The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  "Why did you do that?" she asked, her pulse pounding like a military tattoo and her breath coming in short, shallow breaths.

  "I did not want you to fall," he replied, and motioned toward the commotion taking place just in front of the musicians.

  Miss Caroline was being helped up off the floor by her angry-looking mother, while Christopher was hovering nearby like a mayfly lost on the breeze. Another four dancers were also being helped to their feet, all of them looking disheveled and annoyed beyond measure - annoyance that was very clearly aimed at Mr Douglas.

  "Dash it, man, why did you get up to dance if you can't maintain your footwork?" snapped one young gentleman as his tearful partner was helped to a chair by her clucking relatives.

  "You made me tear my dress!" wailed Miss Caroline, pointing to a jagged patch of lace that was barely attached to the hem of her skirts. "It was my favourite thing in the world, and impossible to fix!"

  Cordelia noted that Lucy Fitzburgh had not come to her sister's aid, but was watching everything with an understandably smug satisfaction.

  "Oh dear, should we help?" said Lily Clyde from behind her. Cordelia jumped, and reflexively stepped away from Jacques as she realised his hands were still wrapped about her forearms. He released her, and she could have sworn that his tanned cheeks turned pink.

  "There is nothing you can do other than make them feel more embarrassed," replied her partner, Mr Percival. "Come, let me take you back to Lady Arthur before the gossips catch sight of you. I advise you to do the same, Lady Cordelia. I do not think you would wish to be part of this."

  She winced as she caught his meaning. "An excellent point, Mr Percival. Do you think...?"

  "That a gauche illustration will be plastered all over the windows of each and every print shop in London?" he finished for her with a grim expression. "Undoubtedly."

  "How awful," said Miss Clyde, but to her credit, she did cast another pitying gaze at Miss Caroline before allowing herself to be led away.

  "What terrible fate is to befall, Mademoiselle?" murmured Jacques as he escorted her to the far side of the ballroom and towards her mother. "Why did Monsieur Percival advise you to move away?"

  "The press," she said glumly. "There are plenty of people in this room who would happily see some young members of the Ton satirised if it puts a few shillings in their pockets, and the waltz still inspires horror in the hearts of the prudish. It is wrong that a woman's chances can be ruined with the cruelty of a pen, especially when she is guilty of nothing more than having a foolish parent and an inadequate dance partner."

  She did not miss the way a smile kicked up the corner of his mouth for just a moment, but was too angry and ashamed to question it.

  "Christopher is normally a dancer par excellence."

  "Apparently not with a lively waltz," she shot back. "At least you had the foresight to lift me away from that tangle."

  "I learned it by necessity, ma cherie," he said with such casualness she was sure that she had imagined the term of endearment. "There is an animal in the Canadas called le petit moufette, whose smell is so terrible that it is preferable to be mauled by a bear than be sprayed by the creature. You learn tres rapide how to spot and avoid such dangers if you wish to be allowed in the company of friends."

  By the time they reached Lady Delby the orchestra had struck up a languid minuet, which Lady Eugenia Pulford, wearing an utterly bland dress of soft cream silk devoid of any detail or embroidery, was performing with technical perfection with Mr Byng, even if neither was putting an ounce of enjoyment into the steps. It was a recital rather than a dance, but as Cordelia had been promised to Christopher for the cotillion that should have begun right after the waltz, for once she was actually appreciative of her rival for taking centre stage.

  "Who would have thought Eugenia would be so willing to distract from the misery of another," said Lady Delby as Jacques handed Cordelia into the chair beside her mother. "I own that she has undergone some powerful changes since The London House business."

  "I still wish she would go back to wearing puce, and her fountains of ribbons," sighed Cordelia, but then paused as she thought back on some of Lady Eugenia's more spectacular outfits. "Perhaps not a fountain, when I think on it, but some decoration at least."

