Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  “It is no different in Spain, although one waits until after the siesta. But I am sorry. I have business I must attend to this afternoon.”

  At least he had shown the courtesy of asking her, unlike during this morning’s fiasco.

  “Have you plans this evening, then? Do you enjoy the theater?”

  How tempting that was! Falcon had seen few plays in the course of her rather itinerant past, and those she could count included makeshift productions the soldiers had performed for their own entertainment. She hesitated before she answered, weighing her desire to see a real theater performance against her fear of encouraging the baron in any further acquaintanceship.

  She did owe him courtesy in return for his help. To refuse this invitation without a good reason would be extremely rude after refusing his first one, and perhaps her fears were completely unfounded.

  “No, I do not have plans this evening, as it happens.” How could she, when she knew no one?

  She only hoped her decision would not prove to be a mistake. How many errors could one make in the same day?

  Chapter Seven

  Falcon’s doubts redoubled as she and Triss rode in a hackney to the solicitor’s office that afternoon. Was she doing the right thing? Never had she expected to find so many ways that she might go wrong.

  The accommodations in Mrs. Isham’s lodging house were all that could be desired—quiet, clean, attractive and comfortable, but they cost little more than the rooms near Covent Garden, and that made her suspicious. The landlady had betrayed no hint of doubt about Falcon’s respectability, but still Falcon wondered—had Lord Danebridge paid a portion of the rent or negotiated a special rate on her behalf? Or had the woman in Covent Garden overcharged her outrageously?

  The sooner she solved her financial woes and got on with her business—without Lord Danebridge—the better. The situation made her interview with Mr. Fallesby, her father’s solicitor, all the more crucial. She prayed that the man could provide some relief and would not merely remand her into the custody of her relatives.

  In contrast to the country people of Wickenden, the clerks in the office of Twyford, Fallesby, Grant and Cox looked everywhere but at Falcon once she went in and stated her need to see Mr. Fallesby. As she sat waiting on an extremely uncomfortable wooden bench she wondered if they were unaccustomed to women clients or were shocked by the tight fit of her Spanish basquiña. Had she made a mistake not to wear her more conventional French-styled pelisse?

  She had reasoned that she should wear Spanish dress to support her story and her claim of identity. The best proof she could have offered—the locket with her parents’ miniatures and her mother’s jewels—was gone with the stolen trunk. All she had brought with her was her father’s regimental breastplate, tucked safely into her reticule.

  After an interminable wait a clerk finally informed Falcon that Mr. Fallesby could give her a few moments of his time.

  “Your servant may await you here,” the man said loftily, inclining his head towards Triss who stood patiently by the window, looking out at the city traffic.

  Falcon felt a momentary urge to change her mind, but she had never retreated from a challenge. She did not correct the man’s error. She adjusted her mantilla and followed the clerk up a narrow flight of stairs to the far more comfortably furnished office of Mr. Fallesby.

  The solicitor did not look up when she entered. Was it only her, or did no one ever meet the eyes of any clients in this place? She settled into a leather-covered wing chair that was large enough to hold two of her and made her feel like a child.

  She used the moment to observe the man. If antique meant old, then this man was positively ancient. Balding and be-spectacled, he appeared to be as thin and dry as the papers piled upon his desk, quite in danger of blowing away in a fresh breeze. Just as well the one window was closed. She could readily believe that he worked day and night in this tiny room, without sleep or food, for he seemed to have barely enough flesh to cover his bones.

  “Señora Alomar de Montero, is it?” The solicitor finally lifted his gaze from the paper in his hand. Behind the small glass lenses the eyes that were fixed upon her now were bright and intelligent, set in a wizened face that seemed almost elfin.

  Falcon pushed backed her mantilla and let it drop onto her shoulders so that the man could really see her. “Uh, no, actually, it is not,” she admitted. “That is to say, I am not—I mean, I am using that name, but it is not really mine.” Suddenly she felt tongue-tied. That was the last thing she had expected. Her palms were sweating. Oh, why could not Triss have been allowed to accompany her? “I’m afraid I hardly know where to begin.”

  “Try the beginning,” Mr. Fallesby suggested dryly.

  “Yes. Of course. The beginning.” She took a deep breath and pulled herself together. “My name is actually Colburne—Miss Falcarrah Colburne. You represented the interests of my father when he was alive. He died in the Peninsula five years ago.”

  She saw the solicitor’s gaze sharpen as she said the words.

  “Captain Myles Anthony Colburne, of the Forty-third,” he recited. “A fine man, son and heir to the Earl of Coudray. A tragic loss.”

  He leaned back in his chair, contemplating Falcon as if he had all the time in the world. His manner belied the interest she could read in his face. “You claim to be his daughter, eh?”

  “Yes. I know you are probably thinking that it is not possible. I am supposed to be dead.”

  “Well, I am listening. The entire family was reportedly killed during Moore’s retreat to Corunna. A terrible business.” He looked at her expectantly.

