Isabel hesitated and wondered if there was any way to run. But when she looked into Bethany's eyes, she didn't see any remains of the woman she used to know. She was crazed, unpredictable. Running wasn't worth the risk of being shot in the back. There had to be a better way.
Isabel started walking. But she wouldn't be obedient forever.
"So it's always been you. I take it Cyril is a part of this?"
Bethany laughed. "Cyril doesn't have it in him. He knows nothing about my plans."
"But what about the diamond broach I found? That couldn't belong to you."
"Cyril gave it to me."
Isabel tried to walk slowly. "What exactly are your plans?"
"I want Cyril to inherit. Not you, not Robert," she said, her tone chillingly matter-of-fact. "Cyril deserves the fortune more than any of you."
"How is that?"
"You were willing to play governess for all this time. The money can't be that important."
If only someone would approach them, interrupt the foul plan Bethany had in store for her. She too a step backward. "I pretended to be a governess to hide from whoever was trying to kill me."
Bethany grabbed her, digging her nails into her arm, and pulled her away from the house, holding the gun in her other hand. "You didn't seem to be hiding last night. Your costume wasn't as good a disguise as you thought."
Isabel's eye started to twitch. "So you were the one who shot me on my estate?"
"Yes."
"And you killed Robert."
Bethany shrugged. "Of course. He was another obstacle in the line of descent."
"You speak of it so coldly. I can't believe you're the same person I played with as a child."
Bethany let go of her, anger distorting her features. "Isabel, you have no comprehension of how the other half lives."
Isabel raised her chin a little higher. "I assure you, these last two months have not been pleasant."
Bethany laughed. "You always knew you had an estate waiting for your return."
"Just as I know nothing of your life, you know nothing of mine," Isabel said with a raised voice. "Why don't we focus on the business at hand?"
Bethany waved the gun in Isabel's face. "You're absolutely right."
Isabel's head pounded as though someone were hammering the back of her neck with each breath. "What do you want?"
"Come with me."
Unable to meet the gaze of Lord Tremaine, senior member of Parliament, Marshall stared straight ahead as they walked across the manor's vast lawn. "I will not reconsider my decision to resign."
Especially not on such a beautiful day. The cloudless blue sky and cool climate wouldn't be witness to his broken heart. Isabel was going to say yes. He merely had to convince her to see things his way.
His friend shook his head. "I just don't understand it. You've worked so hard for your position."
"My career is important to me, but not if I cannot have it without sacrificing the one I love."
Tremaine exhaled. "If this woman is making you give up everything, I can't say I respect that."
"Neither would I, if that were the case," Marshall said, but silently wondered if it were the truth. Perhaps he would give up anything for Isabel, no matter how unfair or unwise. That was love.
"So that is not the case?" Tremaine asked.
Marshall shook his head. "Miss Balfour's position is through no fault of her own."
"What do you mean?"
"She's a governess," Marshall said, suddenly remember how ungoverness-like Isabel had been the night before. He stared up at the open sky, the brim of his top hat obscuring his vision. "Grant married a companion and you saw what happened to him."
Tremaine stopped walking. He was silent for a moment, the sounds of ladies playing croquet audible in the distance. Then he said, "But don't you realize Grant is still a well-respected MP? He was merely refused for the junior lord position you both so covet."
"I realize that."
"Is it all or nothing with you, Templeton?"
That was a good question. One he wasn't sure he had an answer to. "Well . . ."
"I can tell you haven't thought this through."
There was a lot of truth in that statement. But he had good reasons for what he was doing. He had to resign, otherwise Isabel would never marry him. She wouldn't let him sacrifice anything unless he'd already done it. She as much said so that morning and, even then, she was too shocked to answer his proposal. Marshall gazed at the lush, expansive lawn. "Tremaine, it's a little difficult to explain, but Miss Balfour won't marry me if I'm still an MP. She'll consider her duty to refuse me so I won't sabotage my career."
"But if you've already resigned--"
"It will be too late and she'll have to accept my sacrifice."
Tremaine chuckled. "I guess you have thought about this more than I thought. I still think you should convince the lady to accept you, even as an MP. You haven't officially resigned yet. There's still time."
"Yes." Still looking into the distance, Marshall squinted at the two women walking at the edge of the lawn. He smiled at the coincidence. It was Isabel and a woman he didn't recognize. "There she is now, Tremaine."
"Wonderful. I'd hoped to meet the woman for which you'd give up everything."
Marshall watched the two women. "They are walking rather fast. I should try to catch them, then bring them back here."
With a confused expression on his face, Tremaine looked in the same direction. "Is Miss Balfour the shorter of the two, the brunette?"
An inexplicable fear settled in his stomach. "No, Miss Balfour is the taller, with black hair. Why do you assume it is the other lady?"
Tremaine took a few steps toward the women. "Because I believe I recognize the other lady and she's certainly not a governess."
Marshall tried not to panic. He'd never thought Isabel looked like a governess either. It would be easy to explain his colleague's mistake. He laughed weakly. "You must be mistaken."
Tremaine moved closer and replied, "No, I don't believe I am. Lady Isabel Darton is a striking woman and difficult face to forget."
Isabel
. That was too coincidental. Marshall closed his eyes for a moment, slowly catching his breath. Then he said, "Who is Isabel Darton?"
Tremaine shifted. "That's the strange part. Isabel Darton is a wealthy heiress who recently disappeared after being attacked."
"Attacked?"
"She was shot while riding on her estate. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it."
She'd been shot. It all suddenly made sense. The scar on Isabel's arm that hurt when he touched it. The way she'd jumped when he slammed the door or when he dropped the heavy dictionary in the library. At the time, he'd thought her reactions had been extreme.
But why would she do such a thing? Pretending to be a governess had to have something to do with the threat on her life. Whatever her reasons were, he wished she hadn't had to lie to him to do it.
Marshall sighed. "No, I haven't heard of it. Or, if I have, I disregarded it as more useless gossip."
Tremaine patted his back and replied, "I hope there's an honest explanation to all of this."
With a laugh, Marshall stared at Isabel. "I hope so too."
It was Marshall. What a horrible coincidence!
Isabel turned her head in the hopes he wouldn't distinguish her at such a distance. She walked a little faster, the cool tip of the pistol against her neck a like spur in her side.
"What are you doing?" Bethany demanded. She squeezed her arm violently and pushed her toward the trees.
"Nothing."
Bethany pressed the gun firmer against her skin. "You were walking faster. Do you see someone?"
If only she knew. All Isabel wanted was to get away from the person she'd just seen. She knew she could find a way to convince Bethany not to kill her. Getting Marshall involved would only make it messier. She wanted so much to look behind her, hoping he was still walking with his friend. Isabel glanced at the small woodland. "I didn't see anyone."
Bethany was silent again. It was the worst part.
She gazed at the woods Bethany was taking her into. They were dark . . . isolated. Though she still didn't know how she was going to save herself, her odds had suddenly gone a lot lower.
Bethany gripped her shoulders and spun her around so she faced the house. Marshall was jogging across the grass toward them, an all too familiar smile on his face.
Bethany lowered the gun's position to her waist. Both her large skirt and Bethany's oversized cloak blocked it from view. "Don't move," Bethany whispered. "If he discovers what's going on, I might as well shoot both of you and take my chances escaping through the woods."
Isabel's throat tightened. She nodded.
"Miss Balfour," Marshall said, stopping only a meter away from them. "I was hoping I'd catch up with you."
"You didn't desert your friend to come over here, did you?"
"Aally, he's a colleague. Though it wasn't very polite of me to walk off, as I told you, I've already closed that chapter."
Isabel gritted her teeth at the uselessness of it all. "Please don't do that, Marshall."
Marshall replied, "You've already said that, but you still haven't told me why."
"I would like to tell you, but now isn't a good time." Then again, later might not be a good time either. She touched her stomach, imagining his reaction if he found her murdered on the same day he proposed. Her eyes burned, realizing she wasn't saving him by trying to keep him out of her trouble.
