The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  There was a moment of silence as they both stared at each other. The clock in the hallway ticked and tocked, and the sound of laughter floated down from the upper floor.

  "Oh," she said eventually. "I didn't tell you."

  "Non, ma cousine," he said as the world began to spin in a way that had nothing to do with the rum, ale or gin that he'd consumed. "You did not tell me."

  He stumbled past her, climbing the stairs two at a time as he raced up to the parlour. He could hear the laughter and conversation of a large group just beyond the door, and his heart thumped so loudly it drowned out the drums inside his head.

  He crashed into the room without ceremony, caring nothing at all for the spectacle he made in the process.

  The chatter stopped. Henrietta's mother in law, the dowager Lady Cottingham, looked like a tiny china doll as she sat between his giant of a stepfather, Henri Gautereau, and the oldest of his sisters, Marie-Thérèse. Every last one of his siblings, even the children, were present in the room, with the youngest two happily entertaining a giggling Hart with some wooden rattles, while his twelve year old brother Claud had fallen asleep on the sofa, covered by a paisley shawl. Both of his grandmothers were ensconced in chairs beside the fireplace, both with embroidery on their knee, with mémère Gautereau's long black braid in stark contrast to the grey curls of his grand-maman. Grand-pere was behind them as though he’d been admiring their work, but now his eyes were full of unmistakable joy as they alighted on Jacques.

  He saw all of this, understood they were all there, but Jacques’ eyes were focused only on the petite, dark haired woman who had risen to her feet the moment he had entered.

  "Jonathan Henri Cartwright-Gautereau, what on earth do you mean by coming into a Lady's parlour dressed like a voyageur fresh back from trading?" she demanded in French. "You were raised much better than this! What must your English relatives think of you?"

  "Maman!" said Jacques, half laughing as he crossed the room and wrapped her up in his arms despite her protests that he smelled like musty beaver pelts. "Maman, what are you doing here? When did you arrive?"

  "Lady Cottingham wrote to me when you first met," she said from somewhere from inside the folds of his jacket. "She was worried there would be questions about your inheritance. What else would you have us do, but climb onto the first ship and come to your aid?"

  "But all of you?" he laughed, looking around the room.

  His mother pushed him away just far enough so she could look up into his eyes. "We do everything as a family, do we not?"

  He smiled at her, then around at the rest of the family. The youngest children waited for no further invitation, and threw themselves at him, squealing his name and all attempting to tell him something they regarded as of great importance in increasing louder voices. Even the sleepy Claud managed to wrap his arms around Jacques' leg and give a tight squeeze. The heavy hand of his stepfather landed reassuringly on his shoulder, and then his grandparents moved in to greet him.

  Finally, as he emerged from the tangle still holding onto his mother's hand, he was able to see Henrietta once again, her smile wide and her eyes wet with tears.

  "Merci, ma cousine," he said, and then kissed his mother squarely on the forehead, for a weight had gone from his heart, and he knew beyond doubt that no matter what happened next, it would all be fine in the end.

  *

  Cordelia made her way down to breakfast after a restless night, no happier with the previous day's events than she had been when she closed her eyes. She was angry at Jacques for the things that he'd said at the picnic, but at the same time it was impossible for her to claim that Christopher Douglas had been exclusive in his attentions towards her while they were at Kelwick manor.

  If she were completely honest, it was impossible for her to claim that he had shown a decided preference for her company at any point in the Season, even if he had always been polite and often very entertaining. He flirted with her, but then, everyone flirted with her, even William and Herbert had before their respective marriages; Herbert even going so far as to declare his undying devotion.

  That he'd promptly forgotten after a sharp set down. She smiled at that memory, and the thought that his new wife was perfect for him.

