Merriot shook his head. “This is nothing more than a ruse to distract me.”
“Not at all,” Raoul smoothly lied. “Once I arrived at the hotel, I commanded my valet to return to the town house to collect the portrait before calling upon Liverpool, and revealing the entire story.”
Merriot’s horrified expression revealed that he had spotted Nico leaving the hotel. Now Raoul could only hope he would soon return.
“Lord Liverpool will never believe such a Banbury tale,” he said, more determined to convince himself than Raoul.
“Perhaps not on the word of my servant, but he will be intrigued enough by my likeness to the Comte de Suriant to investigate the claim. There must be at least a few of my family’s servants still living to assure him that the Comte did indeed send his only heir, and a considerable amount of his wealth, to Lord Merriot in England.”
“No.” Merriot took a stumbling step backward, unaware the door was silently swinging open behind him. Nico…at last. “I will not believe you.”
Raoul covertly slid his hand into his pocket, his fingers closing around the hilt of his gun.
“You said you wanted this business over and done with. I fear it is only beginning.”
“You bastard…”
“I may be many things, but a bastard I am not,” Raoul interrupted, his voice as cold as the frigid night air.
Merriot waved his pistol, his entire body shaking with fear. “Do you think I will let you get away with this?”
The words had barely left his lips when Nico stepped through the door. With one swift motion, he hit Merriot on the back of his head with the butt of his gun, and the nobleman crumbled onto the floor in an unconscious heap.
“I wondered when you would choose to make your appearance,” Raoul chided, turning to help a still shaking Francine to her feet.
“I hated to interrupt such a touching family reunion.”
“Very thoughtful.”
Nico chuckled, kicking the oblivious Lord Merriot with the toe of his boot.
“What do you wish to do with him?”
Raoul hesitated, torn between the vengeful need to wrap his hands around the foul man’s neck to choke the life from him, and a desire to put the painful past behind him so he could concentrate on his future.
It was the image of a raven-haired beauty with exotic eyes and lips that tasted of gingerbread that helped make his decision.
“Leave him.”
Nico cursed, his brows drawn together in outrage. “Have you taken leave of your senses? He intended to murder you.”
“What would you have me do? Slit his throat?”
In less than the beat of a heart, Nico had a dagger pulled from his sleeve.
“If you are squeamish…”
“No, Nico,” Raoul hastily commanded, knowing that his valet would not hesitate to put an end to Lord Merriot. “I intend to take my case to Liverpool, and then to the French Embassy. Once the story is known, Merriot will not dare to harm me.”
Nico snorted. “You cannot imagine that the authorities will hang this imbecile? Noblemen are above the law.”
“He might not be arrested, but he faces utter ruin when the truth is spread throughout society. There will not be a door left open to him.”
“And you consider that ample punishment?”
Taking Francine’s arm, Raoul carefully negotiated her around the unconscious form toward the door. The poor woman had endured enough for one night.
“For a gentleman such as Lord Merriot, it will be a fate worse than death,” he pointed out, not above taking pleasure in Lord Merriot’s coming downfall from grace. He might not face the gallows, but being the laughing stock among society would be infinitely worse. “Nothing means more to him than his pride.”
Nico slid the dagger back into his hidden sheath, not at all satisfied. “Bah.”
“Are you quite certain, Raoul?” Francine timidly demanded, her face still wet from her tears. “He did seem determined to do you harm.”
Urging his old nurse through the door, he led her down the empty corridor.
“I will not deny it is tempting to toss him in the Thames, but I will not lower myself to Merriot’s standards,” he said, a slow smile curving his lips. “Besides, Sarah would never approve.”
Nico fell into pace beside him, his gun still out as he remained on guard.
“I knew that woman had made you soft in the head.”
Ignoring his servant, Raoul smiled down at Francine. “I know you must be weary, but I do hope you will join me in offering Lord Liverpool a Christmas he will not soon forget?”
“Of course.” She tilted her head to the side. “Is he truly fond of you?”
“So he has said.” Raoul smiled as he thought of what Liverpool’s reaction would be to his shocking story. “We are about to discover just how fond.”
Chapter 21
Twelfth Night
Cheshire
The snow that had threatened to come most of the morning began to fall just after lunch.
Standing in the kitchen surrounded by the scent of apple spice cake, Sarah gazed out the window, thankful the boys had left earlier to make their way to the Vicar’s. They would never have forgiven her if she had refused to allow them to walk through a near blizzard to assist with decorating the vicarage for the Twelfth Night Ball.
And in truth, she was in dire need of a few hours of peace.
The effort to appear properly cheerful for the boys had taken its toll. More than once, she had been forced to leave the room to blink back the tears that would form without warning.
Not that she had any reason to cry, she reminded herself sternly.
When the Vicar had called yesterday to reveal the shocking elevation of Raoul from bastard to the Comte de Suriant, she had been too stunned to feel anything. Even with the knowledge that Raoul was searching for a secret from his past hadn’t prepared her for such a shocking revelation.
But then, who could possibly have dreamed that Lord Merriot could be so vile?
