The Unknown Heir

Elizabeth Bramwell
 Copyright © Elizabeth Bramwell

All the characters and scenes in this book are a work of fiction, which continues to depress me
as they are all really good conversationalists who find me a witty and talented friend. Pity it’s all in
my head. Any similarities to real people, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-989669-07-5
 Dedication

For Max and Eddie,

Who allowed me to work while they were unexpectedly homeschooled.

Most of the time.

 Books by Elizabeth Bramwell

The Regency Romps Series

The Dashing Widow
The Foolish Friend
His Darling Belle
The Rebel Wife
A Novel Miss
The Alter Ego
The Independent Heiress
The Devilish Duke
The Unknown Heir

The Putney Brothers

Anything But Love
Everything But Love (forthcoming)
 Chapter One

"London!" sighed Lady Cordelia Delby with genuine pleasure as she

threw herself back onto her mother's chaise lounge. "You have no notion
how much I have missed this place!"
She dropped her muff onto the rich carpet as she flopped backwards, and
was indifferent to the fact that the back of her bonnet was being sadly
crushed beneath her. The early morning shopping trip had been successful,
which was all that mattered.
Lady Delby, who was still in bed with various pieces of correspondence
littering the quilt across her lap, gave a soft laugh.
"Believe me, child, you have made us all aware of how dull you find life
outside of the Season. I think you have mentioned it every hour since
Michealmas, much to the irritation of your sisters."
"Well I did not think we would return so late this year," she said as she
slowly began to loosen the buttons on her Spencer. "My wardrobe was in
dire need of updating, and I was quaking at the possibility of someone
seeing me in an outmoded dress! I would never have lived it down!"
"It's so good to see that your mind has retained an elevated air since Trix
left us to get married," said her mother wryly.
Cordelia muttered something that could have been a curse as she pushed
herself up to her elbows so that she could peek at her mother from the end
of the bed.
"I do retain an elevated frame of mind, and will have you know that I
picked up several books from the circulation library while I was out this
morning," she replied.
“Improving works by your Aunt?”
Cordy snorted. “As if you would be happy with me reading those prosy
things! I will have you know that I borrowed that new novel, Graham
Hamilton, instead.”
 “Let’s hope it isn’t as irreverent as Glenarvon,” said her mother. “Caro
Lamb is simply vicious in her caricatures, while Trix, at least, did not intend
to cause any harm.”
“And Trix learned her lesson,” said Cordelia. “Are you not going to tell
me that Graham Hamilton is unsuitable for a girl of my age?”
“No, for you will only hear the story from the gossips anyway, and you
are old enough to make up your own mind on such things.”
It was probably meant as a compliment, but Cordy felt the familiar
melancholy that she’d been fighting since last Season seep back into her
body.
“Old enough! Undoubtedly, for I’m as good as an old maid, left on the
shelf to gather dust!”
Her mother didn’t look up from her correspondence. “Given up all hope,
have you?”
"Not at all,” she replied, rather upset at the allegation. “I might have
already enjoyed several Seasons, but I think that I am still reasonably
attractive.”
“Reasonably so for one of such advanced years,” said her mother dryly.
“But,” continued Cordy in a loud voice intended to demonstrate that she
was ignoring Lady Delby’s comment, “the fact that Trix is married, and
both of my little sisters are chomping at the bit for their first Season, is
proof that I need to take my own prospects seriously this year, and intend to
give myself every advantage. Hence the new clothes."
Her mother, frowning at an invitation that looked as though it was from
Lady Harden, gave her head a little shake before glancing up at her
daughter. "We will find you a suitable peer to marry before the Season is
out, my dear, there is no worry on that front. You could parade around in a
sack cloth and they'd still offer for you."
Cordelia sat up straight and attempted to imperiously glare at her mother.
"Are you implying that my suitors are only interested in my fortune and
family connections?"
"Come down from the boughs, Cordy," sighed Lady Delby, placing the
Harden's invitation onto the middle of three piles before picking up the next
card. "You are an acknowledged diamond of the first water, sweet natured,
and much admired for your intelligence and accomplishments. Your
clothing, while serving it's purpose of highlighting your attributes, is not the
reason for your desirability."
 "Lady Eugenia was considered a diamond as well, and she is very
intelligent and accomplished," said Cordelia pointedly.
Her mother's mouth kicked up, but she didn't pull her attention away
from the task of sorting through the large pile of invitations still before her.
"But Eugenia is not sweet natured, and her will is too strong for her to be
universally liked. I was under the impression that the two of you were on
friendly terms now."
"In a way," said Cordelia, lying back onto the chaise. "She was good to
Trix over the whole London House incident, and they have discovered they
quite like each other. She can be a very amusing companion, and a well-
informed one, but..."
"But what?"
Cordelia screwed up her face. "I hate myself for saying this, but... but I
miss her dressing in puce, and I wish I had never mocked her for it! It never
occurred to me that I might admire her determination to dress and act the
way she wished until she stopped doing it, and to be perfectly honest, she's
not half as interesting as she used to be."
"And you think that's a result of her clothing?"
"What else could it be?" replied Cordelia, faintly irritated that her
famously well-dressed mother could not see why new garments and
accessories from the best London shops were essential to her success.
"I have some ideas," murmured Lady Delby, finally done with her pile of
letters and cards. "Lord, I doubt we will spend a night at home this Season,
for it seems that everyone has returned to the City this year. Well, not the
Devenishes despite the recent marriage. One can only assume the Duke
intends to present his wife next year, so that she has time to practice
walking backwards in a court dress."
"See? Even Devenish is married," Cordelia half wailed. "And so is Trix,
and Henrietta, and William and Herbert! Herbert, of all people! Herbert
Filey found someone to marry him, and she's both pretty and good natured
and it's not fair in the least! It's enough to send me into a decline, Mama, for
I never thought I would be the last to marry. Ten to one that Amelia
Juneberry and Lady Eugenia will be engaged before the month is out, my
sisters will convince you to bring them both Out even though there’s a year
between them, and then take the Ton by storm next Season so that no one
gives me so much as a second glance! I shall be condemned to
spinsterhood, or else marry a foreigner or a nobody or both!"
 "It's not legal to marry more than one person at the same time, darling,"
said her mother with some amusement, "and even if it were, I am sure that
it would be a trial to find both a foreign gentleman and a nobody who were
willing to enter into such an arrangement."
"You know what I meant," muttered Cordelia.
Lady Delby sighed as she pushed the tray away from her lap and
motioned for Cordelia to come and sit with her. Despite Cordy's irritation,
she got off the chaise and clambered up onto the bed so that she could flop
into her mother's welcoming arms.
