Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  “Indeed,” Lady Amberley said. “Just why do you have such an implacable enemy, Belinda? Is there something I don’t know about you, by any chance?”

  Charlotte nearly stamped her foot and turned her furious face on her hostess.

  “As you never took the trouble to know me or visit me in over twenty years, there are a great many things about me that you do not know, Ma’am. Surprising as it may seem, other people have lives too, you know, with friends and enemies and troubles and hopes.”

  “I am not accustomed to be spoken to like that in my own house,” Lady Amberley replied after a stunned moment. “There is no use talking about it now, we’ll see how George deals with the matter. Good night.”

  She swept out, leaving the two young people behind her looking at each other.

  “You idiot,” Charlotte said tiredly. “What on earth were you thinking?”

  “That I love you.” James tenderly enfolded her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth.

  She enjoyed the kiss for a minute, but eventually had to come up for air and remonstrated again.

  “Is this a time for kissing, James? We have to find a way out!”

  “Any time is a good time for kissing you,” James said. “A deserted library late at night, and you looking so beautiful in my arms, what better time could there be?”

  “Will you please be serious?”

  “All right,” James relented. “Let’s be serious. Why shouldn’t we take a leaf out of Conway’s books? The man is clearly living a lie, - probably a whole series of lies piled on top of each other – and yet he calmly goes about his business, and all the world takes his word for who his wife is. If it is so easy to fool the world, why shouldn’t we do the same, if it became necessary?”

  “But he’s a nobody with few acquaintances compared to your family, James. You could never get away with such a lie, and I wouldn’t – couldn’t – live like that. And think, if there were children, if they found out at some date in the future that they are illegitimate – this possibility would hang like the sword of Damocles above us all the time. I refuse to do that, James.”

  “And yet, you came to London as Belinda Yardley, didn’t you?”

  Charlotte was silenced. After a few seconds she rallied, however.

  “It is just because I know how wretched one feels after perpetrating a deceit, that I am not willing to live my whole life like that. It was supposed to be just for a few days or a couple of weeks, and look what has become of it. And there was never any danger of innocent children being involved. You must see the difference.”

  “I do understand.” He kissed her again, on the brows, the nose, on the corners of her lips and the neck. “I’m trying to find a solution that will allow us to be together openly and legally, but it may take a few days to see my way clear. Trust me, sweetheart, it will work out somehow.”

  Since she had no choice, she nodded, and then showed him exactly how and where she most liked to be kissed, and how sensitive her breasts were to the touch of his large, warm hands. She might have gone even further, but James tore himself away, with obvious reluctance, and said, “We’d better stop now – gives me something more to look forward to when we can finally let ourselves go all the way.”

  There clearly was no point in dissuading the stubborn creature, so Charlotte let him go, and went up to bed, still in something of a daze.

  +++

  James went home on foot, to clear his head of the effects of kissing and fondling his love, and regain some much-needed sense of perspective.

  Charlotte thought him mad, and so did his mother and his best friend. So much unanimity among people who would have agreed on little else should have given him pause, but he could not bring himself to care.

  The past few days had jolted him out of the placid, boring life he had been living and he could not envisage a return to his former state, no matter how everything turned out. He felt more alive, more conscious of every precious minute, of every connection to his friends, family, and above all Charlotte. Life seemed a thing of infinite possibility just now, and all depended on how he acted over the next few days and weeks.

  Was he really that paltry fellow just a few days ago, whose first impulse had been to dump Charlotte’s problems in his elder brother’s lap? It seemed hard to believe …

  Before he could finish the thought, James became conscious of a large body closing in on him from a side road with considerable speed. How he knew that the man’s intent was hostile he could not have said, but there was not the slightest doubt in James’s mind. He quickly sidestepped and angled his boots so as to trip up his assailant.

  The man fell, but was up again in a few moments. James looked at the muffled face, the bulging muscles and torso, and wondered if he should not have run when he had the chance. Though taller than average himself, he was almost a head shorter than this giant.

  “What do you want?” he asked, staying outside reaching distance and warily watching the man’s footwork.

  A grunt was his only answer, as the man threw himself at James, fists milling. Clearly he had more strength than science. Being faster on his feet, James managed to evade the worst of it, though a glancing blow at his shoulder was bad enough. He ducked under the man’s swing and placed his best uppercut on the man’s chin. While his opponent was reeling, he followed up with a vicious kick at the man’s right knee, which made him fall over again, like some felled oak.

  James was grateful that the man was not a more experienced street fighter. Just a bully used to picking on weaker prey, he surmised.

  Right now the man was holding his damaged knee as he sat on the ground cursing with a fluency that James could only admire.

  “Who put you up to this, man?” he asked. “If you tell me the truth, I won’t call the watch.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “As you like. I understand that life in Australia is not that terrible if you like sheep and very hot summers.”

  The man’s cursing redoubled.

  “Of course, first you have to survive transportation,” James said conversationally. “Big men like you need a lot of food and water, I take it.”

