The Heir

by Catherine Coulter

  “Come, love,” he said quietly, “all will be well, you will see. Just stay close to your mother and Dr. Branyon. I will take care of everything.”

  She searched his face. There was no expression there save for the stark danger she read in his eyes. “The devil you will,” she said just as quietly. “You cannot put me in a closet to keep me safe. I am part of this, Justin. If you forget again, I will have to do something perfectly outrageous.” He felt her hand moving down the front of his britches. He grabbed her hand and drew it up to his mouth, kissing her palm.

  “I won’t forget,” he said. “But heed me, I am your husband and I will take care of the comte. You will do exactly as I tell you. I will take no more chances with your safety. I mean it. Obey me, Arabella.”

  Her chin went into the air. She pulled her hand away from his and marched up the stairs of the Talgarth mansion, Lady Ann and Elsbeth following after her. As for the comte, he already awaited all of them at the top of the stairs.

  Lady Talgarth swooped down upon them before the butler could announce them formally, her overly bright, toothy smile embracing them all, except possibly, Lady Ann. “Ah, my dears, how very delightful. My dear Ann, how very exquisite you are this evening. The gray is so much less black than it should be, don’t you agree? Of course, I should never be seen wearing a color that did not show proper respect, but all of us are different, are we not?”

  “Very different, thank the good Lord,” Arabella said. “Come, Mother, let us mingle.” She grabbed her mother’s hand and dragged her into the vast ballroom of Talgarth Hall. Every neighbor in the entire area was present. Flocks of brightly colored peacocks, Arabella thought, a magnificent sight.

  “Really, my darling,” Lady Ann said, laughter lurking in her voice, “you show her no pity.”

  “She’s a bitch,” Arabella said, her voice indifferent. “But who cares? You certainly don’t. I know Suzanne will be much better off when she is married and away from her. I just hope she can find someone as splendid as Justin for her husband. But I fear there is no other man to match him.”

  “Spoken like a girl blindly, madly, in love,” Lady Ann said. “I am pleased, dearest. I spoke with Justin, as you have probably already guessed. He told me everything. Well, I don’t know if that’s true or not. At least he told me enough. You and I will discuss it later.” She was already searching about her. “Has Paul arrived yet, I wonder? Unfortunately, I was unable to see him during the day, as you know. Or perhaps you don’t, since you’re so involved with your husband.”

  Now that, Arabella thought, keeping her mouth firmly closed, was an understatement. “Oh look, Mama, there’s Suzanne. Isn’t she lovely? I love that shade of pink on her.”

  Suzanne was soon whirling about them. She clasped Lady Ann’s hands. “How beautiful you look, Lady Ann. And you, Bella. Goodness, just look at those pearls. They’re exquisite. Where did you get them? Oh, don’t tell me. Your handsome husband gave them to you, didn’t he?”

  Arabella actually blushed. It was amazing, Lady Ann thought, staring at her. “I have never seen them before and they look to be quite old,” she said slowly.

  “Justin said that my father gave them to him to give to me after we were married. He did, this evening.”

  “Oh, my love,” Lady Ann, “you are my precious and Justin’s as well. Isn’t life grand?”

  “I think so,” Arabella said slowly, for out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gervaise dancing with Elsbeth. She was not about to forget that she must keep him under view for the entire evening. Surely he would try something. She knew it as well as Justin did.

  She also saw Suzanne curtsy to the earl, heard her laughing voice. “I vow a score of young ladies have been fluttering about the past hour or more waiting to meet you, my lord. You will not stick to Arabella’s side all evening, will you? No, of course you won’t, a gentleman has to flaunt himself, show the world that he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.”

  “I am yours to command,” the earl said. Arabella watched him, her expression filled with hunger, had she but known it, when he asked a young lady to dance with him.

  Arabella turned to find Gervaise at her elbow. “Monsieur,” she managed in a creditably calm voice, “Will you not join us? There are many people you must meet.” Yes, you bastard, let’s just see what you will do this evening.

  There was an instant of hesitation in his dark eyes before he said easily, “But of course, Arabella, I am your servant, as always.” Arabella introduced him to Miss Fleming and watched the two of them take their places in a country dance.

