The Romany Heiress

by Nikki Poppen

  The vicar looked from Giles to Cate. “I would encourage you both to realize that what I am about to disclose to you does not necessarily affirm anything. It only affirms what I know, which may only be a part of the puzzle. Hypothetically, if I say there was a daughter, it does not prove that this woman here,” he gestured to Cate, “is that daughter.”

  He drew a deep breath and began. “What I know to have happened agrees with the entry in the diary. In order to procure a birth certificate, I had to be shown the baby. Since the labor was not going well, I had been called to the abbey to be on hand should the worst happen. I saw the child as soon as it was born. It was indeed a girl. I did not suspect anything was afoot. I was given my transfer up to York shortly after the child’s birth when Spelthorne returned home. I knew nothing of this duplicity until your letter arrived. You must believe I would not have kept quiet about such goings on. But yes, the countess bore a daughter.”

  He sighed and peered at them all. “I can see that you expected more from me but that is all I know. I signed a birth certificate for Catherine Moncrief. Was this baby switched for a male child? I don’t know. Was the countess capable of that? I can only speculate. She was lonely, desperately in love with a husband who did not pay attention to her. I did not know her well enough to make judgments about her.”

  The vicar picked up the birth certificate again and held it to the light of a window. “There it is. My watermark. I can tell you the certificate is not a forgery. See here, the watermark seal? It was on all of my official documents for the accuracy of record keeping.

  “Is the doctor still alive?” he asked.

  “No,” Giles responded tersely. The long-awaited vicar had not really helped resolve the situation. His information was at once sparse and yet highly informative.

  “Too bad. The doctor would perhaps know something of use, a clear clue like a birthmark or a family resemblance,” The vicar mused. “My lord, you have golden hair like your father. Miss, you have the dark look of the countess. She had the blackest hair I’d ever seen. But of course, many people in this world bear those traits.”

  “But no one has this,” a stern voice from doorway called.

  Everyone turned to see the woman they knew as Cate’s maid standing there, from her hand dangled a heavy emerald pendant.

  Voices erupted at once.

  “You. You’re the woman who was at the birth!” exclaimed Waring.

  “The Spelthorne emerald!” Giles cried in disbelief. “Where did you get it? It was recorded missing ages ago.”

  “Magda!” Cate’s voice rose above the rest.

  Giles’s head whipped in her direction. “Magda?” How had they overlooked that? The gypsy healer was here, had been here in this house for weeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Anger tinged his voice. He felt betrayed.

  “Where did you get that?” Tristan said, providing the voice of reason.

  Magda strode toward them. “The night the countess gave the child into my keeping, she gave me this as well, to keep safe as part of her birthright. For years I have kept the secret and discharged my duty.” She whirled on Giles. “Now it is time to do your duty and step down.”

  Tristan cut in sharply and seized the necklace. “This may be a fake. If it hasn’t been seen for years, how do we know this is the one? No one living would be likely to recognize it,” he challenged. “Are there any papers regarding the authenticity of the gem?” he asked Giles.

  Giles drew a deep breath. “I believe they are in the safe in the study where all papers of authenticity are kept for the Spelthorne heirlooms. But it will not be necessary” He reached out a hand to steady himself on the arm of the chair. “It was my father’s wedding gift to her. It was customary to give it to each countess as a day-after gift. That necklace is in the portrait of my mother hanging in the gallery. She was painted wearing it shortly after their marriage.”

  Giles paced the gallery later that afternoon after all talk had been exhausted downstairs in the sitting room. Hours of discussion hadn’t established anything new or helpful in terms of resolving the situation, and he found he simply had to get away from it all. So here he was, alone at last, pacing the long hall that served as the informal gallery at the abbey. Alain had come by once ostensibly to see if he needed any food or drink, but Giles had sensed he’d come to talk things over once again, to be a supportive friend if need be. Giles, while grateful for the offer, had turned him away.