  Her mother leaned over and patted her on the knee. "Eugenia can chart her own course, my dear. Monsieur Gautereau, I owe you thanks for your quick thinking in preventing my daughter from that tangle, but I think it best that you do not linger beside her now, else the gossips might pay too much attention to the way you lifted her high off the ground."

  "Of course, Madam Delby," he replied with an elegant bow, as though her mother’s sharp tone did not offend him in the least.

  Cordelia watched as he moved over to sit beside Lady Shropshire, who immediately drew him into conversation. She was aware of a sense of loss, and hated herself for it.

  "I don't know if Caroline will recover from this easily," commented Lady Delby, whose eyes were still on the girl in question. "Perhaps if she were less of a termagant it would have passed by without much comment, but she has upset too many people with her behaviour, as has her mother. I only hope that Lucille does not suffer, for that girl is by far the best of her family."

  "Should we visit the Fitzburghs tomorrow as a show of support?" Cordelia asked, attempting to appear interested.

  Lady Delby wrinkled up her nose for a moment. "No dearest, there is no need to overdo these things."

  "Yes, Mama," said Cordelia, but her eyes were on Jacques as he gaily conversed with the Marchioness, looking for all the world as though he were oblivious of the sparks they'd shared when he'd spun her around in his arms.

  If Lady Delby noticed anything strange in her behaviour, she was content to keep it to herself.

  Chapter Seven

  It was an established fact amongst the Ton that anyone who considered themselves to be of consequence would be present at the annual drive and picnic hosted by the Marquis and Marchioness of Shropshire if they were lucky enough to be invited. Those who were unfortunate enough not to receive one of the gilt edged cards from Lady Shropshire, such as Lady Harden, were often heard at balls and parties loudly complaining of trifling ailments or urgent meetings on the fateful day, but fooled no one with their attempts to deceive. The Shropshires, might not have the panache or fashion of some of the younger peers in London, but their status as leaders of Polite Society had not dulled with age.

  When Lord Shropshire called, the Ton answered.

  Jacques surveyed the mild chaos with an interested eye. He'd participated in enough picnics and sleigh rides in his time to know how difficult it was to get large numbers of well-bred people mounted or into their vehicles in a timely manner, but this was ridiculous. There were at least nine carriages crowding around Hanover Square, some drawn by as many as six horses. People arrived in one barouche only to be helped out so they could climb into another, while riders with horses of every shade and quality pranced about as their mounts tried to find a quieter spot to stand. Footmen tricked out in the Shropshire colours wove in and out of the chaos to hand glasses of wine and punch to the noble guests, while every third person seemed to be shouting at the poor servants for help with some trivial matter or another.

  His own horse, a truly beautiful grey with just enough spirit to be pleasing, was unimpressed with the scene unfolding before them. Trajan, who stood at least two hands higher than most of the other mounts, snorted his boredom repeatedly, and jerked his head more than once to let Jacques know he was ready to set off, even if the fools before them were not.

  "I feel the same as you, mon ami," Jacques told the animal as he leaned forward to scratch Trajan's neck. "I do not know the man with three horses reined in tandem, but I do not have confidence that he can control them, if his current attitude is anything to go by."

  He heard someone hail him, and turned to see Lord Shropshire beckoning. He clicked his tongue and guided Trajan over to the Shropshire's barouc
he, where the Marquis was patiently waiting for the Marchioness to come and join him.

  "She still likes to make an entrance," said the Marquis in answer to his unspoken question. "Reminds the younger upstarts that she is still in charge."

  "My grandmother is much the same," admitted Jacques. "My mother says that when she was a girl she was never allowed to make the unforgivable mistake of being early for anything, including her own wedding."

  Lord Shropshire let out a crack of laughter. "I look forward to meeting her one day."

  He smiled, not really sure how to reply. He looked back over to the chaotic tangle of carriages and riders in front of the Shropshire's home. While most he knew by name alone, there were several who he felt could become friends. His thoughts strayed to his friends and family back in Montreal, and the familiar wave of homesickness swept over him, albeit not as strongly as it had before.

