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

by May Burnett

  “Just how long will he have a claim on your daughter’s inheritance, according to the settlements you signed?”

  “Until she comes of age or marries, unfortunately. That day cannot come soon enough for me.”

  “You once told me you could not even imagine yourself with grown-up children,” James recalled with a slight smile. “I take it that has changed.”

  “It was five years ago, but I have aged at least ten in that time. Many things are imaginable now, that never were so in my youth.”

  “Matured, rather than aged,” James amended. “You still look young enough.”

  “As to that, it helps that I could finally leave off the deep mourning. Black is such a gloomy colour. That I did not miss Louise-Henriette as much as a young widower might be supposed to miss his wife, only added to the depressing atmosphere of this last year. I did not come to England only to visit you; I was also in dire need of a new wardrobe.”

  “Paris would be more convenient for that.”

  “Yes, but I prefer the English tailors I have used since I was in my teens. I am a sad creature of habit, James.”

  “We all are. If you are satisfied with your tailor, why try something new?”

  Tired of small talk, Alphonse came back to his main worry. “How soon do you think we’ll find Mme Fourrier?”

  “She has over a week’s head start, even though she took a slower route. Do you know why she would do that?”

  “That’s my own damn fault.” Alphonse’s voice was bitter. “Had mother sent Monique to me, as I requested, of course they would have taken a boat in Nantes, and travelled the quickest way, by sea, as we did. But I did not send Mme Fourrier nearly enough to rent a whole boat, and there is no passenger service from Nantes to English ports. So she would logically go northwards, and book passage on one of the regular ferries. Travelling with any kind of riff-raff.” He clenched his fist in frustration. “Anything could happen, and she has no English at all – well, maybe a few words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. If my mother was foolish, Mme Fourrier was no less so, to set out with the child under such conditions. What was she thinking?”

  “We must suppose she was really worried about de Montalban.”

  “He could have followed her, or sent a servant after her. The child may never again be this vulnerable.” Alphonse’s eyes were open, but did not see the vineyards they were passing, from which the bulk of his income derived. “If I find Monique again whole and sound, I am never going to let her out of my sight again.”

  “A capable wife would help you avoid such muddles in future,” James said. “In my family, though our two estates are not nearly as big as yours, Charlotte is the captain, and I her first officer, at least in all domestic matters. She knows everything that goes on under our roof.”

  “But women like your Charlotte are not easy to find. She has a good heart, a strong mind, and a backbone. She’s the perfect wife, and from what I have observed, an even better mother.”

  James had to smile. “Nobody is perfect, not even Charlotte, and I’m glad of it. Certainly not you or I. If you look around, you will find a girl that fits into your life as smoothly as Charlotte fits into mine, and is a good mother to your child. Fate has given you a second chance; don’t squander it.”

  Perhaps Alphonse had already found her, but it would be excessively presumptuous to take anything for granted. “How do I know for sure, though? We so rarely have the chance to know young ladies, truly know them, except superficially. Before I married, Louise-Henriette and I had only had the most vapid of exchanges, about the weather, fashion, and who was in favour at court. I had no idea what she was truly like, and she probably did not know me any better.”

  “I always think that a person’s true character and mettle is revealed in adversity. That would not help with the polished debutantes of the marriage mart, I suppose. As a rule of thumb, if a girl proved unwilling or unable to talk about anything but the weather and fashion, you should forget her, no matter how attractive she might otherwise be.”

  “God, yes, I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

  +++

  After two long days and short nights on the road, they arrived at the Maison Ville-Deuxtours in the Marais in the early afternoon, tired and frazzled. The slow progress inside Paris city limits was the last straw, but they suffered every delay in grim silence.

  Alphonse had decided to break the journey for one night at his home in the capital, partly in order to call on the Comte de Montalban. A talk with his late wife’s uncle should give him a better idea if the man represented a danger to his daughter. James was sceptical of this notion, pointing out that aristocratic villains were not easily recognizable. A man who attended Mass frequently and still plotted the murder of an infant must be such a hypocrite, James argued, that he could easily pull the wool over anyone’s eyes; such monsters were only to be caught red-handed, if at all.

  He was not loath to rest a few hours, however, and would use the time of his friend’s absence for a leisurely bath and careful shave. Dressed in more elegant clothes than practical en route, he might finally feel civilised again, and the helpful staff could do something with his linens overnight.

  They were greeted with most encouraging intelligence, when they arrived. Mme Fourrier and the young demoiselle had also spent a night there, on their way to Calais, as the butler helpfully explained. The butler had sent a hamper of supplies and one of the establishment’s sturdy footmen to escort the nurse and child to the port city, since they were travelling in a cheap hired coach, rather than in in one of the family’s carriages. The servant was too urbane to betray his disapproval of such ramshackle proceedings by anything more than a slightly raised brow, but Alphonse caught his opinion perfectly, and flushed with mortification.

  “You did not think of holding them back here in Paris, until more suitable arrangements could be made?”

  “The nurse showed me the letter in your own hand, Monsieur le Marquis, how could I?”