  He knew Alain and Tristan had strategies and plans. Most likely those plans would secure Spelthorne for him and shut off any further avenue of pursuit Cate might take. However, this tangle was something he had to resolve on his own, in his own way. What Alain and Tristan didn’t see or perhaps didn’t fully recognize was the emotional layer beneath the legal surface. There was a family, a history at stake here.

  He paused before his father’s portrait, an elegant oil done in the tradition of Joshua Reynolds. It was difficult to reshape his viewing of it. This was not a picture of his father but of the man he’d believed was his father, right up until that morning. The man in the portrait was in his full prime, perhaps thirty-five years of age, not much older than Giles was now. His hair was glossy and golden, his eyes intelligent if hard in their shrewd assessment of the world they viewed. He was outfitted in the best of fashion at the turn of the century.

  Giles had been told throughout his growing up how much he resembled his father physically and in mannerisms. He had both warmed to those compliments and quietly rebelled against them. His father had been a man Giles had respected at a distance. An earl had responsibilities to people that superseded obligations to a family or to a single son. As much as Giles would have preferred more time with his father growing up, he had been taught not to expect it. As he grew older, he often found himself thankful for that early lesson.

  Watching the deteriorating marriage between his parents, he understood that his father was incapable of establishing close attachments. He was coldly courteous to Giles’s mother but nothing more even though her adoration and attempts to reconcile with him were painfully obvious. Giles had believed and feared that he was like his father in that regard.

  That fear became a double-edged sword as he entered his twenties and entered the world of the ton. As the scion to a prestigious title, he was expected to have his affaires de coeur while he sowed his oats and looked for a respectable wife. Fearing that he lacked the ability to have a meaningful relationship, Giles did not let himself put it to the test. Thus he’d arrived at the age of thirty, still unattached, still looking for a grand passion. Of course, he was still in the process of realizing that if this man wasn’t his father, then he might indeed be capable of loving most intensely.

  Light footsteps sounded at the gallery entrance. Giles resisted turning around. The footfalls indicated it wasn’t Alain or Tristan. He worried they’d conspired to send Bella. He wasn’t ready for her either.

  “Giles”

  It was Cate. He wondered if Tristan had driven her from their presence. If so, she’d be devastated. He didn’t have to be told how much Cate had come to rely on the guidance of Bella and Cecile over the past weeks. Losing them would hurt her although she’d have to have known the loss of their friendship was inevitable under the circumstances.

  He turned to face her. One glance at her face told him all he needed to know. She was suffering too. He was suddenly glad she’d been the one to come. She was the one he needed to be with. Any resolution could come only from them. He’d decided early in his pacing that there were certain stratagems he would not embrace. He held out his hand to her, inviting her to join him on the low bench against the long windows opposite the portraits.

  “Am I intruding?” Cate asked quietly.

  “No,” Giles tendered a brief smile. “Did they run you off?”

  Cate shook her head. “No. Your friends are far too well-bred for that. But I sensed their unease and went to my rooms shortly after you left. However,” she paused here and pleated
the skirt of her gown between her fingers, “I found I needed to talk with you, alone. I have made decisions during the course of the afternoon but they are useless without your collaboration.”

  Giles nodded. “I think that is very wise. I have made decisions too. Yet, I feel that any true decision must be made between us, together.”

  “We must not act hastily. Perhaps the span of an afternoon after an emotional morning is not enough time,” Cate offered hesitantly.

  “It’s been more than an afternoon of thought, Cate. I feel as if I’ve thought of nothing else for the last four weeks. This situation has been on my mind constantly. I’ve spent hours and hours turning over options until my contingencies have contingencies.” Giles gave a soft self-deprecating laugh.

  “Of course you did. I would expect nothing less from you” Cate smiled at him, a bit of mischief sparking in her green eyes. The sight of it warmed him and Giles felt relaxed, at ease. He leaned back against the window pane and stared at his father’s portrait.

  “It’s hard to imagine he’s not my father.” There, he said it out loud, the thing that had sat heaviest on his heart that afternoon as he paced. He felt Cate’s hand lace with his own where it lay upon his leg. Her hand felt warm, comforting as it linked with his.

  “He was your father, Giles, just not in the usual way we are conditioned to think of them. He taught you about being a man, how to be his heir.”

  Giles nodded. “I suppose he did, although I cannot say I’m grateful for all the things he taught me. I also learned a great many things I did not want to aspire to by watching him.”

  “I suspect that is true for most children.” Cate laughed. “I don’t know anyone who wants to be an exact replica of their parents.” Then she sobered. “I certainly don’t want to be like my mother. I would like to think I could not have done what she did. It scares me to think what loving a man could drive me to”

  “When I think of my mother,” Giles said slowly, “I sometimes wonder if she had ever been stable. I was too young to understand what it was that happened between her and father. But she had intense mood swings. She would go through alternate periods of doting on me and then ignoring me altogether.”

  “Magda never ignored me. She devoted herself to me wholeheartedly when she could have easily chosen to do otherwise.”

  “Of course she did. You were her ticket to security,” Giles ground out.

  “Giles! Don’t be unkind. It wasn’t like that. Besides, even if that was her motive, I can’t believe it. She’s all the family I’ve got”

  “You’ve got the Moncriefs.” Giles waved a hand at the line of portraits.

  “They’re not really my family any more than the cottager who birthed you”

  “Then why did you come seeking to associate yourself with them?” Giles challenged, shifting his position to look squarely at her, removing his hand from hers.

  “I liked the idea of it,” Cate said softly. “But it’s not all I thought it would be and at the same time, it’s a great deal more than I thought it would be. Which is why I’ve made some decisions. I would like you to hear them now.”

  Giles nodded. “I would prefer to go first”

  “Fine. I am ready to listen.” She settled herself on the bench, tucking her skirts about her legs so that she could draw her knees up and rest her chin on them.

  Giles rose and began pacing the short length of the bench. “It is apparent to me, based on Vicar Waring’s news this morning that there is some question as to the legitimate heir of Spelthorne. That question can either be decided privately between the two of us, or it can be decided publicly in the court of law with all the attendant scandal that will accompany it.” Here, Giles paused to watch Cate weigh his words. “You are an intelligent woman, Cate. I do not think you actually believe you could win in a court of law against a peer of my standing.” He saw her start to stiffen at the claim, her temper rising in her eyes. He held up his hand to stall her protest.

  “I don’t mean this pompously, Cate. I mean to counsel you on the realities of your choices,” he pleaded, softening his tone to convince her of his sincerity. “There are enough suppositions I can make to weaken your case. The emerald may have been stolen. Perhaps Magda took it when she visited here years ago. Perhaps there was a daughter but that daughter was not you” Giles shook his head. “You heard all the arguments this morning. I have no desire to repeat them here or in a court of law. I do not want to see you hurt. Taking this to a public trial would not only hurt you but endanger you. You could be convicted of fraud, of playing an imposter.”

  The look on her face was one of shock.

  “Didn’t you know?”

  Cate shook her head wearily. “I didn’t stop to think about those consequences”

  Giles nodded. “It is understandable, but there it is. I cannot allow you to take that risk when I feel certain that you would be outmanned, outgunned, out-maneuvered on all fronts regardless of the truth”

  Cate’s head came up at that. “The truth?”

  Giles sat down next to her, taking her hands. “I have no intention of relinquishing Spelthorne but I do acknowledge privately to you and only to you, that the story you tell is very likely the truth. You may be Spelthorne’s heir, but I am Spelthorne’s earl. To me, as I paced the gallery this afternoon, that is the only issue that needs resolving. How can the heir and the earl be reconciled without scandal, without one or the other being harmed but with them both attaining their goals?”