"Your bonnet is crushed," observed Lady Delby. "You're supposed to take
it off when you are indoors."
"It's old fashioned and I have a new one downstairs," mumbled Cordelia.
"Besides, I'm supposed to be going to make my morning calls, and I wish to
meet the new Lady Arthur Weatherly and this ravishingly beautiful
stepdaughter of hers. Ugh, can you believe that even Lord Arthur is
married?”
Her mother, who Cordy knew had harboured hopes of pairing her off
with the infamously wealthy Lord Arthur, did not comment on this.
“Are you going to visit the Cottinghams? If so, I would like you to pass a
note on to Lady Cottingham – the elder, not Henrietta. How irritating that
she refuses to use the title of Dowager to help us distinguish them, for she is
one now, even if she doesn’t like it.”
“I’m not calling there today, for Henrietta has some important family
gathering arranged, and is not at home to visitors,” said Cordelia glumly. “I
am to see her tomorrow instead, which I suppose I should be happy about,
but I am not. I know being married and a mother and a Viscountess means
she has obligations, but I haven’t seen her in an age. We always had time
for each other in the past.”
“Not all your friends are married,” said Lady Delby without any emotion.
“Why not go visit Miss Juneberry?”
“Because then I have to talk to her mother,” replied Cordelia. They both
gave a little shudder at the thought.
“Very well, but at least invite the girl to go about with you. Her mother is
not at all the thing, I own, but the girl is a sweet child, and reminds me of
dear Trix.”
“Which means if I go about with her, she’ll be married within a month
while I remain alone,” retorted Cordelia. “And now I have this beautiful
Miss Lily Clyde – that’s Lady Arthur’s stepdaughter – to compete with! I
had hoped that visiting Henrietta might give me an advantage, but it turns
out that Miss Clyde is already known to the Cottinghams.”
This comment drew Lady Delby’s attention. “What advantage?”
Cordelia stared up at the ceiling. “Christopher Douglas is back from
Canada," she said without enthusiasm.
"Already?" said Lady Delby with surprise. "I thought he was planning to
stay in Montreal for the foreseeable future."
"He is, it's just a visit with some foreign friend of his," said Cordelia,
before dismissing the unknown gentleman with a vague wave of her hand.
"I thought I could marry Christopher, for although he's not in line for a title
he is very well heeled in his own right. Knowing my luck, though, he's
already engaged himself to some beautiful heiress, but even if he's not and
we could convince ourselves to fall in love, he'll want to go back to Canada
instead of remaining in England. That would not do, and I refuse to leave
my homeland. He might have a few friends that I am not acquainted with,
though. One can live in hope."
"Cordelia, you have to stop this," said her mother gently as she forced her
daughter to sit back up. "While your father and I both wish for you to have
a happy marriage with a person you can love and respect, preferably with
someone who likes us and lives within riding distance of the Estate, what
matters is that you are content with your life. Not every woman marries,
you know, and contrary to popular belief, many of them are perfectly happy
that way when they have the money to support themselves. That's a luxury
you most certainly have."
Cordelia met her mother's gaze and gave her a small smile. Her parents
had married for dynastic reasons rather than love but had been fond of each
other since childhood. While they had never once displayed the type of
passion spoken of in romantic novels, Cordy had witnessed their silent
contentment in each other's company enough times to know that she wished
the same for herself.
Besides, she truly adored children, and would very much like her own
one day, which meant that a husband was a requirement for her future. As
much as her younger sisters and brother were irritating, she longed for the
noise and chaos that came with a family and knew her parents would
equally adore it.
Not that she ever said any of this out loud.
 All the women Cordelia admired, from the Countess of Gloucester to Her
Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Devenish, were strong, capable women.
While it was true that they were all married, she did not think it had ever
been their aspiration in life. They all had so much more to their nature, so
much more to give the world.
And Cordelia did not.
Oh, she was skilled enough with watercolours and even oils, but while
she enjoyed painting very much she had no desire to become a world-
renowned artist, or even a locally recognized one. She had no other talent
that marked her out, and all her real strengths lay in the domestic sphere.
She had the ability to manage a large household, thanks to her mother’s
teachings. She could entertain and engage everyone from Royalty to
beggars without blinking and leave them all having enjoyed the
conversation. She could plan and execute a large ball or soiree with a
military precision that would make Lord Wellington wish she was part of
his staff, and could wheedle her way into the graces of even the most
recalcitrant harpy, meaning she almost always got what she needed from
servants and society Ladies alike. She was excellent with children. She had
a recognized eye for décor, although her taste and style were still evolving.
All very domestic, very boring skills that made her excellent hostess
material, but did not mark her for greatness.
Most importantly, though, Cordelia was proud of these accomplishments,
even if the only person who understood how hard she worked at them was
her mother. No one, not even her darling Trix, knew how simple Cordelia’s
ambitions truly were: a comfortable life with a loving husband, and an army
of children to raise.
She had not dared tell anyone about this secret wish, for even her parents
assumed that her hopes for marriage rested on a title and status in society.
They did not. Cordelia, while not so naïve as to think that life was easy on
the lower rungs of society, did not believe that a coronet was essential to
happiness. She was, however, pragmatic: a peerage was negotiable in a
future husband, but as money was key to a comfortable existence, a modest
fortune and a sizeable estate were not.
"I would very much like to be married to the right man," she eventually
said. "Or even just a nice man, so long as his prospects are comfortable."
"That’s not true, Cordelia. You've known plenty of unexceptional
gentlemen who would make perfectly amiable husbands. You want more
than just nice, or else you would have married William Standish."
The mention of her longtime friend and his new wife momentarily
diverted her as she considered the odd yet ideally matched couple.
"Wait until you meet her, Mama, for she is not at all the type of person
you would think would fall in love with William! How Lydia puts up with
him I will never know, but they are a perfect match you know, even if no
one would have laid odds upon it." replied Cordelia.
“It is sometimes impossible to know who will be a happy couple until
they match,” commented her mother. “I look forward to meeting William’s
wife.”
Cordelia sighed as her thoughts returned to her own loveless state.
"That's what I want, I suppose, but the problem is that I already know
everyone of consequence. Every available gentleman of marriageable age,
respectability and adequate fortune is known to us in some capacity, and I
cannot say that I would consider marrying any of them!"
"Perhaps there will be some new people in Town this year," said her
mother with an optimistic smile. "We don't know everyone, darling, even
though it may feel that way at times."
"And knowing my luck, the only man to catch my fancy will be a foreign
nobody without a penny to his name," Cordy muttered. She pushed herself
back up into a sitting position with a shocking lack of grace. "I must go,
Mama. I need to change this insipid bonnet for something ravishing before I
go to make my morning calls. Perhaps it will inspire someone of adequate
intelligence, kindness and fortune to fall in love with me and offer on the
spot. One can hope, I suppose."
