The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  "You underestimate the allure of the British countryside, my dear," said Lady Gloucester, moving one hand in an indiscriminate gesture that seemed to refer to the window. "While London is a wondrous place for many reasons, I think you will be surprised to learn that there are many wild and free places left all over these Isles, such as the Welsh mountains, the Yorkshire moors, or the Scottish Highlands. Besides, I am not about to allow my favourite person on Earth to move so far away from me, am I? With the experience and expertise that you've gained from caring for your younger siblings, you'll be a valuable addition to the next generation of our family."

  "'Moi? La bonne d'enfants?" said Jacques, before breaking into a rumble of laughter that seemed to make the world shine brighter. "Non, ma cousine! I am not good with children, you see. Christopher is another matter - they enchant him!"

  Cordelia felt something harden in her stomach as she deliberately turned her sweetest smile onto Christopher.

  "A family man in the making, Mr Douglas? That settles it, then; we must convince you to remain in England, for surely there is something that will keep you here, for men who like children are rare!"

  "There may well be something, Lady Cordelia," stammered Christopher in response, his cheeks going an odd shade of red when he glanced at her mother.

  Cordelia ignored the snickers of amusement from Lord Cottingham and Henrietta, and decided they must be jealous that Christopher was probably a natural with their baby.

  *

  Jacques availed himself of Cottingham's library not long after their party returned home, slipping the servant a coin for their trouble of setting a small fire in the grate at such a late hour. He liberated a glassful of brandy from the decanter, knowing that James would be offended had he not, and settled himself down into the winged leather chair beside the hearth.

  It had not been his first foray into the world of London's polite society, but it had felt different from the small parties he had attended before learning he was the heir to the Marquis of Shropshire. No one beyond the Cartwrights knew yet, but that wasn't his concern. Jacques knew, and his whole future had changed as a result.

  There was a light scratch at the door before it was slowly opened by a nervous looking Henrietta.

  "Come in, ma cousine," he said with a tired smile. "It is your house, non?"

  She dropped immediately into her fluent French.

  "Yes, but for now it is your home as well. May I join you?"

  He gestured to the empty chair opposite him, and she accepted the invitation. She was wrapped up in a masculine looking dressing gown in the oriental style, with delicate blue slippers and a white night cap. He offered her a drink but she declined.

  "I want to know if you will forgive me," she said without preamble. "Grandpapa explains that I was wrong to surprise you both the way I did, but-"

  "Of course you are forgiven," he said, cutting her off mid-apology. "The Marquis is an old man, no matter how strong he looks. You were worried what the shock would do to him to discover there was an heir, or worse, that I was unsuitable for the role ahead of me."

  She grimaced. "It sounds awful when you put it like that."

  He smiled at his glass. "It is the truth, and no matter how offended I might wish to feel, I confess that I would have done the same in your position. Lady Cordelia explained it a little, and I think that I would feel as you if someone showed up at our door in Montreal laying claim to my stepfather's wealth. It is not about the money, but about the name and reputation of those we look up to."

  "I should have given you enough credit to know that you would understand," said Henrietta. "Devenish told me as much when I consulted him in Bath."

  He glanced up at this, then shook his head in resigned amusement. "The Duke knows who I am, then. It explains a few things that he said before we left for London, and why his new wife was so excited about my meeting the Marquis."

  "If you like, we could write to the Devenishes before you are introduced to the Ton as Grandpapa's heir. They would lend you their support in a moment, I have no doubt."

  "Your Grandfather is taking care of everything," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am content to be guided by him on this matter."

  Silence fell, punctuated only by the crackling of the burning log. It was a tiny fire in the scheme of things, one designed for effect rather than warmth.

  "I never thought that you might not welcome your inheritance," Henrietta said eventually. "I was so caught up in the ancient prestige of my family, it was impossible for me to consider that it might not be something that would cause you to leap with joy at your good fortune. I suppose that growing up female in a class that encourages us to aim for the highest title possible made me forget that you might not share that priority."

  "My grandmother will be beside herself with joy," said Jacques with a soft chuckle. "My father's distant connection to a peer of England was the main reason she countenanced the marriage to her daughter. That, and his newfound wealth."

  "You miss them, don't you," stated his cousin.

  He sighed and gave a brief nod of his head. "More than I expected to. I have not found myself without counsel before, and did not appreciate how lucky I have been to be surrounded by family that I love and trust. I should write to them, but how do I explain? I cannot even ask them to tell me what to do, for I am the heir to the Marquis whether I wish it or not. Besides, even if I sent the letter at daybreak, their reply would not return to me until after the truth of my relationship to Lord Shropshire will have been revealed."

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

  "I feel like a child wanting to hide behind his parents," Jacques admitted, and then wondered if the brandy had loosened his tongue.

  "You just want the support of your family," replied his cousin, "and as much as we Cartwrights are desperate to step into that role for you, we... I mean, I did not consider that you already have a family. It was easier to assume you were alone in the world and would thus come into the fold willingly than to acknowledge that life is much more messy."