  “Dammit! It was some toff, about thirty. Told me to rough you up a bit and tell you not to meddle in his affairs.”

  “Ah. You were not to kill me, then?”

  “Wish I had,” said the thug sullenly. “No good comes of getting in between toffs and their quarrels.”

  “Better remember that in future,” James advised, and continued on his way. His shoulder and the knuckles of his right hand were bruised, but he was relieved to have come off the better in the encounter. Conway must be getting quite anxious if he resorted to such methods. He’d have cause to be more anxious still, if James had anything to say in the matter.

  Chapter 25

  His valet woke James up around ten with best wishes on his engagement, news of which was already in the morning paper. James looked at the short announcement with mingled satisfaction and misgivings, when he remembered that his bride’s name was a false one.

  Jouvin also reported that life in Bloomsbury went on in the usual fashion, and that Mrs. Conway had apparently not yet returned to Half Moon Street. Conway himself had spent several hours of the last night in a gaming hell – less respectable than Denton’s. His young watchers had not been able to find out how successful his gambling was this time.

  “No matter,” James said. “Please send to the stables to have my curricle and the greys ready at very short notice, should I need to leave London in the near future, and pack clothes for a few days in the country. “

  “Very good, Sir.” Jouvin might be curious about those travel plans, but was too well trained to betray it. “Should I also hold myself in readiness, Sir?”

  James shook his head and drank some tea. “No, thanks.”

  Left to himself, he tried to calculate how long Alphonse would take to complete his mission to the wilds of Kent. Waiting on others was not easy for him.

&
nbsp; It was the day of his weekly luncheon with Jonathan, his city friend. They met at a French restaurant not far from Covent Garden. After James had received Jonathan’s congratulations on his forthcoming alliance, and thanked him for finding Beecham, the young solicitor, they discussed his various investments and income prospects.

  “I am going to stop gambling when I marry,” James told his friend, “so there won’t be such frequent windfalls in future.”

  “You don’t really need them at this point,” Jonathan said. “I am glad to hear it, as anyone’s luck can run out eventually.”

  James felt that this good head for numbers and probabilities was more reliable than luck, but chose not to argue the point.

  “What about your future wife’s dowry?” Jonathan asked. “That may recompense you for the loss of your gambling income.”

  “It’s all tied up in a complicated inheritance case, and we’ll have to hope that Beecham can unblock it soon. I don’t care about it, anyway.”

  “You’re lucky that you can take that attitude.”

  “How sanctimonious– when you are richer than I,” James protested, “and able to marry anyone at any time.”

  “True, and I know I’m also lucky. By the time I get around to marriage – in about ten years – I plan to be much richer still.”

  “When you meet someone you don’t want to get away, your careful plans and your age won’t matter, you know.”

  Jonathan looked doubtful. James decided not to give him any more warnings. Fate would take care of it in any case.

  Strolling to his club after lunch, he found a note from Alphonse, asking him to call round at his lodgings. Barely stopping to acknowledge the good wishes of other members, he quickly walked the few streets over to where young M. de Ville-Deuxtours had his luxurious quarters. After a relatively penurious youth, Alphonse now received a large allowance from the family’s recovered French estates, and liked to have everything of the best quality.

  James found him in his bath, washing off the dust of travel, as Alphonse explained.

  “Behold your returned minion,” he said dramatically, wielding a large sponge and hitting James in the face with a few soapy drops.

  James leaned against the windowsill, and tried to summon his patience. “Well, I’m all agog to hear how your mission went. Tell me all.”

  “It was not hard to find, this hamlet of Deedescombe. I stopped at the only shop and bought something or other, and they were only too glad to tell me how to get to the manor of Sir Mortimer Conway. He seemed popular enough.”

  “And did he receive you?”

  “Well, I stopped at the local inn and sent a messenger with my card and a note, asking for an interview on a possible family matter. I do know how one conducts such business among gentlemen, James.”

  “And -?”

  “He sent back an invitation to call, and received me very civilly in his library. The brandy was of indifferent quality, though,” Alphonse added, shaking his head.

  “Never mind about the brandy. Did he know anything about Peter Conway?”

  “When I put that question to him, Sir Mortimer’s face darkened and he seemed on the verge of having me thrown out. I had to quickly assure him that I was not a friend of the man, but came on behalf of a victim. Then he told me that Conway was his nephew, whom he had forbidden to ever cross his threshold again.”

  “Why?”

  Alphonse rose, naked and dripping. “Hand me that towel, will you?”

  James did so. “Do go on, Alphonse.”

  “Ah, yes, where was I? Over two glasses of the execrable brandy, the whole story gradually emerged. The older Conway had had Peter educated at his expense, and was planning to buy him a commission in a Foot Regiment, when Peter made a shameful mésalliance, in the uncle’s eyes. He married the only daughter of a local brewery owner, a man of humble origin but large fortune. The uncle had not been consulted, and considered the match unsuitable. There was a quarrel.”

  James felt his pulse quicken. “When did this happen?”

  “Sometime in 1804, I gather. Peter Conway had only just reached his majority himself, and come down from Cambridge a few months earlier.”

