The Heir

by Catherine Coulter

  He still wanted very much to kill that bloody comte.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Crupper said as he sailed soundlessly into the breakfast parlor.

  The earl nodded, then said as he passed the butler, “I shall be in the library. Ah, Crupper, if anyone cares to disturb me, they’re welcome to.”

  He had not gotten beyond a second column of numbers for spring market prices when Crupper most obligingly entered the library.

  “Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne are here to visit, my lord. There is also a gentleman accompanying them—a Lord Graybourn.”

  The spotty viscount, the earl thought, grinning, the spring market prices forgotten.

  “They are in the Velvet Room, Crupper?” He rose and shook out the fine lawn ruffles at his sleeves.

  “Yes, my lord. The family are there also.” He sniffed, his left eyebrow twitching. “I might add, my lord, that the young French comte is still here. He appears to be everywhere. It is disconcerting. I cannot like it. Indeed, I would wish profoundly that he would be gone.”

  “We share that opinion. He is leaving on Friday. Contrive to control your ire until then.” Arabella was there in the Velvet Room. He wanted very much to see her.

  The earl heard Lady Ann say without guile to the turbaned Lady Talgarth, “Dear Aurelia, how very kind of you to pay us a visit this morning. I was just saying to Arabella that it is so very nice to have friends.” Lady Ann tried to keep her eyes from straying to Lady Talgarth’s purple satin bosom, an awesome sight, one that made her eyes twitch.

  “Ah, here you are, my lord,” Lady Talgarth said in a girlish voice, turning to welcome the earl. “We were showing our dear Lord Graybourn about the countryside. We could not exclude a visit to Evesham Abbey.”

  The earl lifted her beringed hand and kissed her plump fingers.

  A merry smile played about Suzanne Talgarth’s pink lips as she observed the earl. She said softly to Arabella, who stood at her side, “If only poor Lord Graybourn had thought to kiss Mama’s hand. Had he done so, Mama would have forced me to wed the little toad, although,” she added, a small frown on her forehead, “he isn’t as much of a toad as I’d believed he was in London. No, not at all.”

  “Here, I forget my manners, my lord, what with you distracting me so obligingly. Yes, I have always liked a gentleman who could distract so nicely.” Lady Talgarth sighed as she finally withdrew her hand from the earl’s, though, in reality, it was she who was holding his hand. “My dear Edmund, allow me to present to you the Earl of Strafford, Justin Deverill.”

  The earl saw that Lord Graybourn had not been particularly favored by nature, only by fortune and birth. He was not above medium height, and the extra weight he bore made him look shorter than his actual inches. In five years, he would be fat as a flawn. His eyes were a bit on the protuberant side, but of a pleasant light blue. There was a good deal of intelligence in those eyes, and kindness as well. He affected dandyism, unfortunately, for the heavy jewel-encrusted fobs and rings, the high-starched shirt points, and the fawn breeches that stretched over his ample stomach, did not suit him at all.

  Surprisingly, Lord Graybourn had a quite firm, pleasant voice. “A pleasure, my lord. I trust we do not inconvenience you with our visit this morning.”

  “Not at all,” the earl said and liked the young man immediately. “It is always a pleasure to see our nearest neighbors.”

  The earl took the offered hand and pumped it. He drew the viscount forward for introductions to Arabella, Lady Ann, Elsbeth, and finally Gervaise. He found himself smiling as he watched his wife greet the viscount warmly, politely inquiring after his journey from London.

  She would not meet his eyes, and he was staring hard at her, damn her stubborn hide. What was she thinking? Was she worried that he wouldn’t still want to forgive her? He found himself looking at her hands—white and smooth, the fingernails short and buffed. Her thumbnail was slightly ragged. That made him smile, just a bit.

  As for Gervaise, he appeared to undergo a pronounced foreign transformation. He lisped his greeting to the viscount, who did not understand a word he said, and proffered a deep, flourishing bow reminiscent of the French court of Louis XVI. The viscount, believing such a formal greeting was in deference to his own notable lineage, and not wanting to seem discourteous, endeavored to return a bow of similar style. His cumberland corset creaked in protest.

  Gervaise preened, there was no other word for it. He looked about complacently. He was quite pleased that he’d made a fool of the viscount.

  Even though he’d succeeded, no one was about to reward him. He saw an angry gleam in Arabella’s eyes. To his further chagrin, Elsbeth, who had stood quietly at Lady Ann’s elbow, stepped forward and said in a clear, sweet voice, “Lord Graybourn. I am most delighted to meet you, sir. We have heard many nice things about you.” She extended her small hand, and the viscount, who in a flight of confident gallantry, brought her fingers to his lips. She blushed charmingly and dipped a curtsy.

  “But look, Bella,” Suzanne whispered behind her hand, “your French cousin has had his nose much put out of joint. And to think that I dreaded this visit. Oh, the enjoyment of it all.”

  “It’s true,” Arabella said, “that one can never tell what any one of us will say next.”

  She was angry. There was no doubt about it, she wanted to yell at the comte, tell him that he was a rude ass. The earl saw that she was keeping quiet with an effort. So she was displeased with her lover—no, surely the comte was her former lover—she certainly didn’t appear to even like him now. He smiled at her, nodding. She met his eyes for a brief instant. Her face was very pale, but her eyes, the gray was so brilliant yet strangely soft, as if she were looking at him with something akin to affection. That was possible, wasn’t it? Hell, his shin still hurt from the kick she’d given him. Probably not possible at all. But what was going on here? He wished he could tell the lot of them to disappear. He wanted to speak to her, badly. He wanted to kiss her even more badly. He wanted to make love to her—that the worst of all.

  Arabella said, “Come, let us all be seated. I shall ring for tea and morning cakes.”

  Once they had taken their places, Arabella turned to Lord Graybourn, trying her best not to look toward her husband. “What news can you give us of the fighting in the Peninsula, sir? I hope you can tell us something positive.”

  Lord Graybourn sought frantically to piece together bits of news that came from time to time to his grudging ears. While always ready to denounce Napoleon with patriotic fervor, he found the details of battles and the precarious fates of the European countries to be tedious in the extreme. He was an Englishman, thus England would remain supreme for all time.

  He cleared his throat, and replied with what he hoped to be the voice of informed authority, “Most proper that your ladyship should inquire.” He suddenly remembered that the former Earl of Strafford was a renowned military man, as was the current earl. Bedamned. He cleared his throat again, looked toward the earl, and gave him a big smile. He said quite honestly, “I know very little compared to his lordship. Why I have heard it said that he was a hero in more battles on the Peninsula than any other officer. What have you heard lately, my lord?”

  “No,” Gervaise said, sitting forward, “I want to hear what you have to say, Lord Graybourn. You have been in London, it is you who should know exactly what is happening.”

  He wasn’t content to want everyone to smack him, the earl thought, frowning. What was his purpose then? Was he so obtuse that he didn’t realize his rudeness would soon have even the gentle, most charming Lady Ann pounding his head? He started to tell the comte to shove his rudeness down his malicious throat when Lord Graybourn said easily, “Very well, but understand comte, that not much is given out in London. We are fighting a war, after all, and I would expect our leaders to keep some secrets.” He looked over at Lady Elsbeth. Such a gentle creature she was. She was looking at him with her full attention. He found suddenly that he didn’t wa
nt to disappoint her. “Of course, all of England still suffers from Napoleon’s blockade,” he said, praying the earl wouldn’t leap up and call him a bloody fool. “I understand, too, that Percival is under continuous pressure from both at home and abroad. His is a very difficult undertaking, poor man, but he is doing splendidly.”

  “Exactly so,” the earl said. “Not many folk in London understand the pressure that Percival is under. You are very wise, Lord Graybourn, to perceive the matter so clearly.”

  Had Lord Graybourn been a woman, he would have kissed the earl for his generosity and goodness. As it was, he would only nod and wish fervently that the earl would continue to find him wise.

  “It is repulsive,” Lady Talgarth announced in a very loud voice. She wanted some tea and some of Evesham Abbey’s delicious lemon cakes. Where the devil were all the servants? Then again, with Arabella now in charge, what else could she expect? They were probably all dancing in the orchard. Ah, but the lemon seed cakes were delicious.

  “Yes, but what precise news of the Peninsula?” the comte pressed on, his eyes battened on Lord Graybourn.

  Arabella nearly leapt out of her chair at him. She sucked in her breath, preparing to fire cannon at him, but the earl, winking at her, said smoothly, “Did I not tell you, comte? Massena is now in Portugal with sixty thousand men under his command. From my information, I understand that Wellington will launch an offensive against him in the fall. With the experience and pluck of Wellington’s men, I believe we will taste victory. Forgive me, Lord Graybourn, but there was no way for you to know this. It is just now being doled out in very small amounts to the public.”

  Lord Graybourn nodded, and thanked the heavens that the earl was here and thought him wise enough to assist out of this quagmire.

  The comte sat back, furious, wondering what had happened. He’d had the stupid fat fellow on the floor, the boot of his heel on his neck, and yet the earl had rushed in to save him. He had always heard that military men hated the ignorance of their countrymen. Certainly the French military men were contemptuous of anyone who ever dared question them or pretended they knew anything that was going on.

  And the new earl was a proud bastard, every inch of him. Of course Gervaise knew, deep in his belly, he knew—it was the cursed loathsome English—they protected each other. Not to mention that the earl hated him. He had realized that even though he didn’t know the reason for it. Well, he would take care of that soon enough and he would very much enjoy himself doing it. He looked over at Elsbeth and his eyes narrowed. She was smiling toward Lord Graybourn. How could she do this to him?

  Damn her.

  Damn all of them. He couldn’t wait to wash the dirt of England off his boots. Filthy cold heathen country.

  Lady Ann added, “Let us also hope that Wellington will not have to turn his eyes elsewhere. Do not forget that with Napoleon’s marriage to Marie Louise only four months ago, Austria now owes no loyalty to England. The French emperor is very carefully scattering England’s friends to the four winds. Nothing good will come of this, particularly if Marie Louise becomes quickly with child.”

  The earl was impressed. Finally, Crupper directed two footmen in with the tea and cakes. He watched Lady Ann pour the tea. It seemed that everyone watched her, took their tea, and sipped in pleasure. He himself loved the lemon seed cakes. He nodded, accepting a cup of tea from her, as she said, “I feel so very sorry for the young empress. The poor child had no say in anything, I am certain.”

  “French emperor indeed,” said Lady Talgarth as she ate her second piece of lemon seed cake. She was eyeing the earl, for he had just taken a second slice also. There was only one left. She cleared her throat, hoping to distract him as her fingers inched toward that last slice, “I have heard it said that the Corsican has deplorable manners. What is a man if he has no manners? What do you think, Lord Graybourn?”

  Lord Graybourn nearly choked on his tea. “Manners do tend to civilize,” he finally said, and took the last slice of lemon seed cake.

  Arabella said with a twinkle in her eyes, “My dear ma’am, judging from the continuous string of mistresses, right under the nose of Josephine, it would seem that not everything about the man is deplorable.”

  The comte laughed immoderately.

  The earl was on the point of picking the comte up by his high shirt points and hurling him through the French windows when Arabella jumped to her feet and said, “Oh dear, Justin, I fear I have spilled tea on my gown. Would you please see that it will not stain?”

  It was well done of her. He watched her come toward him, holding the material of her sleeve, her eyes on his cravat. He felt a powerful kick in the gut. God, but she was beautiful. She was also a termagant, loyal, brave, and he would forgive her. He would tell her tonight and then he would make love to her and he would do it right. He would make her forget the comte. And she would tell him the truth, finally.

  She reached him, looked up into his face, and said softly, “Do you believe it will stain?”

  He did not know or care if anyone was looking at them. He leaned down, looked at the very small wet stain, then kissed the tip of her nose, then her chin, and finally her mouth, very lightly.

  “Goodness,” Lady Talgarth said. “Surely, my lord, this display is inappropriate for my innocent daughter’s eyes, not to mention dear Elsbeth’s.”

