A Gentleman’s Promise: A Regency Romance (Gentlemen Book 1)

by Penny Hampson

  Heslop reddened. ‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss Smith, but you embarrass me. I’m sure I don’t merit any more praise than the next man.’

  Emma couldn’t drag her eyes from Heslop; the resemblance to her father was uncanny. It had taken all her control not to display her shock. Fortunately, a diversion came in the form of a maid, accompanied by Grimes, bringing in trays of refreshments. Though Emma became even more unsettled as she caught sight of the delicate gilded Sèvres tea set and wondered how she’d manage to pour the tea without doing some damage to the dainty cups, as her hands were trembling uncontrollably. Richard, meanwhile, was making small talk with Heslop and gestured for him to sit down. Richard took up his usual stance at the fireplace. Emma knew that, for all Richard’s affected nonchalance, he was tense with nerves. Richard wasn’t the only one who noticed things.

  ‘Tea, Mr Heslop?’

  ‘Yes please, with milk, but I don’t take sugar.’

  ‘Do help yourself to a cake or two.’ She turned to Richard. ‘Tea for you, Richard?’

  ‘Yes please, my dear.’

  Emma finished serving the drinks and picked up her own cup and saucer. They rattled loudly in her hand. Good grief, she might as well be waving a banner to declare the state of her nerves.

  Emma asked Heslop about his life in London. He told her shyly that he did not socialise much, as his employer led a quiet life when in town and only attended court and parliament when absolutely necessary.

  ‘But surely you are not required to be with His Grace all the time?’ she inquired with a questioning smile.

  ‘Not required, no, but His Grace is very good company, and we both enjoy discussing all sorts of subjects.’ Heslop’s countenance became animated. ‘Wheatley spent several years on his Grand Tour and enjoys looking at the artwork and sculptures he brought back. One of my more pleasurable tasks is to research the artists and ancient sculptors whose work forms part of his collection. I’m in the process of cataloguing the contents of His Grace’s many houses.’

  Heslop’s fervour when speaking about his work resonated with Emma. She shared the same passion for scholarly research and art, yet another Smythe family trait. Heslop told her how he spent his time when he wasn’t in London, helping the duke to reorganise some of the agricultural working practices on his rural estates.

  ‘Wheatley sounds to be a very paragon and an expert in every field,’ said Richard cuttingly.

  ‘Yes, he is a very talented person,’ agreed Heslop. Emma was pleased that he’d missed Richard’s sarcasm. ‘I’m incredibly fortunate to have his patronage.’

  Just then, the door burst open and Jamie bowled in, eyes brimming with excitement.

  ‘I say, Cousin Richard, there’s a top-of-the-trees pair of matched bays in the mews. Do you think I could…’ Jamie stopped dead at the sight of Heslop.

  Heslop, who’d turned sharply at Jamie’s noisy entrance, paled. He leapt to his feet, dropping his teacup onto the table and splashing most of its contents on his pristine pantaloons. Emma’s eyes swivelled between Heslop and Jamie, and she sucked in her breath. Seeing them together, it was obvious they were related.

  ‘I think we all need to sit down,’ said Richard, taking control of the awkward situation. ‘Jamie, come in for goodness’ sake. Heslop, here, take this napkin and dry yourself. I’ll call for my valet shortly. I’m sure he has a remedy for tea stains.’

  To Emma’s relief, Richard’s matter-of-fact tones brought the two other males to their senses. Heslop slowly sat back down but watched transfixed as she led her shaken brother to a seat beside her on the sofa.

  ‘Who is he?’ hissed Jamie. ‘He looks like Papa, only younger.’

  Emma patted her brother’s hand. ‘I’ll explain in a minute.’

  Heslop regarded her coldly. ‘Yes, please do explain,’ he said in a clipped tone.

  ‘Mr Heslop… Francis,’ she started. ‘We three are related. We’re your cousins.’