  The smile faded. Christopher Douglas was not perfect, at least not for Cordelia, and she had the nagging thought that perhaps she was not perfect for him, either. He seemed so young, still full of larks and dreams in the way only members of the Ton seemed to retain. Not at all like Jacques, whose spirit was enhanced by a maturity that was both attractive and reassuring. If only Christopher was more like-

  "Stop it," she told herself firmly. "You don't even like Monsieur Gautereau at present, for he is meddling and opinionated and... and... and rude."

  The words spoken out loud were just as weak as the ones she said in her head.

  "Besides, he was just looking out for his friend, even if he was completely wrong," she told the hallway, and then blushed when she caught the quizzical look from one of the footmen. She blushed, then dipped her head and hurried into the breakfast parlour.

  "There you are," said her mother, not immune to stating the obvious as Cordelia entered the breakfast room. "We were just discussing you."

  Cordy hesitated for just a moment before settling down into her chair. A glance at her father, who for once was not buried in the newspaper, indicated that her mother was not exaggerating with this statement.

  She mentally prepared for battle.

  "Lovely things I hope," she said with as much brightness as she could muster. "Did you enjoy the outing yesterday? I confess that I adore the picnics at Kelwick Manor - especially when I beat William at archery."

  Lord Delby's lip quirked up on one side. "Yes, but lost against everyone else."

  "We don't mention that part," she replied as she helped herself to some toast and marmalade.

  "We noticed how cheerful you were all day," said her mother, studying the way Cordelia wielded her butter knife as though it would reveal some deep secrets to her. "It must have been exhausting for you."

  Cordelia paused at this unexpected line of attack. "Exhausting? How so?"

  "I find it is often exhausting pretending to be merry when my heart is anything but," said her father. "It's why I no longer put in such effort."

  "We were concerned that your plans to find your future husband may not be progressing in the way you wished," said Lady Delby, pointedly ignoring her husband.

  "On the contrary, everything is going precisely as it aught," Cordy replied before biting off a large piece of toast and chewing it with considerably more force than necessary.

  Her parents shared a look.

  "We must have misunderstood the nature of the argument," said her father.

  "Perhaps it is not the foreign nobody who has captured her heart after all," mused her mother.

  "Jacques?" spluttered Cordelia, sending a spray of crumbs across the table that earned her a reproachful look from Lady Delby.

  "I was under the impression that the young man had captured your attention, but it seems I am not as in tune with your interests as I had previously believed," said her father with an apologetic tone.

  "No, no, you're not out of tune with me at all, Father," she hurried to reassure him the moment she had finished wiping her mouth with the napkin. "On the contrary, Monsieur Gautereau is a deeply interesting fellow, with a very droll sense of humour."

  Her parents shared a look again.

  "A promising start," said her mother.

  "Humour is important," added her father.

  "It makes him a particularly agreeable companion, I suppose," said Cordelia, trying for nonchalance but suspecting that she failed. "It was a favour to Henrietta, you know. She hoped that her cousin would fall in love with England and decide to stay, and so I offered my services as a guide to both London and the Ton."

  "Henrietta hoped her cousin would fall in love," Lady Delby said to her husband.

  Lord Delb
y nodded his agreement. "A sensible plan, especially when she involved our daughter."

  "I know you are teasing me," said Cordelia, crossing her arms over her chest, "but you are quite incorrect if you are implying that Henrietta wanted him to fall in love with me, for it is not like that at all. I have no feelings for Monsieur Jacques beyond that of friendship, and I am certain he feels the same way about me."

  The words tasted bitter, but she didn't want to think about that.

  "I was under the impression, dearest, that you were not looking for more than friendship in a potential spouse," said her mother before taking a delicate sip from her coffee cup.

  Cordelia deliberated over getting an additional piece of toast for a long moment, extending her deliberations to include an internal debate over the merits of strawberry preserve over marmalade. It did not work, for her thoughts refused to obey her wishes, and quickly turned to her fight with Jacques, her determination to bring Christopher up to scratch, and her fear of ending up alone.

  "I just believe that I would suit better with someone else," she eventually said as she reached for another slice of toast and the silver pot of Cook's delicious strawberry preserve. There was a tremble to her voice that stubbornly refused to go away.

