The other document was a birth certificate.
‘Your son has been baptised, I see.’
‘Yes, here in London.’
The birth certificate only reflected what the chaplain had been told.
‘I...also have Jamie’s ring.’
Ross took it from her. It was old, gold and engraved with the crest of the Marquis of Hatherton, one of Jamie’s titles, proof that it was his.
‘May I ask how you come to have it in your possession?’ he enquired, handing it back to her. ‘Jamie’s body has not been found and I find it difficult to imagine he would have removed it from his finger. It holds great significance and meant a good deal to him. He would not have left it lying around.’
‘You are quite right to question me about it—and to be suspicious about how I come to have it,’ she said, seemingly not in the least offended by what his words implied, but the worried look Ross had seen in her eyes earlier was still there and he suspected she would be relieved when his visit was over. ‘But when Jamie and I married he was unable to obtain a wedding band so he gave me this until the time when he could give me a proper ring.’ Looking down at it a wistful smile touched her lips. ‘It was far too big for my finger,’ she said softly, ‘but he insisted that I should take it.’
‘You will understand,’ Ross said, ‘that your letter informing my uncle of your marriage to Jamie came as a shock to him—as it did to the whole family.’
‘I can understand that,’ she replied, her voice quite calm, without surprise, as if she read his thoughts correctly. ‘If they think I wrote the letter to stake my claim, they are mistaken. Jamie’s death was a great shock to me also. Before I wrote to the duke I had already come to the conclusion that you would all be perfectly right to dislike me, and to consider me either a usurper or an imposter.’ Taking the documents from him she placed them back in the bureau. ‘I assure you I am neither of those things, Colonel Montague.’ Her eyes held her visitor’s for an instant before looking away.
Ross wished he could say making pre-conclusions were stupid, but found that he could not. Yet there was no shadow in her eye, no tone in her voice, that gave him reason to believe she was anything other than what she claimed to be. Jamie’s wife.
‘Jamie did tell me something of his home and his family. I am looking forward to meeting them.’
‘Yes, the Montagues are a fine family.’
She bent her head, and Ross had a shrewd suspicion it was to hide a smile. ‘I am sure they are, Colonel. Do you think I could pay them a courtesy visit? Would that be appropriate?’
For the first time since entering the house, Ross smiled. ‘I am sure that could be arranged.’ He got up to take his leave. ‘I shall inform my cousins of our meeting. I am sure Giles will be contacting you.’
Ross had much to think about when he left the house. His mind was split in two conflicting directions. One direction made him wonder how much it had cost her to write to his uncle, the Duke of Rothermere—to make the swing from pride to humility.
For the first time since his cousin had gone missing, he found himself blaming Jamie for Alicia’s situation. If she was indeed his wife, then considering the kind of work he was doing, surely he could have taken some thought for the future. In war sudden death could come at any time to anyone. He must have known that by making no provision, he left his wife to his family’s mercy, to their charity. A letter home to his father would have spared all this.
The other direction reminded Ross that as a born sceptic, he wasn’t entirely convinced about the validity of Alicia’s claim. There were too many questions left to be answered for his comfort. It had been obvious from her manner and speech that her background was respectable, but was she clever enough and ambitious enough to raise herself from a lady’s companion to a marchioness and ultimately a duchess? Or was she as she seemed to be—not ambitious, and innocent of any deviousness?
Another thought cast doubt. The Jamie he knew would have written to his family informing them of his intentions—could he really have been so blinded by his love for Alicia it had robbed him of all rational thought?
* * *
As soon as the Arbuthnots had left for Brighton, dressing simply and neatly in her most suitable gown and bonnet, Lisette presented herself at Mannering House in Bloomsbury. She was greeted at the door by a stiff-faced footman in dark green livery. On requesting to see the housekeeper he showed her into a glittering entry hall and told her to wait.
Feeling terribly nervous her gaze scanned the impressive hall. Never had she seen the like. This house surpassed her wildest imaginings. In magnificent splendour a marble staircase rose gracefully to the upper floors. A vase of sweet-smelling blooms beautifully matched and arranged had been placed on a side table beneath a huge gilt mirror. Folding her gloved hands at her waist, her body stiffened when, on looking up, she saw Colonel Montague.
She studied him as he slowly descended to the hall—his broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest and narrow waist—before lifting her eyes to his darkly handsome face. In a linen shirt, tight-fitting riding breeches and polished tan boots, every inch of Ross Montague’s tall frame positively radiated raw power, tough, implacable authority and leashed sensuality.
For what seemed an eternity, she stood perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, struggling to appear completely calm, clinging to her composure as if it were a blanket she could use to insulate herself against this man who disturbed her like no other. His gaze was steadily fixed on her and on reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused and they stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.
She watched him in fascination as he approached her at a leisurely pace. Her heart skipped a beat. He was certainly the stuff of which young ladies’ dreams were made.
Looking down at her, Ross noted how tense she looked. Her beauty caught him like an unexpected blow to the chest. ‘Miss Lisette Napier. How very nice to see you again. You had no difficulty finding the house?’
