Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  “But you had a beautiful wedding in the end. Ours was excessively simple, and we regretted that you two and Belinda were not there,” James said, “we even discussed if we should have a second ceremony with the families present, later on, as Alphonse suggested. Yet now it would feel odd, at least to me. Married is married, after all.”

  “I don’t see the need either,” Charlotte seconded him as she put down her wineglass after a small sip.

  “Maybe not a second wedding, then, but we could give a reception in your honour,” Marianne suggested. “You deserve a larger celebration, and it should smooth your way in society if everyone sees George standing squarely behind you.”

  “That would indeed be very helpful.” James smiled at Marianne. He did not know her that well yet, but appreciated her generosity and helpfulness. For the daughter of a Marquess she was not at all high in the instep. “I am afraid, however, that Mother would spoil any such demonstration of familial harmony. She was dead set against the match. I wrote to her after our wedding, but have not heard back yet.”

  Marianne helped herself to more cutlets, unworried. “She’ll come around eventually. Your mother cannot wish for a permanent estrangement in the family.”

  Charlotte looked sceptical, and both brothers shook their heads. “You don’t know Mama,” George told his wife. “Since she likes you, she has only shown you her better side so far. But once she takes somebody in strong dislike she cannot be budged. Ever.”

  ”And she still thinks Charlotte is Belinda,” James added gloomily. “She will be doubly enraged when she learns how she was fooled. For some reason Mother has conceived a violent dislike of Charlotte.”

  “I was somewhat taken aback when I first learned of this imposture,” George said, smiling at Charlotte to take the sting out of his words, “but I quickly got over it, and I feel little sympathy for Mother. If she’d ever taken the trouble to visit her only niece and goddaughter, or realised that there was a sister who strongly resembled Belinda, this confusion could never have arisen. I cannot recall Mother even mentioning that we had a cousin in Yorkshire, in all the years of my life. I wonder why.”

  “When Mother ordered me to squire my supposed cousin around town, she already seemed to dislike Belinda, even before she had set eyes on her,” James recalled. “I remember thinking that there must be some story behind her hostility, but when I asked she only told me how much she disliked and distrusted Belinda’s father, Sir Rudolph Yardley.”

  “She deplored my likeness to him,” Charlotte said, “and in that last horrid scene, before she practically threw me out, she referred to bad blood. Since she still thought I was Belinda, whose birth is unexceptional, I was puzzled what she could mean.”

  Marianne had been listening with the air of one trying to recall a something half forgotten. “I may have the answer, or at least a good guess,” she said now. All eyes fixed on her enquiringly. “Something my great-aunt Roselyn mentioned long ago. She said that ‘young Millicent’ had done very well for herself by catching an Earl, after her near-engagement to young Rudolph Yardley came to naught. Her and Rudolph’s father were close friends and promoted the match. According to my aunt your mother, George, seems to have been very willing, even eager for the match.”

  “Impossible.” James shook his head in instinctive denial. The very idea of his mother engaged to anyone other than his father felt wrong.

  “By no means impossible,” Charlotte argued. “Father was closer in age to your mother than to her younger sister Amelia. And while he was attractive even in his later years, I’ve heard that as a youth he was devastating, well-nigh irresistible. Unfortunately all that female admiration went to his head, and he treated women callously at times. My mother – both of my mothers – suffered from Sir Rudolph’s selfishness.”

  “And apparently Lady Amberley too,” Marianne said, “for according to my great-aunt, just days before their engagement was to be formally announced at a ball, Yardley flaunted his mistress, an opera dancer, in Millicent’s face. She was furious and refused to have anything more to do with him. Three months later she accepted your father, George. Most fortunately for all four of us, or you and James would not exist.”

  “Such a public humiliation would certainly explain her prejudice,” James conceded. Could it be true? If he found a certain shade of blond hair and blue eyes so arresting, perhaps is was little wonder if his mother had felt likewise in younger years.