  Suzanne laughed. “No, Mama. Finally Bella will be good for something. I will watch her with her husband and learn important things. Husband and wife sorts of things.”

  “Suzanne, I will have to speak to your father about this. I am certain that he will agree with me. All you have to do is observe us, my dear, to learn all the important things.”

  Suzanne felt close to hysterical laughter.

  Luckily, Lord Graybourn was saying to Elsbeth, “Have you ever visited London before?”

  And the conversation chaos was avoided until Suzanne said, “Come, Bella, you cannot remain standing there with the earl’s arms around you. My mother will expire from the shock. As for your mother, just look at her pink cheeks.” And Elsbeth was all pink in the cheeks as well, but that was because of Lord Graybourn. Life, she thought suddenly, was indeed whimsical. She realized she was enjoying herself immensely.

  The earl looked up, saw that everyone’s eyes were fastened on them, and sighed. He lightly touched his fingertips to her mouth. “Later then.” He added at the wariness he saw clearly on her face, “Trust me. We will work this out, you will see. Go now before I embarrass us further. Your gown won’t be stained.”

  “I wasn’t embarrassed.”

  He merely nodded. He didn’t know what was happening to him. It didn’t hurt but it was strange, this awkward mixture of tenderness, fury, and lust. So much, yet not enough.

  “At last, you are with us both mind and body again,” Suzanne said.

  Elsbeth said, “How I grieve for the poor Austrian princess. She was torn from her family and her country all as a political bribe to that horrid man.”

  “Do not forget, my dear, that Napoleon ardently desires an heir,” Lord Graybourn said, much struck by this shy young lady’s sensibilities.

  “We poor women,” Suzanne said, then ruined it with a giggle. “Bartered and traded about so that we can be the carriers of your precious men’s names.”

  The earl laughed. “Come, Miss Talgarth, you paint us as uncaring fellows. Surely we have our uses.” His eyes were on his wife. He wanted desperately for her to look at him. He would prove to her that he could please her, that he could make her laugh, make her eyes twinkle. He wanted to hear her shout and yell at him. He wanted everything in her.

  Arabella said quietly, not looking at him, “You do not agree, then, my lord, that most gentlemen prefer their wives to remain quietly in the background, bearing their offspring, and unobtrusively working at their embroidery?”

  The earl could not begin to imagine Arabella in the background of anything. She would always be right in front, directing, bellowing orders, laughing,
yelling at him as well. He said, “I know you must be speaking metaphorically. I cannot imagine you embroidering for five minutes. You would become bilious. No, no needlework for you, Arabella.”

  Suzanne lifted her saucer in mock toast to the earl. “Quite true. Admit, Bella, his lordship has scored a point. Just yesterday during our ride, I could not hold you in conversation for much longer than five minutes.”

  Arabella looked first at the comte, then at Elsbeth, who was in quiet conversation with Lord Graybourn. Why hadn’t the dratted man come before the comte had? Damn his eyes. How could he have ever thought he could like Suzanne? But perhaps there was still a chance. Gervaise would be gone soon. Perhaps then Elsbeth would forget him. But she knew she couldn’t tell the earl. He wouldn’t believe her, but even if he did come to believe her, he would not treat Elsbeth well. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he would do.

  Lady Ann said with a smile, “I have always admired Arabella’s energy, dear Aurelia. I have never known boredom. When I didn’t want to spank her little bottom I was laughing. Surely I was blessed. As were you with Suzanne. Such a bright, laughing, amusing girl. You must be very proud of her.”

  Suzanne nearly dropped her teacup. She stared at Lady Ann. She had wished, at errant moments throughout her entire eighteen years, that Lady Ann could have been her mother. They would have dealt together so much better . . . well, perhaps not, but Arabella was her father’s daughter. Just her father’s. There was nothing of Lady Ann in her.

  “There is that,” Aurelia said obscurely, staring at her daughter as if she wanted to strangle her.

  “You were blessed, Ann, with your offspring,” the earl said. “And now I will be blessed with my wife.” Arabella stared over at him wondering, Must I lie so you will come to admire me? Accept me?