The Cornish Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  “Upstairs, upstairs,” she ordered. “After such a trip Megaera will want to rest, and the maids must see to her clothes.”

  “I have none,” Megaera whispered.

  “Zut!” Leonie remarked with unimpaired cheerfulness, to Megaera’s intense surprise. “Like father, like son! Always they cause such upheavals that a woman must come away just as she is. Roger was bad enough, but with Philippe I am surprised you are not in your bare skin. Never mind. We will find something. I am too small, but Sabrina’s gowns may fit you with a little touch here or there. She is a blonde, unfortunately—but we will find something. The blue room, Philippe,” she called after them, “I must send a footman to tell Roger you are home.”

  “Put me down,” Megaera said at the top of the stairs, “I think I can walk now.”

  “Nonsense,” Philip whispered, squeezing her. “This is the last chance I will have to hold you until those damned lawyers get finished haggling.”

  He got the door open and deposited Megaera on an exquisite white-brocade chaise longue. She bounced up instantly with a cry of horror, fearing her filthy pelisse would soil the fabric. Philip laughed at her, but realized she was upset by more than dirtying the white chair.

  “What is it, love?” he asked.

  “I had no idea you were so rich,” Megaera said honestly.

  “I am not,” Philip replied. “This is Leonie’s. She is the heiress of the Earls of Stour.” He kissed her forehead. “Do not let it frighten you. You see, Leonie is not at all a grande dame. However, I do not mean to say that I am poor either.”

  “Philip, perhaps—”

  But he would not let her finish and closed her mouth with his. From the doorway Leonie smiled approvingly, then stepped aside before they saw her and called out, quite unnecessarily to the butler. Megaera pushed convulsively at Philip, and he released her reluctantly, turning his head to grin over his shoulder at Leonie, who had reappeared in the open doorway.

  “Go away, bad boy,” she said. “Sorel is having a bath brought to your room. You have already filled the whole house with the smell of fish, from which I suppose you came on the Bonne Lucie. How is Pierre?”

  “Very well, and we should be seeing more of him now. I think I have convinced him to trade at Kingsdown again.”

  “Ah, good—unless—will it be more dangerous? But no! This we can speak of later. Go! Bathe! And tell Sorel to burn those things you are wearing.”

  “Oui, madame.” Philip bowed deeply, formally, and scurried out of range, promising to relay Leonie’s message to Sorel as she reached out to twist his ear.

  Megaera stood frozen, barely able to restrain herself from running after him. She knew Leonie’s kind playfulness in Philip’s presence could be a mask drawn on for his benefit. She tried to brace herself for a new, colder, face and voice. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to be so terrified; there was nothing Leonie could do to her. But Leonie did not try to do anything. She was less animated with Philip gone, but just as pleasant. She talked gently to Megaera, encouraged her to take off her soiled pelisse and bonnet, and opened the wardrobes in the adjoining dressing room to display a full range of women’s clothing. There was a tap on the door, which opened at Leonie’s call to show menservants lugging a tub and buckets of hot water.

  “I am so sorry, Megaera,” Leonie exclaimed moment later. “I should have left it to you give permission to enter. You forgive?”

  “Oh yes, indeed. Please—”

  “It is Sabrina’s room, you see, my cousin, but I have raised her and, like a mama, I have no courtesy when I am here. I thought if you would not mind staying here it would save the maids carrying the clothing back and forth until you decided what you wanted to wear. You do not mind?”

  “No, but would Sabrina… I mean Miss—”

  “Lady Elvan. Sabrina is married to William, Lord Elvan.”

  Did a flicker of a frown cross Leonie’s placid face Megaera wondered? If so, it was gone before Megaera could be sure and was replaced by a smile.

  “This is Katie,” Leonie continued, gesturing at a young maid, who dropped a curtsy. “She will wait on you. And this is Annie.” An older woman also dropped a curtsy. “She is very clever with her needle. Just pick anything you like to wear, my dear, and Annie will fix it to fit you while you bathe. Do not give a thought to Sabrina. She would give it all to you, if she thought that would give Philippe a minute’s pleasure.” There was a short pause, and Leonie sighed. “Really, I would like best to stay and hear all about your adventure, but that would be very wrong, I know.”

  “I will tell you anything you want to know,” Megaera said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “I know you would, petite, but it would be unkind of me when you are so tired and, I can see, still frightened. Roger would be angry… Well, no, he is never angry with me, but he would think it cruel. Later, Megaera—ah, perhaps I should have called you Miss Devoran, but because you are Philippe’s affianced.

  “Please, Megaera or even Meg, but—but it’s Mrs. Devoran.”

  Leonie looked startled. “A widow… Should I say I am sorry my dear?”

  “No!” Megaera exclaimed with so much force that Leonie’s eyes widened.