  “How was the little girl?” James asked. “Did she seem at all sickly and fatigued from the long trip?”

  “She was sleeping most of the time she was here, Sir.”

  “Has the footman come back yet from Calais?”

  “No, and he might not return until the coming week; he has family in that region, and I gave him a week off so he could visit them.”

  “If she travelled via Calais, she would arrive in Dover, I suppose,” James said. “Where would she go from there?”

  “But to London, bien entendu,” the butler said. “That is where the master’s other home is, isn’t it?”

  “Would she even get there, without any English?” Alphonse could envisage, only too vividly, the dangers facing a single woman traveller encumbered by a small child.

  “From what I have seen of Mme Fourrier, whom I had not met before this, I do not doubt that she will make her way to London,” the butler opined. “She is a woman of very strong will.”

  Alphonse thanked and dismissed him.

  “That’s all very well, having a strong will,” he said discontentedly to James when the man had gone, “but the strongest will is useless if you run out of money on the way. Mme Fourrier has no idea how expensive England is, and the moneychangers are crooks, most of them.”

  James could not deny it. “Still, look at the bright side. By spending the night here in your Paris house, she saved one night’s expenses, as well as the cost for food. She sounds like a sharp woman. We can do nothing but put our trust in her.”

  “Trust? I want to wring her neck,” Alphonse grumbled, as he left to wash and change before seeking out the Comte.

  Chapter 17

  Mr. Beecham must have been very tired indeed, for the ladies were all up long before him.

  “The main thing is for you not to fall into your father’s hands yourself, and preferably not to be found at all,” Charlotte advised Celia as she poured tea into her guest’s cup.

  Celia nodded di
stractedly. “I dreamed of the Marquis. He looked exhausted and was running and running after his little girl, but she kept receding into the distance.”

  “Poor Alphonse, that is all too likely close to the real situation,” Minerva commented, putting a lump of sugar into her cup and stirring vigorously.

  “If this wet-nurse came to his London residence by any chance, would the London staff understand her? Do they speak French?” Celia wondered.

  Charlotte tried to remember. “His valet does, but he is here at the Hall. As for the other staff, I am not sure, but I believe they are all English.”

  “They should be alerted to the possibility, and requested to send the child down here to us, or at least to send an urgent message if she does turn up,” Celia suggested.

  “A good idea,” Minerva concurred. “We can send a message to that effect with Mr. Beecham.”

  “We never told Beecham about the disappearance of the child,” Charlotte realised. “He must keep an eye out for her in London. I would like to go up to town myself, not only for that, but to fetch supplies for the ball. Only, as matters stand I simply cannot leave.”

  “Do you have the lists ready?” Minerva asked.

  Charlotte drew two sheets of paper out of her pocket and held them out.

  Minerva scanned her precise instructions for Charlotte’s London staff, and an even longer shopping list. “No need to buy new plates or cutlery, we have plenty in Amberley House.”

  “Your mother would never consent to lend them to me.”

  Minerva grinned. “I know, but Marianne would, and it is her house now.” She continued reading. “Eight silver trays? We can supply those too, as well as the extra drinking glasses.”

  Charlotte hesitated. “We can easily afford to buy them, of course, but all these objects will forever take up storage space and need regular cleaning. I would prefer to borrow them, but I can hardly send instructions to your brother’s house, to send us their plate and glasses.”

  “I can easily do so,” Minerva assured her, “as it is technically still my home. Give me the list. I can travel back to London with Mr. Beecham, look up Alphonse’s staff, have the Amberley servants pack up everything on your list, complete the shopping, and come back tomorrow in Amberley’s big berline – we will need it for all those supplies, including the wine bottles.”

  “I confess it would be a great help. You would take your maid, of course.”

  “Of course, let me tell her now to get ready.” Minerva left, nearly at a run, just missing Mr. Beecham’s appearance in the breakfast room, Sir Mortimer at his heels. She was back within minutes.

  As the solicitor fortified himself for the return trip to town, Charlotte told him about the reason why James and Alphonse had departed so suddenly. He was shocked, and expressed his willingness to do whatever might help resolve the tragic situation. Apprised of the plan that he should escort Lady Minerva and her maid, he declared himself deeply honoured, and promised to personally escort them to the Marquis’ premises.

  “The child and her wet-nurse might already have arrived there, and I can bring her back down in the berline with everything else,” Minerva said optimistically.

  “Let us hope so. We did not finish the legal discussion last night,” Beecham addressed Sir Mortimer and Celia. “I believe I can stall Mr. Conway for a few weeks, possibly as long as six months, depending on the quality of his own legal advisers. However, it is three long years till Miss Conway comes of age. Until we can find some means to force him to desist, it is essential that Conway should not find her.”

  “Just what I have been telling you,” Charlotte said, and Celia nodded.

  “I could change my name and appearance, for this interval. Or travel to some remote country.”

  “He still might get his hands on your fortune,” Beecham warned. “Probably not the securities, those are stored in a safe place where he could not possibly gain access. Unfortunately a brewery, or sixteen, cannot simply be hidden away.”

