Delby almost sneered. "Convenient of him not to know his heritage but still turn up on your doorstep. If you are sure of his birthright, why have you not announced it?"
Shropshire tapped his little finger against the stem of his champagne flute.
"Allow me to be a good enough judge of character, Delby, to know when a man is lying. Jacques came to meet his family at the invitation of the Cottinghams, but neither he nor I was aware of our link because Henrietta, the little termagant, likes to meddle."
"Ha, so does my Cordelia," reflected his companion. "I have it on my wife's authority that she has been attempting to help Monsieur Gautereau decide to remain in England for reasons that probably make sense in her head."
"No doubt my granddaughter was involved," said Shropshire. "Let us stroll about and I'll explain the situation to you, Delby. If you knew my nephew, then perhaps you can help."
The two men walked down to the river and across to the boathouse, the seriousness of their expressions enough to stop anyone thinking of interrupting them. The Marquis was pleased that Delby quickly grasped the intricacies of the problem, and agreed that it was best to leave no issue of legitimacy to doubt before presenting Jacques to the Court as his heir.
"I've written to General Sir John Sherbrooke, for he would have known the Gautereaus, although my nephew died before he was stationed in North America,” concluded Lord Shropshire. "It is a pity that Jacques insists on using the name of his stepfather instead of Cartwright, but given the behaviour of my brother towards his family, it is understandable."
Lord Delby nodded. "I might be able to help you with that. I recollect that I received letters from John following both his marriage and the birth of his son."
"You have what?" spluttered the Marquis. "Good God, man, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you share that when my son died instead of letting me think I had no heir?"
"I assumed that you knew about them, and that the child must have died," replied Lord Delby, his eyebrows raised. "How could I have known that you were unaware of their existence?"
Shropshire, for one of the few moments of his life, could think of nothing to say to this. He wanted to argue, fight, or even blame Delby for not thinking to ask him whether John's son was still alive in Montreal, but good sense told him that it was neither fair nor justified to make such accusations. He shook his head and the sighed.
"No, you are right, damn it all. I should have known better than to take my brother's word about the fate of his son."
"Perhaps I should have asked," conceded Delby, his posture relaxing just a touch, "but I assumed that John's son was dead, or you would have sent for him the moment he became your heir."
"A justified position," replied Shropshire. "No, my brother was the villain in this piece, not you. There will be another Marquis of Shropshire, but it remains to be seen whether he chooses to take on the burdens that come with the title."
"Perhaps there will be another reason for Gautereau to remain in England," replied Delby, his eyes on his daughter.
"I appreciate your support, of course, but I would be most grateful if you refrain from meddling," said Shropshire, narrowing his eyes as he fixed them on the younger Lord once again. "I'll say this for my heir; he's not one that can be led easily. If he decides to stay, then it must be of his own will, or else he will bolt the moment the reins are relaxed."
"My dear Marquis, surely you have known me long enough to know that I never meddle," replied Delby with an expression of wounded pride.
"Not at all, Delby. Rather, I have known you long enough to know that you are rarely caught."
Delby raised his glass in salute. "It is much the same thing, when it comes down it it. I shall see what I can do about those letters for you. In addition to evidence from General Sir John Sherbrooke and the rest of your documentation, I expect you will easily silence all doubts."
"From your lips to God's ears," replied Shropshire, and they both raised their glasses before taking long sips of champagne.
Chapter Eight
With hindsight, allowing James and Christopher to take him to some of the less than salubrious drinking establishments of London had not been the best idea.
The brothers had assumed that his poor mood after the picnic was the result of missing his life in Montreal, and he had not been of the mind to correct them. He wasn't even sure why he was so out of sorts, for although Cordelia had been an excellent friend to him, there was no reason to feel like the carpet had been tugged out from beneath his feet just because of a quarrel.
Still, the brothers had been enthusiastic about the idea, and so he’d gone along with it, even as they’d lied to Henrietta about their plan to take him to a club rather than to the seedier watering holes of the city.
If she suspected anything – and Jacques had the sneaking suspicion the she did – Henrietta did not raise any objections and had even waved them off with a cheery smile.
"They say that it used to be the haunt of some famous highwayman or another," James had explained as they entered the first pub on the tour they had planned for him. "Not many of those chaps around any longer, but it maintains the sense of danger and the feeling that everyone in there has a knife for your ribs."
James, who had spent time drinking copious amounts of cheap alcohol with the voyageurs, merely nodded in response.
The first three pubs of the evening, while certainly darker and dingier than anywhere he had visited in England so far, were also far from the dens of iniquity James and Christopher made them out to be. While the tables were all covered in a thin layer of scum and there was literally straw on the floor to soak up slops, Jacques couldn't shake the suspicion that over half of the drinkers were members of the Ton in disguise, while the rest were middle-class confidence tricksters trying to relieve the former of their purses.
The only reason he kept his pitcher of ale close to his chest was to prevent one of these Captain Sharps from slipping something stronger into his drink.
The fourth establishment had at least one group of sinister looking individuals who saw straight through their disguises, which considerably cheered up Christopher, but made James wary. Jacques, recognising the men to be sailors, struck up a conversation almost immediately and within the hour they were all loudly singing shanties together with varying degrees of harmony. The wheels of friendship were liberally greased with ale paid for by James - who diligently kept his title out of all communication - and so before the Watchmen had even announced that it was midnight, the three friends had acquired a group of tour guides intent on showing them the sites of Seven Dials at night.
There were some things, Jacques reflected much later, than no man needed to see.
At some point a scuffle had broken out, and Christopher had manfully come to the aid of one of their new friends with his famous right hook. Unfortunately, the aggressors - Jacques never did find out who they were, or what the fight had been over - were not familiar with Jack Broughton's rules for boxing, and the scuffle quickly became a skirmish where winning was all anyone cared about. Before any serious damage occurred a shout of "The Watch! The Watch!" went up, and everyone scattered at the sound of a rattle getting closer.
Everyone but James, Christopher and Jacques, who were left in a strange part of London with no notion of where they should run, and minus any purses or coins they'd had upon them earlier in the evening.
“How fares you on this fine night, m’ old Charley?” asked James, trying to bow. “M’ friends and I are jus’ takin’ a walk.”
The watchman help up his latern and narrowed his eyes.
“I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “You’re Cottingham! The one that married the lass with the cherry red curricle!”
“By God, you’re famous!” cried Christopher.
James put his finger over his lips. “I’d ‘preciate if you don’t say m’ name, m’ good Charley. We’re incognito.”
"I should hand you over to the Beadle, that’s what I should do, my L
ord, incog-wotsit or not," snapped the grizzled-looking Watchman. "What are you doing out in St Giles at such an hour, my Lord?"
"Helping m'friend here," said James, swaying slightly. "Nev' been t' London."
"This ain't the part of London young toffs should be frequenting," said the watchman, turning a stern gaze onto Jacques.
"Jack s'not a toff," said Christopher, throwing a heavy arm over Jacques' shoulders and grinning widely. "From Low Canada, y'know. Fought a bear. And a moufette. Bear lost. Moufette didn't. Lost a lot of friends that day, eh, Jack?"
James found this statement to be hilarious, while the expression on the poor watchman’s face suggested he found it incomprehensible. As the two Douglas brother collapsed into a fit of giggles, Jacques turned on as much charm as he could muster as he addressed the exasperated-looking Charley.
"Excuse mon amis, Monsieur; they mean no harm. I regret that I thought I could drink with the sailors and traders of London and hold my own, much like I do in Montreal, but I am not familiar with the ways here, and did not mean to offend."
The watchman wrinkled up his nose. "Frenchie, are you?"
Silently praying that none of his ancestors were choosing that moment to watch over him, Jacques gave a theatrical gasp of horror. "Not at all, watchman! Je suis Canadian!"
"Ah, you're a colonial," said the watchman, his brow clearing as the world finally began to make sense once again. "No wonder you're lost like this! Here, I'll see if I can grab a Jarvey for you three gents and we'll have you back at home before midnight, no harm done."
"You are the best of men, Monsieur," Jacques assured him, grabbing the poor watchman by the hand and shaking it vigorously. "But I regret I have no coin for you at this time."
The look of indignation on the watchman's face was priceless.
"You do not offer honest Watchmen coin, my good Sir!” he declared with no regard for the truth. “You save that for the Jarvey!"
Jarvey, it turned out, was a local term used for the driver of a hackney coach, and the man flagged down by the watchman looked about as respectable as the sailors in the Red Lion had been. He seemed unhappy at the state of inebriation being exhibited by both Douglas brothers, but the promise of a hefty purse upon reaching the home of Lord Cottingham did much to mollify him.
“And an extra crown if y’ let me have th’ reins!” shouted Christopher, trying to jump up to the box before he was grabbed at the collar by Jacques and, with the help of the watchman, unceremoniously thrust inside the coach.
“Good luck, Sir,” said the watchman with a shake of his head.
“Do no despair, Monsieur, for I have a plan,” replied Jacques before stepping up into the coach alongside his friends. “James, Christopher, do you recall the words to Alouette?”
“Course we do,” snorted James, and the Douglas brothers launched into the opening bars with gusto.
It was in this manner that they arrived back at the Cottingham's town home, with Christopher and James loudly booming out the lyrics with more enthusiasm than talent. The Baron naturally took the lead, but his younger brother’s baritone made the echo louder than the original call. Jacques did his best to keep them on time and in tune, but his head was already beginning to ache as his sobriety dawned earlier than that of his companions.
“Alouette, gentille alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai!
Je te plumerai les ailes, je te plumerai les ailes
Et les ailes!
Et les ailes!
Et le cou!
Et le cou!
Et le bec!
Et le bec!
Et la tête!
Et la tête!
Alouette!
Alouette!”
"And we are here, mon amis!" Jacques had interrupted loudly before the next round of singing began.
"Here is where?" demanded Christopher, then frowned as his own words confused him.
