The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series Read online

  "My good Lady, I assure you that you will find Shropshire House more than adequate for your family's needs. The wing of the house that I was referring to has been unoccupied for many years but has not been in the least bit neglected. However if you are adamant that you can find more suitable accommodation for your needs elsewhere, then I will not press you further to stay at a property that your son will one day inherit," said the Marquis, injecting enough haughtiness into his words to convince the French-Canadians that to reject his offer was to commit a terrible social faux-pas.

  It had the desired effect, and the next few minutes were filled by the assurances of every adult member of the family that it would be an honour to stay at Shropshire House, and that they would all endeavour to be both useful and entertaining guests for the duration of their stay.

  "Please, please!" laughed the Marchioness as the youngest children were brought forward to solemnly promise to be on their best behaviour, "you misunderstand the nature of our request! Jacques is my husband's heir, but he is also our family, which means that all of you are our family, too. Stay with us at Shropshire House for the Season, and then come to our estates for the summer! The holdings of Lord Shropshire are to be those of the next Marquis when he inherits them, and we wish very much for them to be a home for you all, as they have been for us."

  "Does this reassure you, Marie-Thérèse, that we do very much consider you as our family?" asked Shropshire.

  The girl smiled, her eyes wet with tears. She then managed to surprise the life out of him by throwing herself forward to wrap her arms about his neck in an impulsive hug.

  "Oh it does, it does indeed, Grand-pere Shropshire! You are our Grand-pere adoptif, if you please, and I look forward to getting to know you!"

  Frederick Cartwright, the fourth Marquis of Shropshire, found himself completely without words for the first time in living memory. He put his arms around the girl and patted her gently on the back, hoping that was enough to convey to her just how deeply moved he was by her artless declaration, and the way that the rest of her siblings surrounded them and attempted to join in the hug.

  "I hope you know what you have let yourself in for, Mons- I mean, Grand-pere Shropshire," said Jacques, beaming at him from somewhere beyond the mass of excited children. "You know they will never let you have a moment of peace from this day on, don't you?"

  "I do," he managed to croak out, hoping it conveyed everything he wanted to say but could not.

  For the first time since the loss of his sons, a piece of his heart began to heal.

  *

  Cordelia, having ensured once again that everything about her outfit was absolute perfection, set forth in the family carriage to call at the Cottingham's house. Despite her hasty words to Jacques the day before, she was determined to fulfill her engagement to take him to visit the Temple of the Muses book shop, so he could marvel at the sheer number of volumes upon their shelves. She had repeated and rehearsed her apology so many times that she could recite it flawlessly, and had even made enough sense of her heart to be able to explain, in a far less polished manner, the reason for her outburst the night before.

  She knew that he was right about Mr Douglas, but it had still hurt her sensibilities and ego to hear another say out loud what she had already discovered for herself. Jacques, however, had a large number of sisters of whom he was particularly fond, and so as galling as it would be to admit it out loud, she was confident that he would understand her fear of being unloved and unwanted, and relegated to the role of Maiden Aunt in a world where unmarried women had so few options open to them.

  It was not a happy admission, however she looked at it.

  "He will understand," she told herself once again. "My mother is right that good friends should be cherished. He will understand, and not make it any more awkward than it needs to be when one is revealing a deep, dark secret."

  Still, her plan was to turn the conversation to happier things at the earliest opportunity, such as novels, art, the theatre, and Jacques' family. She adored his stories about his home in Montreal, and she could tell how much he loved to talk about them. Such a plan, Cordelia was certain, could not possibly fail to win back their friendship, for what could be more enjoyable than talking about loved ones, and then exploring a glorious bookshop?

  It was the boom of laughter from the pavement ahead that drew her attention, so familiar was the tone. Cordelia strained in her seat so that she could see past the other vehicles on the road, only for her heart to leap to her throat at what she beheld.

