The Unknown Heir: Book Nine in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  Her father paused at the door to throw her a roguish smile more suited to the days of his youth than the man she had known all her life.

  "I intend to, foolish one, with interest! Now do as your mother says and get some rest - Delbys may be fools when it comes to our hearts, but noone can accuse us of looking anything but slap up to echo while indulging our foolish ways."

  "I love you so much, Papa," she cried out impulsively.

  He smiled, and the expression made her feel like everything was going to work out fine in the end.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jacques walked around Hyde Park by himself for several hours, his scowl enough to prevent anyone from interrupting his heavy thoughts. He thought over every interaction he'd had with Cordelia from every angle he could think of, trying to find the moment he had given her a disgust of him, and searching for a way to fix it. He had not given up hope that there was a way past their falling out for the Earl was not the sort of man to raise false expectations , but rather he worried that Delby might bring pressure to bare on Cordelia, and push her to accept Jacques' suit regardless of her own feelings.

  He could acknowledge now that the Lady Cordelia Delby was the woman he wished to marry above all others, but only if she loved him as truly as he did her. Emma had been right; if it took his status as Shropshire's heir to win her hand, he was not sure that either of them would move beyond that point.

  He had no idea what he would do if she accepted him under those terms, and yet he could not stop thinking about it. The walk did nothing to soothe his nerves, and he returned home in time to eat with the family no happier than he'd been when he'd left the Delby's home.

  At least there proved to be some distraction from his woes that evening, for Christopher had appeared in the parlour just before dinner and professed his great joy at seeing each and every member of the Gautereau family.

  "I am only sorry that I was not able to join you all until now, for I had some business to take care of first," he said, taking the seat beside Henrietta.

  Jacques felt as though his parents and grandparents had cooled a little towards his friend, but could not be sure. His own heart was heavy, perhaps he was seeing the end of hope in every budding relationship.

  "Are you very surprised to find us here, Christopher?" asked Thérèse, fluttering her eyes at him. It was lucky that she did not see the face that Helene pulled behind her.

  "I am mightily surprised to find any of you here," he replied in his usual jovial way, "although I must say that I'm glad for it! Jack has been pining for home, you know, and since we can't bring Montreal to England, having his family here is the next best thing!"

  His attempt at a compliment fell somewhat flat, and it was left to poor Lady Cottingham to cover for her son's faux pas. Luckily the dinner bell rang just a moment later, calling them through to dine. Augustin was the youngest to be allowed at the table, while the rest of the children were happily ensconced in the Nursery where they were no doubt running poor nurse ragged. By an unfortunate turn of events, Christopher offered his arm to his mother as her escort instead of to Thérèse, as the poor girl had obviously expected. It meant that she entered the dining room alone, even behind Helene and Augustin, who were chattering away as they walked, arm in arm, behind Jacques and Mémère.

  Her face was a picture of misery throughout dinner, for she was too far away from Christopher and even James to join in the conversation about their time in Montreal, and she even had to endure the disapproving gaze of Mémère whenever Thérèse sent a look of longing up at the boy she'd long fancied herself in love with. Jacques did his best to entertain her, as did Helene and Augustin, but she was determined to maintain a fit of the sullens, which only made their grandmother gaze at her with disgust as well as disapproval.

  The meal was a simple one, and the ladies withdrew as soon as the last course was removed. James poured them all a generous measure of brandy - much to the approval of Grand-pere Roy - but did not encourage them to linger.

  "Madame Cartwright-Gautereau made me promise to rejoin the ladies as soon as manners dictate, for she wishes to discuss the plans for your removal to Shropshire House tomorrow before our guests arrive."

  "Guests?" queried Christopher.

  "The Shropshires, the Gloucesters and the Loughcrofts," replied his brother. "There is some debate as to where everyone should spend the summer months, and it seemed easiest to gather everyone together for the discussion."

  Christopher shuddered for dramatic effect, and then drained his glass of brandy in a swift gulp.

  "Sounds like a terrible squeeze, but I wish you all the best of it! I'm off to the spend the evening with some of my University friends, although you can tell Henrietta that I promise not to be carried home as drunk as a wheelbarrow!"

  "You do not stay?" asked Jacques' stepfather, his expression thoughtful even as Christopher gave a careless shrug in response.

  "There's no need of me in such discussions, for I'll likely return to Montreal before the summer, even if Jacques is truly set on remaining in England! Enjoy your evening, please, as I am sure that I will enjoy mine!"

  James watched his brother leave, and then shook his head.

  "I suppose that is our signal to rejoin the ladies," he said, rising to his feet. "Perhaps we can discuss business another evening, Henri."

  "Whenever suits you, Cottingham," replied Jacques father, with a kindlier smile for the older brother than he had spared for Christopher all evening.

  "Grand-pere, is my friend out of favour?" he whispered to his relative as they followed James through to the sitting room.

  His Grandfather Roy gave the smallest of shrugs. "I am not the one to ask, my dear boy, for I never felt that Douglas was a good match for our fair Thérèse, but then I am only a grand-pere adoptif, so it was not my place to say."

  "You should have said to me," Jacques told the older man, but their arrival in the parlour prevented any further conversation on the matter.