  Her parents looked at each other again.

  "The Douglas boy?" asked her father.

  "The Douglas boy," confirmed her mother with a firm nod.

  Lord Delby gave a loud sigh of resignation. "There is no accounting for taste, I suppose."

  Cordelia blinked rapidly as her father finally picked up the newspaper at his side.

  "You do not approve?" she asked, curious more than anything else.

  Lord Delby glanced up and met her gaze. "My dear, I have no opinion on the matter either way. There is nothing to disgust in Mr Douglas, but there is nothing to recommend him, either."

  "Of course there is!" scoffed Cordelia. "A great many things!"

  Her father put the paper back down. "A great many, you say! Then perhaps I have misjudged the boy. Pray, enlighten me my dear."

  "He... he is very kind, and of adequate fortune, and can be a pleasant companion," she replied.

  Lord Delby raised his eyebrows. "High praise indeed! Perhaps I have misjudged the boy."

  "What do you mean by that?" Cordelia demanded.

  Her father turned his attention back to the newspaper. "Merely that he is a puppy, my dear."

  "That's not fair," said Cordelia, stabbing at her toast rather than spreading the preserve over the surface. "Even Jacques said that Christopher is well liked in Montreal, has built up many connections and worked hard to help bring the two companies together."

  "Everyone likes puppies," mused Lady Delby.

  "He is not a puppy!" she snapped hotly.

  Her father looked over the top of the paper. "You misunderstand us, Cordelia, for the term is not meant offensively. As your mother says, everyone likes puppies, and they all grow into their paws eventually."

  "If by that you mean he will become more like Jacques with time then I hope you are wrong," she snapped, and then inwardly cursed as she realised what she'd said.

  Her parents shared another look.

  "Did I suggest that the Douglas boy would grow into the character and maturity of Monsieur Gautereau?" he father asked.

  "I don't believe that you did," replied Lady Delby after giving the matter some consideration.

  Cordelia wondered if complete and utter exasperation was a viable defence for murdering one's parents.

  "I don't think he could even if he wanted to," mused Lord Delby, his facial expression indicating that he was giving the matter some serious thought.

  Cordelia knew better, and so refused to rise to the bait. Unfortunately, her mother was perfectly willing to be the foil, and she was not going to escape their ridiculous conversation any time soon.

  "Why would that be, my dear?" Lady Delby asked her husband.

  "The Douglas boy has not had the challenges that Monsieur Gautereau has endured in his life. Oh I don't mean that his life has been difficult - far from it, from what I've been told! - but spending time in the wilderness with nothing but fur trappers for company will build strength of character. Then there is the fact he's the eldest of a veritable brood of children. One only has to look at our dear Cordelia to know that the eldest will take more responsibility onto their shoulders than youngest children will, for she is far more responsible and thoughtful than her brother and sisters."

  This observation mollified her somewhat, but she was not prepared to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging the praise out loud.

  "And the rejection of his paternal grandfather must have left a mark on him," added Lady Delby between sips of coffee. "The Marchioness says he is a very proud young man, and that it has been hard for him to accept that the Cartwrights are so glad to welcome him into their fold. He has spent his life striving to live up to his father's legacy, while Mr Douglas has never had to carry such a burden, let alone do so alone."

  "From what Shropshire said about Gautereau, I think his father would have been very proud. Poor John! I wish he could have lived to see the man his son has become."

  This caught her attention.

  "You knew Jacques' father?"

  Her father graced her with one of his unreadable expressions. "Indeed I did. He was my closest friend in my salad days, and we kept in sporadic touch until his death. I did not know that John's widow remarried, however, and so did not make the connection until I saw Gautereau for myself."

  "Does he look like him?" Cordelia asked, unable to assuage her curiosity. "Jacques only has a miniature, but was told it is a poor likeness."

  "Very much, although he has a maturity about him that John lacked at the same age," replied her father. "Powder was still in fashion at the time, and John wore his hair much longer."