  Jacques Gautereau, looking finer and more handsome than she had ever seen him, was walking along the street with two raven-haired, statuesque girls whose obvious delight in his company only served to enhance their beauty. Their matching red Spencers and fine muslin skirts, while not in the first stare of fashion, were of such obvious quality that Cordelia could only assume they were the daughters of some wealthy merchant or another, perhaps someone linked to the fur trade in Montreal.

  The familiarity and comfort the two girls showed in Jacques' company caused a roar of jealousy flare in her chest, accompanied by both anger and misery in equal measure.

  Cordelia was not accustomed to such emotions, especially where gentlemen where concerned, so she forced herself to focus on the only one she felt suitably for the occasion.

  Anger.

  It seemed that she had been mistaken about the importance of their friendship, for Monsieur Gautereau had made no attempt to apologise for his rudeness towards her the night before, and had instead immediately replaced her with two girls who no doubt were unaware of his lack of Ton polish, or at least, had no notion that they were a second choice for companions. She pitied them, and was glad that her heart had been in no way engaged by the French-Canadian, that she had in no way considered, even in the deepest, darkest depths of her soul, him as anything but an amusing acquaintance.

  Her carriage was drawing closer to the trio, and Cordelia knew that there was no other option than to wield that most deadly of weapons possessed by young ladies of her rank and position. She stared at the party, waiting for Jacques to look up and catch her eye, to acknowledge that he had seen her, and that he, in turn had been seen.

  Their eyes locked, and immediately Cordelia let her gaze slide away, purposefully turning her head so that she looked straight ahead as though he were nothing but a rude, ogling stranger.

  She did not turn fast enough, and knew beyond doubt that her delivery of the Cut Direct, while executed to perfection, had been a terrible, terrible mistake.

  She'd seen the joy in his expression upon seeing her. Even as she'd begun to turn away, she'd known that he was about to call out to her, perhaps even introduce her to his companions.

  But more than anything, he'd been glad, and relieved to see her.

  And she'd just announced to both him and the world around them that he was not even worth her notice.

  Cordelia, who always knew what to do in every social situation, realised that no one had ever explained what to do if one delivered the Cut, and then immediately regretted it.

  "It is a weapon you must use with the greatest of care, my love," she remembered her mother telling her, "for someone of your rank can destroy the prospects of lower status men and women in an instant. It is a last resort, and not something you can undo if delivered in public."

  "What have I done?" she whispered, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. She turned her head, leaning out of the carriage heedless of any danger to both her body and reputation, prepared to shout out his name if that was what it took to apologise, to make him understand what a foolish wretch she had been.

  But it was too late. Monsieur Gautereau and his companions were nowhere to be seen, but several sets of curious eyes were upon her, people who knew who she was by sight, and Cordelia had to swallow the realisation that half the town would know she'd Cut the mysterious relative of the Marquis of Shropshire, leaving space for both speculation and disgust aimed at the innoce
nt man.

  "I've changed my mind take me home at once," she told the coachman brusquely. "And be quick about it! I have a headache, and must rest immediately."

  If he was in any way surprised by her behaviour, the coachman did not show it. Cordelia managed to maintain an outwardly calm, fashionably disinterested demeanour for the rest of the drive, even managing to bow her head to the odd acquaintance she saw on the way.

  When they pulled up outside the family home, she could barely contain her impatience as she waited for the footman to help her down, and did not even pause to answer the butler's polite enquiry as to whether she had enjoyed her drive. She rushed past everyone, even her surprised mother, and dashed up the stairs two at a time with no care as to how inelegant she must have appeared in doing so.

  Nothing mattered.

  "Pray, leave me be," she half-shouted in exasperation as her maid tried to take her hat and gloves. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Oh Lord please don't start to blub, I'm not mad at you for anything, I promise, but I need to be on my own for a while, so I need you to stop fussing at once!"