"You will feel better once we start attending parties again," promised
Lady Delby.
Cordelia was not convinced, but it seemed churlish to argue the point.
She settled for a kiss on her mother's cheek, before heading out to fetch her
bonnet in the hope it would exert magical power and bring her future
husband into her path.
*
"Christopher, mon ami, you seem most eager to reach the home of Lord
Arthur. I promise you we have plenty of time,” said Jacques Gautereau with
a bemused glance at his friend. “Or perhaps it is because you are so used to
the buildings of London that you do not wish to dawdle and admire them.”
 Christopher Douglas, a member of the Hudson’s Bay Trading Company
and younger brother of Baron Cottingham, slowed his pace and flashed a
rueful grin at his friend.
“Rats, I thought you would have been done with admiring the brickwork
by now, Jack. When you’ve seen one row of houses in London, I’m sure
you’ve seen them all,” he replied, dropping into his perfect French.
Jacques replied in kind, as comfortable as his friend in both languages.
“Ah, but that is where you are mistaken,” he replied, motioning to the
nearest buildings. “These ones are very Palladian with their classic arches
and such. The ones we passed earlier were reserved, almost brutal in the
way they faced the world. Perhaps it is because of the class of their
inhabitants, or the time they were built, or the mood of the architect.”
Christopher pulled a face. “Keep up with that nonsense, my friend, and
I’ll start thinking you’re a poet. England just got rid of Byron, and I don’t
think she’s ready to accept another just yet!”
“And you have no romance in your soul, Christopher. I have no idea why
we are friends,” sighed Jacques.
“The night with the Molson brothers,” replied Christopher, a wicked grin
spreading over his face, “although I still hold that the fire was not started by
us!”
“It is a pity they have already returned to Montreal, for I had hoped to
spend some time with them here in London,” admitted Jacques. “I confess
that I would have very much liked to introduce them to ‘my friend the
Duke’ just to see their reactions!”
“Bringing you to England was worth it just so you could introduce me to
your unlikely new friends,” said Christopher, rather cheerfully. “My brother
being a mere baron did not impress anyone at the Beaver Club, you know,
but even they cannot fail to be envious of my close friendship with both the
Duke of Devenish, and now the brother of the Duke of Lexborough!”
“While Lord Arthur will be happy to know his name has been of service,
I’m not sure Devenish is the type who’d be happy you were using his name
in such a way,” said Jacques thoughtfully, “although his new Duchess will
find it very amusing.”
“Which is precisely why I got Cassie’s permission to mention the
connection at every opportunity,” laughed Christopher. “It’s a pity they do
not intend to come to London this year. I already miss Bath society, and
believe me, that’s not something I ever thought to say out loud!”
 Jacques smiled, but did not voice the fact he felt the loss of his new
friends keenly. Perhaps it was being so far from his exceptionally large
family, all still back in Montreal, but there was an unexpected loneliness in
England.
True, he had been introduced to Lady Henrietta Douglas, the Viscountess
Cottingham, who was some sort of cousin to him, but although he enjoyed
her company he always felt like she was watching him, assessing
everything he said and did. She’d promised to introduce him to the rest of
his family, including the patriarch, the Marquis of Shropshire, but Jacques
was lying when he claimed he was looking forward to it.
It was difficult to forgive them for how they’d treated his mother all
those years ago, and had it not been for her insistence that he come and
meet the Cartwrights, Jacques doubted he would have travelled to England
at all.
Things were at a delicate juncture back home, and the skirmishes
between the North West Company and the Hudson’s Bay Company down at
Red River were only part of the ongoing problems. He should have stayed,
but his mother gave so much while asking for so little, it was beyond his
power to say no to her rare requests.
“Do you think Lord Arthur intends to pull any more pranks now he’s
married?” asked Christopher, oblivious to Jacques’ musings. “I’m still
disappointed that we missed his faux kidnapping at the Upper Assembly
Rooms; I wouldn’t have thought it possible to ride a horse through those
doorways, but that shows what I know!”
“You are just looking for an excuse to converse with Lady Arthur’s step-
daughter,” Jacques teased lightly, forcing himself to stop worrying about
home and instead concentrate on the moment.
Christopher coloured up.
“Nothing of the sort! I swear!” he replied, just a little too fast.
“Poor Marie-Thérèse,” sighed Jacques, heaving his shoulders with
dramatic flair. “You will break my sister’s heart, you know, and then I must
kill you on principle.”
“Steady on, old boy!” squeaked Christopher with considerable alarm.
“I’ve never done anything to imply there was any sort of relationship
between your sister and I!”
Jacques laughed, and dug two fingers gently into his friend’s ribs. “You
are too easy to goad, mon amis, for you have been nothing but a gentleman
to all of my sisters. It is unfortunate that Marie-Thérèse has such a liking for
English gentlemen, and I should have warned you to be rude to her, or to
flirt outrageously if you had no wish for her fondness.”
Christopher went slightly pink about the ears. “It’s not that, Jack, and you
know it. I’m devilishly fond of Thérèse, possibly more so than anyone I’ve
met, but I’m not yet sure what my own future holds, especially with the
scrapping going on between the fur traders on the prairies, and then the
downturn on the estates here at home. I told Thérèse as much when she
asked if I would be returning, and I swear I did not ask her to think of me
while I was gone.”
Jacques smiled, wondering if all the young English were as soft as his
friend.
“I am only teasing you, Christopher, and although I am well aware of the
fondness between you and my sister, I am not about to force you to the altar
under the weight of my rifle.” He could have left it there, but his devilish
sense of humour would not allow it. “Besides, my friend, it’s not me you
need to worry about. It is mon pere who should give you nightmares.”
Christopher shuddered at the thought.
“Good grief, if your stepfather thinks I’ve misled Thérèse about the
future, I will have no choice but to remain in England – and even then I’ll
live in terror of him arriving in the night to drag me back to Canada in a fur
sack! I know you claim his bark is worse than his bite, but Phillippe
Gautereau is the most terrifying man I have ever met – and according to
your mother, he actually likes me! No wonder he’s called the Black Bear of
Montreal.”
Jacques gave his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You
misunderstood me, my friend. I said that Pere’s bite is far worse than his
bark, but so long as my sisters all stare at you with adoring eyes, he will
refrain from eating your liver. And he’s known as the Great Bear, possibly
of all the Americas, not just Montreal.”
“I feel so much better,” muttered Christopher. “And you wonder why I
missed the refined air of London, where no one is threatening to eat parts of
me because I was polite to their daughters.”