  He looked over at her, tucked up in the wing back chair like a small girl. Even though she looked nothing like his tall, dark haired siblings, in that moment of vulnerability she could have been one of his little sisters.

  "You are my family too, Henrietta," he told her. "It will just take some time for us to learn about each other."

  He expected her to smile, or at least look at him, but her eyes remained fixed on the fire.

  "I wrote to your mother while we were still in Bath," she said morosely. "I didn't tell anyone, not even James, which I suppose shows that I knew it was wrong to do so, for I tell him everything."

  "You wrote to my mother?" he repeated.

  She nodded, and he could see her swallowing down her emotions.

  "Christopher had mentioned the name of your home, so it was easy enough. After Devenish told me that I had to accept you as the heir no matter what, I realised that Grandpapa might require more proof of your birth than you had brought with you, for documents can be forged or questioned. I told your mother that I believed you to be the next in line to the Shropshire title, and requested that she solicit a letter from someone in Montreal, whether the person who christened you, or perhaps a peer that knew both your parents."

  "You told my mother that I am the future Marquis," he groaned. There was not enough brandy in the world that would drown his sorrow at this revelation, for he could already imagine the scolding his mother would deliver because he had not informed her himself. It would not matter that Henrietta had known before he did, or that she had sent the letter without his knowledge. His mother, and likely his grandparents, would be offended to learn he was heir apparent to Lord Shropshire from anywhere but his own lips.

  "I was trying to help, I promise," said Henrietta, wincing even as she said the words. "I assumed that your family had always known it was a possibility that you could inherit, and... well..."

  "It's now occurring to you that as
sumptions are not a good foundation for your affairs?" he asked.

  Her shoulders slumped. "You stated it perfectly.”

  "My stepfather," he corrected, "although generally he uses it in relation to fur trading, the weather, or military affairs."

  "A wise man either way."

  "Indeed. Henrietta, please do not look so despondent. You have done me a disservice in writing to my family before I could, but not in the way you think and I know there was no malice in your action." he paused for a moment, and despite her being a married woman and mother to a young child, he could not help but treat her the way he would his younger siblings. "But I think we must establish, right now, that you will no longer act on my behalf in any way without my express permission, even if you feel it is the business of every Cartwright in existence. No, there's no negotiation on this! Families have to be able to trust, Henrietta, and I need to trust that you will not interfere in my life without my knowledge."

  He could see her itching to argue, and under any other circumstances he would have found it deeply amusing. He strongly suspected that his sisters would have Lady Cottingham up on a pedestal the moment they met her, for she shared their independent streaks and their fierce intellects.

  Jacques liked his cousin very much, but he did not envy her husband in the least.

  "Fine, fine!" she said eventually, flopping back into the chair with an exasperated snort. "I suppose I should be grateful that you have forgiven me, Jacques, but I would by lying if I said that I regret it!"

  "Honesty is certainly a part of family as well," he said gravely, and was impressed that she didn't throw something at him.

  "Will you stay?" she said suddenly, her whole demeanour changing. "When Grandpapa... I mean, when you eventually succeed the title, will you stay in England and take your place in Parliament?"

  “It is late, cousin," he said, getting to his feet. He still held the half-full glass of brandy with the intention of retiring to his room to finish it. "These are questions I must think about, and discuss with Lord Shropshire."

  "Because it's men's business?" she said, her sarcasm thick enough to bite.

  "No, but because my whole future has been turned on its head, and besides, I have no notion of what the Lords actually do in parliament," he replied.

  Her scowl was replaced with a mischievous grin. "Make a lot of prosy speeches and take naps, from what I can gather."

  He chuckled appreciatively.

  From the upper reaches of the house, the faint cries of a waking infant could be heard, followed by the hurried opening of at least two bedroom doors.

  "Nurse and my mother-in-law," sighed Henrietta. "I've asked them to at least give me a chance to soothe my own infant, but I swear they have both lost their brains when it comes to that child."

  "Family," repeated Jacques, and was rewarded with a smile. "You should have seen some of the battles between my relatives over who got to hold the newest baby. Naturally I won, but the arguments between my grandmother and my step-grandmother are legendary in Montreal. Literally at that; Great Bear's Mother and the Angry Goose was written about them."

  "I thought you said you didn't like children?" said his cousin, pausing at the doorway to regard him thoughtfully.

  "I like them very much, but I have no wish to be saddled with the rude and spoiled darlings of people I otherwise like and respect," he said with a shrug. "It is better for them to assume that I despise anyone under the age of fourteen, but as my relatives know my secret, you have a right to it as well."

  She didn't respond to this straight away, but Jacques had the uncomfortable notion that she was plotting something on his behalf. There was no need for a reprimand, however, for she suddenly gave a very determined shake of her head.

  "No, I have promised you faithfully that I will no longer meddle in your affairs. Good night, Jacques; I must go up to the nursery before Nurse and Lady Cottingham come to blows over whether or not hare's brains rubbed on the gums will ease teething pain."

  "Hare's brains?" repeated Jacques with considerable alarm, but his cousin had already vanished from sight, leaving him to wonder at the eccentricities of the English in peaceful solitude.