  “Mama,” Arabella whispered, “look over by the fireplace. Poor Dr. Branyon, held captive in conversation by the gouty Lord Talgarth. He looks desperate, Mama. His eyes are glazing. I believe you’d best go rescue him before he takes a fireplace poker to his host.”

  “By all that’s wonderful, but you are a marvelous daughter.” Lady Ann kissed her daughter’s cheek and was off, her step as light and happy as a young girl’s.

  Arabella next introduced Gervaise to the quiet Miss Dauntry, the fourth daughter of a fondly doting mother. As he turned to lead the young lady to the dance floor, Arabella saw Lord Graybourn sweep by with Elsbeth on his arm. He was, surprisingly, a very graceful dancer. Elsbeth was laughing up at his face. This certainly looked promising.

  Suzanne whirled by with Oliver Rollins firmly in tow. He was a chubby, well-meaning young man, whom Arabella had bullied mercilessly from their childhood. Suzanne called out to her, all gaiety, “Do not fret, Bella, I shall send one of my gallants to dance with you. But you must give up the earl, for we have an overabundance of young ladies tonight.”

  Oliver Rollins managed a stuttering hello before being borne away.

  Arabella turned at a tap of a fan on her arm. Lady Crewe, a formidable dowager of indeterminate years and bright red hair that was still untouched by gray, stood at her side, two great purple ostrich plumes swinging about her angular face. “You are looking fit, Arabella. I see that marriage agrees with you. It’s rare, you know, fine marriages, that is. Except when it involves money, of course. But you two young people—both of you looking as besotted as my peacock Larry and his peahen Blanche. A fine choice your papa made, and I would tell him so if he were here.

  “Damn, I wish he weren’t dead. I’m sorry to remind you, my dear, but I know you loved him very much.” She patted Arabella’s hand even as her brilliant hazel eyes swept across the room to rest a moment on the earl, creditably performing his part in the country dance with the very buxom Miss Eliza Eldridge. “Yes,” Lady Crewe said more to herself than to Arabella, “the new earl is a fine figure of a man. How very like your papa he appears. And you as well. You look so alike, the two of you. You will have handsome children. Your father would have been mightily pleased.”

  “I hope,” Arabella said, looking at her husband, “that we will have a score of children. And yes, they will be handsome, you are right about that. I just hope they all have clefts in their chins, like my father and Justin. My father made an excellent choice.”

  Lady Crewe paused a moment and turned a large ruby ring about her thin finger. “Perhaps your mama will be surprised, Arabella, but I do not fault her for marrying Dr. Paul Branyon, as does poor Aurelia Talgarth. Silly woman! All her nonsense about his not being a lord, not being of our class, why, it is really too absurd.” Her eyes were shrewd. “You are open, Arabella. I like that. Your father never really was, but that’s neither here nor there. I can see that you, my dear Arabella, have given your approval to your mama’s marriage to Dr. Branyon. It’s wise of you. It shows a maturity that is refreshing as it is pleasing.”

  “My mother is very beautiful and too young to spend her life alone. Also, I am very fond of Dr. Branyon. I have known him all my life. There is no kinder man. I’m pleased he will be my step-papa.”

  Lady Crewe was still looking toward Lady Ann. She said slowly, her voice meditative, “I will tell you, my dear, that for the first time in nearly twe
nty years I have found something admirable about your mother besides her immense sweetness and good looks. At last she has shown character and spirit that match her beauty. I do believe it came quite easily to her, proving it was there all the time.” She added very quietly, “Your father was a very strong man, a very dominant man who wouldn’t accept a female ever questioning him. Yes, your mother has come into her own now.”

  Arabella, who was still trying to keep the comte in view, was a bit distracted. “Yes, ma’am,” she said briefly.

  Lady Crewe mistook her response. “Now, Arabella, you are a married lady. I have marveled at the fact that your mother survived these nineteen years and has still retained her youthful bloom. Perhaps God, in his infinite wisdom, does reward the innocent.”