It was unthinkable that anyone could not only steal a young child’s inheritance, but that he would steal his very identity.
As her shock had faded, however, a stark reality had set in.
Raoul was no longer the handsome scoundrel that had acted his way to success on the stage and in the drawing rooms of London society. Or even the vulnerable young boy who had hidden his wounds behind an irresistible charm.
He was now a French aristocrat, with all the benefits and responsibilities that came with the title.
Responsibilities that did not include the mere daughter of a gamekeeper and two stray boys.
And as much as she might be pleased for Raoul’s wondrous discovery, a part of her was selfish enough to mourn the loss of what might have been.
Unaware of the passing time, Sarah was wrenched from her dark thoughts by the sound of the front door being opened and closed.
Frowning in confusion, Sarah made her way into the parlor to discover Maggie removing her snow-dusted cloak and knit scarf.
Sarah’s confusion only deepened as she studied her maid. Surely she had specifically told Maggie that she was at liberty to enjoy the numerous festivities that were planned for Twelfth Night?
“Maggie, what are you doing here?” she demanded, wiping her hands on the apron that covered her shabby gray gown. “I told you to spend the day with your family.”
Unlike Sarah, the maid was attired in her finest wool gown, with her curls tucked becomingly beneath her bonnet. No doubt she had just come from the Squire’s house, where Christmas tea was traditionally held for the villagers.
“I came straight over as soon as I heard the news,” the maid breathed, her cheeks flushed from more than just the crisp air. “I could barely believe my ears. Can you imagine? Why it’s just like one of those novels you love to read.”
It was precisely the knowledge that Raoul would be the inevitable source of gossip at the tea that had kept Sarah from attending.
Ridiculous, of course.
She should have known that she could not avoid the painful subject for long.
Still, she could not resist attempting to divert the inevitable conversation.
“Oh, then you know that Mr. Arment has announced his engagement to Miss Gregory?” she said, her expression innocent. “Yes, it was all very romantic.”
“Lord, that was hardly news. He has been making calf eyes at her for the past year,” Maggie swiftly dismissed the announcement, not about to be diverted. “Surely you must know I am speaking of Mr. Charlebois…oh, I suppose I should call him the Comte de Suriant?”
Sarah swallowed a sigh. Obviously there was no halting the woman.
“There was no need for you to come, Maggie. The Vicar came by yesterday to tell me of Mr. Charlebois’s elevation to the French aristocracy.”
Unaware she was painfully scraping against Sarah’s raw nerves, Maggie smiled with satisfaction.
“Not that I am entirely surprised, you know. Such a handsome, elegant gentleman. It was obvious he was born to be among the finest of society.”
“Yes, quite obvious.”
“I heard tell that he has claim to some fancy chateau, and a half dozen smaller estates spread all about France. Vineyards and everything.”
Sarah’s heart sank even as she told herself she was delighted that Raoul was blessed with such a windfall. He would be an extraordinary landlord to his people. Generous, caring, and capable of appreciating those who labored to provide his comfort.
“A handsome inheritance to be sure,” she murmured. “He must be very pleased.”
“So, I should say. And it could not have happened to a more worthy gentleman.” Maggie regarded Sarah with a coy expression. “I shall never forget his particular kindness to you and the boys.”
Sarah clenched her teeth, refusing to reveal the bitter regret that was settled in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes, well, I am certain he has more important matters to attend to now that he has become a comte.”
“Perhaps for now,” Maggie agreed, although she clearly was laboring beneath the absurd assumption that Raoul would return to Cheshire as if nothing had changed. “Whatever do you think will happen to Lord Merriot? Not that I am particularly surprised that he would prove to be the villain of the piece. He was never liked in the neighborhood, with all those false airs of his, and always lording it over others. Still, it is one thing to be disrespectful to the common folk, and quite another to steal a young boy’s inheritance.” She shook her head in disgust. “Shameful.”
“It is more than shameful, it is pure wickedness,” Sarah snapped, unable to halt the revealing words. “When I consider his cruelty to Mr. Charlebois…the Comte de Suriant, I mean, when he was just a child, it makes me wish he could be properly punished.”
Maggie nodded in sympathy. “And of course, he had poor Frank Drabble transported to hide his shocking behavior.”
With an effort, Sarah gathered her composure. Lord Merriot might be the worst sort of villain, but his punishment was out of her hands.
A pity.
“It can only be hoped that someday Lord Merriot will be judged for his sins,” she muttered.
“According to the squire’s wife, we won’t have to wait quite so long,” Maggie revealed in satisfied tones. “She says that society has already turned their backs on Lord and Lady Merriot, and that they dare not show their faces in London. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
Sarah grimaced. “I suppose one should feel sorry for them, but I confess I cannot claim the least amount of sympathy.”
“I should say not.” Maggie appeared startled at the mere notion of pity. Like many in the neighborhood, she had always held Lord Merriot in contempt. “They deserve every misery they might suffer.”
Sarah shrugged, more concerned with Raoul than with the appalling Merriots.
