The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  “The night with the Molson brothers,” replied Christopher, a wicked grin spreading over his face, “although I still hold that the fire was not started by us!”

  “It is a pity they have already returned to Montreal, for I had hoped to spend some time with them here in London,” admitted Jacques. “I confess that I would have very much liked to introduce them to ‘my friend the Duke’ just to see their reactions!”

  “Bringing you to England was worth it just so you could introduce me to your unlikely new friends,” said Christopher, rather cheerfully. “My brother being a mere baron did not impress anyone at the Beaver Club, you know, but even they cannot fail to be envious of my close friendship with both the Duke of Devenish, and now the brother of the Duke of Lexborough!”

  “While Lord Arthur will be happy to know his name has been of service, I’m not sure Devenish is the type who’d be happy you were using his name in such a way,” said Jacques thoughtfully, “although his new Duchess will find it very amusing.”

  “Which is precisely why I got Cassie’s permission to mention the connection at every opportunity,” laughed Christopher. “It’s a pity they do not intend to come to London this year. I already miss Bath society, and believe me, that’s not something I ever thought to say out loud!”

  Jacques smiled, but did not voice the fact he felt the loss of his new friends keenly. Perhaps it was being so far from his exceptionally large family, all still back in Montreal, but there was an unexpected loneliness in England.

  True, he had been introduced to Lady Henrietta Douglas, the Viscountess Cottingham, who was some sort of cousin to him, but although he enjoyed her company he always felt like she was watching him, assessing everything he said and did. She’d promised to introduce him to the rest of his family, including the patriarch, the Marquis of Shropshire, but Jacques was lying when he claimed he was looking forward to it.

  It was difficult to forgive them for how they’d treated his mother all those years ago, and had it not been for her insistence that he come and meet the Cartwrights, Jacques doubted he would have travelled to England at all.

  Things were at a delicate juncture back home, and the skirmishes between the North West Company and the Hudson’s Bay Company down at Red River were only part of the ongoing problems. He should have stayed, but his mother gave so much while asking for so little, it was beyond his power to say no to her rare requests.

  “Do you think Lord Arthur intends to pull any more pranks now he’s married?” asked Christopher, oblivious to Jacques’ musings. “I’m still disappointed that we missed his faux kidnapping at the Upper Assembly Rooms; I wouldn’t have thought it possible to ride a horse through those doorways, but that shows what I know!”

  “You are just looking for an excuse to converse with Lady Arthur’s step-daughter,” Jacques teased lightly, forcing himself to stop worrying about home and instead concentrate on the moment.

  Christopher coloured up.

  “Nothing of the sort! I swear!” he replied, just a little too fast.

  “Poor Marie-Thérèse,” sighed Jacques, heaving his shoulders with dramatic flair. “You will break my sister’s heart, you know, and then I must kill you on principle.”

  “Steady on, old boy!” squeaked Christopher with considerable alarm. “I’ve never done anything to imply there was any sort of relationship between your sister and I!”

  Jacques laughed, and dug two fingers gently into his friend’s ribs. “You are too easy to goad, mon amis, for you have been nothing but a gentleman to all of my sisters. It is unfortunate that Marie-Thérèse has such a liking for English gentlemen, and I should have warned you to be rude to her, or to flirt outrageously if you had no wish for her fondness.”

  Christopher went slightly pink about the ears. “It’s not that, Jack, and you know it. I’m devilishly fond of Thérèse, possibly more so than anyone I’ve met, but I’m not yet sure what my own future holds, especially with the scrapping going on between the fur traders on the prairies, and then the downturn on the estates here at home. I told Thérèse as much when she asked if I would be returning, and I swear I did not ask her to think of me while I was gone.”

  Jacques smiled, wondering if all the young English were as soft as his friend.

  “I am only teasing you, Christopher, and although I am well aware of the fondness between you and my sister, I am not about to force you to the altar under the weight of my rifle.” He could have left it there, but his devilish sense of humour would not allow it. “Besides, my friend, it’s not me you need to worry about. It is mon pere who should give you nightmares.”