  “Was that marriage valid, though?”

  “No reason why it shouldn’t have been, the bride’s father would have seen to that. For a year or so Conway leeched off the girl and her family, though refusing to take any active part in the brewery business. Then they caught him consorting with a local strumpet and the father-in-law refused to go on supporting him.”

  “No wonder. What happened then?”

  “Mrs. Conway – her name was Lydia - was expecting at the time, and Conway came back to the uncle, full of contrition. He persuaded the old boy to buy him the commission after all, as had always been planned. Then, however, he left his highly pregnant wife to go off to the army all by himself.”

  “What happened to the wife and child?”

  “Lydia Conway moved back in with her parents, and had a little girl. Conway was away for months, barely visiting her, and I gather that by then nobody really missed him. The old man spoke fondly of the little girl, his great-niece, whom he finally did recognize.”

  “So the girl was born when?”

  “Around 1805, I suppose. She was christened Celia Marie.”

  “That would make her twelve now,” James calculated. “Is the first – the original – Mrs. Conway still alive?”

  “No, she died in 1811, of pneumonia.”

  “1811,” James repeated in a hollow voice. “Just when in 1811?”

  Alphonse looked at him in concern. “Does it matter?”

  “The bastard married Charlotte in 1811. Whether before or after this Lydia died, makes all the difference.”

  “Ah. I didn’t realise. Let me try to remember….. Ha, I think I wrote the details down. Let me get my notebook.”

  “A notebook?” James was surprised.

  “Yes, these Bow Street Runners are supposed to use them, aren’t they? I took one along just in case.”

  Alphonse found and held up a thin blue book bound in marbled silk fabric, probably meant to hold poetry, and turned the pages.

  “Oui, here it is. I got the exact date from Mrs. Conway’s father, the brewer. His name is Treppanner, by the way.”

  “You actually met him?”

  “Yes, indeed. It was Sir Mortimer’s idea that I should call on him, too. Treppanner and his wife are desperate to find their granddaughter, Celia, whom Conway took away about a year after the mother’s death. She is their only heiress. Conway is milking them for money for her, and an expensive school, but keeps her whereabouts secret. They are worried about the child.”

  “As well they might be,” James said.

  “When I told them that we are investigating Conway, they were only too glad to tell me everything, while I promised to inform them if we found the girl.”

  “I believe she is at the Bloomsbury address that Conway gave that time in Denton’s, living there with a nurse or governess, under a different name. My man Jouvin can give you the exact details. The grandparents can take her away - except that as her legal father, Conway has the better right to the child.”

  “They can threaten to charge him with fraud if he didn’t use the money they sent for her schooling on the girl. Conway is in no position to make a legal fuss – and he still owes us that gambling debt, too.”

  James was not quite so sanguine, but had greater concerns. “You will take care of the matter? I’m having the household watched, with any luck she can be extracted discreetly.”

  “It will be my pleasure. Poor girl,” Alphonse said meditatively. “I hope she’s not attached to that scoundrel of a father.”

  “It’s not her fault she is unlucky in her sire – but that’s all by the by, don’t keep me on tenterhooks, Alph. Just when did the first Mrs. Conway die?”

  Alphonse squinted, trying to decipher his handwriting in the room’s dim light. “If I make it out correctly, Septe
mber 20th, 1811. Conway appeared briefly and took away the child, against the grandparents’ protests, in November 1812.”

  “After he had left Charlotte, then. She never knew about the first wife and the daughter. What a scoundrel.”

  “Do you know exactly when in 1811 the marriage between Conway and your Charlotte took place?”

  “No, but she will. I am going to ask her as soon as I see her again.”

  Remembering that Alphonse had just returned from out of town, James added, “By the way, anticipating the success of your mission, since yesterday I am officially engaged to her. The notice is already in the papers.”

  “I wish you happy, but is this wise? And are you engaged to her, or to her sister?”

  Those questions still rang in James’s ear as he left his friend.

  Chapter 26

  A night’s sleep had not mitigated the Dowager Lady Amberley’s anger towards her young relative, and when the two ladies met over breakfast the next morning, it did not take long for hostilities to erupt again.

  To think that this pert, uncouth girl was to be her daughter-in-law! “I have nursed an asp upon my bosom,” Lady Amberley said, with a glare at Charlotte. “It will be a dreadful scandal if you and James are not married after all this, but I will not have this marriage, do your hear me?”

  “The neighbours to either side can probably hear your,” Charlotte said drily, buttering her toast. She regretted not coming down earlier, as was her wont, but she had slept poorly and even now felt a headache come upon her. “I am sorry you should feel like that about our attachment. Just why are you so set against it? Cousins do marry, not infrequently.”

  “Your father was a cad,” Lady Amberley said, “and I don’t want his bloodline in my grandchildren.”

  “When you consider how many ancestors everyone has,” Charlotte suggested, “don’t you think there must be cads and scoundrels in every family’s past? And whatever he may have been like as a man, the Yardley pedigree is an old one.”