  At least he has not thrown me out of his office, she thought. “Terrible does not begin to describe it, sir. The retreat itself was an ordeal…” Everything she had endured afterwards had not erased her memories of it—the roads littered with bodies of the dead and dying, and the fear, exhaustion, cold, and hunger. But ladies were not supposed to talk of such things, and it was beside the point.

  “You must be aware from the reports that my parents did not succumb to any of the natural forces which caused the deaths of so many during the retreat, Mr. Fallesby. My parents were murdered, and I was left for dead along with them. It was only by the greatest good fortune that my father’s bâtman found us. There is no question that he saved my life.”

  The solicitor showed no discernible alteration in his posture or expression. He merely said, “If the bâtman found you, then how was it that you were reported killed? And pray tell, why have you only appeared now, five years later? You can understand my asking.”

  “I know it must seem very peculiar,” Falcon said. What could she do to convince this man she was telling the truth? Did she need to tell him everything? Was all of this worth the pain and effort when there might be nothing this man could do for her?

  “I had to be left behind—I was too badly injured to travel,” she said woodenly. “Triss—that is, Corporal Triss took me to the priest in that village and asked him to help me. The French were not far behind us. Triss, of course, could not stay—he would have been accounted a deserter. I—well, I have spent the last five years in Spain, what with the war going on.”

  “You were captured?”

  “No. I managed to avoid that fate, but the telling is a very long story. I was a fourteen-year-old girl, brutally robbed of my parents and very nearly of my life as well. Suffice it to say that many people helped me.”

  “And now you have come to me for help, I assume. What exactly did you hope I might do for you?”

  Had she really dared to hope? For the moment Falcon was simply relieved that the man did not press her with more questions about the murders or her time in Spain. Recalling the details would only stir up nightmares and bitterness. Besides, she was certain he would not approve of her mission of vengeance, and she feared that he would refuse to help her if he guessed her true business here.

  “The bâtman—Sergeant Triss, as he became afterwards—is with me now. In fact, he is
waiting in your clerks’ office below. It was he who knew of your existence and suggested I come to see you. I have run into difficulties here in London. One of my trunks was stolen as soon as we arrived here—it contained nearly all of the money I had been given by Spanish friends to cover my expenses.” She could not say, while I am here. He would only ask more questions. She hurried on, so as not to afford him the opportunity.

  “Triss thought there might have been some provision made for me—that is, did my father leave a will? Are there any funds to which I might have a claim?” She was keeping her emotions tightly reined, but nevertheless a hint of her desperation escaped. “If only there were! It would make such a difference!”

  Mr. Fallesby tented his fingers and tapped them thoughtfully against his small chin. “Ah, it always comes down to the money.”

  Falcon feared that she had failed to convince him. She opened the strings of her reticule and withdrew her father’s breastplate. “This is the only small item I could bring with me as proof of who I am.” Her hands were shaking. “Triss removed what he could of my father’s regalia so that it would not become the property of looters. I had some items of my mother’s—a locket with their portraits and some heirloom jewelry, a set of pearls with emeralds—that were lost with my stolen trunk.”

  She handed the badge across the desk. The solicitor took it from her and studied it for several long moments before handing it back. Then, still without a word, he reached behind him and pulled on the bellpull that hung behind him on the wall.

  That is it, then, Falcon thought. He is going to have me escorted out. Hoping that she was wrong, she bit her lip and said nothing.

  One of the clerks appeared in the doorway, and Mr. Fallesby turned to him. “Fetch me the file on Captain Myles Colburne. Our last use of it would have been about two years ago.”

  Two years ago? Falcon was puzzled, but she remained quiet. This was no time to allow her natural impulsiveness to rule her behavior, no matter how hard that might be to control. At least it appeared that Mr. Fallesby might believe her story after all.

  “I believe you have omitted a great deal of your story, Miss Colburne,” the man said, returning his attention to her. “However, I imagine it is painful for you to dwell on the past, so I will not pursue my questions for now. I will say you have the look of your mother—you have her striking eyes and coloring. She was a very beautiful woman, and both strong and charming besides. Few who met her wondered that your father would give up his family for such a woman.”

  He must have believed her all along! “You met my mother? You remember her? Then you must know that my father’s family…”

  He nodded. “Your father always felt that if your grandfather had only met her, he would not have cast them off, but the earl would not receive her. He was a very stubborn man, your grandfather.”

  “As was my father.”

  “Yes. Yes, he was. He would marry your mother, no matter what the consequences. And your mother was no better, for she would not be separated from him. Cared nothing for convention, either of them. And so you were raised in the regiment, eh?”

  “Yes, sir, I was.”

  “Hmph. Not a fit life for a gently bred woman and child. A tragedy all around—a tragedy and a terrible waste.” He stared off into space and for a moment he seemed to forget that she was there.

  “It was the only life I knew,” she said softly. “I did not mind it.”

  “Hmph.” He seemed to come back to himself. “The old earl is more to blame than anyone. He never reconciled with your father and let him go on believing that the army was the only life open to him. But the fact is, your grandfather never changed his will, and of course, the entail could not be altered at any rate.”