Her eyes were alight with pleasure and she glanced around her. ‘Not at all. It is a wondrous house,’ she said softly. ‘You might have warned me.’
‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see Castonbury Park. So you are here to take up your position as my sister’s maid?’
The deep, velvet tones of his cultured voice made her stomach flutter. ‘If I am considered suitable,’ she replied, giving a slight curtsey.
He smiled slowly. His guarded stare travelled over her, noting the gentle flush mantling her cheeks. He didn’t think he would have much persuading to do to make her succumb to his desire. The young beauty was not the expert that he was at hiding her feelings.
‘Since I am to be the man who pays your wages, Miss Napier, your interview with Mrs Whitelaw is a mere formality. It is my considered opinion that you will be perfect for the post.’ He lifted one eyebrow slightly after his words, as though challenging her to question them.
Lisette’s knees knocked beneath her skirts, threatening to give out as she faced Ross Montague in all his male magnetism. ‘I want to thank you again for thinking of me for the position,’ she murmured. ‘It was...generous of you.’
‘Generous?’ he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high.
‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth into her chest. She ignored the odd sensation with a will, lowering her gaze. ‘I am extremely grateful. When Mrs Arbuthnot told me I would have to look for work elsewhere—and at such short notice—unaccustomed as I am to this huge metropolis, I confess I found the prospect of going from door to door seeking another situation extremely daunting.’ Colonel Montague shocked her when he touched her gently under her chin. She caught her breath sharply as he tilted her face upward again and looked into his eyes.
Her gratitude appeared to entertain him—his chiselled face softened considerably as he held her gaze. ‘I am happy to be of se
rvice, Miss Napier.’
Her heart pounded at the light but sure pressure of his warm fingertips against her skin.
He smiled and lowered his hand to his side. ‘The Arbuthnots have left for Brighton?’
‘Yes, this very day.’
‘And you have brought your luggage with you?’
‘Yes, sir, although I do not possess much, as you see,’ she answered, indicating her one bag by the door.
‘One of the footmen will see it is carried to your room.’
Lisette showed her surprise. ‘But I have not yet met your housekeeper. I have my reference...’
‘Which I have no doubt will give you an excellent character, but I prefer to judge for myself.’ A woman seemed to appear from nowhere. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Whitelaw. I’ll leave you in her capable hands.’
* * *
Ross entered the hallowed rooms of White’s, the gentleman’s club in St James’s, where he had arranged to meet his cousin, Lord Harry Montague. The rooms were cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent of the masculine smells of sandalwood, leather and cigars.
He scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black. He stood watching the play at the hazard table. With no wish to join in, raising a brandy to his lips, the impression Harry gave off was of bored indifference. Lifting his head, the instant he saw his cousin, his handsome countenance lightened. The two strode towards each other and they met in the doorway to the card room, where they clasped arms, laughing.
‘Good to have you home, Ross,’ Harry said. ‘Back for good, are you?’
‘No—extended leave.’ Ross took Harry’s arm and led him to a table that offered privacy.
A worried shadow darkened Harry’s eyes as he seated himself across from Ross and thought about the strangely vague note asking him to meet his cousin here. After politely enquiring about the health of Araminta and their maternal aunt, Lady Grace Mannering, he sat back and waited for Ross to enlighten him as to the purpose of this meeting.
‘Glad to learn you made it back from Waterloo, Harry, but it was bad news about Edward,’ Ross said, ordering a couple of brandies.
The emotions Harry suffered over the death of his younger brother at Waterloo and carefully concealed from others were evident now in the tautness of his clenched jaw as he glanced at his cousin. ‘It is a tragedy felt by the whole family. It was one hell of a battle, but we finally got those bastards.’ Drinking deep of his brandy he looked at Ross. ‘Anything in particular you wanted to see me about? I got the feeling there was a sense of urgency about your note.’
Meeting Harry’s arrested stare, Ross hesitated and then he said gravely, ‘I’ve received a letter from Giles. He asked me to speak to you about Jamie.’
‘Jamie’s still listed as missing.’
‘I believe he disappeared when the army made the push for Toulouse. He wasn’t with the rest of them when they crossed the river. I understand he was swept away.’
‘Jamie is...was a strong swimmer.’
‘I imagine the current was too strong, Harry.’
‘It looks like it. You know how I always looked up to Jamie.’
‘I know. There is something else—a couple of things, in fact, that make it imperative that you go to Spain, to search for Jamie’s body, or at least learn what happened to him as quickly as possible.’ Harry gave him a questioning look when he hesitated, but waited patiently for him to go on. ‘The first concerns the Montague finances. Shortly before Waterloo your father gambled on Napoleon winning the war. He sold his government bonds and lost a substantial amount of money. He took out a loan which has to be repaid.’
Harry stared at him with something like incredulity and amazement. ‘Good Lord, I had no idea.’
‘You’ve been in Spain. How could you?’