  “Did you—” she began, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Megaera felt frozen again. It was plain that Leonie did not like the notion that she was a widow. She hardly felt Katie unbuttoning and removing her clothes and only came to with a start when the soft, Irish-burred voice of the maid asked if the peignoir she was holding would be satisfactory. Megaera agreed before she really saw it, but it was a lovely thing. Katie displayed two morning dresses and an evening gown.

  “I don’t think Annie could do more until tomorrow,” Katie said shyly.

  “No, and in any case I cannot make free with Lady Elvan’s wardrobe.”

  But she hardly knew what she said. She could not imagine what Leonie had been about to ask before she stopped herself. In a way she was sorry for the restraint Philip’s stepmother had shown. The warm welcome had been so unexpected and so wonderful. Philip had been right when he said that Leonie was a kind person and would want to love and be loved by her prospective daughter-in-law, that she would be willing to overlook certain deviations from the accepted code of good behavior. However, Leonie had already shown dismay on hearing that Megaera was a widow. How then, would she react to the tale of smuggling, the huge debts on Bolliet, and living with Philip openly? Those were scarcely to be classed in the same order as losing one’s wardrobe.

  It would be all the more, painful when coldness replaced warmth, Megaera knew. She tried desperately to think of some way of describing the situation so that it did not sound quite so dreadful. No matter how she turned it, however, it sounded worse and worse. She was hardly aware of being bathed and dried, wrapped in another, equally elegant, peignoir led to the chaise to rest. She was only aware of the hours passing of the fact that she had not been called to make a part of the family party that was no doubt hashing out her future without permitting her to say a word in her own defense.

  She surfaced briefly when Katie urged her to sit up, inserted her into undergarments every bit as lovely as the special ones bought for her trousseau, and rewrapped her in a dressing gown so that the hairdresser might come in and attend to her. If she had not been so depressed, he would have made her laugh, a furiously voluble little man who clucked and groaned and said dreadful things under his breath about whoever had cut her hair. He made the best of it, although it seemed to take him a very long time.

  When Megaera became aware of the immediate present again, she was being asked anxiously if she felt strong enough to be dressed and go down for supper or if she would prefer to go to bed. So, she thought, the jury has come to its decision and the accused is being brought before the judge to hear sentence. She had one advantage; she could delay judgment by a few hours. But Megaera was not really tempted. She knew that indecision was always more unendurabl
e than pain. However, a real hope that Leonie was on her side was born when she saw herself. She had been dressed in a delightful confection of sea green with tiny puffed sleeves and a deeply flounced hem. Her hair was trimmed neatly and curled so enchantingly that she did not miss the heavy knot with its hanging curls. Surely if Leonie directed that she be made to look beautiful, she did not mean to try to turn Philip against her.

  The enormous improvement in her appearance gave her sufficient courage to go downstairs, but her knees were shaking so much that she had to cling to the banister. It was very odd, she thought, but she was far more frightened now than she had been when Fouché’s men had nearly captured them. The door was invitingly open, but she was the last to enter the room. Leonie, Philip, and a man—who resembled Philip so closely that it had to be his father, were already grouped near the tea table. Their voices came to her, and when she heard the subject of conversation, she felt a dreadful fool.

  It seemed to her as if no one had been judging her or even thinking about her. All the hours she had spent primping and selfishly worrying about herself, poor Philip had probably been making reports and delivering the letters Cadoudal had sent with him. Philip’s father was saying, “I don’t know what Addington will decide. He doesn’t seem to be able to decide anything these days, but I don’t think it matters, either. If Pichegru wants to go, go he will. I think that matter is well and truly out of our hands.”

  “Yes,” Philip replied, “and I am just as glad that it is. I do not like the thought of shooting a man in the head or the back by surprise. You would think the French had had enough of government by assassination during the Terror and the Directories.”

  “Ah,” Roger laughed, “but that was legal—or semi legal—assassination, if you can call anything done by the insane laws they had then legal. Now they are ready to try illegal assassination and see if that works better.”

  Leonie shuddered. “Me, I do not see that that is funny, Roger.”

  “No, my dear, it is not. I laugh because I am helpless—and furious—and whichever way I look I only see more bloodshed.”

  “Well, at least it will be a little less of ours now that d’Ursine is exposed,” Leonie said with satisfaction.

  “Yes, but the exposure of Charon was equally important. His shop was a center for spying. It is being watched very discreetly, and will be for some time. When we have all the information we can get that way, we will have a little gathering of the guilty.”

  Megaera had stood clinging to the doorway, listening. Her first relief had melted into dire apprehension. Perhaps the tender care she had received was because Philip had been too busy to tell her story. Now she would have to do it herself. At that moment Mr. St. Eyre looked in her direction. He had the bluest eyes Megaera had ever seen. Megaera tried to step forward, but couldn’t. Now they would think she had been eavesdropping.