  “Instead he married the younger sister some years later,” Charlotte said. “Mother was brought up in the country, and would still have been in the schoolroom during her older sister’s debut. She may not even have been aware how close Millicent came to marrying Sir Rudolph. Or perhaps she found out, and tried to mend the rift by asking her to be Belinda’s godmother? I fear we will never know.”

  Their speculations were suspended while the servants came in to remove the course and place a variety of new dishes on the table. This was not a subject to be discussed in their presence.

  “Even if Yardley hurt our Mother in her youth,” James said when everyone had been served, “she has no right to blame his actions on Charlotte or Belinda. That is quite irrational.”

  “Leave her to me,” George offered. “If Mother listens to anyone, it will be me. I’ll do my best to make her see reason. Having a public rift in the family can only lower our consequence. She must be sensible of that, if nothing else.”

  Charlotte and Marianne smiled approvingly. James suspected that George was overestimating his influence as head of the family, but nothing would be lost by trying. “Thank you, George. I’ll be most obliged if you can smooth Mother’s feathers.”

  “I still cannot fathom,” Marianne said, “how your mother could cut the whole Yardley family out of her life for all these years. Belinda should have been one of my bridesmaids, if she hadn’t been married herself, that is. At the very least she should have been present.”

  “And Lady Amberley never saw younger sister in the last years before she died. If only she were still alive!” Charlotte said. “She was the best mother in the world, and is missed every day.”

  “It is a pity you never got to know this aunt of yours. Let’s call one of our daughters after her,” Marianne suggested to George.

  James raised his glass to Charlotte in a silent toast, before turning back to his brother and sister-in-law. “Even with your help, there will be something of a scandal. I wrote to you to warn you about it. Did you get my letter before departing from the castle? But no matter how people talk, I do not regret anything. When you find the person you are meant to marry, nothing else matters to the same degree.”

  “Oh, we know that.” George exchanged a private smile with his countess. “By the way, I was impressed with young Beecham, Belinda’s solicitor. Why didn’t you use our family solicitors?”

  James shrugged. “I found them too stodgy and rigid for this unconventional case. I did ask them to gather intelligence on the problem at first, but old Roberts did not seem particularly impressed with me. I shall employ Beecham for my own affairs in future.”

  “You haven’t made any settlement on your wife yet, I suppose,” George said. “It is normally done before the actual wedding.”

  “I certainly don’t mind.” Charlotte smiled at James. “And after all, you married me without any dowry.”

  James squeezed her hand. “It will be done as soon as we have this inheritance settled. As I’m not the Earl in this family, for which I thank Providence, it can wait a few more weeks. You are already my heiress.”

  “You’ll also need a bigger place in London,” Marianne reminded him. “Have you thought about that?”

  “We won’t always stay in London.” Charlotte looked up from her syllabub. This was a subject they had discussed at length during the recent journey. “I don’t mind town some of the time, but I also love the country.”

  “We’ll find out what suits us best, and we can easily afford a decent house,” James added. He hardly wai
t to show her his favourite places in the city, and to explore both their estates with Charlotte by his side.

  “Another thing,” George said, looking very serious. “Have you sent an announcement of your marriage to the papers yet?”

  “Not yet,” James admitted. “I didn’t want you and Mother to learn the news from the Morning Post.”

  “Oh dear, I can imagine the rumours that must be circulating in London right now,” Marianne said. “That must be rectified immediately, so that by the time you two return for my reception, the gossip will have calmed down. With any luck some bigger scandal will have superseded yours.”

  “Well, I had sent the announcement of our engagement, though the name was Belinda’s,” James recalled. “As far as society is concerned, I have merely escorted my betrothed out of town.”

  “But the false name,” Charlotte said guiltily. “I was uneasy about it, but I thought that even in the worst case, the blame would only fall on me. I never wanted to embroil you whole family in this.”

  There was a short silence, as each considered the likely repercussions of announcing a betrothal to one woman, and immediately marrying another.

