaching for her cloak and stout, serviceable boots. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this any longer! I’m mindful of the fact that his lordship has been most generous to this household already, especially where Clara is concerned. But that doesn’t give him the right to neglect his duties as a landowner. So don’t you dare try to stop me, Bessie!’

      The thought never crossed the housekeeper’s mind for an instant. She knew well enough that, when her mistress had reached the limits of her patience, only a forceful airing of views would restore calm, and return her to her normally sensible and controlled state. None the less, Bessie sensed that more lay behind this present show of fiery tension in her young mistress than the washing away of a few vegetable seedlings. All the same, she was at a loss to know quite what it might be.

      From the kitchen window she followed her irate young employer’s progress up the drove to the meadow. Then she watched her clamber, in a most unladylike fashion, over the boundary fence that divided his lordship’s deer park from her own property, her faithful Beau padding along at her heels. Bessie smiled to herself as she recalled a story she’d heard many years before about an ancient warrior queen, fearless and determined, setting forth to do battle with her enemies. Which was exactly how Miss Isabel looked right now! And there wouldn’t be too many souls brave enough to stand in her way, she mused.

      Although Mr Tredwell, the new butler up at the Manor, did not view the rather ill-groomed young woman, demanding to see the aristocratic master of the house at once, in quite the same reverential way as did her own devoted servant, her overall demeanour, quite frankly, did puzzle him. Had he been in town he maybe wouldn’t have thought twice about denying admittance. But this was not London. And unless his adroitness at assessing a person’s station in life had deserted him entirely, this was no country bumpkin either. Nor, he felt sure, was she a female of a certain disreputable calling.

      None the less, having been in his lordship’s