  “Not the breweries themselves, but surely the cash reserves, and the profits,” Celia said thoughtfully. “My father has never shown much interest in business, or understanding of it. I could easily devise the means to keep the bulk of the income out of his grasp, and make him believe we are barely scraping by.”

  “Now that you mention it, I daresay that so could I, and your manager,” Beecham said. “I will have to consult with him.”

  “Pray do so. But he is to give you exact and truthful accounts, mind, for us to check later. It would not do to try and fool another, and end up being deceived ourselves.”

  “As you say, Miss Conway.” Beecham bowed to the heiress with unfeigned respect.

  +++

  Rook wearily closed his eyes, only partly because his faint headache still worsened each time he looked towards the window. Miss Conway’s soft melodious voice washed over him, and he marvelled that she could read the bone-dry text by Adam Smith with so much expression. Clearly she did not find it at all dry herself. A very odd girl. Since he had never heard of the Conway family, they obviously did not move in his elevated circles. Yet Charlotte and Minerva treated Miss Conway as an equal, despite her youth. Just who was she?

  She turned a page. “The whole industry of human life is employed not in procuring the supply of our three humble necessities, food, clothes and lodging, but in procuring the conveniences of it according to the nicety and delicacy of our tastes.”

  “Do you agree with that last statement, Miss Conway?”

  “Certainly,” she replied, putting the book down on her lap. “You do not?”

  The maid darning in a corner looked up for a moment, before returning to her task.

  “I find my aching head unequal to a discussion of the matter at this moment. Is this the only book you brought on this visit? Surely James Ellsworthy’s library holds some novels, too?”

  “You read novels?” She looked at him with surprise. “Do you not think them frivolous?”

  “It depends. I find that when my head has taken a strong knock, it becomes difficult to follow economic or political reasoning. You truly enjoy this book?”

  “I cannot see that it is any harder to understand than a novel,” she said, frowning slightly, “and it offers more substantial food to the understanding. I have read all of Adam Smith at least twice before now, and this will hardly be the last time I do so.”

  “You are not afraid to be labelled a bluestocking, Miss Conway?”

  “Oh, I see.” She smiled briefly. “I have, once again, done something the average lady of fashion would not?”

  “I can already see that you are far from average. Where did you acquire this taste for political economy?”

  “Some years ago,” she said vaguely. “I like reading, but only on those occasions when circumstances prevent me from being active myself. “

  “That is true of me as well. The best book cannot keep me from our stud, and riding our horses.”

  Perceiving that he was no longer interested in the book, if he ever had been, Celia said, “I have heard your family’s studs are most impressive. Tell me more about them.”

  To Rook’s amazement, she asked a number of pointed questions, to do with feeding, salaries, prize money, and stud fees. This latter was such an indelicate subject that he was shocked to find himself discussing it with a young female. Did she know exactly what the stud fees were paid for? From her placid countenance, he could not tell.

  “No other lady has ever asked me about such things,” he said.

  “I suppose it was another of those things a debutante is not supposed to talk about? I find I do not truly care. Being a lady is like an iceberg, it seems to me.”

  “I beg your pardon? An iceberg? For being cold all the time?”

  “No, but I have read that most of these icebergs’ bulk is submerged and invisible under water, is that not so?”

  “So I have also been told, yes.”

  “Well, it strikes me that a lady is like a real woma
n with eighty per cent of her personality, feelings, tastes, and thoughts submerged and invisible. Only the acceptable small part can be shown, like an interest in the weather or pouring tea. Is it not the same for a gentleman?”

  “I have never looked at it that way. Obviously a gentleman does not wear his feelings on his sleeve, but I at least am not conscious of any great difference between the outward appearance and the real man. What you see is what you get.”

  She looked at him gravely. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  Rook sucked in his breath. “Don’t be,” he said harshly. “Tell me more about yourself, Miss Conway. You intrigue me strangely. How old are you?”

  “Nearly eighteen.”

  “How could a girl as young as you have read all of Adam Smith twice already? And why this interest in feeding costs, stud fees and the like?”

  “I cannot help it,” she confessed. “My uncle probably would not want me to talk about it, but whenever I see a business, shop or household, or even hear about it, such as your stud, my brain automatically adds the expenses and tallies the probably income. If I look at a column of accounts, I can add them without thinking, and without mistake.”

  He looked at her in fascination. One of his friends in school had had a similar facility with numbers, though Jack did not bother his mathematical mind about mundane business applications. How extraordinary and unexpected that a girl could also have such abilities.

  “Do go on, Miss Conway.”

  “From your description of the stud, I deduce that its profits will vary widely over the years, it sounds like a risky business to rely on for steady income. A sickness among your stock could compromise its viability for a long time.”

  “That is not news to me, unfortunately. Why do you suppose only the rich play at breeding racehorses?”

  “On the other hand, as long as there are other, more stable income sources, it does look like a fascinating endeavour. I hope your horses may win many more races.”