  Christopher shuddered at the thought.

  “Good grief, if your stepfather thinks I’ve misled Thérèse about the future, I will have no choice but to remain in England – and even then I’ll live in terror of him arriving in the night to drag me back to Canada in a fur sack! I know you claim his bark is worse than his bite, but Phillippe Gautereau is the most terrifying man I have ever met – and according to your mother, he actually likes me! No wonder he’s called the Black Bear of Montreal.”

  Jacques gave his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You misunderstood me, my friend. I said that Pere’s bite is far worse than his bark, but so long as my sisters all stare at you with adoring eyes, he will refrain from eating your liver. And he’s known as the Great Bear, possibly of all the Americas, not just Montreal.”

  “I feel so much better,” muttered Christopher. “And you wonder why I missed the refined air of London, where no one is threatening to eat parts of me because I was polite to their daughters.”

  Jacques did wonder why his friend had missed London, as it happened, although it did not seem polite to say so. While he was greatly impressed by the architecture and scale of the city, the stench of the place had almost knocked him to his feet when they’d first arrived. The streets were caked in filth, the miasma seemed to penetrate everything with its pungent aroma, and the sheer noise and bustle didn’t stop for as much as a moment. He’d thought Montreal could be hard to bear, but compared to London it was a paradise of fresh air and clean streets.

  At least London did not have the same plague of flies as his home city, he supposed, but it was small consolation.

  Meeting the Cartwright family had better be worth it, for everything in his heart demanded he return to Montreal.

  “I mean it when I say that I’m not sure of my future,” said Christopher after a short pause, “and I’m no more inclined to court Lady Arthur’s stepdaughter, Miss Clyde, than I am any girl in Montreal. It’s just that it’s Miss Clyde’s first Season in London, so I thought I could stand as a friend.”

  “Her dog doesn’t like you,” said Jacques, infusing his voice with commiseration, not entirely convinced that the vivacious young heiress did not pose a risk to his friend’s heart.

  “Governess doesn’t like anyone,” said Christopher with distaste. “Do you know that pug actually relieved itself on my boots? In front of everyone, as well! I’ve never been so shocked in all my life!”

  “You’ve mentioned it a few times,” replied Jacques, careful to contain his amusement. “Strange how the dog likes me so much, but then, my natural charm endears me to animals.”

  “Right before you shoot them for their pelts,” muttered Christopher. “I rather felt like shooting Governess the last time she eyed up my Hessians, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”

  “Marie-Thérèse does not like pugs either,” commented Jacques as casually as he could manage, “although she would wish to shoot them. She prefers Newfoundlands, especially since Capitan saved our little brother from the St Lawrence.”

  “Capitan is an excellent dog,” agreed Christopher with enthusiasm. “I never saw a beast as well trained, or as strong.”

  “My sister’s work,” said Jacques, stretching the truth just a little before letting the subject drop.

  It would not do to be too obvious. While his mother might be the one who requested that Jacques
meet his English family, it was his favourite sister who had begged him to ensure that his English friend returned to her side.

  And Jacques could never turn down a request for help from his family.

  “Douglas, when did you get back in town?” someone hailed from the other side of the street, interrupting their lighthearted debate over the best breed of dog.

  “Collins!” called out Christopher with genuine delight. “Would you believe we only arrived in London two days ago? How are you, my fellow? Allow me to introduce you to my good friend Monsieur Gautereau; he’s from Lower Canada, you know!”

  “Canada!” said the man called Collins with genuine delight, and immediately switched to speaking in French, much to Jacques’ appreciative amusement.

  A good ten minutes were spent on the sunny pavement as the friends conversed, oblivious to any other pedestrians whose path they blocked as a result. While the two men did their best to include him in their conversation and continued to speak in French, it was natural for them to stray to topics of which Jacques had no knowledge or interest. He entertained himself by studying the fashions of those who passed him by, both on foot and by carriage.

