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

by C. J. Archer

  "Speaking of money," Matt said, "we came here in a last ditch effort to have you reconsider the effect your actions are having on Lord Cox's family."

  "He's Lord Cox no more," Mr. Longmire said cheerfully. "What is his name?" He shrugged, not caring.

  "He's your family," I pointed out.

  "My mother was my family. When she died…" He shook his head as if to shake off the memory of her. But I heard the vulnerability in his voice, the sadness. This man had grown up with one family member and she was gone. Still, it was hard to have any sympathy for him. He was pushing away the only family he had left with both hands.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," I said, somewhat automatically.

  "Being alone doesn't bother me," he said. "I prefer it. I don't need anyone."

  "Be prepared for the gold diggers," Matt said with a wry twist in his tone. "The matchmaking mothers will come out of the woodwork now that there's a new eligible bachelor available among the peerage."

  Mr. Longmire's face was one of horror, made even more gruesome by the bruises and cuts. "I don't want a wife."

  "What about children?" I asked.

  "Can't think of anything worse."

  "But you're a baron now," I said. "You have to think of the future."

  "I don't care what happens to the estate and title after I die. Let Cox and his people fight it out in court. It's not my problem. Now, if you don't mind, I have a train to catch."

  An idea formed, one that seemed a little mad at first, but quickly took root. It was a neat solution to a sticky problem, and might just work.

  I followed Mr. Longmire down the stairs. "May I suggest something?"

  "Only if you're quick," he said.

  It was irritating talking to his back, but he was giving me no choice. "If you remain childless for the rest of your life, will you make Lord Cox's eldest son your heir in your will?"

  "Only a legitimate male can inherit," he said over his shoulder. "Aside from me, there are none. Not even going back generations. My lawyer checked. When I die, the title will become extinct."

  I stopped and stared after him. All this upheaval, all this distress, and for what? He wasn't even doing it for his future children, to make a better life for the generations to come after him. He was doing it for himself. The man was despicable.

  Matt rushed down the steps to where Mr. Longmire stood alongside a small trunk at the base of the staircase. The landlady watched on in silence from the sitting room beyond.

  "In the case of an extinct title, the estate is severed from the title and the lands and other assets go to whomever is named in your will," Matt said.

  "I told you, I don't care what happens after I die."

  "But—"

  "I'm not paying a lawyer to draw up the paperwork. It's a wasted expense. Good day."

  "I'll have my lawyer draw it up," Matt said. "It will cost you nothing."

  Mr. Longmire paused at the front door. "Why should I do anything for that man? He knew about me and did nothing."

  "That's why I'm suggesting you leave it to your nephew," I said. "Not your brother."

  "I don't have a—" He swallowed his protest and averted his gaze.

  "You have a family," Matt said quietly. "You are not alone now. Consider my wife's suggestion."

  "There is no one else to leave the estate to, so why not Cox's eldest son?" I said brightly.

  Mr. Longmire blew out a long breath as if releasing a lifetime of frustration with it, but he did not agree to my plan.

  "If you do this," Matt said with dark intensity, "I will make sure the two men who assaulted you do not get off lightly."

  Mr. Longmire's gaze snapped to Matt's. "How?"

  "That's the thing about belonging to the British peerage. You can do whatever you want. You'll find that out soon."

  I eyed him sideways. He didn't believe what he was saying, but it only mattered that Mr. Longmire did.

  The Yorkshireman picked up one end of the trunk and waited for Matt to pick up the other. "If your lawyer draws something up, I'll sign it. I have nothing against the boy, only his father."

  They carried the trunk to the waiting hack and lifted it onto the roof. I watched as Matt strapped it down while Mr. Longmire fetched his bag. He spoke to the landlady then closed the door and rejoined us.

  "Now that you have been exposed as the author of those letters, you won't write any more, will you?" I asked.

  He threw his bag into the cabin and climbed in after it.

  "Will you, Mr. Longmire?" I prompted.

  He went to close the door but Matt caught it. Mr. Longmire pulled hard, but Matt didn't let go.

  "My wife asked you a question," Matt growled.

  "Very well," Mr. Longmire growled back. "I won't send any more letters to magicians. But I won't stop my crusade against them. Driver! Move on!" The coach lurched forward and Matt had to let go or be dragged with it. Mr. Longmire closed the door, pulled down the window, and said, "Magicians are cheats!"