  Falcon was stunned. “Do you mean to say that my father could have come home?”

  “Possibly. Certainly he could have if he had outlived his father. His lordship died about two years after your family’s tragedy. I believe he still cared, deep down. He took it very hard.”

  Falcon could not find it in her heart to feel sympathy for an old man who had caused so much pain and trouble, but she thought no one could be more to blame for her parents’ deaths than the men she had come seeking. “My father always said there was nothing for him here. He devoted his life to his military career, because that was all he had, besides us that is—my mother and me. That was his choice. It is too sad to contemplate.”

  “Your father’s cousin is the seventh Earl of Coudray now,” Mr. Fallesby was saying. “Everything went to him, of course, since your father was gone. But I’m sure there were provisions for you in your father’s will—your marriage portion and other matters. Since we thought you dead, they were null. To have you now appear very much alive five years after the fact makes matters complicated indeed, but I feel certain that we can sort them out.”

  He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “Of course, it may take some time, and there will certainly be some questions. I believe an affidavit from you and probably one from your Sergeant Triss would be helpful. I’m afraid you will have to provide more details of where you have been and what you have been doing during these last five years.”

  “I can do that if I must,” she said. “If it would help matters at all, I have some very respectable connections in Spain who could vouch for me, although of course it will take time to contact them.” What of the present? she wanted to ask. How will I feed and house five of us? How will I have the money to go wherever I need to go?

  She may have betrayed her thoughts by some flicker of worry or dismay, for although she said nothing, the solicitor’s next remarks spoke exactly to her concern.

  “As for the present, I believe I could give you a small amount as a loan against the time this is all sorted out. I will contact a friend in Doctors’ Commons who can help us with the will. I assume that we will also be contacting his lordship. You are not yet twenty-one, Miss Colburne?”

  She shook her head, dreading where this was leading even as she rejoiced at the prospect of some financial relief.

  “You must have a legal guardian, and the earl is the logical choice, as he is your closest relative and the head of the Colburne family now. I am certain that he will not hesitate to take responsibility for you as soon as we have made this extraordinary situation known to him.”

  “My relatives are more likely to have as little interest in my existence as I have in theirs,” Falcon said with some spirit. “You must remember how they failed to receive my mother, sir. I am, after all, that objectionable Irishwoman’s daughter. They probably blamed the two of us for the loss of my father as much as I blame them.”

  Mr. Fallesby smiled. “I am certain the earl will see his responsibility in the matter, Miss Colburne. You must remember that this earl is not your grandfather. I will write to him immediately. Why, where else would you expect to turn, now that you have returned to England?”

  Where else, indeed? Falcon thought that if the man knew the truth, the very idea of what she intended would knock him over like a stiff wind. But she was not well and truly trapped, not yet.

  “He is bound to be shaken by the news of my survival,” she said carefully. “It is not every day that a relation suddenly returns from the dead. Perhaps it would be best if I wrote to him myself? I could explain what happened to me, and answer some of the questions he is bound to have, as you pointed out yourself, sir. I could say I am writing at your suggestion.”

  As she hoped, he agreed, clearly not suspecting for the world that she might have any other plan in mind. “Perhaps you are right, young lady. You are certainly better qualified to explain what has happened than I. He is probably at the family seat in Kent; as soon as my clerk finds the file, I will have him give you the direction.”

  He reached behind him and pulled the bellpull a second time. “I will advance you some funds—would twenty pounds be sufficient for now? I can always advance you more if necessary, but I am certain the earl will make sure you have pin mo
ney.”

  He considered this pin money? Her family must be wealthy indeed. Twenty pounds equaled a lieutenant’s pay for two months, or what an upper servant might earn in a year. The earl will never know I was here, thought Falcon, but that should not matter. Twenty pounds might carry her until she could get word to Don Andrés or at least find some other solution to her problems.

  Chapter Eight

  Jeremy stood absolutely still in the dressing room of the Fitzharding Street townhouse while his valet put the finishing touches on a masterfully tied cravat. The lieutenant-major could not turn his head for the moment, but he could see Nicholson’s reflection in the looking glass placed at an angle beside him.

  “So, Nicholson. Tell me where she went this afternoon.”

  “Twyford, Fallesby, Grant and Cox—a solicitor’s office,” the big man answered, consulting a folded piece of paper upon which he had obviously made notations. “She was there for close to an hour. The Cornishman, Sergeant Triss, went with her, but he did not see the attorney—he remained waiting in the front office, visible through the windows. Afterwards they returned directly to the lodging house in Charles Street.”

  “Do we know which solicitor she saw there?”

  “Had to be Fallesby, sir. Twyford’s been dead for ten years, Grant is retired, and Cox is not in Town at present.”

  “How fortunate for us.” Jeremy continued to stare thoughtfully into the looking glass for a moment, seeing nothing. What business could his “Spanish” lady have with a solicitor? Finding out could be a sticky problem—most attorneys did honor their clients’ privacy. Perhaps in the relaxed atmosphere of the theater this evening he could get her to confide in him.