  Their discussions on the logistics of the Gautereau family's removal to Shropshire house might have gone well, were it not for his sisters. Thérèse watched the door for ten minutes before realising that Christopher was not to join them, and upon learning that he had, in fact, left the house without so much as looking in on the ladies, finally allowed her exasperation to burst forth from her.

  "He has barely spoken two words since we arrived, and had not sought out my company at all!" she complained loudly. The dowager Lady Cottingham looked rather shocked by the outburst, but Thérèse's relatives were long used to her ways, and more or less ignored her. That would have been the end of it, at least for the evening, had Helene been able to resist gloating at her sister's expense.

  "I told you that you were making a fool of yourself over him," she crowed. "Whatever you think he meant that night, he obviously does not hold you in great esteem now does he?"

  "Helene, hold your tongue at once," snapped their mother, but even her scolding could not dull the expression of smug satisfaction for the younger girl's face.

  Thérèse, however, did not do something as vulgar as burst into tears, but rather seemed to be in a state of shock to discover that her beau was not as constant as she believed.

  "I don't think he has even thought about me at all," she said to the room in general, the confusion on her face all the more heartbreaking for its innocence.

  Henrietta, however, seemed to understand Thérèse far more than her own family did. She got to her feet and extended her hand to the poor girl, her smile that of a wiser, more experienced sister.

  "Believe me, I know precisely how you feel right now," she declared. "Come and sit in the corner with me, where we can have a comfortable talk without being interrupted. I can tell you everything that I've learned about the Douglas men, and then you can decide how to proceed!"

  These words seemed to greatly amuse her husband and mother-in-law, and James was forced to sheepishly explain to the Gautereaus the nature of his courtship with Henr
ietta.

  "Intelligent girl," said Mémère with approval, "although I am intrigued to meet this Monsieur le Duke of hers!"

  "My regrets, but he has recently married a friend of mine," said Jacques while the rest of the party laughed. "You will meet them soon enough, though, for I am very fond of Her Grace and her family."

  It was a little after eight when the first of their guests arrived, and while Thérèse's mood picked up considerably when she saw that Mr Percival had accompanied the Loughcrofts, Jacques found that his own was becoming increasingly maudlin as the evening progressed. So many speaking looks were cast in his direction that it was clear Emma had told all of their relatives he had planned to propose to Cordelia. When he did not respond to the hints and realisation dawned on the guests, the looks turned to ones of pity.

  He rather felt that they were worse.

  The discussion swirled around him, as plans were made for every aspect of his life for the next twelve months, but he paid very little attention to what was said. His grandmothers and mother quickly surrounded Abigail and quizzed her on every aspect of her health and pregnancy, and if the Countess had ever felt a lack of maternal smothering in her life, she would never do so again. Helene and Antoine quizzed Loughcroft about the most current trends in fashion, while everyone else talked as though they had been raised since childhood as a happy, extended family.

  It should have warmed his heart, but all he could think was that Cordelia should have been part of it, right there at his side.

  He was never more grateful than when the evening drew to a close, and he could retire to bed without having to worry that Emma was going to quiz him about his visit to the Delbys. His sleep was fitful, his rest nonexistent, and for the first time in his life he understood why the heroes and heroines in novels acted as though a broken heart was a fate worse than any other.

  He managed to avoid the breakfast table, and when he finally left his room it was only to be admonished by his mother.

  "Just because you are to be a Marquis one day does not mean you can neglect your duties," she chided him. "Did you forget that we are moving to Shropshire House today? Never mind, I can see that you paid no attention to the conversation last night. I will send someone to pack your things for you, but you can make yourself useful by going to amuse the children and keep them out from under my feet. Now, Jonathan! Allez! Allez!"

  He stared down at her harrassed face, and couldn't help smiling. She paused just for a moment, and the reached out to push a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

  "She will come about, if it is meant to be, my love," she told him softly, and a moment later her stern gaze returned. "But that is no excuse to be indolent! Go, be of use!"

  "Oui, Mon Capitan," he replied, clicking his heels together and saluting. He dashed out of the way before she could box his ears, laughing all the way to Cottingham's study, from where he could hear the squeals and laughter of his youngest siblings.

  "Jacques! Jacques! We are playing at pirates!" declared Geneviève from her place on top of Cottingham's large desk. "Pierre and Rosalie are the merchants, and Claude and I are going to steal their gold!"

  "No you won't, for secretly we are pirates, too!" Pierre shouted back, waving the fireplace poker in front of him like it was a sword.

  "That won't work, for we can't all be pirates," complained Claude, and the four of them quickly started to squabble.

  "This is all well and good, Petits Gautereaus, but why are you not up in the nursery, keeping out of the way?"

  "Nurse," said Rosalie darkly.

  The other children scowled as well, and Jacques decided that it was better not to ask.

  He heard his mother shouting instructions across the hallway, possibly at a footman, possibly at Lord Cottingham, and shook his head.

  "How did you all manage to get here in one piece?" he asked the children.