  Matt's jaw hardened. He looked to our coach, parked at the curb.

  I slipped my hand into his. "Let him go," I said. "He's not worth another moment's thought."

  "Agreed."

  We headed home. Neither of us mentioned Mr. Longmire, the assaults or his letters again. We had truly let him go, in every sense. In fact, the journey was quite pleasant as we talked of happier things.

  To our utmost surprise, we arrived home to find Aunt Letitia in the drawing room playing poker with Willie and Lord Farnsworth. It was such an odd thing to see that both Matt and I paused in the doorway.

  "There you are, Glass," Lord Farnsworth said with a toothy smile. "The ladies are teaching me poker."

  "I keep telling you," Willie said. "I ain't a lady."

  "You are to me." He patted her hand then laid down his cards. "Two pair, ace high. That's good, isn't it?"

  Aunt Letitia set her cards on the table too. "Not as good as mine. Three of a kind. Can you match that, Willemina?"

  "Nope. All yours, Letty."

  "I say, you do have the most interesting way of speaking," Lord Farnsworth said. "Indeed, everything about you is interesting, Willie. It's not just the accent—which is a breath of fresh air—but your choice of phrases, your clothing, even your attitude. I've never met anyone like you."

  "Why thank you, Farnsworth."

  I cringed at the familiar use of his name, that only his male friends would call him by. She should be addressing him as “my lord” or “sir.” If I found it slightly awkward, Aunt Letitia seemed positively horrified.

  "Willemina," she scolded. "Lord Farnsworth is your cousin's distinguished guest! Don't embarrass Matthew."

  Willie looked to Matt then me. "What'd I do wrong?"

  Lord Farnsworth threw his head back and laughed. "Nothing, nothing at all. It's quite all right, Miss Glass. If Willie wishes to take her obsession with all things American beyond the accent, then I'm willing to go along with it. It's quite harmless, after all."

  "Obsession?" Willie's brow creased. "What're you talking about? I ain't obsessed with being American; I am American."

  Lord Farnsworth laughed as he gathered up the cards. "Of course, of course." He winked at Matt and me.

  Willie's frown deepened. "Are you all sharing a joke at my expense?"

  "I have no idea," Aunt Letitia said. "Will someone please deal? I'm having a winning streak and don't want to lose momentum."

  "Of course, dear Miss Glass." Lord Farnsworth shuffled the deck with quick, agile fingers.

  Willie crossed her arms. "You do know I am American, right?" she asked. "I ain't a fake."

  He cast her a benign smile without pausing his shuffle.

  Willie turned fully to face Matt. "Tell him I really am American."

  "She is," Matt said simply.

  Lord Farnsworth winked at us again. "I believe you."

  "I don't think you do," Willie said. "I was born and raised there. I've only lived in London a few months. Why do you think I'm a fraud
and not Matt?"

  "His accent isn't very strong. It sounds worldly, and more authentic to my cultured English ear."

  Willie rolled her eyes. "My accent is authentic American. His was corrupted by a childhood spent all over Europe. Anyway, just because you ain't heard an accent like mine before don't mean it ain't real."

  "Besides," Lord Farnsworth went on as if she hadn't spoken, "you introduced yourself as Glass's cousin, and I happen to know his three cousins are British born and bred."

  I pressed my lips together, suppressing my smile as I realized his mistake.

  "That's his father's side," Willie said. "I'm his cousin on his mother's side. The Johnsons are Americans."

  Lord Farnsworth stopped dealing the cards. "Johnson?" he asked weakly. "Glass, what's going on?"

  Matt fought back his smile. "She's a Johnson from California."

  "So…she's not the daughter of Lord Rycroft?"

  "Didn't she introduce herself as Miss Johnson?"

  "Simply as Willie."

  Aunt Letitia sighed as she picked up her cards. "If only I'd been here when you arrived. I am very sorry, my lord. You must forgive her. She's quite mad."

  "I am not!" Willie cried.

  Lord Farnsworth gave Matt an apologetic shrug. "You can see how I made the error. You did say your cousin's top drawer was unhinged." He tapped his forehead.

  Willie scowled at Matt. "You called me mad?"

  "I was referring to Charity," Matt assured her.