  She almost quailed under Heslop’s disdainful look. ‘How can that be, Miss Smith? I’m sure Viscount Easterby’ – he paused and glared at Richard before continuing – ‘has told you about my parentage. I’m illegitimate. My father was Frederick Smythe, the oldest son and heir of the previous Viscount Easterby. How can I possibly be related to you and this young man? Though I admit, he looks very like me when I was younger. I was quite taken aback.’

  ‘Believe me, you are our cousin. Our surname is Smythe, not Smith. Forgive us for our deception.’ Filled with remorse, she desperately wanted him to understand that their ploy had not been malicious. She watched as Heslop frowned. Then his eyes widened.

  ‘My brother Jamie,’ she continued rapidly, wrapping an arm protectively round Jamie’s shoulder, ‘is the real Viscount Easterby.’

  Heslop sent a questioning look to Richard.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ Richard answered. ‘I’ve been masquerading as Viscount Easterby in order to protect this young man from whoever it is who’s been trying to rid the world of all the legitimate male members of the family.’

  Heslop finally found his tongue.

  ‘What? I don’t understand. You said the other day that someone was trying to kill you…’ He paused, Richard’s words finally sinking in. ‘Wait, you said “legitimate”. Does that mean? Oh my God! Is that why you invited me here? You still think it’s me, don’t you?’ Heslop’s mouth twisted. ‘Lord, how stupid I am to think you were offering friendship.’

  Heslop slumped and cupped his head in his hands. The elegant and composed young man who’d entered the room earlier was now the picture of despair. Emma sprang up and laid a comforting hand on his arm.

  ‘No, that’s not it at all. You misunderstand completely. We wanted to tell you, and we were about to when my brother came in. The likeness between you is astonishing, is it not?’ Emma gave Heslop’s arm a squeeze. ‘Please, Mr Heslop – or may I call you Cousin Francis? – we don’t think the culprit is you. You must believe me.’

  Something in the earnestness of her tone must have convinced Heslop of her sincerity. He slowly turned his eyes towards her.

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t understand. Why would you acknowledge the connection to me in any case? My father never did.’

  It almost broke Emma’s heart to hear the bitterness and despair in his tone. She grasped his hand.

  ‘Uncle Frederick’s actions towards your mother were dastardly. I intend to try and make some sort of amends.’ At Heslop’s look of disbelief, she added, ‘You also ought to know that the dowager is very keen to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘What? The dowager viscountess is willing to acknowledge me?’ Heslop sounded incredulous.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Emma smiled. ‘When I told her about you, she was in alt to learn that she had another grandson. She’d apparently suspected something of the sort, knowing what a scoundrel Frederick was, but I’m afraid he kept it from her, and Grandfather never did discover the truth.’ Emma looked directly into Heslop’s eyes, noting that his face had now regained some of its colour. ‘The dowager instructed me to tell you that she expects you to call on her at the earliest opportunity.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘And I’d advise you not to disappoint her. Grandmamma can be very formidable when she chooses.’

  Jamie came over and nudged his sister. ‘Emma, are you saying this gentleman is our cousin? I don’t understand. And he is Uncle Frederick’s son? But Uncle Frederick wasn’t married, was he?’

  His innocent question took Emma aback. That wasn’t a subject she wished to deal with at that moment. Fortunately, Richard had heard and stepped in.

  ‘I’ll explain, Jamie,’ he said, drawing Jamie apart. ‘It’s true, your uncle Frederick wasn’t married. However, he did a great wrong and caused a young lady to become pregnant. He ruined her life and his child’s by not admitting he was the father. Mr Heslop is her child. He cannot inherit your grandfath
er’s title, being illegitimate, so that is why, when your uncle died, the title was to go to your father and then, on his death, to you. However, that does not alter the fact that Francis Heslop is your cousin.’

  Jamie turned towards Heslop and looked at him thoughtfully. After a few seconds, Jamie extended his hand.

  ‘Cousin Francis, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Heslop grasped the boy’s hand and smiled.

  ‘The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Easterby.’

  Jamie grinned. ‘No, you must call me Jamie. And I will call you Francis. We are family, after all.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘This is wonderful. Since I returned home, I’ve acquired several new cousins. But the best thing is’ – Jamie’s eyes lit up – ‘you and Richard are both top sawyers!’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Might I take a closer look at your bays, Cousin Francis?’

