The Heir

by Catherine Coulter

  “There is something else?”

  “I was just wondering why Josette was wandering about in the middle of the night without a candle to guide her.”

  For an incredible moment Justin felt himself drawn to a long-ago sweltering night in Portugal. He and several other soldiers were scouting the perimeter of a scrubby wooded area on the outskirts of a small village in search of the elusive guerrillas. There was an almost discernible odor of danger that reached his nostrils. He jerked his companions to their bellies against the rocky ground just as shots rang out above their heads. Now, as then, he scented danger—certainly not in the form of cutthroats lurking about—but danger nonetheless. He felt he could say nothing of his vague feelings to Arabella, and thus turned to her and said lightly, without thought, “Perhaps old Josette was off to meet a secret lover. A candle would surely find her out.”

  She withdrew from him as if she had suddenly been whisked to another county. Guilt and shame filled her eyes. And bitterness. His belief that she had betrayed him reduced her to dull silence.

  “Arabella, wait, I did not mean—Well, damnation.” He stopped, angry with himself, but she was gone.

  “Would you believe it, Bella? Our chinless viscount just happened, mind you, to be in the neighborhood on his way to Brighton. Mama cooed and made a great fuss over him. Bless Papa, for he treated him most vilely. Of course, it was his gout that made him so cross, but it sent Mama into a dither. How she scolded him about ruining my chances to get myself shackled.”

  Suzanne Talgarth drew up her mare and patted her neck. “Papa guffawed until he was positively purple in the face when I told him that if Arabella Deverill could catch an earl, then I was assured of a duke.”

  Arabella reined in Lucifer and looked thoughtfully at her friend. “You know, Suz, it is a great joke, but I do not think it wise that—”

  “Lord, Bella, whatever is the matter with you? Ever since you got yourself married, you have changed. You’re too quiet. You stare right through me when I’m being particularly witty. What are you talking about? What the devil isn’t wise?”

  “I haven’t changed, not really. It’s just that, no, that’s none of your business. I will tell you what isn’t wise and that is raising young girls to idolize the vision of some ridiculous man who will be their husband. That is ridiculous.”

  “You must take care, Bella, for that sounds like a woman disappointed. Mama indeed tried to raise me to believe such nonsense, but you know me. If a man is an ass, well, that’s what he is. You know, sometimes I think it is you who are the great romantic, Bella, not me. I believe you thought to find the grand amour, didn’t you?” At Arabella’s silence, Suzanne laughed, flicking the reins on Bluebell’s glossy brown neck. “Come,” she called over her shoulder, “we are almost at Bury Saint Edmunds. Tell Lucifer that he must do a bit of work today. It’s so lovely, let’s explore the ruins.”

  But they didn’t do any exploring. Suzanne dropped gracefully to a grassy mound in the shade of a large elm tree, patted the spot beside her, and continued her thoughts of many minutes before. “No, I would never believe in a grand amour. Indeed, such a notion is absurd, particularly after observing Mama and Papa all these years. In fact,” she said with a tiny frown, “such a thing as love must indeed be for the common people, for I have seen none of it in couples of our class. I suppose it would be nice if someone had it. Do you think perhaps it is possible?”

  “I had no idea you were such a snob, Suz,” Arabella said. “But perhaps for girls like us, well, we marry as we’re told to and that’s that. Just like I did, just as my father ordered me even though he was dead.” She smoothed the folds of her blue riding habit about her ankles. How marvelous it was to box away all those dismal black gowns.

  Suzanne had just looked at her and nodded. “I like your gown. I hate black as well. My mama will have a fit when she sees you, but you never care. Now, am I a snob?” Suzanne shook her head. “No, not a snob, Bella, merely a realist. Undoubtedly my duke will be well over forty, running to fat, and a gamester in the Carlton House set. But, do you not see, I will be ‘your grace,’ have countless servants to carry out my every whim, and enjoy what one is supposed to enjoy. And that, I think, must be marvelous lobster patties and as much champagne as I can drink.”

  “You really do not believe in loving the man you are to wed?” Arabella asked slowly, so unhappy she thought she’d choke on it.