  She grunted. "Just so you know, Farnsworth, Charity makes me seem normal."

  Aunt Letitia suddenly lowered her cards. "Now I understand why you've been flirting with Willemina. You thought she was my niece."

  "An honest mistake," Lord Farnsworth muttered.

  Aunt Letitia settled a hand on his arm. "Charity is very much available. Shall I set up a meeting between you?"

  Lord Farnsworth frowned at Willie. "She's madder than Willie, eh? Best not. Not unless the other fillies suddenly all get married."

  Aunt Letitia sat back and regarded her cards again. "At least I tried. That's my duty done."

  Willie threw her cards down and shot to her feet. "I ain't sitting here listening to my character being shredded. I may be a bit eccentric, but you're a caboose short of a full train, Farnsworth."

  "Willemina!" Aunt Letitia scolded. "Apologize this instant."

  Willie spun on her heel and marched out.

  Lord Farnsworth's gaze followed her exit. Or, rather, followed her backside. He almost fell off his chair trying to see her until she was out of sight. "What an interesting outfit. I hope it catches on."

  "We are very sorry about her behavior," Aunt Letitia gushed. "She was brought up by the most despicable people."

  He patted her hand. "It's all right, Miss Glass. I understand eccentricity better than most. My mother was away with the fairies." He stopped suddenly as Duke and Cyclops entered.

  My stomach dropped to my toes. Oh no. He couldn't fail to recognize Cyclops. He'll know we've been spying on him.

  He regarded Cyclops with a finger tapping against his lips. He looked as though he was trying to place him.

  Cyclops turned and walked quickly out without a word.

  The rest of us remained silent. I tried to think of something to explain why Lord Farnsworth's previous coachman was strolling around our house, but couldn't. Even Matt, who always knew just the right thing to say, was at a loss for words.

  Lord Farnsworth regarded his cards again. "That fellow reminds me of the coachman who left my employ the other day. Hated losing him. He was a good man, knew his way around the city and always got me to where I wanted to be on time. I wondered why he left suddenly. Perhaps, like your friend there, he had a better place to be."

  He couldn't possibly be so stupid as to think his coachman had an identical twin who also wore a patch over his eye. I refused to believe he could be that thick-headed and still function in society.

  I looked to Matt. Matt looked to me. We both shrugged at the same time and sat at the card table.

  "Deal us in," Matt said. "Duke, do you mind pouring drinks?"

  "It's far too early for liquor," Aunt Letitia protested.

  "Thank you," Lord Farnsworth said. "Don't mind if I do."

  Aunt Letitia gave a thin smile. "Perhaps just this once."

  "Duke, eh?" Lord Farnsworth said as he watched Duke splash whiskey into the tumblers at the sideboard. "Which one?"

  "What?" Duke asked.

  "I know you're not Cornwall.” He snickered. “You’re too young to be Norfolk or Somerset…" He clicked his fingers. "I've got it! You're the Duke of Wellington!"

  Available from 1st September 2020:

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  A Message From The Author

  I hope you enjoyed reading THE IMPOSTER’S INHERITANCE as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. If you would like to be contacted when I release a new book, subscribe to my newsletter at http://cjarcher.com/contact-cj/newsletter/. You will only be contacted when I have a new book out.

  Also by C.J. Archer

  SERIES WITH 2 OR MORE BOOKS

  After The Rift

  Glass and Steele

  The Ministry of Curiosities Series

  The Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy

  The 1st Freak House Trilogy

  The 2nd Freak House Trilogy

  The 3rd Freak House Trilogy

  The Assassins Guild Series

  Lord Hawkesbury's Players Series

  Witch Born

  SINGLE TITLES NOT IN A SERIES

  Courting His Countess

  Surrender

  Redemption

  The Mercenary's Price

  About the Author

  C.J. Archer has loved history and books for as long as she can remember and feels fortunate that she found a way to combine the two. She spent her early childhood in the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, Australia, but now lives in suburban Melbourne with her husband, two children and a mischievous black & white cat named Coco.

  Subscribe to C.J.'s newsletter through her website to be notified when she releases a new book, as well as get access to exclusive content and subscriber-only giveaways. Her website also contains up to date details on all her books: http://cjarcher.com She loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through email cj@cjarcher.com or follow her on social media to get the latest updates on her books: