The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele Book 9)

by C. J. Archer

  I wasn't sure if Mr. Longmire noticed the difference between his clothing and the dinner jackets, white shirts and white bow ties worn by Matt and Lord Cox. He seemed far too interested in his half-brother's face, perhaps seeking out any resemblances. I saw very few. They were both fair in coloring with light blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. Lord Cox's face was slender, his top front teeth protruding somewhat, and he had a full head of hair whereas Mr. Longmire's receded into a peak. Mr. Longmire was also more physically imposing than his half-brother with a broader, taller build.

  "Good evening," Lord Cox said stiffly. "May I introduce my wife, Lady Cox."

  Patience put out her hand, and Mr. Longmire paused before shaking it. Going by her frown, she'd expected him to bow over it. Or perhaps she was annoyed by his mere presence. He was, after all, attempting to destroy her new life.

  "This is my wife's cousin, Mr. Matthew Glass and his wife, Mrs. India Glass."

  Mr. Longmire wagged a finger at me. "I know you," he said in a strong Yorkshire accent.

  "Oh?" I said. "Perhaps you bought a watch or clock from my father's shop when I worked there. Steele's on St. Martin's Lane."

  The finger wagging continued. Beside me, Matt shifted his stance. I hoped he wasn't considering snapping the finger off.

  "You used to be India Steele?" Mr. Longmire said.

  "That's right. Was it a watch or a clock?"

  His top lip lifted in a sneer. "I wouldn't buy nowt from you."

  "Oh?" I said, a sick feeling settling in my stomach. I suspected I knew where this was heading.

  "You and your kind are ruining us," he went on.

  "That's enough," Matt snapped.

  "My guild contacts here in London told me to watch out for you." Mr. Longmire looked me up and down, far more thoroughly than he'd inspected his brother, and with more disdain too. "They said you're the spiritual leader of the magicians."

  I took a step back beneath the force of his ire. "I—I don't know what you mean. I no longer have a shop."

  "You don't need a shop to rally your kind. They all look up to you, so I hear. They say you're powerful." He stabbed his finger in my direction. "You lot are ruining us, and you don't bloody care!"

  Matt grabbed him by the lapels and shook him, hard. "I said, that's enough."

  Mr. Longmire tried to push Matt off but failed. "All right, all right. You win. I'll save my accusations until after this meeting."

  "You won't speak to my wife again unless she wishes it. Is that clear?"

  "I say, steady on," Lord Cox said, keeping his distance. "Let's all take a deep breath and calm down. All this talk of magic is somewhat speculative anyway."

  "It's real," Mr. Longmire told him. "Mrs. Glass might not have a shop anymore, but her father did, and her grandfather, and they were successful too."

  "Only moderately," I said.

  "They were successful because they cheated. All magicians are cheats. We hard-working, honest businessmen can't compete when the other players don't follow the rules."

  I frowned. His words sounded very familiar.

  Matt shook him again. "If you don't close your mouth—"

  "Matt." I laid a hand on his arm. "Let him go. You're crushing the suit he bought especially for tonight's meeting."

  Matt released him, but not before giving him a shove.

  "Mr. Longmire," I said, "have you been writing threatening letters to magicians in London?"

  Mr. Longmire smoothed over the creases in his jacket. "What of it?"

  "You can't go around threatening people like that!"

  "People?" he spat. "You magicians shouldn't even call yourselves that. You're not natural, you're definitely immoral, and you're just plain cheaters."

  Oh dear. He really shouldn't have said that.

  Matt grabbed Mr. Longmire by the shoulder, jerked him around to face him, and punched him in the nose.

  Chapter 4

  "Mr. Longmire!" Lord Cox cried. "Are you all right?"

  "Matthew," Patience scolded, sounding very much like Aunt Letitia. "Was that necessary?"

  "Yes," Matt said.

  "His nose is bleeding," I pointed out. "It'll get on the carpet."

  Matt handed me his handkerchief and I gave it to Mr. Longmire. He snatched it off me, not in the least grateful.

  "You bloody arse," he spat at Matt as he dabbed at his nose.

  "There's no need for that language in front of the ladies," Lord Cox said.

  Patience rang for the butler. "We'll go in for dinner now," she instructed. "I think we could all do with a glass of Madeira."

  I didn't think adding wine to the hostility would make things better, but on the other hand, I might need it to get through the evening.

  "I'm not staying for dinner," Mr. Longmire said.

  "Oh." Lord Cox's shoulders slumped. "I thought we were going to talk about this like decent, civilized folk and nut out a solution."

  "He ain't civilized." Mr. Longmire nodded at Matt. "And she—" He cut himself off before he could say something that would earn him another punch on the nose. "Anyway, there is only one solution." He pulled out a document from his inside jacket pocket. "Sign this. I had my lawyer draw it up."

  Lord Cox looked over the pages, his face growing paler with each passing moment. "I—I need time."

  "For what?"

  "To think about things. This is all very sudden."

  "It is for me, aye, but is it for you? My source says you already knew about our father's bigamy."

  Lord Cox winced and made a show of reading the papers again.

  "He needs his lawyer to look over it," Matt said.

  "I can tell you what it says." Mr. Longmire sniffed and dabbed at his nose again. "It states that you will hand over all land and chattels that belong to the baronetcy, as well as the title itself. You give up any claim to styling yourself Lord Cox, and your heir gives up all rights of inheriting."

  Patience gave a little sob into her hand.

  Lord Cox winced again. "I would still like my lawyer to look over it. As you can imagine, this isn't a simple matter."

  "It is to me," Mr. Longmire said.

  "How can you be so cavalier?" I snapped. "You are changing their lives and the lives of Lord Cox's children. Can you not see how upsetting this is?"

  "I have no sympathy for any of you. Your class have looked down on mine for generations, my lord. You are about to get a taste of your own medicine."

  "My husband is nothing but generous and kind to his tenants and everyone in the village," Patience said with more backbone than I'd seen her exhibit before. "What you're doing to him is despicable, cruel." She pressed a hand to her stomach and drew in a fortifying breath. "Please, be reasonable, Mr. Longmire, and accept my husband's offer of an allowance. That way everyone gets something out of this sordid mess. A mess that was not of my husband's making any more than it was of yours."

  Mr. Longmire looked as though he were considering her suggestion, but in the end, he shook his head. "I want what's mine. I have no sympathy for him. He had a life of privilege, while I grew up poor."

  "Our father gave your mother an allowance," Lord Cox growled. "You were hardly destitute."

  "An allowance! Do you think that made up for the way my mother was treated? Her family shunned her. She was jeered at by people in the village because they didn't believe her when she said she was married. They spat at her and called her disgusting names. I had to fight off bullies every day. When we moved, she was able to make a fresh start only by telling everyone she was a widow. But she never married again, and now I know why. She was a decent woman who would never break her vows." His eyes glistened for a brief moment before he bared his teeth. "She didn't deserve that life. And neither did I."

  Lord Cox rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I really am. You're right and you and your mother should have been treated better. If it helps, he wasn't a nice man, our father. He was very cold and distant. He ruled the household with an iron fist."
>
  "If it helps," Mr. Longmire sneered. "You did nothing after he died. You kept the secret, hoping this day would never come. Now that I see what company you keep." He thrust his chin in my direction. "I'm not surprised you're a cheat too."

  "For goodness’ sake," I muttered.

  Matt squared up to Mr. Longmire, who merely glared back at him. "Go ahead. Hit me again, Mr. Glass, and I will have you up on charges of assault."

  Matt's brittle chuckle held no humor.

  Mr. Longmire swallowed and backed away.

  "It's time you left," Lord Cox said sitting heavily in an armchair. "I will look over these papers."

  "Not without the coronet," Mr. Longmire said. "I told you I wanted it as a show of goodwill." He put out his palm. "Hand it over."

  Weighty silence settled around us, smothering and dense. I found it hard to breathe, to think. Patience went to her husband and touched his shoulder. He covered her hand with his own. It was the first sign of affection I'd seen between them and it seemed to rally him.

  "I can't," he said. "I promised I would, but there's a lot to think about. My children, my wife…"

  "Hand it over," Mr. Longmire growled.

  "Let me go through these papers with my lawyer and then—"

  "No! I want the damned coronet! It's mine. I deserve it." He stepped toward Lord Cox, his jaw and fists clenched.

  Matt grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. He was going to hit him again.

  "You don't want it," I said quickly.

  Nobody paid me any mind.

  "You don't want it," I said to Mr. Longmire. "It's magical and you hate magic."

  Everyone stared at me. A warning flashed in Matt's eyes, but not censure. There was no point in holding back now. Everyone in that room knew what I was.

  "What are you talking about?" Mr. Longmire snarled.

  "When we were here earlier today, Lord Cox showed us the coronet. I touched it and felt magical heat."

  Mr. Longmire scoffed. "You're making that up. Magic doesn't have any heat. I've felt a magical object before, Mrs. Glass, and it wasn't hot."

  "Only magicians can feel it in things that have had a spell cast on them during the manufacturing process. It's a different kind of warmth than that created by the sun or fire. I can't explain it, but I do know when I feel it. And when I touched the coronet this morning, I felt its magic warmth."

  "Is that why you immediately let it go?" Patience asked.

  I nodded. "Do you really want it if you hate magicians and magic so much, Mr. Longmire? Wouldn't it be considered cheating if you were to possess such a thing? I wonder what your friends in business would think if they knew you coveted a magical crown."

  The muscles in his face twitched and twisted as he fought to control his anger. He swallowed whatever retort was on his lips, however, and simply threw Matt's bloodstained handkerchief on the floor. Either he really didn't want anything to do with magic or Matt's threatening stance worried him.

  Lord Cox tugged on the bell pull. "Good evening, Mr. Longmire," he said evenly.

  Mr. Longmire put a finger down his collar and stretched out his neck. "I'll be back for the contract."

  "Show Mr. Longmire out," Lord Cox instructed the butler.

  Matt put up a staying hand. "Just a moment. Who told you about your father?"

  "I received an anonymous letter along with copies of all the documentary evidence to prove the claim," Mr. Longmire said.

  "Are you sure the documents weren't fabricated?"

  "Pardon?"

  "With the right equipment and an excellent forger on the payroll, fake copies of birth certificates and parish records are easy to come by. I assume you checked everything before marching to London with your threats."

  Mr. Longmire looked a little less sure of himself. With a rallying sniff and another stretch of his neck, he said, "Of course I did. Besides, it must be true. Cox hasn't tried to deny it."

  "That's not the point. The point is, lawyers want proof."

  Mr. Longmire turned to Lord Cox. "You can keep the coronet for now. I'll collect it when I get the rest of what's rightfully mine."

  We waited for him to go before we took our seats again. I felt somewhat shaken after the confrontation and clasped my hands together on my lap to steady them. Matt must have sensed it because he placed his hand over mine and caressed my knuckles with his thumb.

  "Well," Lord Cox said with forced cheerfulness, "shall we go in to dinner?"

  I didn't feel like eating. Nor did Patience. She pushed her food around her plate and hardly touched her dessert, even though I'd decided by the time the banana cream was served that there was no point sacrificing delicious food for Mr. Longmire.

  The men had briefly discussed legalities and the contract, but it wasn't clear by the end of the night whether Lord Cox was going to sign or not.

  "Do you still think it was Lord Coyle who informed him?" Patience asked me as tea was served in the drawing room after dinner.

  "I do. He ought to be ashamed of himself for causing this trouble."

  "I just want to know why," she said on a sigh.

  As did I, and whether it had anything to do with magic. Perhaps Lord Coyle thought Longmire's hatred of magicians tied in with his own plans to keep magic secretive. By issuing threats to successful magicians, Longmire might be frightening some into remaining hidden. That would suit Coyle nicely. But why inform Longmire about his father? That was a separate matter entirely.

  "What line of business is Mr. Longmire in?" I asked.

  "Rope," Patience said. "He's part owner in a small factory."

  "Part owner?" Matt echoed. "I thought he said he and his mother were poor. That's quite a rise."

  "They weren't poor," Lord Cox said. "My father's allowance was generous. Longmire was educated well too, mostly by his mother. My father told me she was intelligent, witty and beautiful. I sensed he was in love with her, even years later."

  "He abandoned her and their child," Matt pointed out. "That's not love."

  Lord Cox eyed the legal papers as if he would set fire to them with his glare if he could. "He won't give up until he has what's rightfully his."

  Patience pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes filling with tears as she gazed at her husband.

  "What should I do?" Lord Cox asked Matt in a thin voice.

  "I can't answer that for you."

  "You can't give up the baronetcy for that man," I blurted out. "He's horrid."

  Matt squeezed my hand. "But he has the legal and moral right to take it."

  With his allowance reinstated after his recent incarceration, Fabian Charbonneau could afford to move out of my grandfather's small house and into a residence near Berkeley Square. It was there that we met to learn the language of magic and attempt to create new spells.

  For the first time since starting this endeavor with Fabian, Matt had decided to join me, claiming he had little else to do that day. He sat with us for a while, listening in as Fabian and I assembled words in what we hoped was the right order, but moved to sit by the fire with the newspaper after twenty minutes.

  "It's not right," I said, shaking my head at the watch Fabian had placed in my hand. "There are too many words in this spell."

  "How do you know?" Fabian asked.

  He was immaculately turned out, as usual, with a rich burgundy waistcoat adding some color to his otherwise somber suit of dark gray. The waistcoat looked bare without the gold chain of his watch decorating it. The Patek Philippe chronometer timepiece had a lovely solid feel to it and had grown warm from my attempts to speak our experimental flying spell into it. But it hadn't moved.

  "I don't know how," I said. "I just do. This spell is wrong."

  Fabian studied the words again. "It has the common words from my iron spell and the paper flying spell mixed with your watch fixing spell. What else can we add to it?"

  I shook my head. "It's not what we need to add. All the words are here but they're not in the right order."


  "How do you know?" he asked again.

  "I just do," I said, repeating myself. "Sorry, Fabian, I know you want definitive answers but I can't give them."

  "It is all right, India. Your magic is strong, and I suspect you use this." He tapped his chest. "Rather than this." He tapped his forehead.

  "Intuition," Matt said from behind his newspaper. "She uses her innate sense of magic."

  Fabian smiled. "Intuition, yes. You are a marvel, India. I have not met another magician like you. Now, play with the words. Move them around or change the way you say them. Use your intuition, not your brain."

  I rearranged the order of the words but none worked and my intuition told me they were wrong anyway. I rearranged them again and again, but still something was off. I knew it wasn't the pronunciations. Despite Fabian's accent, I was quite sure we had that part right.

  Too many words. There had to be. "Say your iron spell again," I said.

  He repeated it and the broken nail he used for practicing lifted off the desk. The spell seemed longer than the one Mr. Hendry had spoken to make paper fly. If only I could hear that one again to be sure.

  I crossed out one of the words in Fabian's spell and, for what seemed like the hundredth time, inserted the watch words in place of the iron ones. Then I spoke the new combination.

  The watch flew off my palm, skimmed Matt's newspaper, and smashed into the fireplace.

  I covered my squeal of surprise with my hand and stared at the pieces on the hearth. "I broke your watch. I'm so sorry, Fabian."

  He grinned. "I will get another."

  "But it was a Patek Philippe."

  "A flying Patek Phillippe"

  Matt retrieved the pieces and poured them onto Fabian's cupped hands. "Were you trying to decapitate me?"

  "Sorry," I said. "I think I need practice."

  "Perhaps I should move to another room."

  "That would be wise. Just until I can control it." I turned to Fabian. "How do you control where the iron goes?"

  He tapped his temple. "I think where I want it to go."

  "Interesting." It would seem the magician's unspoken thoughts contributed significantly to making the spell work. "Let's try it again," I said, as Matt left with the newspaper tucked under his arm. "I'll think about where I want it to go."