  “Such a question coming from you, Arabella? Ah, here I was forgetting your handsome husband. He is beautiful, there is no question about that. He is also charming and well, dominating, but in a protective sort of way. Perhaps you are fond of each other. That would be nice. And I think you’re lucky to wed such a man. He has a chin and he doesn’t have gout. And he is very smart. There are not many like him that I have seen in London. To think, your father handpicked him just for you. Yes, you could definitely have done worse for yourself. And knowing you, if the poor fellow didn’t ride like a champion, you would have ground him into the dirt.”

  “Yes, it was my father’s idea, his order.” Arabella said, looking off at the ruins in the distance. “I had no choice, not really. I could not leave Evesham Abbey, you see.”

  “How strange it is,” Suzanne said after a few moments, “when we were children, I never quite imagined you as a married lady. You were always so very certain of yourself, so very forthright and strong. If you were not so pretty, you could probably pass quite well as a gentleman. My father was always telling me not to let you lead me into mischief. He said you should have been a damned boy because your father only encouraged you in sowing wild oats. He could never understand why Lady Ann didn’t take charge of you. But, I usually saw a gleam of admiration in his eyes when he grumped and complained about you.”

  “I remember that you got me into trouble on more than one occasion,” Arabella said. “As for your thinking I wouldn’t marry, that is rather strange. What else is there for a woman to do? Be like that ridiculous Stanhope woman or my aunt Grenhilde? No, marriage is doled out to us. As to my being certain of myself and strong”—Arabella paused, carefully choosing her words—“perhaps it would be better for me now were I more bending, more submissive.”

  “Ah, your dominating husband. I begin to think that you and the earl are in a tug of wills, Bella. And it is obvious to me that despite all the bravado and wild exploits of our youth, you are simply not wise in the ways of women.”

  “Wise in the ways of women? That sounds like an old gypsy crone who makes up love potions. What on earth are you talking about?”

  The twinkling laughter dropped from Suzanne’s eyes and her voice became suddenly very serious. “I will tell you, Bella. You have a strong character, but it is simply not a woman’s strong character. No, now don’t interrupt me, for I believe that I am getting to the kernel of the corn. I have never known you to shy away from something, even if it was unpleasant. You are always forthright, honest, and loyal—and those are the traits gentlemen are supposedly noted for.

  “You see, that is exactly your problem. Gentlemen think that we are playing games, or lying, even when we are honest. And when we are forced to be less than honest, they do not know the difference anyway. Therefore, my dear friend, why disappoint them?”

  “You have said a lot there, Suzanne, and I’m not certain that I have quite gleaned your meaning. I am honest, most women are, yet it makes no difference to gentlemen if we are or not. Is that what you said?”

  “That is close enough.”

  Arabella sighed, pulled up a blade of grass and began chewing on it. “I invited you to ride with me to cheer me up. You must know that Elsbeth has sunk into total gloom since her maid, Josette, fell to her death. I expected gentleness from you. I expected tender wit and perhaps even soft pats on my shoulder. But here we are, and I find that all you wish to do is to dissect my character.”

  Suzanne sighed herself and pressed her lips together. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes inside her soft calf ridin
g boots. “I see that all my wisdom will go unheeded. I will tell you, Bella, I think you almost as much a romantic ninny as dear Elsbeth.”

  Arabella turned startled eyes to her friend. “Come, Suz, stop twitching your toes and tell me what you mean. Elsbeth a romantic? Why, the thought is absurd. She is such an innocent child despite her twenty-one years. She would have no notion at all about romance.”

  “Poor Arabella. Even Elsbeth tries to dissemble although she isn’t at all good at it yet. Haven’t you noticed how she hangs on to the comte’s every word? I swear she is much taken with the young Frenchman. He is her cousin?”

  “Yes, of course he is her cousin. Her mother was his aunt. But really, Suz—”

  Suzanne threw up her hands. “Oh, Bella, how can you be so blind? Your dear half-sister is not such an innocent child. I vow she has quite set her sights on her young cousin. Why last night I happened to look at her when the comte was playing whist with you. There was hatred in those pretty eyes of hers, Bella, hatred and jealousy of you, and all because the comte was just being his French self.”