  “I want to tell you of the decision I made, before you go any further,” Cate cut in. “I want you to know so that whatever you say or do after this point, you do so knowing my full mind and knowing that you were not manipulated or misled,” She insisted with a quiet fervor. “I believe fully that I am the rightful heir, that I was given away at birth, and that a boy was put in my place. But I do not seek to supplant you. I would be foolish to think I could run this estate, that I could command the loyalty and respect of all those who look to you for leadership. Spelthorne needs you”

  Giles inclined his head in a slight bow. “I thank you for that compliment. It seems that we are agreed on our perception of the problem that lies before us. This may make my plan more palatable to you”

  The afternoon shadows were lengthening when Giles went down on one buff trousered knee before her and took her hand, which he noticed trembled beneath his own. “For the sake of all the reasons known and unknown, for the sake of creating rightness out of an unjust situation, I am asking you to marry me, to be by my side as my countess”

  The look on her face was inscrutable in the failing light of the afternoon. Giles would have given a hundred guineas to know what she was thinking as she struggled to take in his words.

  The proposal had come, just as Magda had said it would. Magda had believed such an alliance was inevitable, the only solution that could privately resolve the issue. Cate was stunned. She’d tried to forestall it, even prevent it with her plan. She’d thought by telling him she would not seek to put him off Spelthorne he’d feel relieved of any obligation to sacrifice himself upon the altar of matrimony.

  She should have seen sooner that Giles Moncrief didn’t work that way. He was a man of honor and his honor demanded the alliance. At least the proposal had been truthful. He had not made any false protestations of love or shower her with meaningless romantic poetry about her eyes or her hair. And why should he? He was not courting her. He was paying her what she was owed in the only currency available to him since she’d already so resolutely refused his offer of money.

  Magda would be ecstatic. But Magda didn’t have to live with him the rest of her life. Magda didn’t have to live with her conscience, knowing what had driven him to make the proposal. In truth, she was smart enough to know that he was proposing to Spelthorne, not to her.

  She had to say something. The silence was stretching out to an embarrassing length. “You don’t have to do this,” she stammered. “Surely there must be another way”
r />   “Do you know of one?” Giles reprimanded her softly. “If there was, I would have found it by now”

  Cate gave an unladylike snort. “For that reason, I must respectfully decline your well-meant proposal”

  “Don’t be foolish, Cate. Your refusal condemns us both,” Giles warned. “If I lavished sweet words on you, you’d know I was lying. I will not commit the mistakes of my father by pretending to something that isn’t there, simply to win my bride.” There was an edge to his voice.

  Cate answered the challenge. “I am thirty-years old, like yourself, Giles. I am no young debutante full of romantic notions. I am full of practicalities. I do not think it would be much of a life shackled to a man with the knowledge that I’d coerced him to the point of offering for me.”

  His next words surprised her. “Do you think it would be like that, Cate? Do you truly believe there is no hope for us? Certainly, we are not in love at this moment, but we’ve had no chance to explore that. We’ve shared the briefest of kisses and yet you cannot deny there is passion between us” He bent his lips to her hand and pressed a kiss in her open palm. His lips trailed a line of hot kisses to her wrist and upward to her elbow in reminder of the kisses that had gone before.

  Cate gasped. Her skin flamed beneath his touch, instantly ignited by his caress. “Giles, please … I don’t know. I can’t think when you do this.” Cate sighed, wanting to give herself up to caress of his hand on the nape of her neck, to the promises made in his eyes, midnight-dark with desire.

  “Then say yes, Cate.”

  For reasons that had little to do with Spelthorne and everything to do with the possibilities promised in his kiss, she did.

  Giles announced their betrothal that evening at supper. It almost felt real when he’d stood at the end of the meal and raised his wine glass in a toast to his impending nuptials. He gave her a warm glance that she imagined a happy betrothed might give his intended. There, all similarity ended. Alain and Tristan made no attempt to hide their shock. Isabella and Cecile had smiled and done a better job of masking their surprise. The two women artfully pre-empted the arguments on their husbands’ lips with lively chatter about the wedding. Isabella rose and immediately excused the women to the drawing room, declaring they had plans to make.