Over the weekend we announced that Juliet Moore’s THE HIDDEN HEIRESS was our new Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded this one already, you’re in for a treat!
The Hidden Heiress – A Victorian Historical Romance
by Juliet Moore
To escape a killer, Isabel Darton is forced to flee the only home she’s ever known and adopt the identity of a governess. Too late, she realizes that she must deceive not only those around her, but also the uncle of her charge, Marshall Templeton, a man she’s falling in love with. Desperate to tell him the truth, yet fearful for his life, she must decide if the risk of her heart is worth the endangerment of his life. Determined to become a junior lord of Parliament, Sir Marshall Templeton is resolute to procure a suitable wife. Except the women his sister-in-law parades before him leave him with a permanent scowl. With great irritation, he finds his attention drawn to his brother’s new governess, Isabel, and tries to dismiss his interest. But as his heart has other ideas, he’s torn between an untitled woman who could jeopardize all he seeks to gain and the respectability he’s always strived for. What Readers Are Saying The Hidden Heiress is a sweet romance about a lady who pretends to be a governess. The gentleman she falls for works for parliament and must marry someone that will help his career. Of course it wouldn’t be a romance if they didn’t fall in love anyway! I thought the story was nice and easy to read. Recommend. – Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars To escape a killer, Isabel Darton is forced to flee the only home she’s ever known and adopt the identity of a governess.
Too late, she realizes that she must deceive not only those around her, but also the uncle of her charge, Marshall Templeton, a man she’s falling in love with.
Desperate to tell him the truth, yet fearful for his life, she must decide if the risk of her heart is worth the endangerment of his life.
Determined to become a junior lord of Parliament, Sir Marshall Templeton is resolute to procure a suitable wife. Except the women his sister-in-law parades before him leave him with a permanent scowl.
With great irritation, he finds his attention drawn to his brother’s new governess, Isabel, and tries to dismiss his interest. But as his heart has other ideas, he’s torn between an untitled woman who could jeopardize all he seeks to gain and the respectability he’s always strived for.
What Readers Are Saying
The Hidden Heiress is a sweet romance about a lady who pretends to be a governess. The gentleman she falls for works for parliament and must marry someone that will help his career. Of course it wouldn’t be a romance if they didn’t fall in love anyway! I thought the story was nice and easy to read. Recommend.
– Amazon Reviewer, 5 StarsThis story has a terrific heroine, and is fast-paced and well-written. However, what impressed me the most was the cast of secondary characters. Each were vividly drawn and each one of them had a role to play to bring the book to its conclusion.– Diane Love, Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
The Hidden Heiress
by Juliet Moore
Isabel Darton touched her forehead and smoothed back wisps of rebellious hair. It had been a long and tiring day. She’d just lost her estate manager and things couldn’t be worse with the tenants. Silas Hudson needed the thatch in his roof repaired, and there was a serious flood at the Morton farm. Her cousin Robert was supposed to arrive that morning to help, but at dusk, he had yet to appear.
What else could possibly go wrong?
Her horse whinnied and reared, nearly dislodging her from the saddle. Before Isabel could calm her spooked horse, a shot whizzed past her arm and exploded into a tree trunk. Her arm burned with sharp pain. Her whip came down on the mare’s flank, and the animal spurred itself into a gallop.
Isabel panted and fell toward her horse’s neck. A low hanging branch stung her when it snapped against her arm. With palpable fear, Isabel gripped the mare’s mane along with the saddle horn, not trusting her precarious sidesaddle at such a high speed.
Finally, the manor was in sight. The horse sped into the stables, nearly knocking over the groom who’d come to assist. Isabel stared down at her hands, taut and white-knuckled. Even though her arm ached from the pressure, she didn’t let go until the groom was at her side. She tumbled off the horse’s back and into Jack’s arms.
“Are you ill, Miss Darton?”
With difficulty, Isabel managed to speak, “Someone just shot at me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she replied. She ran toward the house, her numb arm hanging at her side.
Isabel hurried through the courtyard, up the front steps and pulled open the heavy doors.
“Get my cousins,” she told the downstairs maid. “Send them to the drawing room.”
Isabel stumbled into the drawing room and collapsed onto the horsehair sofa, clutching her arm and leaning her head against the antimacassars.
Why would someone try to kill her?
Her cousin appeared faster than she’d expected. “What has happened?” Magda asked.
Isabel took a deep breath and hoped Magda’s trademark lack of sympathy wouldn’t show itself. “Where’s Cyril?”
“He isn’t here.”
Isabel greeted the maid bringing the tea with a weak smile then turned to look at her cousin. “Someone tried to kill me in the forest just now.”
Magda’s eyes widened. “Shoot you? Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“I don’t know!”
Her cousin sat down and poured the tea. “Tell me exactly what happened, cousin.”
Isabel held her arms tight and leaned back into the couch cushions. “I was riding through the woods after visiting with the tenants and a bullet flew right past my head.”
“Do you think it could have been an accident, perhaps a poacher?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out.” Isabel gazed at the tea, still clutching her arm against her chest.
Magda sighed. “It makes the most sense. Just a plain old poacher, going about his business, trying to shoot his dinner, but missing and hitting the tasty heiress instead.”
“Oh, right. You don’t seem very alarmed.” She trembled and wished she’d made more of an effort to befriend Magda in the past. If only Cyril was home or, for that matter, dear Robert.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to be alarmed about.” Magda looked toward Isabel’s untouched tea. “But I do think you should enforce the laws against poaching. Something like this could easily happen again.”
“I don’t think it’s right to prevent a poor man from doing something about his impoverished circumstances. If that is the only way he can win meat for his family, I shall let him have it.”
“How noble of you.”
The drawing room door flew open. It still rocked in its hinges when Jack ran inside, his dirty boots trailing mud across the rug and a grooming brush clutched tightly in his hand. “Madam, there’s been an awful accident!”
Magda stood up. “What kind of accident?”
Short of breath, the groom huffed, “Master Robert has been killed!”
* * *
Isabel didn’t move from her seat. Shock rooted from her body into the soft cushions of the sofa.
The groom looked toward the window. “The horse dragged him home. It looks like he’s been shot.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?” Magda demanded.
Jack nodded.
“I need to see him–” Isabel started. The chill of icy fingers ran down her back.
“No, Isabel, you don’t. Stay right where you are.” Magda turned to the nervous groom. “Fetch a surgeon.”
“I’ve already sent for Mr. Lincoln,” he replied.
“Then go wait for him and let us know when he gets here,” she cursed. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to the rug?”
Jack growled to himself and hurried out of the drawing room.
Her cousin stared after him with unmitigated anger, shaking her head with wonder.
Isabel glared at Magda. “Have you no compassion?”
“No, I didn’t inherit it. I wasn’t in the line of descent.”
Isabel clenched her teeth. She refused to let Magda’s pettiness distract her. “Robert can’t be dead. He just can’t.”
“Well, it seems he is.”
“That means it wasn’t a poacher.” Isabel closed her eyes for a moment. The room had begun to spin. “Two cousins, both shot in the woods. That’s no coincidence.”
Magda paced in front of the couch. “Revenge? Have you recently upset anyone? Kicked someone out of a cottage?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Magda laughed. “Perhaps Robert got another one of the tenant’s daughters pregnant. He never minded performing his masterly duties. When they shot at you, it might have been a mistake.”
Isabel shook her head. “That’s unlikely. He weighs five stones more and doesn’t happen to wear dresses or ride sidesaddle. I believe we present vastly different profiles.”
Magda reached down for her cup of tea. “I suppose.”
“Magda!” Isabel clutched her stomach with one hand, her breakfast rising into her throat. “Have you heard from Cyril? What if he’s been attacked as well?”
The teacup her cousin held rattled in her hands. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“I can’t help it.” Isabel took some tea. She figured its warmth would sooth her icy hands. She looked at the large fireplace and wished it was lit.
Magda stooped forward. “Isabel, don’t you know how to hold a teacup without trembling?”
“Well, my arm . . .” She stood up when she saw a shadow fall across the rug. She ran across the room. “Cyril!”
Cyril bounded into the drawing room, foppishly dressed in a top hat and the shiniest Hessians she’d ever seen. Cyril walked past Magda without saying a word. “Isabel, what has happened to Robert?”
“He’s been shot,” she replied, her voice shook with each word of the simple explanation.
“But how? And by whom?”
“Someone obviously wanted him dead.” Isabel trembled; the rush of air cooled her wet cheeks. “Oh, Cyril, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Cyril frowned, his expression curious. “What about you, Isabel?”
She swayed, and the entire room became foggy and distant. “I just feel numb . . .”
Her words deteriorated into sobs as her cousin took her into his arms.
Cyril patted her gently on the back. “Don’t worry, cousin, Mr. Lincoln will be here soon enough. He’ll take care of you and tomorrow, it will be easier to bear.”
Isabel just cried. She wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. “I can’t believe Robert is dead, Cyril. Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s–” Cyril fell silent, touching her where it hurt the most. “Isabel, you’re bleeding!”
“I think a branch whipped my arm in the woods.”
“It’s more than that!” he said.
Isabel forced her eyes down to her shoulder. A thin gash dripped scarlet down the sleeve of her riding habit.
* * *
“You’re lucky the bullet only grazed your arm,” Mr. Lincoln told her again, shaking his head with wonder. “It looks like you’ve managed to avoid infection.”
A bandage was secured and Isabel reached for her black crepe jacket and eased into it, still feeling pain when she stretched her arm into the sleeve. “How long will it be sore?”
Mr. Lincoln closed the large, black bag. “It’s only been three days since the injury, Miss Darton. You can expect to feel pain for some time. Perhaps weeks.”
Isabel finished buttoning her jacket. She smoothed down the crinkled surface before turning back to the surgeon. “I’d better join the others.”
He nodded. “I’ll be back by the end of the week.”
Isabel slipped two guineas wrapped in paper onto the table next to Mr. Lincoln’s bag and slipped out of the sitting room.
With the mirror in the hall covered, she was unable to check her appearance one last time before going downstairs. Regardless, she knew what the glass would show: a pale face, tinged with green, and thick, black hair that had, in the last few days, lost most of its luster.
Isabel descended the stairs just as Cyril entered from the outside, having just returned from Robert’s funeral.
“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” she said.
He hung his head down, the streams of fabric tied to his hat trailed down his back. “Neither can I.”
Isabel hooked her good arm through his. “The solicitor is waiting in the library with the others.”
They walked in silence. Cyril seemed deep in thought, and no one could respect his need to contemplate more than she. Lately, Isabel couldn’t speak for thinking. Her life had just blown up in her face.
The inquest into Robert’s murder had turned up nothing. Cyril had proved he’d been at Cuckold Pub and Magda hadn’t left the house. The family had never truly been suspected anyway. As for strangers, no one had come forward to state they’d seen anyone unusual in the woods on that day. Even Robert’s angry tenants, many of whom had despoiled daughters because of him, lived miles away on Robert’s smaller estate. So the matter had been forgotten.
Unfortunately for Isabel, the memory of a bullet whizzing past her head was unforgettable.
The solicitor was already seated when they entered the library, as was everyone else. It was just Magda, two elderly aunts, and a couple of distant uncles.
That was it. The entire bulk of her illustrious family.
“Is everyone here?” the solicitor asked.
After replying in the affirmative, Isabel let her mind wander once again. She wasn’t particularly interested in how Robert had decided to distribute his worldly assets. She just wished he wasn’t in the position to do so. And it was too late to change that.
Isabel looked at the other occupants in the room and wondered how they could go about their business like nothing had happened. She was terrified. Every time she thought of the day Robert had been killed, she wanted to hide beneath her bed.
Isabel shivered which drew Cyril’s attention. She couldn’t meet his friendly gaze. If someone was trying to destroy her family, would Cyril be next?
As the will was read, Isabel struggled over what she could do to protect herself. Though she didn’t know how her two cousins intended to protect themselves, Isabel knew she couldn’t stay at Darton Manor. She had to pull her thoughts together . . . try to make sense of it all.
It would be simple for her to go to the townhouse in London. If she only spoke to Cyril about it, she would feel secure in her safety. Cyril could tell anyone who asked that she’d gone somewhere else entirely.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel saw the solicitor pack up his papers and rise from the desk. The rest of the company chatted amicably as he walked out.
Magda came to Isabel’s side. “No one gained from Robert’s death. Maybe this was all just a huge accident. A case of mistaken identity.”
Mrs. Slocum cackled gleefully at her side. “Perhaps Robert was just in the way of Lady Darton. Since inheriting the Darton fortune from your mother, that will would be the one to hear!”
Isabel glared at her. “Please don’t anticipate it too eagerly.”
The odious woman laughed.
Isabel looked at the door to the hallway. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Cyril behind her.
“I saw you shivering during the reading,” he said. “Are you feeling well?”
“I can’t say that I am.” She pulled him away from the group and lowered her voice. “I want to leave Darton Manor, Cyril. I no longer feel safe here.”
“I know you’re distraught, but this is still probably the safest place for you to be.”
“It isn’t. Someone tried to kill me. What if they return to correct their mistake?”
He shook his head, disapproval colored his expression. “Where will you go?”
Isabel watched her relatives discuss their newly acquired bounty. Nauseated, she replied, “To the London townhouse, but you mustn’t tell anyone where I have gone.”
“Of course not.” He glanced toward the door, then ushered her away from the corner where they’d been whispering.
At a volume loud enough for others to hear, Isabel asked, “Would you mind hosting the rest of the afternoon, cousin?”
“Not at all, my dear. May I ask why?”
Isabel touched her arm gingerly. “I feel quite ill.”
“Not only regrettable,” he replied, “but also understandable.” He lowered his voice and added, “Why don’t you slip out now? No one will even notice.”
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.
“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 shook 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.
Isabel 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 toward the bed. “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.
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?”
Feeling Lucky?