Jacques did wonder why his friend had missed London, as it happened,
although it did not seem polite to say so. While he was greatly impressed by
the architecture and scale of the city, the stench of the place had almost
knocked him to his feet when they’d first arrived. The streets were caked in
filth, the miasma seemed to penetrate everything with its pungent aroma,
and the sheer noise and bustle didn’t stop for as much as a moment. He’d
thought Montreal could be hard to bear, but compared to London it was a
paradise of fresh air and clean streets.
At least London did not have the same plague of flies as his home city, he
supposed, but it was small consolation.
Meeting the Cartwright family had better be worth it, for everything in
his heart demanded he return to Montreal.
“I mean it when I say that I’m not sure of my future,” said Christopher
after a short pause, “and I’m no more inclined to court Lady Arthur’s
stepdaughter, Miss Clyde, than I am any girl in Montreal. It’s just that it’s
Miss Clyde’s first Season in London, so I thought I could stand as a friend.”
“Her dog doesn’t like you,” said Jacques, infusing his voice with
commiseration, not entirely convinced that the vivacious young heiress did
not pose a risk to his friend’s heart.
“Governess doesn’t like anyone,” said Christopher with distaste. “Do you
know that pug actually relieved itself on my boots? In front of everyone, as
well! I’ve never been so shocked in all my life!”
“You’ve mentioned it a few times,” replied Jacques, careful to contain his
amusement. “Strange how the dog likes me so much, but then, my natural
charm endears me to animals.”
“Right before you shoot them for their pelts,” muttered Christopher. “I
rather felt like shooting Governess the last time she eyed up my Hessians,
I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
“Marie-Thérèse does not like pugs either,” commented Jacques as
casually as he could manage, “although she would wish to shoot them. She
prefers Newfoundlands, especially since Capitan saved our little brother
from the St Lawrence.”
“Capitan is an excellent dog,” agreed Christopher with enthusiasm. “I
never saw a beast as well trained, or as strong.”
“My sister’s work,” said Jacques, stretching the truth just a little before
letting the subject drop.
It would not do to be too obvious. While his mother might be the one
who requested that Jacques meet his English family, it was his favourite
sister who had begged him to ensure that his English friend returned to her
side.
And Jacques could never turn down a request for help from his family.
 “Douglas, when did you get back in town?” someone hailed from the
other side of the street, interrupting their lighthearted debate over the best
breed of dog.
“Collins!” called out Christopher with genuine delight. “Would you
believe we only arrived in London two days ago? How are you, my fellow?
Allow me to introduce you to my good friend Monsieur Gautereau; he’s
from Lower Canada, you know!”
“Canada!” said the man called Collins with genuine delight, and
immediately switched to speaking in French, much to Jacques’ appreciative
amusement.
A good ten minutes were spent on the sunny pavement as the friends
conversed, oblivious to any other pedestrians whose path they blocked as a
result. While the two men did their best to include him in their conversation
and continued to speak in French, it was natural for them to stray to topics
of which Jacques had no knowledge or interest. He entertained himself by
studying the fashions of those who passed him by, both on foot and by
carriage.
Whether it was his regard that brought him to the attention of the
fashionable couple in the barouche or the loud laughter of his companions,
he couldn’t afterwards say, but he was suddenly aware that someone was
staring at him.
Jacques looked up to meet the steel gaze of a lady dressed in a steel grey
spencer and matching turban hat. A small child sat upon her knee, far more
concerned with her mother’s buttons than she was with the world outside
her lap. The gentleman at her side, who’s excellently cut coat Jacques had
been admiring, was staring with frank astonishment, his gaze flitting
between him and Christopher.
“Excuse my interruption, but who are the people in that carriage?”
Jacques asked in French.
His friend looked up and immediately went pale, but Spencer answered
without any embarrassment.
“That’s Lord Loughcroft and his family,” he said. “I’m not surprised they
drew your eye; the Viscount is one of the best dressed men in the City, and
a true arbiter of taste. Gets his coats cut by Meyer, you know.”
“That’s where I took you,” said Christopher quickly. “A pity they did not
stop their barouche, or I could have introduced you to them. Collins, forgive
my bad manners, but I must take my friend here to call on Lord Arthur
Weatherly and his new wife.”
“Obligations, and all that,” said Collins cheerfully. “I understand
perfectly, for I’m on my way to see my mother. Monsieur Gautereau, your
servant. You must come eat your dinners with me!”
They took their leave, Jacques intrigued by the odd behaviour of his
friend, who looked over his shoulder at least three times when carriages
passed by, and tugged at his cravat at least twice.
“Glad we met Spencer, for he seems like your type of chap. I knew him
at Oxford,” Christopher explained after a full minute of silence. He’d
slipped back into English, but seemed unaware of it.
“I liked his coat very much,” said Jacques with genuine admiration. “I
hope I am not considered too provincial when standing beside men such as
he.”
“You’ll be top of the trees when Meyer is finished with your new
clothes,” Christopher said with enthusiasm. “He’s the one who came up
with the notion of buttons at the ankles, no matter what Brummel claimed.”
“Spencer did not look as fine as Monsieur le Viscount Loughcroft,” said
Jacques, striving for a nonchalant air.
Christopher coughed. “Yes. No. Well. It’s Loughcroft, you see.”
“His wife seemed very interested in us.”
Christopher coughed. “Oh. Well. She was probably just surprised to see
me. They don’t know I’m back in England.”
“That does not explain why she was staring so hard at me.”
Christopher coughed again. “That! Well. I’m sure there’s a good reason.
Lady Loughcroft knows everyone, so she was probably just trying to work
out who you are, and all that.”
Perhaps it was due to his time out in the wilderness, or it was being the
eldest child in a family of eight rambunctious children, but Jacques could
spot an attempted prevarication from a hundred paces.
“You are not telling me something,” Jacques said as he watched his
friend start to turn an interesting shade of beetroot. “You are a terrible liar,
you know, and you are as bad at lying in English as you are in French.”
“I have no idea what you mean!” Christopher spluttered, far too quickly
to be truthful.
Jacques frown deepened.
 “Ma cousine, she has put you up to something, non?” he said, almost
enjoying watching his friend squirm. “She is hiding something from me as
it is, and it is too bad that she has enlisted you in her schemes. What is
Henrietta up to?”
The poor man looked almost relieved. “Fine, I admit it – Henry has
embroiled me into one of her schemes, but I beg that you won’t ask me
anything else, for I’m far more afraid of my sister-in-law than I am of you!”
“You only say that because my own siblings aren’t here,” he replied,
unable to resist a smirk. “Marie-Thérèse would have it out of you with a
flutter of her eyelids.”
“Nonsense,” said Christopher, but he had gone a deeper shade of scarlet
than Jacques had believed possible. “Your stepfather, on the other hand!”
Jacques wanted to press the point further, but he was too fond of
Christopher to cause his friend any deliberate discomfort.
Henrietta, while declaring herself to be very pleased with the discovery
that he was her relative, had been hiding something from him since the
moment they had met in Bath two weeks earlier. She had not known his
deceased father, John Cartwright, but had been extremely interested in
every aspect of his life in Canada, right down to the marriage between his
parents, and the date of Jacques’ own birth.
She’d been offended when he’d tried to reassure her that he was quite
legitimate, but had no wish to press his relatives for coins. Nonetheless, he
could almost hear her mind ticking over whenever she was looking at him.
He even had the strong suspicion that Henrietta had arranged for him to
be out of the house for the next few hours, but for what reason he could not
guess. The rest of his family were, according to his cousin, away at their
estates for the rest of the month.
He suspected she lied about that as well.
“Ah, here we are,” said Christopher as they came to a halt in front of
number one, Fitzroy Square.
The two of them were stunned into momentary silence.
It was not that there was anything wrong with the house itself; in fact, it
was an elegant white building, with classical detailing such as tall columns
to frame the first-floor windows, and delightful curves that made the
architecture flow. In any other circumstances, Jacques may have been
inspired to use such terms as restrained elegance to describe the residence,
but in that moment, words failed him.
 Somehow, and he did not want to speculate on the means Lord Arthur
had employed, a large number of cascading blooms had been attached not
only to the Juliet balconies, but to the top of the cornice that lay just below
the attic rooms. The result was a riot of tumbling green foliage interspersed
with splashes of blue, pink, white and yellow resembling nothing more than
a frozen waterfall of plant life.
“A wedding gift for his new bride?” asked Christopher, the side of his
mouth kicking up in appreciation.
Jacques shook his head in stunned appreciation. “We can never marry
women from London, for they will all expect such outrageous displays of
affection.”
“At least it didn’t involve a monkey this time,” replied his friend. He tore
his eyes away from Lord Arthur’s latest outrageous act, and nodded towards
a stylish carriage parked on the square, where a bored looking coachman
was doing his best to ignore the prattling of a woman who looked to be
some kind of maid. “It seems that we aren’t the first to call on the
newlyweds. Half the town will want to lay eyes on Lady Arthur, I wager.”
“I promised Miss Scott that I would stand their friend, although I do not
know how I can be of help,” said Jacques with a shrug. “Still, the whole
family is très amusant, especially the pug!”
If Christopher had intended to retort in kind, the witty reply died on his
lips as the front door to number one, Fitzroy Square opened wide, and a
beautiful young woman in an impressively large bonnet skipped down the
steps.
“Cordy!” exclaimed Christopher, stepping forwards as though he’d
forgotten his friend was there. “Good grief, I didn’t know you were back in
town yet!”
The young woman stopped on the pavement and turned a pair of wide,
expressive eyes onto the young Mr. Douglas. At first, they registered faint
surprise, but as her glance swept up and down, Jacques could have sworn he
saw some steely determination form within them. The same type of steely
determination as Marie-Thérèse displayed whenever Christopher was in her
company.
The girl smiled, and it was devastating.
This is bad, Jacques thought. Thérèse would scratch that girl’s eyes out if
she were here.
 “Christopher!” the young woman cried with evident delight. She rushed
forward; her hands extended so that his friend had no choice but to capture
them in his own. “I had heard you were back in England, and I am so
relieved to know that you have not forgotten me, although I am sure you did
not spare me a thought surrounded by all those pretty Canadian girls.”
“How could I forget such a diamond as you?” said Christopher with the
faint daze of a man struck by lightning. He stared at the young woman
silently for longer than was courteous.
Very bad, thought Jacques. I must strive to keep him away from this
beautiful creature, for my sister cannot compete when she is in another
country.
The young woman’s expression turned to amusement at Christopher’s
puppy-like regard, and she cast a meaningful look towards Jacques.
“And who is you friend? Will you introduce us?”
Christopher jumped, letting go of her hands and tugging on the base of
his waistcoat.
“My apologies, Lady Cordelia, it has just been an age since I last saw
you, and I was momentarily transported to your come-out ball just before I
left England. This is Monsieur Gautereau; he is a friend of mine from
Montreal, come back with me to meet his English relatives for the first
time.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle,” said Jacques
with an incline of his head more suited to a fellow Bourgeoisie rather than a
member of the Ton.
She raised an eyebrow. Christopher coughed before making an unsubtle
motion for him to bow. Jacques smiled placidly, pretending that he did not
understand what was expected as they all stood in an awkward silence.
Perfect.
Lady Cordelia seemed to decide that his rudeness was due to a lack of
social status rather than a deliberate slight. She gave him an aloof smile,
and her tone became more rarified as she addressed him in much the same
way members of the Beaver Club in Montreal addressed their clerks and
secretaries.
“A pleasure, Monsieur Gautereau. How wonderful it must have been to
learn you have English relatives. Have you become acquainted with your
people?”
 He gave her a bland smile in return. Being the eldest of a family that
included five attractive sisters had long ago taught him how to goad young
ladies into showing the less refined aspects of their natures, and he
suspected that Lady Cordelia would be no less immune to his tricks.
“Oui, Mademoiselle, I have met ma cousine, and I had never thought that
I should be related to such a high-status aristo!” he replied, deliberately
thickening his Montreal accent. “It was, how do you say, a grand delight to
discover I am at least part Anglais.”
Christopher frowned at him, but said nothing before turning his attention
back to Lady Cordelia.
“My friend is a cousin of Henrietta,” he explained to the young woman.
“We discovered it quite by chance, just after James wrote to tell me he was
married.”
Lady Cordelia’s expression widened in surprise as she turned to study
Jacques with greater interest. The expression was extraordinarily frank, and
the curiosity in her fine eyes only served to enhance her beauty.
It was very lucky that expression was turned on him and not on
Christopher, Jacques thought to himself. He, at least, was immune to that
intelligent beauty, while his friend was far from safe from those eyes.
“You are related to the Cartwrights? But which one? There were no
marriages into a French line that I know of,” said Lady Cordelia, looking
thoughtful. “At least I don’t remember hearing of it or seeing it on the
Shropshire tree.”
Christopher gave an incoherent splutter and tugged at his cravat.
“You wouldn’t have, for the connection is distant! Very distant!” he said
in a hurried tone. “A cadet branch at most. So distant, in fact, that we don’t
even know how they are related yet! Perhaps not related at all! Lots of
Cartwrights out there, after all!”
Christopher suddenly seemed to think that he had said to much, and
clamped his mouth shut. Jacques looked at his friend with interest, but was
not able to pursue the matter in front of the young Lady Cordelia.