  "Surprised that so many turned out, are you?" said the Marquis, following Jacques' line of sight to the waiting carriages and assuming the direction of his thoughts. "It is a sad crush right now, but the ride to Merton is a delightful one, especially on Trajan."

  Jacques patted the nect of his impressive mount. "He is a magnificent beast, and Henrietta has told me pointedly at least five times that I am lucky you have allowed me to ride him."

  "Henrietta is jealous whenever anyone else gets to ride something from my stable," laughed Lord Shropshire. "She just about accepted that Devenish was the only man strong enough to take charge of Cassidus, but it did not stop her moping over his loss! You will have to watch her, my boy, if you intend to continue my stables after I'm gone, or she'll never let you make a decision without her approval."

  Jacques winced. "We have not agreed-" he began, but the Marquis held up a hand to silence him.

  "If you decide to sell everything but the entailed lands upon your succession then you can do so with my blessing, my boy. I only meant to tease."

  Jacques rubbed at his eyes. "I know, and I meant no offence, truly. It is still something of a shock to me, that is all."

  The old man smiled. "I know, Jacques. I know. But my lawyer seems confident that we have the paperwork to support your claim as my heir, and I wait only on a letter from General Sir John Coape Sherbrooke to confirm that he knew your parents before and after your birth. Once we have that, we will announce your position to all. See this trip as an opportunity to mingle with those whose support will matter to you. The Jerseys, the Seftons, the Cavendishes and the Delbys are all important when it comes to being accepted, but despite the fact he looks like a coachman, it's Sir John Lade who will help make the Regent your friend."

  "He is the one with the wife who curses, no?"

  Lord Shropshire grinned, and looked decades younger as a result. "Letty! Her language leaves much to be desired, but she is the most talented female rider I have ever had the privilege to see in a saddle - but don't tell my wife that, I beg you. Sir John is much attached to his wife, and Prinny to them both. Thankfully your time in a saddle with your stepfather means you will not put me to shame."

  "Would you have forced me to ride in the barouche if I did?"

  "Naturally," replied Lord Shropshire, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'd not trust you near my prime cattle, either."

  Lady Shropshire chose that moment to make her entrance, looking resplendent in a carriage dress that consisted of a dove grey spencer overlaid with a matching mantle decorated with silver trim, and a lace trimmed turban of grey silk. Jacques was not expert enough to know the precise names of each piece of clothing, but he knew that both of his grandmothers would covet it with all their being. A footman handed her up into the curricle beside the Marquis, where she presented her hand for her husband to kiss. This seemed to be the signal for everyone to depart, for there was a sudden shift in the nature of the chaos as people began to settle into their seats, or move their mounts clear of the carriages.

  The Marquis led the procession, with Jacques riding alongside on Trajan. The Gloucesters, Loughcrofts and Cottinghams came next in their stylish set ups, and then everyone else began to fall into line behind them. Carriages took up the central pillar of the calvacade, while those on horseback moved around them like bees around a hive. As they turned a corner Jacques glanced over his shoulder in time to see Cordelia and her parents in their stylish barouche. Lord Delby looked over at him and startled as though he'd seen a ghost. He touched his daughter on her arm and nodded towards Jacques, while Cordelia answered whatever question was posed to her with apparent surprise.

  His attention was reclaimed by Trajan, who did not appreciate his lack of focus, and so there was no time for him to contemplate the meaning of Lord Delby's reaction.

  Lord Shropshire had not exaggerated about the path they took. It seemed that they left the city behind them within minutes, and the green rural splendor of the English countryside soon surrounded them. It was at once familiar and very different to his home, for while many of the trees and plants had been taken to Montreal and successfully grown there, the shades of colour, the smells, and the wildlife were all very different. The temperature was not as hot as he was used to for the summer, and he found it pleasing. When he considered than there was also no risk of the local wildlife either attempting to eat him or spray him with their foul smelling liquids, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that there was much to be said for the countryside of his father's homeland.