  "Are you thinking of painting him, dearest?" asked Lady Delby. "That would be a very thoughtful gift for one who is no more than a friend to you."

  Cordelia's face went hot, and she looked down at the table. "No, I was just curious. You should tell Jacques what you just told me, Father. I'm sure he would like to know."

  "I mentioned some of it to him, and I suspect the Lades did as well," said her father, turning back to his paper. "We were all rather enamoured of Letitia back then - or I was until I came to my senses and married your mother! John always had more sense."

  Lady Delby smiled as though this were an old, familiar joke between them.

  "Did you not come to blows over the issue?" she asked, although she obviously knew the answer.

  Lord Delby chuckled, a faraway look in his eyes as he indulged in old memories.

  "We came to blows over many an issue, and simply argued over many more! We were like that from the day we met, you know. Constantly bickered, never shied from telling each other the truth, but never had anything but love for each other in our hearts." He glanced up at his wife, and the smile was so affectionate, so tender, that Cordelia almost felt like she was intruding. "The moment I realised that I could rely upon your judgement and support as much as I could on John's was the moment I fell in love with you, darling."

  There was a silence that lasted forever, but was so thick with affection that Cordy struggled not to cry with longing.

  Lady Delby gave her head an infinitesimal shake, breaking the spell hanging over the table.

  "Did you value your friendship with Monsieur Gautereau?" she asked, turning her attention back to Cordelia. "Was it as important as the one you share with Willliam and Herbert? Or even Trix?"

  The question stunned her. "But I've only know him a matter of weeks!"

  "Sometimes it only needs hours. Love is not always romantic, my dear. Sometimes it is just the knowledge that this person will understand."

  She lowered her eyes again. "I never thought of it like that. I... I suppose that I would rather share an hour with Monsieur Jacques than with any of my friends in the world, with the possible exception of B
eatrix. I have often thought, though, that he would very much like her and Felix. He even visited their bookshop while in Bath. But then we argued..."

  Her mother reached over the table, her fingers brushing the tips of Cordelia's own.

  "Good friends are important, and sometimes good friends will disagree. It is inevitable, but if that friend spoke from good intentions then they should never be cast aside."

  "What if they had selfish intentions?" mumbled Cordelia, still looking down at her plate. "What if they said something hurtful, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up?"

  "Sometimes it hurts to be told a truth," said her father. "No, don't lose your temper with me. I said a truth, because sometimes what is true for one is a lie for another."

  "Then how can it be the truth?" asked Cordelia, thinking about the look on Jacques' face when he told her to marry a man that loved her instead of setting her cap at Christopher, and that fleeting, ridiculous moment when she had thought he had been talking about himself. "A truth is always a truth, surely?"

  "If only it were that simple," said her father with a gentle smile. He reached over the table and placed his hand over hers. "Take John Cartwright. If his father told you that his son was a scoundrel, wastrel and insolent rogue, it would be his truth. If I told you that John was an honourable man who was led by his own sense of integrity, then that would be my truth. Can we both be right?"

  "I... I don't know," admitted Cordelia.

  "I promise you that both our truths were correct, my dear, but also that they were both lies," replied Lord Delby, sitting back into his chair. "People are not simple creatures, nor do they exist in just one moment to an audience of one. You can look at a man and see the boy, the saint, the charlatan and the fool, and you choose which facet to focus on."

  "So... so I could choose someone to wed because of what they could be, or what they were, or what they are to other people, and still be wrong about what type of man he is," she said, and then rubbed at her temples. "I think I understand, but it is very confusing. How do you know if anyone is truly your friend, or if you have chosen to wed the right person?"

  "Your list is a good start," said Lady Delby, her smile gentle rather than mocking, "but you missed off a few things. Maturity and reliability do not sound in the least bit romantic, but no marriage can be happy without them. It is doubly true for a woman, for like it or not, your future is reliant on the good sense and planning of your spouse."