Pretending an indifference she was far from feeling, she straightened the frayed cuff of her gown.
“Have you heard if the Comte de Suriant has traveled to France?”
“Not that I can determine, but I suppose he shall have to eventually travel to his home,” Maggie said, almost as if it were a thought that had never crossed her mind. Strange when Sarah had been dwelling on it for hours. “I wonder if any of his relations survived the revolution?”
“I hope for his sake that they did,” Sarah said without hesitation. She might be selfish enough to regret the loss of Raoul, but she would never wish him anything but utter happiness. “I think he has always longed for a family.”
“Poor man.” Maggie clicked her tongue. “’Tis bad enough to have his fortune stolen, but to be told he was a bastard and treated with such contempt…well, it breaks my heart.”
Lifting her chin, Sarah pasted a brave smile on her lips as she met Maggie’s gaze.
“Fortunately, he can now be reunited with his true family.”
“Aye, that is true enough,” Maggie slowly agreed, a frown wrinkling her brow. “But surely…”
“What?”
“Do you think he intends to live in France?”
“Why would he not?” Sarah demanded. “As you said, he has a number of homes to choose from, and perhaps relatives who will be anxious to have him near.”
For the first time realizing the full implications of Raoul’s transformation from actor to aristocrat, Maggie’s expression fell.
“Oh.”
“Besides, there is nothing to keep him in England,”
“There is you and the boys.”
“Hardly a temptation when compared to a grand chateau and a place among the highest of societies,” Sarah said grimly, preferring that the maid realize there was no reason to hold on to foolish hope. It was far better to accept the truth and make the best of their situation. “If that is all, Maggie, I should finish decorating the cake for the children’s ball before the boys return.”
Maggie sighed, but with visible effort resisted the urge to continue her arguments.
“I do hope you remembered to put in the bean.”
Sarah brushed back a curl that had strayed from her braid. “Of course,” she assured her companion. Tradition held that the Twelfth Night cake would be baked with a hidden bean. Whoever was fortunate enough to receive the slice of cake with the bean would be named king or queen of the ball. “What would the ball be without the proper royalty?”
There was another sigh as Maggie turned to pull on her cloak and scarf.
“Then I will see you at the vicarage.”
“Yes, I shall be there.”
Moving to the window, Sarah watched until Maggie was safely seated on Martin’s cart, then with a shake of her head, she turned to make her way back to the kitchen.
She hadn’t simply been attempting to rid herself of Maggie’s presence. She did have to finish the cake before she could have her bath and prepare herself and the boys for the ball.
There were also the dishes to wash, and the firewood to be brought in for the night, and the dogs to feed…
An hour later she had finished the cake and the dishes, and was busily sweeping the floor when a male arm reached around her to pluck the broom from her hands.
“I see you still have not learned to lock your doors,” a low, intoxicatingly familiar voice whispered close to her ear.
With a small screech, Sarah whirled around, her heart halting with shocked disbelief.
Raoul.
There was no mistaking the golden curls that were tousled to fall against his brow, the brilliant blue eyes that were so lushly framed by black lashes, the perfect nose, and sensuous lips. Her gaze lowered, skimming over the elegant gold jacket and silver waistcoat that were matched with black breeches and glossy Hessians.
She slowly shook her head, torn between elated disbelief and horror at being caught wearing her oldest gown, covered in flour.
“Mr. Charl…” She caught her impulsive words, a flush staining her cheeks. “I mean Comte de Suriant.”
“Do you suppose there will ever come a day when you can bring yourself to call me Raoul?” he demanded, his voice low and smoky. “I very much desire to hear my name on your lips.”
She trembled, acutely aware of the heat and scent of him surrounding her.
“What are you doing here?”
His lips touched her brow. “I told you I would return. Did you not trust me to keep my word?”
“But…” She shook her head, her mouth dry, her heart hammering in her throat. “Everything has changed since you left.”
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. There are some things that will never change.” He shifted to brush his mouth over her lips in a teasing motion. “You still taste of spice. And you still feel perfect in my arms.” He groaned, his arms tightening around her. “Sacrebleu, I have missed you.”
Instinctively, Sarah pressed her hands to his chest, her head swimming as she sought to comprehend what was occurring.
Only moments ago she had been resigned to the notion that she was destined never to see Raoul again. She had even convinced herself that she could be content with her small cottage and the boys to love.
She could not bear to have her hopes raised, only to be dashed again.
“Wait,” she breathed.
He rested his forehead against hers, his breath rasping through the air.
“I have done nothing but wait, ma belle.”
“Surely you should be in France?”
As if realizing that she would not be content until he had convinced her that this was no illusion, Raoul pulled away and studied her with a brooding gaze.
“I intend to travel there eventually,” he conceded, his tone revealing a remarkable lack of interest in his vast inheritance. “For now, however, my claim to the title is still being investigated by the proper authorities. Until a ruling is made, my presence is decidedly unwanted.”
Sarah tugged off her apron, trying to ignore her disheveled appearance as she concentrated on his confession.
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