  “My dear,” Roger exclaimed, hurrying toward her and taking her hand, “you should not have come down. You should be in bed after the exertions of this past week. I have never been so furious with that harebrained boy in my life. To drag you—”

  “Do not be silly, Roger,” Leonie said. “Megaera is not tired. She is frightened to death of you and me. Is it not so, petite? Come, sit with me, and Philippe will bring you a cup of tea. There is no need to be frightened.”

  “Yes, but I think there is,” Megaera said, “for I am afraid that I am not at all the kind of person you would have wished your son to marry.”

  “Now that is what I call taking the bull by the horns,” Philip remarked. “Meg, my love, tact is not your strong suit.”

  “There is no way to be tactful about the things I have done,” Megaera snapped, quite revived by her fury at Philip’s casual attitude.

  This was reasonable, as she could not know that Leonie had laughed her head off at Megaera’s direct attack on the subject of debts by smuggling to pay them off. Roger had clicked his tongue sadly over the silliness of women, pointing out that if she had gone to the creditors and explained her problem—or rather, had a solicitor do it for her—very likely the payments could have been adjusted to the income of the estate and the whole enterprise would have been unnecessary. No comment at all had been made about the physical relationship; Roger and Leonie could not afford to be “holier than thou” on that subject. Now Leonie cocked her head at Megaera’s statement.

  “Why, what more have you done than Philippe has told us?” Leonie asked with an interested expression. “Did you murder your husband?”

  “Leonie!” Roger roared.

  Leonie shrugged, and winked at him. “No, one can see from poor Megaera’s face that not only did she not do it but she never would have thought of such a thing.”

  “That’s true,” Megaera agreed, but added defiantly, “but I was glad. And I didn’t turn in his murderer.”

  “That, I think, was not wise,” Roger remarked judicially.

  “It certainly wasn’t,” Philip laughed, since he wasn’t grateful at all. He turned around and tried to murder Meg twice.”

  “But he must have been a horrible man,” Leonie pointed out, her golden eyes bright with what Megaera was shocked to see was approval.

  “The murderer or the husband?” Philip asked teasingly.

  “The murderer, too, no doubt, but I was thinking of the husband.”

  “Yes, he was,” Megaera said, “but that’s not important now.”

  “You are wrong petite,” Leonie contradicted with a brilliant smile. “It is most important because Philippe, he needs to be loved with a whole heart. It is hard sometimes for a woman who has loved her first husband to give without reservation to the second.”

  Megaera blushed hotly. “I love him,” she admitted. “Perhaps you will think I have loved him too well. I—“

  “You shot two men to keep him alive,” Roger interrupted. “I am not going to complain about how well you love Philip.”

  “No you cannot afford to do that,” Leonie put in mischievously. “That would be too much like the pot calling the kettle black.” Then she took Megaera’s hand. “Petite, do not distress yourself. Philippe has told us all we need to know. What is past is past. There is no need anymore to worry. All, will be arranged. Philippe desires to marry very soon, but you must say what is your desire and all else can be left to the men of business.”

  “Oh, I want to marry soon too,” Megaera cried, and then turned red as a beet while Philip laughed at her. She looked back and forth from Roger to Leonie. “You—you don’t mind? The smuggling? The debts?”

  Roger just smiled at her. His smile was softer than Philip’s, warming and reassuring.

  “Poof!” Leonie gestured it all away. “The land will pay back itself without trouble, and how can we, whose dearest friend has been a smuggler all his life, speak ill of it? No, there is only one thing you will have to do—”

  “My father? But he can stay—”

  “Not that, Meg,” Philip came forward and took her hand. His mouth was laughing, but his eyes were full of love. “Leonie is jealous of your ability as a shot.”

  “Yes!” Leonie exclaimed. “For me it was necessary to put the gun right to the head of the beast. That is very inconvenient. You will teach me, n’est-ce pas, petite? Roger and Philippe only laugh at me, but you will have patience and teach me well.”

  Leonie paused and watched approvingly as Philip pulled Megaera to her feet and kissed her passionately. “But I think I will have to learn fast, before the little ones come,” she murmured.

  About the Author

  Roberta Gellis was driven to start writing her own books some forty years ago by the infuriating inaccuracies of the historical fiction she read. Since then she has worked in varied genres—romance, mystery, and fantasy—but always, even in the fantasies, keeping the historical events as near to what actually happened as possible. The dedication to historical times settings is not only a matter of intellectual interest, it is also because she is so
out-of-date herself that accuracy in a contemporary novel would be impossible.

  In the forty-some years she has been writing, Gellis has produced more than twenty-five straight historical romances. These have been the recipients of many awards, including the Silver and Gold Medal Porgy for historical novels from the West Coast Review of Books, the Golden Certificate from Affaire de Coeur, The Romantic Times Award for Best Novel in the Medieval Period (several times) and a Lifetime Achievement Award for Historical Fantasy. Last but not least, Gellis was honored with the Romance Writers of America’s Lifetime Achievement Award.