  “I have a suggestion,” Marianne said at last, “it’s not ideal, but we have to minimise the social damage somehow.”

  “Go ahead, love,” George said encouragingly.

  “These announcements are short and formal. What if we word it thus: “A marriage is announced between the Hon. James Ellsworthy, and Charlotte Belinda, eldest daughter of the late Sir Rupert Yardley, of Yardley Manor, Burchfield, Yorks., and the late Lady Yardley. The marriage was attended by the groom’s brother and sister in law, etc., and the bride’s sister, Mrs. Richard Seymour, of Burchfield.” It’s mostly true, and I don’t think that Belinda or her husband would mind, even if someone jumped to the conclusion that Charlotte was the legitimate daughter.”

  “Let the lie stand, as it were? I had no idea you could be so Machiavellian, Marianne.” James looked at his sister-in-law with added respect. “But what if someone raises awkward questions? Not just about Charlotte’s identity, but about her previous marriage?”

  George raised a haughty brow. “If anyone is so impertinent as to ask, and we cannot simply intimidate them to let the matter drop, we tell the truth and say that Charlotte was belatedly recognised in her father’s will. Thirty thousand pounds equates to a clear acknowledgement of the relationship, in my view.”

  All of them looked at Charlotte.

  “You three grew up in society, and you are the experts in its niceties and necessities. I cannot like it, but I’m willing to go along with your suggestion, if Belinda and Richard agree. Knowing them, I have no doubt they will. But if anyone asks me about it, I am not going to lie.”

  “Nobody expects you to,” James said. “You are quite right to despise us as hypocritical, but this little subterfuge could make life easier for our future children.”

  “Oh, very well, then …” She signalled to Marianne, and made to stand. “Should we leave you gentleman to your port?”

  “You cannot possibly imagine that port is more attractive than your company.” James rose with alacrity. “And it’s been a long day. We should seek our rest.”

  “Oh, is rest what you call it?” George asked him with a grin, also getting up and moving towards his wife.

  “George!” Mortified, Marianne put her hand on the earl’s arm. “Don’t pay any attention to Amberley, Charlotte. I am certain he meant nothing by his remark.”

  “I have no idea what he could have meant,” Charlotte said piously. “Rest is indeed a most welcome end to this day. Good night to all.”

  James, impatient with all this pretence, swept her up in his arms and moved purposefully towards the staircase.

  Behind him, Marianne and his brother chuckled, but who cared? He had paradise ahead of him, just one landing above, on this night and all his future nights.

  Not forgetting the mornings, and the afternoons, of course…

  The End

  My Last Marchioness

  The Amberley Chronicles

  May Burnett

  Chapter 1

  May 28, 1822

  The vicar and his wife were the last guests to depart from Conway Manor, with repeated expressions of their appreciation for a delightful evening. Alone at last, Sir Mortimer Conway and his young hostess regarded each other with identical expressions of relief.

  “I’ll have a cognac in the library before turning in,” the baronet said. “Join me?” Not that she would touch the liquor, of course. His great-niece was still two months shy of eighteen, hovering on the very doorstep of adulthood. Only four months ago she had been a schoolgirl in an exclusive Bath seminary.

  “I’m not tired,” Celia Conway said, following her uncle into the library, where a small fire was burning merrily. She began to light the two braces of wax candles set on either side of the mantelpiece, her red hair shining in the flickering light.

  Sir Mortimer poured a generous measure of golden brown liquid from the decanter into a crystal glass, sniffed appreciatively and sighed in pleasure. “Each time I taste this nectar, I remember the castle on the Loire where I was first introduced to it.”

  Celia had heard him say so often enough, and paid scant attention to the remark. “Did you enjoy the menu I had Cook prepare? That second sweet was an old French recipe I found in the library. From the way our guests emptied their plates in near silence, I cannot doubt that it was found acceptable.”