  Whether it was his regard that brought him to the attention of the fashionable couple in the barouche or the loud laughter of his companions, he couldn’t afterwards say, but he was suddenly aware that someone was staring at him.

  Jacques looked up to meet the steel gaze of a lady dressed in a steel grey spencer and matching turban hat. A small child sat upon her knee, far more concerned with her mother’s buttons than she was with the world outside her lap. The gentleman at her side, who’s excellently cut coat Jacques had been admiring, was staring with frank astonishment, his gaze flitting between him and Christopher.

  “Excuse my interruption, but who are the people in that carriage?” Jacques asked in French.

  His friend looked up and immediately went pale, but Spencer answered without any embarrassment.

  “That’s Lord Loughcroft and his family,” he said. “I’m not surprised they drew your eye; the Viscount is one of the best dressed men in the City, and a true arbiter of taste. Gets his coats cut by Meyer, you know.”

  “That’s where I took you,” said Christopher quickly. “A pity they did not stop their barouche, or I could have introduced you to them. Collins, forgive my bad manners, but I must take my friend here to call on Lord Arthur Weatherly and his new wife.”

  “Obligations, and all that,” said Collins cheerfully. “I understand perfectly, for I’m on my way to see my mother. Monsieur Gautereau, your servant. You must come eat your dinners with me!”

  They took their leave, Jacques intrigued by the odd behaviour of his friend, who looked over his shoulder at least three times when carriages passed by, and tugged at his cravat at least twice.

  “Glad we met Spencer, for he seems like your type of chap. I knew him at Oxford,” Christopher explained after a full minute of silence. He’d slipped back into English, but seemed unaware of it.

  “I liked his coat very much,” said Jacques with genuine admiration. “I hope I am not considered too provincial when standing beside men such as he.”

  “You’ll be top of the trees when Meyer is finished with your new clothes,” Christopher said with enthusiasm. “He’s the one who came up with the notion of buttons at the ankles, no matter what Brummel claimed.”

  “Spencer did not look as fine as Monsieur le Viscount Loughcroft,” said Jacques, striving for a nonchalant air.

  Christopher coughed. “Yes. No. Well. It’s Loughcroft, you see.”

  “His wife seemed very interested in us.”

  Christopher coughed. “Oh. Well. She was probably just surprised to see me. They don’t know I’m back in England.”

  “That does not explain why she was staring so hard at me.”

  Christopher coughed again. “That! Well. I’m sure there’s a good reason. Lady Loughcroft knows everyone, so she was probably just trying to work out who you are, and all that.”

  Perhaps it was due to his time out in the wilderness, or it was being the eldest child in a family of eight rambunctious children, but Jacques could spot an attempted prevarication from a hundred paces.

  “You are not telling me something,” Jacques said as he watched his friend start to turn an interesting shade of beetroot. “You are a terrible liar, you know, and you are as bad at lying in English as you are in French.”

  “I have no idea what you mean!” Christopher spluttered, far too quickly to be truthful.

  Jacques frown deepened.

  “Ma cousine, she has put you up to something, non?” he said, almost enjoying watching his friend squirm. “She is hiding something from me as it is, and it is too bad that she has enlisted you in her schemes. What is Henrietta up to?”

  The poor man looked almost relieved. “Fine, I admit it – Henry has embroiled me into one of her schemes, but I beg that you won’t ask me anything else, for I’m far more afraid of my sister-in-law than I am of you!”

  “You only say that because my own siblings aren’t here,” he replied, unable to resist a smirk. “Marie-Thérèse would have it out of you with a flutter of her eyelids.”

  “Nonsense,” said Christopher, but he had gone a deeper shade of scarlet than Jacques had believed possible. “Your stepfather, on the other hand!”

  Jacques wanted to press the point further, but he was too fond of Christopher to cause his friend any deliberate discomfort.