  Cordelia closed the door firmly on her still-protesting maid, satisfied at the thud the old timbers made. She collapsed onto the bed, her hat still pinned to her head and gloves still encasing her fingers, longing to indulge in a fit of tears and hysterics the way heroines did in her cousin's novels.

  None came. Instead she had no choice but to remain still on the covers and study her own feelings, admit the truths in her heart, and above all, contemplate what a complete and utter fool she had been.

  *

  "Who was that, Jacques?" asked Helene, watching as Lady Cordelia's carriage passed them by. "She was very beautiful."

  "And very rude," added Thérèse from his other arm. "Did she just deliver you the Cut?"

  Jacques, suddenly remembering that he was accompanied by two of his sisters, forced himself to bury his own hurt and smile at them instead.

  "That was the Lady Cordelia Delby. She is a good friend of our cousin Henrietta, and has been a good friend to me, also."

  "It did not look like you were good friends," said Helene as they began walking again. "It looked like she was quite angry at you."

  "She has a right to be angry with me, dearest. I am afraid that I overstepped the bounds of friendship, and told her some things that were hurtful."

  "You mean you treated her as though she were one of us," said Thérèse with frighteningly accurate insight. "Was she in love with someone? Did you meddle?"

  "She was not in love in the least," he replied, careful not to mention who, exactly, his fight with Cordelia had been about.

  His sisters shared a speaking look.

  "She felt herself to be in love, and he meddled," stated Thérèse, and Helene nodded her agreement.

  "Do you think she was in love with him?" asked the younger girl.

  "She must be, for why else would she Cut him in so public a fashion?" mused Thérèse. She patted Jacques affectionately on the arm. "It is as we foretold it! Our dear brother came to England to claim his title, and broke a dozen hearts along the way!"

  Jacques was rapidly beginning to wonder why he'd missed the two girls at all, and could only suppose that absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

  There could be no other explanation.

  "Firstly, Lady Cordelia is not in love with me, of that much I am certain," he responded, although his voice caught at the statement. "Secondly, my dear, abominable sisters, no one in England other than the Marquis and his family have any idea that I am his heir. As far as the rest of London knows, I'm some distant relative from a cadet branch of the tree, and of no importance to anyone at all.

  Thérèse snorted her contempt. "Well that just goes to prove that the English are stupid, then. Other than Christopher, of course."

  "Of course," said Helene, not even bothering to disguise the roll of her eyes.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" demanded Thérèse.

  "Only that he's made no effort to see or speak to you," replied the younger sister. "We're in the same house, he knows full well that you are present, and yet has not so much as said hello to you!"

  "He was out late with our brother, and then was not invited to the family meeting with the Marquis," replied Thérèse hotly. "Just because he had errands to run does not mean that he neglects me!"

  "Errands, that explains everything," replied Helene sarcastically. "Errands no doubt prevented him from leaving you a note as well."

  "It would not have been proper for him to have left a note, would it, Jacques?"

  "He would have left a note if he was as in love with her as Thérèse pretends, wouldn't he, Jacques?"

  "Heaven save me from sisters," Jacques sighed. "Could we refrain from bickering, if you please, and instead concentrate on the treat of ice cream from Gunters?"

  His appeal went unnoticed as Thérèse and Helene continued to snip at each other for the remainder of the walk, but he was not so foolish as to interrupt. For a start, he'd come to the realisation that Helene was probably right about the nature of Christopher's affection for Thérèse, but more importantly, their bickering meant they did not harangue him about Cordelia.

  The expression of anger and hurt on her face was seared into his memory, although for the life of him, he did not know what he had done that could qualify as such a betrayal. At the same time there was a current of anger and hurt of his own, for it was one thing to be angry at him for his hasty words, but quite another to deliver the Cut Direct in so public a fashion.

  Luckily for family harmony, his sisters were delighted with Gunters and the range of treats available alongside the famed ices. They liberally sampled many different flavours, and the booming laugh of all three siblings quickly drew attention their way.