This was true, but Harry remembered the terrible rumours that had ignited London when word reached the city that Wellington had lost the battle at Waterloo, causing panic in the financial markets and the stock exchange to crash. In their desperation, London stockholders had wanted out of their investments immediately, believing they would need the money to survive. The market panic was halted when news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo arrived, but too late for the countless innocent people who had lost their life savings, and hundreds of reputable merchants and noble families had been ruined.
‘There are many outstanding debts,’ Ross went on. ‘The creditors are being held off for now, but the deadline for repayment draws ever closer. As you know Castonbury costs a ransom to run. As things stand, its income doesn’t match its expenses by a long way. The danger is that along with the contents of the house it will have to be mortgaged to pay off some of these debts.’
Harry’s skin whitened. He was clearly shaken by this. ‘Good Lord! As bad as that?’
‘According to Giles, it is. Your father’s grief at the loss of Edward and the situation with Jamie sent him into a decline, and the guilt he feels over his haste to sell off his shares is almost too painful for him to bear. As you know, when your mother died, as the firstborn and according to her marriage settlement, her immense fortune went to Jamie. Your father is banking on the money helping the family financially if proof can be found of Jamie’s death.’
‘Well, it will all go to Giles now. You said there were two things, Ross. You have told me the first. What is the second?’
‘A short time ago a letter was delivered to your father from an unknown woman. It was sent from Spain. The woman is called Alicia Montague. She claims to be Jamie’s widow.’
Ross waited through a long moment of awful suspense, knowing exactly where Harry’s thoughts would turn next. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him.
‘What is known about her?’
‘On Giles’s request I have been to see her.’
‘What did you make out?’
‘She is an intelligent woman—she is also likeable and quite charming. She has a child she claims is Jamie’s heir, and she also has a letter from the chaplain who performed the marriage ceremony—and Jamie’s ring.’
‘But...that is preposterous. As the heir, on a matter of such importance, it would be so unlike Jamie to commit himself to marriage without consulting with or at least informing his family first.’
‘I agree. However, having met her she could very well be the type of woman Jamie would have fallen for.’
Harry felt a prickling along his nape. His instincts urged him to use extreme caution in making any judgement. ‘What do you think, Ross? Could this woman be an imposter?’
Ross sighed and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know that. In fact, in all honesty I don’t know what to think, which is why the truth concerning the marriage must be determined—along with the facts concerning Jamie’s demise—before disaster strikes.’
‘And if it is proven that Jamie is dead and the child is indeed his son, then as heir the estate will pass to him on father’s death. And Mother’s money too.’
‘It looks like it. And should no body be found, then it will be seven years before an act of Parliament is passed officially declaring Jamie dead. In the meantime his finances will have to remain untouched. You’ve been to Spain, Harry. You have knowledge of the country, and being attached to the diplomatic service in London means you are ideally placed to go to there and search out the truth. We need hard evidence that Jamie is dead.’
Leaning his head against the back of his chair, Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath. Spain! He didn’t want to go back. Reminders of that time evoked painful, personal memories he preferred not to recall. And now Ross was asking him to go back.
‘You are right, Ross. I must return. If this woman’s claim cannot be disproved, then her son is heir. It could be devastating to the whole Montague dynasty. Dear Lord, Ross, how has it come to this? As youths we lived like princes, champagne was drunk as though it were water and guests invited to Cas
tonbury Park to partake of the Montague’s hospitality were open-mouthed at the liberality and display. We hunted with the best of the county, the stables filled with expensive hunters, the kennels full of hounds—the hunt servants, the display of wealth. How is it possible that it’s in danger of disappearing? It cannot happen. We cannot let it happen. We have to stop it.’
Ross knew that Harry would do everything within his power to seek out the truth. The Montagues’ attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan defending what was theirs at all costs, their instinct being to hold on to what they had won. ‘What are your chances, Harry?’
Harry’s eyes narrowed into a slight frown and his features took on a pensive expression. ‘The answer is that I don’t know.’ His tone implied the chances were not extremely good, but then he had contacts in Spain who might be able to help him so it was not entirely hopeless. ‘But to find out what really happened to my brother is a mission I am duty-bound to undertake—and to find out what I can about this woman and if her claim is genuine. Leave it with me. I’ll make arrangements to leave for Spain. Unfortunately I have commitments to fulfil regarding my work here in London so I am unable to leave right away. I’ll write to Giles at Castonbury informing him when I can depart and again as soon as I have anything to report.’
* * *
Although Lisette had learned to contend with the varying moods and whims of Lottie Arbuthnot, this, she feared, was a different environment and a different mistress entirely. She had complete care of Miss Araminta’s wardrobe and it was her duty to clean and repair any garment that needed it. She attended her toilet and arranged her hair—a task Lisette was taught by the maid who had attended Araminta before Lisette took up her position.
Her young mistress was a leading belle of the ton, and to Lisette’s despair she was unpredictable and problematical. But she was also warm and open and there was something about her that Lisette liked.
She had completed her first week and was arranging Miss Araminta’s hair when there was a knock on the door. Meeting Lisette’s eyes in the mirror, Araminta gave her a knowing smile.
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