  Henrietta, while declaring herself to be very pleased with the discovery that he was her relative, had been hiding something from him since the moment they had met in Bath two weeks earlier. She had not known his deceased father, John Cartwright, but had been extremely interested in every aspect of his life in Canada, right down to the marriage between his parents, and the date of Jacques’ own birth.

  She’d been offended when he’d tried to reassure her that he was quite legitimate, but had no wish to press his relatives for coins. Nonetheless, he could almost hear her mind ticking over whenever she was looking at him.

  He even had the strong suspicion that Henrietta had arranged for him to be out of the house for the next few hours, but for what reason he could not guess. The rest of his family were, according to his cousin, away at their estates for the rest of the month.

  He suspected she lied about that as well.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Christopher as they came to a halt in front of number one, Fitzroy Square.

  The two of them were stunned into momentary silence.

  It was not that there was anything wrong with the house itself; in fact, it was an elegant white building, with classical detailing such as tall columns to frame the first-floor windows, and delightful curves that made the architecture flow. In any other circumstances, Jacques may have been inspired to use such terms as restrained elegance to describe the residence, but in that moment, words failed him.

  Somehow, and he did not want to speculate on the means Lord Arthur had employed, a large number of cascading blooms had been attached not only to the Juliet balconies, but to the top of the cornice that lay just below the attic rooms. The result was a riot of tumbling green foliage interspersed with splashes of blue, pink, white and yellow resembling nothing more than a frozen waterfall of plant life.

  “A wedding gift for his new bride?” asked Christopher, the side of his mouth kicking up in appreciation.

  Jacques shook his head in stunned appreciation. “We can never marry women from London, for they will all expect such outrageous displays of affection.”

  “At least it didn’t involve a monkey this time,” replied his friend. He tore his eyes away from Lord Arthur’s latest outrageous act, and nodded towards a stylish carriage parked on the square, where a bored looking coachman was doing his best to ignore the prattling of a woman who looked to be some kind of maid. “It seems that we aren’t the first to call on the newlyweds. Half the town will want to lay eyes on Lady Arthur, I wager.”

 
; “I promised Miss Scott that I would stand their friend, although I do not know how I can be of help,” said Jacques with a shrug. “Still, the whole family is très amusant, especially the pug!”

  If Christopher had intended to retort in kind, the witty reply died on his lips as the front door to number one, Fitzroy Square opened wide, and a beautiful young woman in an impressively large bonnet skipped down the steps.

  “Cordy!” exclaimed Christopher, stepping forwards as though he’d forgotten his friend was there. “Good grief, I didn’t know you were back in town yet!”

  The young woman stopped on the pavement and turned a pair of wide, expressive eyes onto the young Mr. Douglas. At first, they registered faint surprise, but as her glance swept up and down, Jacques could have sworn he saw some steely determination form within them. The same type of steely determination as Marie-Thérèse displayed whenever Christopher was in her company.

  The girl smiled, and it was devastating.

  This is bad, Jacques thought. Thérèse would scratch that girl’s eyes out if she were here.

  “Christopher!” the young woman cried with evident delight. She rushed forward; her hands extended so that his friend had no choice but to capture them in his own. “I had heard you were back in England, and I am so relieved to know that you have not forgotten me, although I am sure you did not spare me a thought surrounded by all those pretty Canadian girls.”

  “How could I forget such a diamond as you?” said Christopher with the faint daze of a man struck by lightning. He stared at the young woman silently for longer than was courteous.

  Very bad, thought Jacques. I must strive to keep him away from this beautiful creature, for my sister cannot compete when she is in another country.

  The young woman’s expression turned to amusement at Christopher’s puppy-like regard, and she cast a meaningful look towards Jacques.

  “And who is you friend? Will you introduce us?”

  Christopher jumped, letting go of her hands and tugging on the base of his waistcoat.

  “My apologies, Lady Cordelia, it has just been an age since I last saw you, and I was momentarily transported to your come-out ball just before I left England. This is Monsieur Gautereau; he is a friend of mine from Montreal, come back with me to meet his English relatives for the first time.”