  Elsbeth and Gervaise? It cannot be possible. But wait, Arabella, think back. Have there not been many times when Elsbeth and Gervaise have both been absent during the day? Has Elsbeth not seemed to become more confident, more sure of herself? And she seems to talk so freely with Gervaise.

  “Oh my God.” She surged to her feet. Justin believes the comte to be my lover. I did not understand. I had no answers. All I could do was swear that I was innocent. Can it really be that Elsbeth, my shy, uncertain Elsbeth, is the comte’s lover?

  Suzanne untangled her shapely legs and rose to stand beside Arabella. There was a blind glazed look in her friend’s eyes that quite unnerved her. She grabbed her arm and shook her. “Bella, what has upset you so? I daresay that I could be in the wrong about Elsbeth and the comte. You know me, I’m always talking, and not necessarily thinking enough before I do speak.”

  Arabella turned to look at her friend. “No,” she said slowly, “you are really quite right. I have been blind to what is going on about me. I have paid dearly for my blindness. As has Justin. But how did he know? Why did he believe it was me? And he was so very certain, as if he’d seen me, but that isn’t possible, is it?” She added urgently, her riding crop tightening in her hand, “I must return to Evesham Abbey now, Suzanne. I have much to think about. Oh God, there is so much to say now, so much to learn. Listen to me, Suz. Please keep this to yourself. But I thank you for telling me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Arabella swung upon Lucifer’s back and dug in her heels before Suzanne could put two thoughts together.

  20

  The earl stared thoughtfully down at the single sheet of paper from his friend Lord Morton, of the war ministry. Jack certainly conducted an efficient operation despite French control on the Continent. He read the few lines once again, then shredded the letter and watched the fragments settle atop the logs in the grate. He lit a match and watched the small pieces of paper grow black about the edges and then crackle into orange flame.

  He was on the point of leaving the library when the door opened and Lady Ann appeared. “My dear Justin, I am so glad that you have not yet gone out, for I wished particularly to speak with you.”

  The earl’s thoughts flew to Arabella. He looked at Lady Ann’s set face and grew instantly wary. He became instantly formal. “It is true that I was on the point of riding to Talgarth Hall, Ann, but of course I have still a few minutes. Would you care to sit down?”

  Lady Ann sat down and patted the place beside her. She said quietly, “I have no intention of bringing up uncomfortable topics, Justin, so you may be at your ease. It is Elsbeth I wished to discuss.”

  “Elsbeth? Surely all decisions relating to her are in your domain, Ann.” He crossed a booted leg over the other and waited none too patiently for her to speak.

  Ann knew she couldn’t carry off her fiction any longer. “Very well, Elsbeth is my domain and I frankly don’t care what your opinions are concerning her.” She drew a deep breath. “I know that you do not think highly of Gervaise de Trécassis. For that matter, neither do I and neither does Dr. Branyon. I don’t trust him, it’s that simple. I don’t care for his attitudes in many areas. There is something wrong. He is not what he appears. I don’t approve of the easy way he has with Elsbeth or Arabella. I do know that Arabella quite detests him. What I wonder is why he is still here. Why don’t you simply ask him to leave Evesham Abbey? You don’t need to kill him as Dr. Branyon thinks you would like to do.”

  He eyed her for a very long time, then said something that made her blink. “What makes you think Arabella detests him? That is a very strong word, Ann.”

  All that and he had thought only of Arabella. “I know it’s true because I can see that not only does he repel her, she’s also afraid of him. I think she’s afraid that he will speak untruths about her to you. Has that happened?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, well, he might, at least Arabella thinks so. But what I don’t understand is what she believes he will say to you.”

  “Has she told you this?”

  “No, not really. But I am her mother. I understand her very well. It’s odd, but Elsbeth quite appreciates him. Several times when he has said something that is not quite the thing, she has defended him. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Elsbeth defending her cousin? Perhaps it isn’t so very strange. They are first cousins. She’s an impressionable young girl—”

  “Perhaps, but she is still nearly three years older than Arabella.”