"Are you all right, Isa--"
"Yes, thank you," she said quickly.
Marshall nodded, but she could see he didn't believe her.
Suddenly remembering Bethany appearance as a friend accompanying her on a walk, Isabel realized her acting left something to be desired. If she truly wanted Marshall to think nothing was amiss, an introduction was in order. Isabel glanced back at Bethany, trying to keep the disgust from her expression. "Please, Miss Tavish, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Templeton."
Marshall moved to take her hand, but Bethany remained still. His arm fell back to his side. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, a pleasure."
Marshall raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.
Bethany had been patient enough. Isabel doubted it would last much longer. She gestured to the man Marshall had left alone on the lawn. "I don't want to keep you from your colleague."
"He can wait," he replied.
If only he knew how it much worse it pained her to do it.
Marshall continued, his gaze locked on hers. "I was hoping we could arrange a meeting for this afternoon. Perhaps then, you'll have some answers for me," Though his expression hadn't changed, he tapped his foot on the grass.
Isabel tried to ignore the weapon pressing into her back and replied, "Yes, that sounds nice."
"Shall we meet in the winter parlor?"
"I would like that," she replied, chin raised, determined she would make their rendezvous.
"I'll look forward to seeing you then," he said, then smiled one last time before turning away.
As Isabel stared at his back, big tears escaped and streaked down her face. She knew she was doing the right thing. She didn't know how Marshall could help her, how he could stop Bethany from pulling the trigger. So it was better this way. At least one of them would live to see another sunset.
Bethany giggled. "Oh, is he your beau? How adorable! Perhaps I should shoot him in the back."
"If you do, you won't live to shoot another round."
She dug her fingers into her wound. "False bravado, Isabel? I didn't think you had it in you."
Isabel ignored the jibe and allowed herself to be taken closer to the woods. Though they still had more than a few meters to go, Isabel doubted she would be able to think of something to say to Bethany that would prevent her from dragging her into its depths. Her head pounded with the effort and her failure nearly made her vomit. Her life depended on her thinking of one clever thing to do and she just couldn't do it.
She could only drag her feet, forcing Bethany to walk slower, but not so slow that she would notice the tactic. She glanced over her shoulder at Marshall and frowned when she saw his back. Isabel felt more hot tears course down her cheeks. How could she be disappointed in him when he hadn't a clue anything was wrong?
Maybe if he'd known her better . . .
Now he'd never get the chance.
Chapter 14
Marshall smiled, thoroughly satisfied with Isabel's response. She would meet him in the winter parlor and give him the answers he richly deserved. He could forgive her for her deception. He just wanted to know why.
It was too painful to consider that she might have been lying about her affections, just as she'd been lying about everything else.
Tremaine watched him approach, probably wondering whe women weren't accompanying him back. Marshall didn't know how he'd explain without making Isabel seem rude, but he had more important things to worry about.
He pulled the watch out of his breast pocket. He'd count the minutes until he saw Isabel again. It would only be--
Marshall spun on his heels and quickly turned around. He hadn't told Isabel what time to meet him!
The two women were farther away now, moving away from the estate. He should have asked them where they were going. He couldn't imagine anything of import in the direction they headed. Strange.
Marshall jogged across the lawn, keeping them in his line of vision. He wanted to yell, but the croquet players would hear him and it would cause uncomfortable gossip for Isabel. Besides, he would catch up.
Isabel's companion walked slightly behind her, also a little unusual. Not to mention how close together they walked. Was the woman actually touching Isabel's waist?
Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Marshall's gaze locked on a shiny object Isabel's friend was holding. No, it couldn't be. He leaped another few meters toward them, still focusing on the object. It looked like a pistol.
Marshall ran, heart pounding in his throat. The woman walking with Isabel wasn't her friend. She was her kidnapper. And he'd been too stupid, too obsessed with her answer to his proposal, that he hadn't noticed the risk to her life. Maybe he could limit the damage by getting to them quickly.