"Home," replied Jacques as the hackey came to a standstill and his two friends took this as an invitation to exit the vehicle promptly. "James you must instruct one of your men to pay the driver, non? Before you wake ma cousine?"
"Good God: Henry!" cried James as he recollected his wife, promptly lost his footing, and then sprawled onto the pavement. Christopher found this inordinately funny, and likely did more damage trying to help his brother back to his feet than he was in any way helpful.
The Jarvey watched this with the dull resignation of a man who had seen one too many lords when they were three sheets to the wind, and so jumped down to help before someone was seriously hurt. Jacques' attempts to keep the brothers quiet was met only with giggles and random shouts of "Je tu plumerai!", while the driver muttered dark nothings under his breath.
Jacques, whose head was starting to feel as though a military tattoo was taking place on the inside of his skull, seriously considered just lying down on the pavement and going to sleep.
The front door of the Cottingham's townhome opened wide, revealing the butler and two footmen who quickly came to their aid. Jacques knew a moment of relief at the sight of the men, but it proved to be short lived.
"Get them both up to bed, if you please, and make sure that their boots are given to the valet before any lasting damage is done to them," came Henrietta's voice from the doorway.
James and Christopher, with no concern for their audience, both began to explain themselves to Henrietta at once.
Jacques almost felt sorry for his cousin as she managed the two drunken brothers.
"Yes, yes, I am sure you are very sorry, James, and did not intend to get into your cups - we can talk about it tomorrow over breakfast. That's a very kind thing to say, Christopher, but would mean much more if you weren't swaying like a boatswain as you declared it. Up to bed, both of you! Before I decide to be angry!"
The butler finished counting a large number of coins into the hands of the waiting Jarvey before he cast a pitying look at Jacques.
"Courage, my lad," the older man murmured with unusual familiarity before motioning towards the house.
Jacques went to loosen his neckcloth, only to remember he had lost it in a wager at the Black Swan.
Or possibly the White Horse, or the Red Lion; it was dashed difficult to remember the names of these English public houses.
"Ma cousine, I am so sorry," he began, but she waved a hand to silence him.
"Not here, Jacques! Please come inside at once before we have all the neighbours busy staring at us from their windows."
He was so surprised by the sheer lack of animosity in her tone that he allowed himself to be ushered through the doorway and into the small portico at the front of the house. The butler helped him to remove his filth-splattered boots and sadly crushed hat, while Henrietta paced up and down the hallway, chewing at her fingernails the entire time. It was only then that he realised that she had changed into an evening dress since he’d last seen her at dinner, which was rather excessive for a quiet night at home with her mother-in-law, even for his cousin.
The butler had barely disappeared from the hall before she rushed over to Jacques, grabbing him by the upper arms.
"You have to understand that I had no notion of this when I wrote the letter, cousin, or I swear I would not have meddled in the least! I'm sure James will tell me that it's quite my own fault in the morning, but how was I to know? Only pray tell me you forgive me, Jacques! I could not bear it if we fell out again, for I have come to regard you as the brother I always wanted, and I will simply die if I lose you."
This passionate little speech, accompanied as it was by an expression of sisterly earnestness, led to Jacques pulling his cousin into his arms and planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"What is wrong, ma petit? Surely we are now close enough to be family, and nothing can pull apart family, oui?"
She gave a little sob, but pushed him away as she rubbed her nose. "Nothing but the stench of your coat, perhaps. Good grief, you smell like the stables at a run-down coaching inn. What have you bee
n up to? Actually no, don't say a word, for I would rather be able to deny everything so it cannot be said that I lied."
"Lied about what?" asked Jacques, thoroughly bewildered and only half convinced that it was the fault of the liquor he'd consumed.
"About only introducing you to the best society while in London," she replied as she resumed her pacing again. "Do you know I've never been cowed by anyone in my life, but when she cocked her head on the side just so, I think I trembled in my slippers! I assured her most vehemently that you would not be consorting with anyone below the consequence of a Marquis. Only then he laughed - and I thought you boomed when you laughed, but I think he made the chandelier tremble! - and he said that you were as home with the sparrows as you were with the swans, and he would be disappointed if you had not learned some new songs for him! My mother in law did not understand, of course, so then he started singing and-"
"Henrietta, je ne comprends pas!" Jacques said as he loudly interrupted her. "plus lentement, s'il vous plaît! Slow down or I do not understand! Who are these people who have distressed you so?"
She stopped her pacing to turn and face him, her expression one of surprise. "Distressed me? Oh, they have not distressed me in the least, for they are al simply darlings! I worry that I have distressed you by insisting that they stay here for as long as they wish, but you were not here for me to ask, and none of the footmen I sent to the clubs could find you. Only they were so worried about your welfare that I may have overstated your happiness, and declared nothing would please us more than have them take over our spare rooms. Oh, have you got time to change, I wonder? They cannot see you like this. Good grief, the state of that coat! I would not give it to a pauper!"
"Who cannot see me?" he asked, half laughing at the way she fretted like an unsettled pigeon.
"Your mother, of course!" she replied with considerable exasperation. "I already told you that!"
The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series Page 14