  Emma chuckled. Trust her horse-mad little brother to break the tension. Richard good-naturedly cuffed Jamie on the shoulder and ruffled his hair.

  ‘You are incorrigible, young man.’

  Jamie’s face was all innocence. ‘What did I say?’

  Richard laughed. ‘I’m sure Cousin Francis will let you examine his horses. Why don’t you go down to the stables and ask Mr Dawkins to show them to you?’ He cocked an eye at Heslop. ‘That is if you agree, Cousin Francis?’

  Francis, who was still looking slightly dazed, nodded. Jamie, needing no further encouragement, raced out of the room to find Richard’s head groom.

  Emma looked at the two gentlemen. ‘Shall I send for more tea? Or would you prefer brandy?’

  ‘I think brandy is called for, don’t you, Heslop?’ said Richard. ‘Though I suppose I should call you Francis as we are cousins, and if you’ve no objection? And, of course, you must call me Richard.’

  Francis was smiling as he took the glass Richard handed him.

  ‘I have to say, I feel thoroughly thrown. This morning, I left home believing I was almost alone in the world, apart from my distant connection to you, and this afternoon I discover a whole family.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Gracious, even a grandmother. How one’s life can change in an instant. Wheatley will be amazed when I tell him.’

  Emma and Richard exchanged glances.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Francis. ‘You both seem a little anxious.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, Francis,’ said Richard.

  ‘We’ve been doing some digging,’ said Emma, cutting in. ‘And I’m afraid that the information we have leads us to believe that, for whatever reason, Wheatley is behind my uncle’s death and the attempts on Richard’s life.’

  Francis leapt to his feet, banging his glass of brandy down hard on the small occasional table. Its polished surface glistened with droplets of spilt liquor.

  His voice was harsh, unbelieving.

  ‘No, no, I don’t believe it, not His Grace. Your information must be wrong, cousin, or malicious. Wheatley would never stoop so low. He has been everything to me. He has given me not only employment and a home but also his friendship, and…’ Francis crossed his arms about his chest and waved Emma away as she moved towards him.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t accept your friendship if you continue to make such accusations. Wheatley is not guilty of these crimes. The man is ill.’ Francis swallowed. ‘I believe… I believe he may not have a great deal of time left. Why would he do such a thing?’ His emotions getting the better of him, Francis stopped speaking.

  Emma tried approaching him again. ‘Francis, I know this is difficult for you. I don’t understand the reasons for it myself. Richard has employed the best investigators to try and discover who is behind it all, and each time it has come back to Wheatley. I’m sorry, I truly am. I can see you think highly of him.’ Francis ignored her, his face expressionless.

  Richard coughed.

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ Twirling his now-empty glass in his fingers, Richard looked at Francis.

  ‘Francis, would you be able to get me a private audience with Wheatley? I think I need to meet him face to face. It’s the only way to clear this matter for everyone’s sakes. Suspicions need to be cleared or confirmed.’

  Emma cut in, all bristling indignation.

  ‘My connection to this matter is far closer than yours, Richard. If any meeting is arranged, I’d wish to be present.’ She raised her chin and looked from one to the other. Francis was staring at her as if he’d never heard a female speak out in such a fashion. He probably hadn’t, she thought.

  Richard waved a dismissive hand. ‘We’ll discuss this later, Emma. Let me sort out the details.’ He repeated his request to Francis. ‘Do you think you could arrange a meeting, Francis?’

  Francis gave a scornful laugh. ‘Of course I can. But he’ll ridicule your absurd accusations. Nevertheless, if this is what it takes to silence this nonsense, I’ll certainly request that he grant you an interview.’

  Francis sat down and absentmindedly rubbed the table with a handkerchief where the brandy had spilt. After a few seconds, he looked up at Emma. ‘I apologise for my outburst of temper. Please forgive me.’

  ‘It’s no matter,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been rather overwrought this afternoon, I think. Now, you will go and pay a call on the dowager, won’t you, Francis? She’s been through such a lot. She truly does want to get to know you, and it would be terribly sad if this matter with Wheatley stopped that.’