  "Gautereau, good to see you," came a familiar voice, and Jacques turned to see none other than the Earl of Gloucester standing behind them. "I do not believe I have been introduced to your charming companions."

  "Monsieur Du Gloucester, allow me to present you to my two sisters, Miss Gautereau, and Miss Marie Helene. They arrived from Montreal last night, much to my delighted surprise! Thérèse, Helene, this is Monsieur le Earl, mon cousin, if you please!"

  If the Earl was in any way surprised to discover that his companions were no other than his siblings, he did not betray it by so much as a twitch. He executed a perfect society bow and declared himself charmed to meet the girls.

  Considering they had just met the Marquis and Baron Cottingham, his sisters seemed far more awed by Gloucester as they curtseyed and stammered out that the pleasure was in fact all theirs.

  "Has your brother told you that he is a great favourite with my wife?" the Earl enquired. "It is the reason I am here, in fact."

  Jacques grinned at his sisters. "Abigail - Madame le Countess - is in a delicate situation, and maman's recipe for lemon ice has spared her much suffering."

  Thérèse gave an exclamation of delight. "Monsieur Du Gloucester, I cannot wait to meet your petit bebe when he arrives, for Maman always says she is much sicker with the boys than the girls!"

  Gloucester grinned, but also looked slightly embarrassed by this declaration. Jacques, usually amused by the effect his sisters had on the unsuspecting, took pity on the man.

  "There are a great many children in our family, you see, but it has been a while since a new one was added to our number. You should see how spoiled Hart has been all morning, for they are determined to ruin him!”

  "That was Maman and Mémère Gautereau," said Helene, looking offended. “We did not get him to ourselves at all!”

  "That was because Mémère told Nurse that her teething regimes were tres stupide, and Maman agreed that brains of hairs will do nothing to sooth the gums," explained Thérèse to the increasingly confused looking Earl. "Mémère was correct, but we forget that people outside the family are not used to her ways."

  "I see," said the Earl, who very obviously did not.

>   "Monsieur du Gloucester, it just occurred to me that Maman has many other remedies that help when a lady is in a delicate condition! Since you are a cousin to Jacques you are family to us as well, so it would be right for Maman to help your wife, non?" said Helene, looking delighted by the idea.

  "Regretting coming for the ices yourself rather than sending your servant, Monsieur?" murmured Jacques.

  Gloucester surprised him, however, by actually smiling. In public.

  "Not at all! I take it from Miss Marie-Helene's offer that your mother and grandmother are also in London?"

  The girls giggled, and then replied on his behalf. "We are all of us here, Monsieur, for how could we leave our brother here alone?"

  Gloucester blinked. "All of you? Jacques, did you not say that you are from a very large family?"

  "Oui," he replied, struggling not to laugh. "And all of them, from my grandparents to my seven siblings, are here to help me carry the burden of my new life in England."

  The Earl raised one eyebrow. "Indeed? Grandfather, I presume, is very happy with your decision."

  Once again, Jacques was spared the need to answer by his two sisters.

  "Oh, Grand-pere Shropshire is tres jolie, non? He has invited all of us to live with him and Grand-mere Shropshire both here in London and then at the estates!" said Thérèse, her upset over Christopher forgotten completely at the thought of this upcoming treat.

  "How wonderful," replied Gloucester, and Jacques could have sworn he was being genuine. "As soon as Abigail is feeling well enough, I shall bring her to meet you all, for she will never forgive me otherwise."

  "It will be such fun to meet another cousin," replied Helene with such simple happiness that Jacques could have sworn he saw the Earl's formal countenance melt in her presence.

  "If the rest of your family is half as delightful as you, my dear girl, then I am certain that it will be. Ah, I believe that Abigail's ices are ready for me. I will bid you adieu for now, and shall look forward to telling my sister how I was the first to meet you."

  "His sister is Madame du Loughcroft," explained Jacques once the Earl had left. "They are very competitive."