  “Everything was delicious,” Sir Mortimer reassured her. “We must have that strawberry pudding again while strawberries are in season, possibly as soon as next week. You did very well indeed. I can already see you presiding at a much grander dinner, when you are a great lady. A Viscountess at the very least.”

  Celia served herself half a glass of cider from a covered jug standing next to the decanters, and sat down facing her uncle. “I’m not sure about that,” she said slowly. “Did you notice how Sir Jasper disapproved, when I contradicted him about workhouse conditions? Yet I was the only one present who had seen our local workhouse, or had the least idea of its annual budget. Grandmother claims I have inherited grandfather’s business head, and I do believe she is right. Presiding over grand dinners might well become boring over the years.”

  The baronet straightened in his chair with an energetic movement. “Never say so! Of course you will find many other things to occupy you, quite apart from your children. Remember, you can afford to outfit your own workhouse, or even several, whenever you please. If Sir Jasper seemed surprised, it was because you are such a very young lady that he did not expect you to have any opinions of your own, or facts to back them up.”

  “It was Sir Jasper himself who raised the subject. If he wanted to discuss it in the presence of ladies, he had to expect one of us to say something.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sir Mortimer told her. “Many men prefer ladies to be an admiring audience, rather than active participants in a conversation. But if you marry a titled gentleman, then, as unfair as it seems, your opinions will carry more weight than they do now.” He took another reverent sip of cognac.

  Celia was not convinced. “Don’t most aristocrats waste their time with fashion and entertainment, as well as gambling and speculation? It would drive me to distraction to see my husband throw away the fortune my grandparents built up.”

  “No man who gambles or speculates recklessly will do for you, no matter from which class.” Sir Mortimer sighed at this reminder of the myriad dangers facing his young relative. “Picking the right spouse is the most important decision of your whole life.”

  “I have been thinking that a professional man might suit me better,” Celia said. “Wouldn’t such a husband be more likely to use my fortune responsibly? And his female relations would not go around raising their well-bred noses at my less than aristocratic pedigree, or make pointed remarks about the smell of breweries when I came into the room.” She could not entirely hide the sl
ight bitterness creeping into her voice, and her uncle, despite the late hour, immediately caught it.

  “Did that happen often, at your school?”

  “Now and then. It is not worth talking about, please forget I said anything.”

  “Some of that may have been envy as much as spite. Many well-born girls must be humbly grateful if they receive any eligible offers at all, and fear to remain spinsters if they do not take in the marriage mart. Whereas a pretty girl like you, with that large fortune, will have a greater number of suitors than most of them can expect. Of course they will try to make you feel small, by stressing what advantages they do have. Put it down to jealousy, and don’t lose any sleep over such ill-natured remarks.”

  Celia nodded, and put her glass down on the table. “But the breweries are only part of it. Just how ineligible am I? Don’t you think I am old enough to know why my father has not been heard of in five years, and why everyone avoids mentioning him? What did he do that was so very bad?”

  “That is not a fit subject for a young lady’s ears,” Sir Mortimer said very firmly, as he had met all previous questions on the subject. “I only hope he won’t turn up before you are safely married. He is trouble, Celia, I can tell you that much.”

  “I don’t particularly love or even like him,” she said pensively. “When I was living in Bloomsbury with my governess, we did not see a great deal of him. Mostly he argued with Miss Barrett about how much money she needed for my upkeep. I wonder what became of her after I was taken back to Kent.”

  “Do you miss her?” Sir Mortimer asked curiously. “It must have been strange to live with just that woman for all those years.”

  “No, I can’t say I miss her.” Celia frowned in recollection. “She was not a very likeable woman, but she did try to educate me as best she could, and she sometimes took me to museums and historic buildings. On Tuesdays and Fridays we would speak only French, and she gave me the rudiments of Italian and German, though her grasp of mathematics was weak. In the afternoons Miss Barrett always took a long nap, and I would sneak out to play with the other children of the building, or on the street.”