  She caught Arabella’s attention fully. She turned to Lady Crewe and in her eyes was an understanding that she would not have had, had Justin not spoken frankly to her about her father. She looked searchingly at Lady Crewe, noting the traces of beauty still evident on her proud face. She knew then that Lady Crewe and her father had been lovers. She felt no anger, only a mildly detached acceptance of the fact. She finally accepted that her father had been a man, an adult, and she had been a child, blindly believing him to be perfect. But she was no longer a child.

  Lady Crewe had, of course, observed the new maturity on the young countess’s face, seen the understanding then the acceptance in her eyes—her father’s eyes. She said kindly, “Do come and call on me, Arabella. I believe that we would have many interesting things to discuss. I have stories to tell you about your papa, stories, perhaps, that you don’t know. He was an amazing man.”

  “I shall, ma’am,” Arabella said. She realized that she did indeed wish to further her acquaintance with Lady Crewe. She left the older woman’s side to join the dancing with Sir Darien Snow, a long-time crony of her father’s. He smelled faintly of musk and brandy, a pleasing combination. She saw somewhat sadly that the years were gaining inexorably upon Sir Darien, deep lines etched about his thin lips and eyes, knots of veins on the backs of his hands. He was as gentle and unassuming as her father had been loud and boisterous. Undemanding as always, he led her through the steps with the practiced grace of long years in society. He didn’t speak, which relieved her. She had to keep her eye on the comte. She saw him dancing with Elsbeth. Damn, if only there were some way to get Elsbeth suddenly on the other side of the ballroom. She tugged on Sir Darien’s arm, taking the lead from him, to draw closer to Elsbeth and Gervaise. At least she wanted to hear what they were saying. As they drew near, she heard Gervaise say in his lilting caressing voice, “How lovely you are this evening, ma petite. These English parties seem to agree with you.”

  Then they were swept away in the crush of other dancers, and she was unable to hear any more. If only she could have heard more.

  At that moment, Elsbeth was saying to the comte, “Thank you, Gervaise. I do much enjoy dancing and parties. My aunt was rather retiring and did very little entertaining.” Elsbeth paused a moment before continuing, a hint of guilt in her voice, “I really should write to my aunt Caroline. She has shown me only kindness, you know. She will of course wish to visit us after we are married.” How odd that sounded to her ears, somehow unnatural, somehow forced.

  He said nothing, but there was a quiver in his hands. “Yes,” he managed to say finally. He gazed down at his half-sister, her dark eyes bright and almond-shaped, as were his. He knew her simple innocence, her unquestioned trust of those about her. If only that wretched old servant Josette had told him sooner that he was not the natural son of Thomas de Trécassis, indeed, that he and Elsbeth were born of the same mother. Thank God he hadn’t made love to her that last time, after Josette had screamed at him that Elsbeth was his half-sister.

  He would be gone soon, gone with what was rightfully his. Yet, somehow, he wanted to lessen the pain Elsbeth would feel upon his leaving. He missed a step in the dance and trod upon her foot. He was instantly contrite. “How very clumsy of me, Elsbeth, do forgive me, petite. You see, there are many things I do not do well.”

  She smiled up at him, but her smile faltered. She sensed a sadness in him, and replied quickly, “It is nothing, Gervaise. Do not speak like that, I beg you. You do yourself an injustice.”

  “No, Elsbeth, it is true. I—I am really quite unworthy of you.” He paused, realizing they were dancing in the middle of the dance floor. “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I wish to speak to you. Let us go out on the balcony.”

  31

  Elsbeth followed the comte without hesitation, unaware that every member of her family was watching them closely.

  It was chilly outside this evening, but Elsbeth didn’t feel it at all. She turned to look at him, lifting her face for a kiss, but he took a step away from her. “No, Elsbeth, you must listen to me. I have done much thinking, little cousin. Our plan to go away together, it is impossible. You must see that, Elsbeth. I would be the most dishonorable of men to take you from your family, to expose you to a life full of uncertainties and that would be all that I could offer you.”

  She could but stare at him, her mouth agape. “No,” she whispered, “no. Why are you saying this? Gervaise, no, you cannot mean it. How can you say there will be uncertainties? There will be no uncertainties. Have you forgotten my ten thousand pounds? As my husband, the money would belong to you. You are very wise, Gervaise. We would have no uncertainties.”