For whatever reason – and he guessed that reason was Henrietta –
Christopher did not want anyone to know how Jacques was connected to
the Marquis of Shropshire.
How interesting, he thought, a sour taste arising in his mouth. Just like
they refused to recognize my mother all those years ago, it seems they
intend to refuse to recognize me as well.
 Well, two could play at that game.
“But you just said that he’s Henrietta’s cousin,” Lady Cordelia was
saying loudly to Christopher. “The only family she has are all descended
from the old Marquis, so she must believe that Monsieur Gautereau is as
well, otherwise you would not think him a cousin.”
“Precisement,” said Jacques, smiling at Lady Cordelia. “I am indeed a
descendant of Monsieur le Marquis du Shropshire; the old one, not the
current.”
Christopher made an odd, choking sound. Jacques ignored him.
Lady Cordelia cocked her head to the side, making her resemble a bird.
“Forgive my ignorance then, Monsieur; I thought I was well versed in the
families of the aristocracy, but I do not remember seeing your name.”
Jacques smiled in the way that he knew alarmed his sisters.
“You can rest assured Mademoiselle that your recollection of the
Shropshire descendants is quite accurate. While I am most certainly linked
to the Cartwright family, there has never been a marriage between that
noble blood and a Gautereau.”
“Jacques!” exclaimed Christopher. “Cordy was not implying anything of
the sort!”
Lady Cordelia, however, did not seem in the least offended. Instead she
caught Jacques completely off guard by throwing her head back and
laughing.
It was quite the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
“I deserved that, didn’t I? I am odiously curious at the best of times, you
know, but truly I am not fishing for gossip. I simply hate to be wrong, for
what could be more uncomfortable? Do you forgive me my impertinence,
Monsieur Gautereau?”
Those eyes, wide and beautiful, bored into Jacques. It was on the tip of
his tongue to tell her that he’d forgive her anything, but Christopher got
there first.
“Of course he will, Cordy. As though anyone could believe there was a
malicious bone in your body!”
“There are several, actually. I’ve considered doing some rather terrible
things in my time, but Trix usually talked me out of them.”
Jacques, seeing his friend laugh over-enthusiastically at this statement,
hardened his heart again to the engaging young woman. He schooled his
expression into one of polite boredom, and did not answer her request for
forgiveness.
Not that she seemed aware of his silence.
“Well I must take my leave, for my poor maid is looking ever so glum. I
suspect the coachman said something cutting to her, and now she’ll sulk for
a week,” said Lady Cordelia rather cheerfully.
They made their bows, and the remarkable young woman turned towards
her barouche, leaving Jacques rather thoughtful about the whole incident.
“Save a dance for me at the Loughcroft’s ball, Cordy!” Christopher
suddenly shouted after her.
She threw him a saucy smile as she waited for the coachman to open the
door and lower the step for her.
“I shall have to see if I have any left, Christopher; perhaps a country
dance remains free!”
“A waltz,” he declared in response. “A waltz, or else my heart will crack
from disappointment!”
That laugh again as she made herself comfortable on the seat beside her
maid.
“Very well – if I have one left,” she said, before instructing the
coachman, now safely back in his seat, to drive on.
The two friends watched her leave in silence.
“Damn, I forgot about Cordy,” said Christopher with a shake of his head.
“She’s the daughter of Lord Delby, you know, and probably the greatest
catch in London. How she’s not been snapped up already is beyond me.”
“Perhaps she nags like a fishwife,” suggested Jacques, “or snorts over her
soup instead of sipping it.”
Christopher laughed and slapped him on the back, unaware of his friend’s
dark thoughts.
“Daughters of Earls are not allowed to snort,” he said. “It’s in the rules of
conduct, I am certain.”
Jacques shook his head and heaved a dramatic sigh. “You should have
said, mon amis. I know only what it is like to be the son of a black sheep,
and the stepson of a simple Metis fur trader, who most assuredly does snort
his soup – and so do some of his daughters. I do not think I shall fit into this
fine society of yours here in London, and am amazed you did not take my
brothers and sisters in dislike.”
 Christopher gave a bark of laughter. “Only the smallest of your siblings
lack polish, my friend, and as for Le Grande Bruin – describing him as a
simple Metis fur trader is doing it too brown! Now, let’s go in and see Lady
Arthur, shall we?”
“Not to mention Miss Scott, and little Governess,” added Jacques.
He had not forgotten Christopher’s lies about his ties to the Cartwright
family, but he smiled and clapped his friend on the back as they entered the
large house, festooned with greenery, on the corner of Fitzroy Square.
Despite his cheerful countenance, he had every intention of encouraging the
resident pug to relieve herself all over Mr Douglas’ shoes.
 Chapter Two

Frederick Cartwright, Marquis of Shropshire, always knew when his

granddaughter was lying to him. Having raised her since she was in leading
strings, he was proud of the woman that Henrietta had become, and pleased
that her marriage to James Douglas, Viscount Cottingham, had proven to be
one of a deep, abiding love. As the two of them had adjusted to their new
life as parents, the Marquis had watched the pair develop into the type of
people any grandfather could be proud of; kind, intelligent, and honourable.
But still terrible liars.
"Why do I need to be plotting something to invite you to my home?"
Henrietta said when he'd challenged her moments after his arrival. "Perhaps
I simply wish to see you!"
"You don't need a formal invitation to see us, my dear," he'd replied
before kissing her on each cheek. "You look radiant, by the way."
"She's always radiant," her husband had said, making Henrietta blush
adorably.
"Would you like some refreshments while we wait?" his granddaughter
had asked, slipping back into the formality of a society hostess. "I have
asked Cook to prepare some of your favourite cakes, and Cottingham
sourced some excellent Portuguese wine for you both."
Shropshire had shared a look with his wife, and the Marchioness had
struggled to keep her amusement contained.
"Excellent," was all he'd said.
"How thoughtful of you, dear heart," said the Marchioness. "I have
missed sharing a glass of wine with you since your marriage. I know you
only live one estate over, but it's not the same."
Henrietta's mask had slipped for a moment as she cast a fond look at her
grandmother. "I agree! I suppose the negative of living so close to you is
that it makes no sense for us to stay under the same roof."
 "We can ask your cousin Gloucester to arrange for us all to stay with
them this summer," said the Marquis as he took a glass of wine from
Cottingham. "He'll be here shortly, I believe."
He had the pleasure of seeing his granddaughter look shocked, then
irritated, and then rueful, all within a few moments.
"How did you know I invited George and Abby?" she demanded. "I was
so proud of my subterfuge."
"An educated guess," he said with a wave of his hand.