  Chapter Six

  Cordelia, determined to uphold her end of the bargain with Jacques, set about an exhausting week of revelry and amusement designed to make him fall in love with England, and ideally to make his companion, Christopher Douglas, fall in love with her. With these two goals in mind she had agonised over who to invite on excursions, and which unmarried ladies were suitable to include in her party. While Lady Helena Weatherly was undoubtedly the perfect person to invite for gaiety, she was also monstrously beautiful and several years younger than Cordelia. True, the girl was still head over heels in love with Mr Rumble despite her protestations, but it did not seem like a good idea for Cordelia to set herself beside a girl regularly described as looking like perfection itself.

  "You have spent a lot of time dashing off notes to friends and making plans to entertain yourself during the day," her mother observed one afternoon as she recuperated on the couch after a long morning of deciphering crossed letters from her two younger daughters, both full of complaints that, at 15 and 17, they were not yet Out because of Cordelia's inability to make a suitable match.

  "I have much to plan."

  "How unlike you, dearest. I do not believe I have seen you this industrious since you tried to write that comedy for the Literary Gathering of Dubious Merit."

  "It was a drama," said Cordelia without looking up from the list in front of her. "Is it too late to arrange a picnic for Friday?"

  "We are invited to drive out to Merton with the Shropshires on Friday," her mother reminded her. "I am certain that your foreign nobody will be in that party, so we have no need to arrange a picnic of our own."

  A flush of heat attacked Cordelia's cheeks as she turned to look at her amused parent.

  "I promised to help Henrietta in convincing Monsieur Jacques that he will wish to remain in England," she said as haughtily as she could manage without causing offence.

  "I am sure that Monsieur Jacques is grateful for your condescension," replied Lady Delby looking even more amused. "By the by, does your father know that you are on such familiar terms with the foreign nobody? Should he have to prepare to chase off another fortune hunter?"

  "Now you are just being silly, and I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question," she replied with a lofty sniff, and ignored her mother's laughter with what she hoped looked like fortitude rather than a sulk.

  "Forgive me for my teasing, dear girl. I confess I rather liked the young man when I met him briefly; he has a type of lazy charm that is very attractive. He reminds me of someone I knew in my youth, but for the life of me I cannot remember who."

  "Is this back when you all wore those awful wigs and powder?" asked Cordelia, unable to resist the jest.

  Her mother puffed a snort of irritation out of her nostrils.

  "I am not so old that I wore those ridiculous grey towers on my head, as well you know," she muttered, and then paused for a moment to consider the matter. "We did curl and crimp our hair into very wide styles, though, and the hats were perhaps a little large."

  "And the men?"

  "I am surprisingly grateful to William Pitt for introducing the tax, for your father is infinitely more handsome with his natural colouring than he ever was with his hair clubbed back and powdered."

  Cordelia chuckled. "I can hardly imagine how it was when every Lord was dressed as a footman; I feel sorry for our own staff having to wear those ridiculous things on their heads!"

  "You laugh now, my child, but one day your own daughter will mock the fashions of your youth, and comment on how ridiculous your necklines are, or how silly the bonnets, or ridiculous the style of your hair!"

  "That reminds me, I should invite Eugenia Pulford on one of the excursions," said Cordelia, turning back to her list. "I promised Trix that I would attempt to be pleasant."

  "
Such lengths you are going to for this Foreign Nobody," commented her mother again. "Perhaps I should let your father know to expect a visit from your Monsieur Jacques, and tell your sisters that I will bring them both Out for the Little Season!"

  Cordelia had deemed it wiser to ignore this comment. After all, her mother was under the impression that the current style of dress was a whim of fashion rather than the epitome of style and elegance, and a woman with such opinions did not deserve to have her opinions treated as serious.

  Monday found Monsieur Jacques, Christopher Douglas, Cordelia and Miss Hemsworth tooling about in Lady Delby's barouche with the intention of seeing the more famous sites listed in the guidebooks, including Westminster Abbey, St Paul's Cathedral, and of course, the Tower of London. Cordy thoroughly enjoyed her role as the font of knowledge, and spent a happy few hours recounting all the stories and legends she knew about the different streets and landmarks they passed. Christopher read out passages from a tattered pamphlet dated to 1765, whose title page promised "to Shew The Discerning The Most Notable Places Of The City," which prompted much laughter as they tried to make sense of the suggestions that had long disappeared beneath the modern city.

  Jacques proved an attentive student that asked a great many questions, and even Miss Hemsworth, who was usually as quiet as a church mouse, ventured a few answers to him. Cordelia, who adored the timid girl but could find her ways extremely frustrating, was delighted just to hear her whisper "It's over there, Monsieur Gautereau," or "No, that was Queen Anne, Monsieur Gautereau," whenever he made incorrect observations.

  Cordelia wondered if it was his brotherly attitude that meant that Miss Hemsworth blossomed under his attention, or if it were the way he continually apologised for his own ignorance when it came to London and her history. He was certainly exaggerating the latter, for Cordy quickly realised that he was steering the conversation onto topics where their shy companion felt comfortable, and he could not have done so had he been poorly educated on the topic as he claimed.