  “Well, but she is very innocent in the ways of the world. Perhaps she has some hero worship for the comte?”

  “Why do you hate him, Justin?”

  He rose quickly and walked to the sideboard. He poured himself some brandy and drank it down. “Leave it be, Ann,” he said at last. “Just leave it be. You don’t understand and it is not something I can speak to you about.”

  “Oh, I quite understand. And I applaud your discretion, except in this case you are quite wrong. You have somehow come to believe that he and Arabella are lovers.”

  He’d known it was coming, he’d known. So Arabella had cried on her mother’s shoulder to intervene. He should have expected it. There was an unpleasant sneer in his voice as he said, “Ah, has your daughter confided that to you, Ann? Has she told you that she hated marrying me so much that she took him as her lover even before we were married? Did she admit to you that ours is a mockery of a marriage? Did she beg you to use your influence with me?”

  She could not believe the depth of the bitterness in his voice. She must go carefully here. There was so very much at stake. “Listen to me now, Justin. Arabella avoids me as much as she does you. She is bitterly unhappy. I also know that you hurt her on your wedding night. I saw her shredded nightgown and all the blood that following morning. She has said nothing to me, not a single word. You believe that she has begged me to intervene? Have you lost your wits? Arabella begging anyone?”

  “I’m sorry. Of course that wouldn’t be in her character, but others things are, Ann. You mustn’t be blind to them just because she is your daughter.”

  “What are you sorry for? Are you sorry that I had to learn that you had hurt my daughter?”

  “I’m simply sorry that everything has happened as it has.” Jesus, he wanted to get out of here.

  “Listen to me, you idiot, I am anything but blind when it comes to my daughter. What do you mean there are other things in her character? Tell me, Justin.”

  “Very well. She deserves whatever I mete out to her, Ann. Please, just leave it alone. There has been too much between us and yet not nearly enough. There is nothing you can do. Suffice it to say that Arabella is his lover. Now, as for Gervaise de Trécassis, well, we will see. I don’t want him gone just yet. Paul is quite right. I would dearly love to kill him—not with a bullet and cleanly, but with my bare hands. No, he will remain a while longer. I have always believed that if th
ere is a snake about, it is wise to keep your eye on him and not let him slither away only to sneak back and catch you unawares.”

  “With your bare hands?”

  “Yes, that would be pleasurable, but I cannot, at least not yet.”

  “Why? And don’t give me more imagery about a damned snake slithering about!”

  “All right, Ann, plain speaking. I must know who and what he is before I act. You are quite right. He is not what he seems. I will not let my anger at Arabella interfere with my plans. Yes, Ann, I should very much like to kill the man who seduced my wife. I daresay Paul Branyon would like to kill any man who seduced you.”

  She just shook her head. “She didn’t take the comte as a lover. Wait. Are you saying she wasn’t a virgin on your wedding night?”

  “Some discussion about Elsbeth,” he said, his voice as acid as his belly at that moment, and he drank down some more brandy. It burned all the way to his belly. “I should have known.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “Are you quite through?”

  “Not at all. Well? Was Arabella a virgin on your wedding night?”

  He sighed. “She was a virgin.”

  “Then what the devil are you talking about? Are you a complete idiot? Ah, I believe I shall shoot you!” Lady Ann jumped to her feet. For an instant, he thought she would attack him, but she stopped just short of him and laid her hand on his sleeve. “What?” she said again. “She was a virgin. She told you that he wasn’t her lover. What then?”

  “Ann, you were a married lady. You know there are many ways to pleasure a man.”

  She looked at him as if she would heave up her lunch. “Oh, no, surely Arabella would never do that. It’s horrible. No, not her mouth, no.”

  “Our conversation isn’t all that is proper, Ann. I don’t wish to speak of this further. Suffice it to say that I am completely positive that Arabella took the comte for her lover before we married. Positive, do you hear me? I am not a liar. I did not make this up, it is not speculation or guesswork. Is she still seeing him? I don’t know. Of course she denied it. All of it. What would you expect her to do?”