"Emma told us," said his wife. "She and Loughcroft called on us
yesterday to see if we knew what this mysterious gathering of yours was all
about."
Henrietta blew out a puff of irritation. "I knew I shouldn't have told my
cousin anything."
"But then your family would not have been gathered here," said
Cottingham as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Henrietta looked up into
his eyes with a hint of concern, and then gave a firm nod of her head.
Curious, thought the Marquis, and from the way his wife had knitted her
brows together, she was thinking the same thing.
Henrietta was an awful liar, and nor was she the type to keep secrets.
Whatever her reason for summoning all the living descendants of the
Cartwright line to her home, it was obviously not a trivial matter if she was
waiting for them to gather before sharing her news.
His eldest granddaughter, Emma Percival, Viscountess Loughcroft, and
her sweet-natured husband were the next to arrive, both of them looking
windswept and harried as they were shown into the Cottingham's front
parlour by the butler.
"Henry, dearest, I'm so sorry we are late," said Emma by way of greeting.
"The little one simply refused to settle, and I know that I should have left
her in the care of Nurse, but how could I come here if I knew she was
unhappy? Perhaps it’s teething, or the travel to London is still effecting her,
or maybe I let her have too many strawberries before we set off.”
"Or maybe little Elizabeth has you wrapped tight about her little finger,
my love," said her husband, before turning his attention back to Cottingham
and Henrietta. "We brought her with us, but not to worry – the Dowager
insisted on taking her up to the nursery to play with Hart, and I believe
she’s planning a tea party for them.”
 Henrietta smiled at the mention of her infant son, but it was her husband
who replied.
“My mother will be in her element, Loughcroft, but please do not refer to
her as ‘the dowager’, for it puts her in a terrible mood.”
“Noted,” said Loughcroft with a slight smile. “I’ll call Henrietta ‘the
young Lady Cottingham’ instead, and encourage the Ton to do the same.”
"Grandmama, I adore that turban," declared Emma, already distracted
from the plight of her daughter now that it had been established that
Elizabeth and Hart would be well doted on. "I demand to know who made it
this instant!"
Loughcroft gave a long-suffering sigh as he swept his eyes over the grey
hat atop his wife’s curls.
"Another turban, my dear?"
"I like them," replied Emma as she took the chair beside the
Marchioness, "and Grandmama's is a thing of beauty.”
"And you would not like your wife to appear dowdy beside me," said the
Marchioness, subtle amusement dancing in her eyes where only her family
knew to look for it.
"I should know better than to expect support from this family," muttered
Loughcroft with theatrical irritation. "Pass me some of that wine,
Cottingham. Whatever your reason for calling this family meeting, I fear it
will end with Emma spending a great deal of money on suitable new hats."
"It's not a family meeting," said Henrietta quickly, but flamed up like a
beetroot as Loughcroft raised a single eyebrow. "Fine, fine! it's a family
meeting! But there will be no need for Emma to buy new hats!"
"Dearest, there is always need to buy new hats, no matter the occasion,"
said Emma. "Whatever this is about, I am strongly of the opinion that a
satin turban will answer perfectly."
Loughcroft took a large mouthful of wine before wandering over to the
fireplace, and the Marquis watched him with a fond smile. Loughcroft had
been best friends with Emma's brother, George Standing, since they were
breeched, and he could not have hoped for a better man to marry his eldest
living granddaughter.
The butler opened the door and announced the arrival of the Earl and
Countess of Gloucester before Emma and her husband could continue
bickering, much to the relief of everyone present. George, while as
attractive as his sister was beautiful, wore his usual somber expression, but
the Marquis was not fooled. His marriage to the vivacious Abigail had done
his grandson a world of good, and even if he rarely smiled, sheer
contentment had radiated from the young Lord ever since he’d wed.
The less said about the wedding itself, the better.
"Henrietta, my dearest darling girl, please may I borrow the silver
champagne trough from the sideboard?" said the Countess by way of
greeting. "I find that I'm far less likely to cast up my accounts if I have
something to hand, for I’m feeling monstrous queasy."
"I'll fetch it," said Cottingham quickly, his eyes wide with alarm. "You go
and sit down on the sofa, Abby!"
"Not feeling any better?" said Henrietta with a sympathetic smile.
"Not in the least, despite everyone promising me faithfully that the
sickness would be over by now. You positively glowed when you were in
the same condition, and it's enough to make me despise you, darling.
Cottingham, set the trough at my feet, if you will, and please let your
delightful staff know that my footman will be arriving shortly with some
ices from Gunters."
"You did not need to provide treats," said Henrietta, somewhere between
offended and touched.
George actually smiled. "They aren't for us, my dear. Abby cannot get
enough of their lemon shaved ice and would eat it by the barrel if she
could."
"It's one of the few things I can keep down," the Countess said, glaring at
her husband, "and if you continue to complain about it, George, I shall aim
for your lap rather than the champagne trough."
"I envy you, Cottingham," sighed George, but no one missed that he went
to sit alongside his wife and gently rub her back. "I tried to tell Abby that
she need not come, but she insisted."
"Henrietta said we all had to be here," replied his wife. "Besides,
someone has to stop Emma buying another turban.”
"Did you put her up to saying that, Loughcroft?" demanded Emma as she
turned towards her husband. The poor viscount began to splutter something
incomprehensible in response until Abby interrupted him.
“No, my love, but as your very dearest friend in the world, I feel
compelled to tell you that grey or bronze silk, especially in the Moorish
style, makes you look positively ancient.”
 "Now Abigail, that is too much," said the Marchioness in a commanding
voice. "The Moorish style does not make Emma look old in the least.
Insipid, yes, and rather haggard, but definitely not ancient."
"I hate you all," said Emma, and her pronouncement was met with much
laughter.
“Can we stop talking about turbans, please?” said Henrietta, looking tight
about the eyes. “We have something much more important to discuss.”
“Not before someone hands me something to drink,” said George with a
pointed look at his young cousin. “If I’ve got to sit through an hour of my
wife and sister bickering, I’m going to need fortification.”
“We don’t bicker,” said Emma, looking shocked at the suggestion.
“We merely discuss,” added Abigail, and the two women grinned at each
other.
Henrietta muttered under her breath, but then rang the small bell on the
side table and waited for her butler to return.
“Please have the cakes and refreshments brought up now, and a glass of
the usual for Lord Gloucester,” she said with a defeated sigh. “We might as
well get all the interruptions out of the way.”
“At once, my lady,” replied her faithful retainer before exiting the room.
“You are being awfully mysterious, you know,” Emma told Henrietta, but
the younger woman pressed her lips shut, which only started a fresh round
of teasing and bickering between all those present.