  “Husband,” he repeated, his voice low and harsh. “Your husband? Come, Elsbeth, it is time that you learned more of the realities of life. It is time you became a woman. You can no longer behave as a child.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. What is this? What is in your mind? If there are any problems, I can help you. I am a woman now, you made me into a woman. Did you not teach me what it was to be a grown woman?” Without thinking, she took a step toward him.

  He held up his hand. “You are such a romantic child. Just listen to yourself.” He managed a fine sneer and forced his voice to mockery. “All I did, Elsbeth, was take your virginity, caress your girl’s breasts, and provide you with a romantic summer idyll, nothing more.”

  Her face paled with shock at his words. “But you said you loved me,” she whispered. She shivered, not from the chill of the air, but from the burgeoning fear deep inside her.

  He shrugged, such a Gaelic gesture of indifference, of contempt, she didn’t know. “Of course I told you I loved you. If you were a woman and not a child, you would have known that passionate words of love make an affaire all the more exciting and pleasurable.”

  There was such darkness, such emptiness, she couldn’t bear it. No, he couldn’t be saying these things. She wetted her lips. “But you told me you loved me and you meant it, I know it, just as I know you.”

  “Of a certainty I love you,” he said coldly, “as my . . . cousin. It would be unnatural were I not to care for you in that way.”

  “Then why did you tell me we would elope together? Do you not recall your promises to me?”

  He laughed unpleasantly, a sound that made her shrivel, made something die deep inside her. She didn’t move. She didn’t think she could move, no matter what. He shrugged again, dismissing her as anyone even deserving of love, “I said only those things you wished to be told, Elsbeth. A wife will never be a part of my plans. That you chose to believe otherwise must show you that you are naught but a romantic child. Come, my dear, it is time for you to emerge from your sweet cocoon of innocence. Thank me for telling you the truth now. It’s kinder than leaving you to uncertainty. You would never have heard from me again, you know.”

  “Was I really such a child to give myself freely to you?”

  He hated the tears brimming in her eyes, hated them, but he held firm, his voice as cool as the evening breeze that was making gooseflesh rise on her bare arm. “Yes, you were. Listen to me, you desired substance and reality when there was naught but dreams and phantoms. You must learn to face life, Elsbeth, not cower and weep
like a helpless child. You will thank me one day. Hearts do not break—another piece of foolish nonsense. You will forget me, Elsbeth, you will forget me, and grow strong, become a woman. Do you begin to understand?” His eyes softened, yet she did not notice, for her head was bowed. He didn’t need to pull his watch from his pocket to see that it was getting late. He must leave soon. He said now, quickly, “You are English, Elsbeth. Your future belongs in England, wedded to an English gentleman. You have tasted a brief affaire de coeur. It is over now. No, no more crying. Please, Elsbeth—” He lightly cupped her cheek with his palm. “Please, do not remember me with hatred.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking at him now, “it is over.” She swallowed her tears. Her back straightened. “Please take me back to Lady Ann.”

  After Gervaise left Elsbeth, he gazed about the crowded room, his eyes resting finally upon the earl. He didn’t seem to be aware of anyone else in the room save the young lady he was speaking to. Soon Gervaise would never see him again, never have to feel his damning hatred of him, know that he wanted to kill him. Soon Gervaise would be the winner, the earl the loser, and it would be over and there would be nothing the earl could do about it. Indeed, the earl would never know. Damn, he wished he could know. He would leave him a sign, perhaps even a letter, so he would grind his teeth, knowing that he’d been beaten.

  He watched him for a few minutes more, then turned to take the hand of Miss Rutherford. He saw Elsbeth being led onto the dance floor by Lord Graybourn, and his eyes darkened for an instant. No, he had to forget her. He whirled Miss Rutherford suddenly in his arms. She gasped and laughed in delight.

  At the close of the dance, Arabella allowed Sir Darien to take her back to her mother. Lady Ann said complacently, “It appears that Elsbeth is quite popular tonight. I was worried when I saw her go onto the balcony with Gervaise, but he brought her back into the room soon enough so that I didn’t have to interfere. I trust she will be all right. She is laughing with Lord Graybourn. That is a good sign.”