  "We almost didn't," said Claude with a grin that promised to be as fierce as his father's one day. "Pere had a terrible fight with the captain, who said that we should have been drowned at birth, and it would have come to blows if Grand-pere had not told him that Mémère was being terribly sick in their cabin."

  "Oh, tell him about the sailors, Claude!" said Geneviève , jumping up and down on her heels. "Mémère said they were making eyes at Thérèse and Helene and threatened to throw them overboard if they didn't stop, but I don't know what she meant for I watched the sailors for a whole week, and they didn't make a single eye the whole time!"

  Jacques wondered if it was too late to send the poor crew of whatever ship had conveyed his family here a large purse stuffed full of coins.

  "It sounds very confusing," he told Geneviève , before turning his attention to Rosalie. "And you, little heart? Did you have any adventures?"

  She considered it for a moment, and then shrugged.

  Pierre scoffed in response. "Rosie never has adventures, she's the good one."

  It was not the time to explain to his youngest siblings what the term relative meant in this instance and so Jacques decided to set to work keeping them out of any noticeable trouble for the next few hours. After establishing that they could all be pirates, and he their pirate king, he wasted no time in turning the pages of Cottingham's unread newspaper into five hats and removed his cravat to create a makeshift eye patch. They spent a happy hour prowling about the house and stealing such treasures as dropped hairpins, a tray of cakes inexplicably left unattended by the butler, and a silver button that had dropped into a crack in the parlour floorboards. The house grew quiet as various members of the family left with the luggage for Shropshire House, and Jacques had the bright idea of a quick game of hide-and-go-seek to help the last half an hour pass by.

  He had just reached the count of twenty when the parlour door was opened by the Cottingham's harassed-looking butler, and Lady Cordelia pushed past the poor man before he could announce her name.

  "Yes, thank you, and please close the door on your way out," she said.

  The butler looked first at Jacques, and then down at the lace-covered side table, from where a pair of grubby hands were peeking out.

  "Very good, my Lady," he said, and shut the door firmly.

  "Jacques, I am so sorry to barge in like this for it is obvious that the houise is in disarray, but I must speak with you at once," she declared, pacing back and forth without looking directly at him.

  Jacques tugged his cravat until it was back around his neck, but was unable to remove the paper hat before she noticed.

  "Oh, are you playing parlour games? Have I interrupted?" she said. "I'm so sorry, but you must understand that this cannot wait: I know that you visited my father last night, and I... I must thank you for the gifts."

  "There is no need to thank me, for I was the one who caused you upset."

  "With what you said about Christopher? No, for you were quite right, you know only I was letting my stubborn nature rule over my head and my heart so I could not see it in the least."

  Jacques was aware of some quiet giggling from behind the couch, which was quickly shushed by another voice.

  He coughed loudly to try and cover the sound.

  "Would you like some refreshments? We could relocate to the study," he offered, trying to ignore the poker that was prodding the back of his foot. He lifted his heel and stamped down on it.

  "What? No, no I don't need refreshments. Please, Jacques, for this is harder than I thought it would be as it is. I... I've been a fool, and it was not until I saw you with those pretty girls yesterday and felt jealous that I even realised what was going on in my heart. Oh, there's no need to wince like that, for I am not accusing you of anything, truly I am not. I assume they are friends of yours from your Montreal business interests, or something along those lines."

  "Along those lines, yes," he repeated, moving away from the hands trying to tickle the back of his knees from their hiding place under the table.

  "I see," she said, taking a deep breath. She looked adorably harrassed;
so much so that he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but not so much that he wished his four young siblings to be witness to such a wanton disregard for propriety.

  "Cordelia, let us agree to put it all behind us, non?" he said gently, his heart beginning to race as she turned the full force of those beautiful eyes onto him. "We can start again, if you wish."

  "No, I don't wish that," she replied, and for a moment his world began to crumble. Then she crossed the room and put her hands into his. "I want to go forward from here, Jacques. I want to go forward with you. and if... if you visited my father to ask him what I think you asked him, I want you to know that the answer is yes. I thought about it all night, and even though I know you miss your family, even though I know that I will miss mine when we go and live in Montreal, and even though I know that you will never take a seat in parliament, or be a member of the peerage, I need you to believe me when I say that none of that matters to me, not the way that I thought it would. I love you, Jacques Gautereau, and I will be happier anywhere in the world, so long as I am with you."

  "Cartwright-Gautereau," came a small voice from somewhere behind them, filling the moment where Jacques had lost all power of speech.

  "I'm sorry, I don't understand," said Cordelia, staring at his lips as though trying to understand how he could have spoken without moving them.

  "Cartwright-Gautereau," the tiny voice repeated, and Rosalie climbed out from beneath the table. "Maman gets cross with him when he forgets to use his full name."

  "Jonathan Henri Cartwright Gauterau," said Pierre as his head popped up from behind the sofa, Claude by his side. "That's his full name, but only Maman calls him that. We all call him Jacques, and he's our favourite brother."

  "Silly!" added Geneviève , pushing the lace tablecloth out of her way. "You only have one other brother besides each other, and that's Augustin! Jacques is our favourite sibling, and we all agree on that."

  "He's definitely better than Thérèse," said Pierre, and all four of them gave a solemn nod.