  The Marquis and his team of four high steppers set a quick pace down the narrow country roads, and before long the cavalcade as so spread out that Jacques rather fancied that the rearguard must still be in London. He was soon putting Trajan through his paces as well, for Lord Standish demanded that he and all the other gentlemen on horseback pick up their pace immediately.

  "Shropshire's a great man, but I'll be dashed if we let an Octogenarian leave us all for dust!" he stated, and with a shout set his own mount to racing.

  Thankfully there were no accidents, but the result of having so many drivers and riders of differing ability was that their arrival at Kelwick Manor was drawn out over a solid half hour. Jacques insisted on taking care of Trajan despite the army of groomsmen available to do the work for him, which earned him considerable praise from Sir John Lade and his vivacious wife.

  "You've got a better seat than half the toffs who pretend to know what they're doing,"" said Sir John by way of introduction. "Mind you, if Shropshire was letting you ride Trajan then I should have known you'd know your way around horseflesh. Nice to see you taking care of the animal yourself as well. Too many of these young'uns think it's enough to hire a groom and be done with it. Ha! As far as I'm concerned, any man who wishes to be considered a nonpareil must take care of his horse before his own needs!"

  "Indeed, Monsieur," replied Jacques with an incline of his head. "When mon pere took me to tour some of the trading outposts, he and the other trappers made sure to remind me that my horse was to be my salvation or my death, so I should do everything I could to ensure it was the former."

  Lady Lade gave a raucous laugh at this pronouncement. "What a delightful accent! I swear, if I were ten years younger and not married to my John I'd be setting my cap at you!"

  Considering that Jacques conservatively estimated Letitia Lade to be a decade older than his own mother, he could think of no response other than a polite incline of his head.

  This set Sir John and Letitia to another bout of raucous laughter.

  "You've embarrassed the boy, Letty!" grinned the baronet. "By God, if he doesn't look just like his father when he does that!"

  "I’ll be damned, you're right on the money," she exclaimed, and then began to laugh a second time. "Oh, the terrible stories I could tell about John Cartwright! Not that I will, of course, for the tabbies of the Ton have enough gossip about me to last ten lifetimes already. We shall stroll together later, young Jacques, and perhaps I will let you tool about in my phaeton and four. If you handle the ribbons as well as you ride, then t
here is no doubt in my mind that you're a Cartwright by blood if not birth!"

  Jacques, whose mouth had fallen open at the casual admission that this eccentric couple had known his father and assumed he had been born on the wrong side of the blankets, could not find the words in any language to prevent them from walking away from him, arm in arm.

  "The Lades have that effect on people, but you get used to them quickly," came a masculine voice from behind him. "Despite their casual ways you cannot find anyone with better knowledge of everything horse related than those two - with the possible exception of Lord Shropshire, of course."

  Jacques turned to meet the grey-eyed gaze of Cordelia's father. He did not let go of Trajan's reins as he executed a perfect bow.

  "Monsieur le Earl, it is an honour to meet you."

  Lord Delby looked amused. "Is it really? Most people find me an insufferable snob, although they do not say it to my face. We have not had the opportunity to meet prior to this, however, so it is possible that you have heard favourable accounts from a biased audience.”

  "Mademoiselle Cordelia is tres proud of both her parents," admitted Jacques, "but Monsieur Shropshire speaks highly of you as well.”

  "A compliment indeed, one that I will remind him of next time we cross swords in Parliament," said Lord Delby. His mouth kicking up at the thought. He turned his attention to Jacques' horse, and reached up to scratch the animal just below the ear. Trajan snorted and nuzzled into the Earl. "My apologies, your Imperial Highness, but I have no sugar lumps for you today."