Page 24 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
“It could do untold harm, Augusta. You know that. She’s in terrible danger. We can’t just let her go wandering around the grounds. What if someone’s watching the house?” Edward replied.
His sister rolled her eyes. It had been nearly a week since Isabella had arrived at Howdwell Heights, and nothing untoward had occurred. There had been no suspicious characters spotted in the village, and no one making enquiries as to a young woman.
But Edward was naturally cautious. He knew what danger was, and he was not about to grow lax in his vigilance. The possibility of Isabella being kidnapped was very real, and until her father discovered who was responsible, Edward would take his duties seriously.
“Oh, but she’s terribly bored. I can see it on her face. She keeps looking wistfully out into the garden, and the dog simply won’t stop barking. He wants to go for a walk, too,” Augusta said, but Edward’s mind was made up, and he was adamant he would not allow Isabella to leave the relative safety of the house.
“No, Augusta—I know my own mind on the matter. It’s not safe for her, and until it is, she remains inside,” Edward said.
His sister shook her head.
“And I suppose I’ll have to find something to amuse her with. We’ve played the pianoforte, sat at cards, written poems…I’m getting bored myself, and I’ve been tending to my roses, too,” she said.
Edward smiled. He was grateful to his sister for all she had done to help Isabella since her unexpected arrival at Howdwell Heights. She had been unfailingly kind to their guest and had provided the womanly companionship Edward himself was incapable of.
He and Isabella had talked, but Edward found it difficult to know what to say, or how far to extend their relationship. They had become friends, and yet Edward knew there were those who would gossip and scandalmonger at the news of an unmarried woman residing at the home of the Viscount Talbot.
“I’m doing all I can to help find those responsible, and I know Isabella’s father is, too,” Edward said.
But in truth, he himself was frustrated by the lack of progress. The would-be kidnappers had not revealed themselves again, and there was no clue as to who was behind the plot or what their next intentions were. Edward had sent out various missives, seeking information in as secretive a way as possible.
He had many contacts in London and the south, many of whom owed him favours, but try as he might, he had found no evidence of a plot against the Duke of Burlington—much to his surprise.
“But what progress have you made? Who did this?” Augusta asked as Marston stepped forward to replenish her empty coffee cup.
“I don’t know, Augusta. I wish I did. I’ve felt rather powerless in the matter. I’m usually rather better at finding out things like this, but…well, I hope Benjamin’s visit can throw some light on the matter,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
His friend and associate, Benjamin Bradford, the Baron of Longley, was due to arrive from London that morning. It was Benjamin—trustworthy to the letter—whom Edward had engaged to make enquiries on his behalf. He and Benjamin were old friends, and if anyone could discover the truth about the duke’s enemies, it was him.
“But do you really think he can? I know you trust Benjamin, and he’s your friend, but why should he know anything about the matter?” Augusta asked, looking curiously at Edward, who smiled.
“He knows things. He knows people. He knows places,” he said, and Augusta sighed.
“Well, I hope hecanshed some light on the matter. Meanwhile, poor Isabella remains confined to the house,” Augusta said, shaking her head.
But Edward was convinced his old friend would provide answers, and when his carriage drew up later that morning, Edward was waiting to greet him. Benjamin was a tall man, handsomely built, with a neatly trimmed black beard and a long, narrow nose.
He was always impeccably dressed, and no less so today, wearing a red satin frockcoat, black breeches and boots, a starched shirt and collar, and a red cravat at the neck. His wealth was much talked of, but as a man of wealth, he was also a philanthropist, his interests extending into many charitable fields, not least that of medicine, with which he and Edward shared a close affinity.
The viscount had ambitions to fund a hospital for sick children in London, and the baron had been one of the most generous contributors to the cause.
“Edward, my friend, how good to see you,” Benjamin said, smiling warmly at Edward, who hurried down the steps from the front door to greet him.
“How was your journey? I’m grateful to you for coming all this way,” Edward said, for he knew his friend did not care much for rural life.
Benjamin was a man of the city, and he spent most of his time at his London townhouse in Mayfair, where he entertained any number of fashionable men and women.
“I’m happy to. I must say, this is all rather a mystery, isn’t it? When I received your first letter, I was most surprised,” Benjamin said, shaking his head.
Edward had written to Benjamin on the very day of Isabella’s arrival. He had felt it necessary to set down the strange events—as he understood them—in a methodical manner and had known Benjamin would do all he could to help in the matter.
His friend had written back immediately, promising to do whatever he could, even as Edward himself had felt somewhat powerless in the matter. His attention had been focused on keeping Isabella safe, and despite his sister’s pleas to allow Isabella to leave the house, Edward still felt certain danger lurked on every side.
“Not as surprised as I was to find Lady Isabella fainting in my arms on that dreadful morning,” Edward replied.
Benjamin smiled, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t most men dream of such things?” he replied.
Edward shook his head. Benjamin was a good-hearted soul, but he could be something of a rake when he chose to be, and Edward had known it would not take long before his friend made mention of Isabella’s charms. He ushered him inside, keen to learn whatever Benjamin had discovered to their advantage.