  Francis’ features softened, and with a smile that warmed his eyes, he replied, ‘Of course I’ll call on her. You don’t know what this means to me, to be accepted by my father’s family. I never hoped before, you see.’ His eyes flicked to Richard. ‘But I want this matter settled too. I’m sure when you get to meet Wheatley you’ll realise that somebody has been telling you Banbury tales. One other thing, cousin.’ Francis looked Emma in the eye. ‘I’m not one for holding grudges. My experience in life has shown me that bitterness does no good. It destroyed my mother. I won’t allow it to destroy me.’

  Emma gave Francis a hug, pleased that at last things seemed to be settled between them.

  Francis went on to explain that while he was happy to arrange a meeting between Richard and Wheatley, Richard shouldn’t expect it to take place very soon. Wheatley was suffering one of his periodic bouts of ill health, rarely leaving his bedchamber, never mind venturing out. Francis’ voice was sad when he spoke of his employer’s illness, and it struck Emma that there might be something more to the relationship than that of employer and employee.

  ‘Well, what did you think?’ asked Richard as he and Emma watched Francis drive away.

  ‘About Francis, you mean? I’m convinced that your instincts are correct. He is no more a villain than I am.’ Her brow creased in a frown. ‘I think he might be mistaken about his employer’s innocence though. Understandably so when you consider their friendship. In fact, I believe his feelings for Wheatley go quite deep.’

  ‘Mmm, yes,’ Richard answered non-committally, almost wishing that Emma wasn’t quite so perceptive. Francis’ relationship with Wheatley wasn’t a subject he wished to discuss, and certainly not with her.

  ‘I think Grandmamma will take to him. His resemblance to my father is uncanny.’

  ‘I take it that your father and Frederick were both blessed with blond hair?’

  ‘That’s right. But as to character, well, Francis reminds me much more of Grandfather with his openness and gentle humour. I must confess I like him, Richard. I truly can’t believe he’s behind any of this awful business.’

  ‘Unless he’s an exceptional actor and is fooling both of us,’ Richard said, not really wanting to consider that possibility.

  Emma’s eyes widened, then an expression of disbelief settled on her face. She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

  ‘No, I can’t believe I would so easily be fool
ed. And neither would you.’

  ‘Nate Crawford also vouches for his good character, so that is something else in his favour. He’s known Francis since he was a boy. But I’m not so sure about Wheatley, however much Francis trumpets his virtues.’

  A dangerous glint appeared in Emma’s eyes. ‘Ah yes, about this proposed meeting with the duke. I am coming too. I insist.’

  Richard’s stomach lurched. He must have windmills in his head, but if agreeing to Emma’s madcap scheme was the only way to convince her that he wasn’t a tyrant, so be it.

  ‘Yes. I think I might have a way we can manage it,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Let me think about it for now. I’ll soon have everything in hand,’ he added glibly. ‘Believe me, I know how important this is to you.’

  To him too – his whole future happiness depended on it.

  Chapter 19

  Emma was sitting with her grandmother a day or so later, perusing the latest edition of La Belle Assemblée. They were seeking inspiration for the new wardrobe that the dowager insisted her newly returned granddaughter required when they were interrupted by the appearance of Dent, the dowager’s butler.

  ‘My lady, sorry for the intrusion, but a gentleman has called and wishes to know whether you are at home.’

  Dent proffered a silver tray on which lay a visiting card with its upper right corner turned down. It was a nicely engraved card with gold lettering in a simple but elegant design. Emma couldn’t quite read the name and didn’t want to peer too closely. Her grandmother arranged her pince-nez and bent her head to read it.

  ‘It’s him. He’s come at last.’ The dowager excitedly thrust the calling card at Emma. ‘See? Francis Heslop Esquire. Please show him up, Dent.’

  The butler, face implacable at this unusual outburst from his mistress, bowed and departed to fetch the visitor. La Belle Assemblée was abandoned as the dowager started to pace the room, her black silks rustling and jet earrings bobbing as she twirled from the window to the fireplace and back again.