Page 8 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
It was distant, as though she was underwater, listening to someone speak. Isabella did not know where she was or what had happened to her. There were more voices now and movement, but still darkness, her eyes closed, and a feeling of powerlessness over her own body.
“A little, perhaps, and the damp cloth. Bathe her face with it, Millicent, and fetch some more hot water, Hetty. It’s tepid now,” another voice replied.
A hand was placed on Isabella’s brow, and the dampness of a cool cloth touched her. Isabella wanted to cry out in fear, but she could not make herself heard. She tried to move her hands, but it was as though her whole body was powerless, unable to move or speak.
“Do you really believe her, my lady—the kidnapping, the escape?” another voice asked.
“I do, Hetty—though it’s not up to us to judge, is it? She’s come to us in need, and we’re to help her. That’s the right and proper thing to do. Don’t you listen in church on a Sunday?” one of the previous voices replied.
The words were like a bolt of lightning—kidnapping. That was what had happened—she had been kidnapped, and the events of the previous night, her ordeal at the hands of those wicked men, now returned to her.
Isabella let out a cry, and now her eyes opened, and she found herself staring up into the faces of three women, all of whom stared back at her in astonishment. Isabella screamed, struggling to get up, fearing these were the very people she had fled from.
“My dear, it’s all right. You’ve had a terrible shock, but you’re quite safe. Don’t worry, please don’t worry,” one of them exclaimed.
She was a pretty woman, not much older than Isabella herself, beautifully dressed in a peacock blue gown, her ringleted hair covered by a silk cap, and a look of the utmost concern on her face. On either side of her stood two maids, one of whom Isabella recognized as being the one who had called out to her from an upper window as she had tried to gain entry to the house.
“But…what…I don’t remember,” Isabella exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear as she tried to piece together the puzzle of what had occurred since the last moments she could recall.
She remembered crossing the garden, fearful of finding herself in the power of the kidnappers, but desperate for something to drink and someone to help her. It had been a butler who had answered the door—an imperious-looking man by the name of Marston. The maid had been there, too, and then…
“It’s all right, you fainted. My brother carried you to the drawing room, and then upstairs. You’re in the bedroom next to mine,” the woman in the peacock blue dress said.
“Yes, the man, the handsome man,” Isabella replied.
She did not know why she said the word handsome, but she remembered the man’s face distinctly—hehadbeen very handsome, and somehow familiar, too. The woman smiled at her, taking her hand in hers.
“It’s all right, Isabella. You’re safe now. We’ve sent word to your father. What a terrible ordeal you’ve suffered, and how fortunate you are to be here now, instead of in the power of such wicked men. It makes me shudder to think of it,” she said as Isabella breathed a deep sigh of relief.
She was safe—or so it seemed. Her father would soon know what had happened to her and would come to take her home.
“But where am I? Who are you?” she asked, and the woman smiled.
“Forgive me, I’m Lady Augusta Hamilton. My brother is Edward Talbot, the Viscount Talbot. And this is Howdwell Heights—our ancestral home. You were fortunate to find us—it’s so easy to get lost in the woodlands. They stretch out for miles along the edge of the moorland,” she said, shaking her head.
Isabella knew the name of Talbot. She had heard her father speak of the viscount—or perhaps his father. But she had never heard of Howdwell Heights, and she wondered just how far she had been taken from Burlington Grange during her nighttime ordeal.
“I’ll fetch her something to eat, shall I, my lady?” one of the maids asked, and Augusta nodded.
“Yes, some soup, perhaps, or porridge—something to bring her strength back,” Augusta said, sitting down on the edge of Isabella’s bed.
The room was lavishly decorated, the bed covered by a canopy with drapes hanging down on either side, and a bay window looking out over the gardens. Rugs covered the floor, and a fire was burning in the hearth. The walls were covered in portraits and paintings and ornate pieces of furniture—all in the same style—were placed about the room. A door connected to a further room beyond, and another open door led out onto the landing.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” Isabella said, but Augusta shook her head.
“You’re our guest, Isabella. And what a terrible ordeal you’ve suffered. These are wicked men—but why kidnap you? What did they want from you?” she asked.
Isabella thought back to the previous night. She had been walking Caesar by the folly when it happened, and a sudden pang of fear ran through her—what had happened to Caesar?
“Oh…I don’t know—money, I suppose. They’d have demanded a ransom from my father. I was walking my dog on the grounds of my father’s estate. I couldn’t sleep, you see, and I went out alone. They seized me, dragged me through the shrubbery, and bundled me into a waiting carriage. We drove for ever such a long time, and then…I escaped,” she said, smiling to herself at the thought of her having defeated the kidnappers and gotten away.
Augusta’s eyes were wide with astonishment, and she shook her head in utter disbelief.
“You poor thing. You must’ve been terrified. I don’t know what I’d have done if it had been me. You certainly have a great deal of courage,” Augusta replied.
Isabella blushed. It had been the horses that had saved her. Had they not charged for so long, the kidnappers would surely have caught up with her and ensured she could not get away. But for now, Isabella was safe, and a few moments later, the maid—Millicent—returned with a steaming bowl of soup and a large piece of bread and butter.
“I’ll bring you some tea, too, my lady. Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked as Augusta helped Isabella to sit up in bed.