The Marquis, watching quietly from his chair, smiled to himself as he
watched his grandchildren and their spouses engage in familial banter. He
had outlived both his sons and his daughter, and now that Henrietta had
married, he was the last Cartwright from his family line.
And the last Marquis of Shropshire, with no heir still alive to inherit his
title since Henrietta’s father, uncle and cousin had died all those years ago.
"Grandpapa?"
Henrietta's questioning voice cut into his reverie, and he forced himself
to smile. Two large plates of refreshments, including thick slices of his
favourite plum cake, had been placed onto the sideboard without him even
noticing that they’d been brought to the room.
Damn, but he was getting old. Once, he would have been aware of every
shift and movement in the parlour, and known with a glance what everyone
was thinking, feeling, and planning.
 Not any longer. Now all he knew was that Henrietta was hiding
something, but that he no idea what it could be.
"I was just thinking how lucky I am to have such a fine family,” he
replied with a faint smile. “No man could ask for better.”
The Marchioness reached over and squeezed his hand, a lifetime of
shared understanding in that touch.
Silence fell across the room. Henrietta studied him, before coming to an
unspoken decision. She took a determined breath before clearing her throat,
drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
"Thank you all for coming to this meeting," she began with all the
aplomb of a prime minister addressing the House.
"Told you it was a meeting," Abigail said to her husband in a loud
whisper. "Now you see that I was right to come."
"Fine, just aim for the cooler rather than the carpet if you feel another
turn coming on," replied George, but his attempt at being dour was ruined
by the affectionate way he continued to gently rub his wife's back.
Henrietta cast a look of irritation at the Gloucesters but persisted with her
obviously prepared speech.
"As I am sure you are all aware, Cottingham's younger brother,
Christopher, moved to Montreal to help oversee the family's interests out
there," she began.
"How is that progressing, my boy?" said Loughcroft, addressing his
question to Cottingham directly. "Is it true that violence has broken out
between the Hudson Bay and the North West companies?"
"Yes, and the rivalry between the two can be bitter," said James,
oblivious to the glare his wife was aiming at his back. "Christopher has
done an excellent job in building relations with people at both firms, but he
fears more bloodshed in the near future."
"So why did he come back to England with that friend of his?" asked
Emma. "Don't look at me like that, Henrietta! You might not have officially
mentioned that he’s home, but we do have eyes, you know. We even saw
him not half an hour ago, talking to young Spencer and some other chap."
“Talking in French,” said Loughcroft, with a touch of disgust.
"If you let me finish, I will get to that!" said Henrietta through gritted
teeth.
"Dears, please let your cousin speak," said the Marchioness in a dignified
tone, although her lips quivered ever so slightly. "It is obviously of great
importance."
"Apologies," said Loughcroft with a bow of his head, but Emma just
rolled her eyes, and George seemed irritated that he had to be there at all.
Henrietta took a steadying breath before she continued.
"During his time in Montreal, Christopher shared that his brother and I
had recently been married. It seems that revealing my family name caused
quite a stir amongst some of the North West Company men."
A strange sensation came over the Marquis as old memories stirred. His
younger brother, Marcus. His nephew, John, who had fled abroad almost
three decades ago.
"They had met a Cartwright before?" he asked.
Henrietta nodded rapidly, and for the first time the Marquis appreciated
how nervous his granddaughter really was.
“Yes, and one of them shared that his great-grandfather had been the
second Marquis of Shropshire – your father, Grandpapa!”
If Henrietta had expected some kind of gasp or dramatic response to her
revelation, she was sorely disappointed. While Shropshire felt his heart rate
increase as his mind whirled and spun, no one else in the family seemed to
understand the potential importance of what the girl had said.
“Is that the young man who Emma and Loughcroft saw accompanying
Mr Douglas?” said the Marchioness.
Henrietta nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but did not get the
chance to continue.
"The friend must be from Lower Canada, then, not France," Loughcroft
said in a loud stage whisper to Emma. "That makes much more sense now I
think about it, for I could not conceive as to why Mr Douglas would have
brought a Frenchman back to England with him."
“Of course he’s from Lower Canada,” said Henrietta, now thoroughly
exasperated. “Why would Christopher have brought a Frenchman home
with him when he’s not been to France?”
“They do have Frenchmen in Canada,” said Loughcroft reasonably. “Or
he could have been from one of the French colonies, like Saint-
Dominique.”
“It’s called Haiti now,” said George, surprising everyone with the fact
he’d been paying attention to his lifelong friend. “The French there either
fled or died in their revolution.”
 Loughcroft looked surprised at this disclosure. “I’ll say this for them: the
French certainly know how to revolt.”
“It wasn’t the French that revolted, it was the islanders that rose up
against them,” said Abby, still looking rather queasy, the poor thing.
“Do people just not like the French?” asked Loughcroft. “Everyone
seems to want to go to war with them – including the French themselves!”
“It doesn’t matter, because Monsieur Gautereau is not French!” declared
Henrietta, but Loughcroft did not look convinced.
Shropshire remained silent, but the hope that had been in his chest a
moment earlier sputtered and died.
Not a Cartwright, then, this mysterious young relative.
It had been foolish to consider he could have been. His brother would
have told him. He would have known.
He kept the disappointment from his face, and only his wife, who knew
him better than anyone in the world, was watching him thoughtfully.
The children continued to bicker.
"He sounds awfully French with a name like that, and you do keep
calling him monsieur,” said Loughcroft, and it was hard to tell if he was
deliberately goading Henrietta, or if he genuinely had assumed the
mysterious man was French.
“He’s from Montreal in Lower Canada, where they mostly speak
French,” she replied through gritted teeth.
Shropshire glanced at his wife, who gave an almost imperceptible smile.
She had guessed, then. And understood.
“How was I supposed to know that?” said Loughcroft with a shake of his
head. “I don’t have any business interests in either Upper or Lower Canada.
Not got any in the Americas at all, come to think of it.”
“Not one?” said George looking surprised. “I though Pocklington had
asked you to come in on a venture?”
“He did, and although it would likely have doubled our fortune, Alistair
refused,” said Emma, looking annoyed.
“Not worth the risk, my dear, and my brother Perry agreed,” replied her
husband. “The only reason the Loughcroft name has held on so long as it
has is because we followed the advice of our ancestors: if you can’t reach it
within a week, don’t invest in it.”
“That’s all well and good, but not relevant in the least,” said Henrietta,
but no one was paying attention. Shropshire felt sorry for his granddaughter
and genuinely wanted to know more about this fellow from Montreal, but
even he was intrigued to know how the Loughcrofts had come by their odd
piece of financial logic.
“Doesn’t that restrict your ability to increase the family coffers, my
boy?” he asked. “It rules out any kind of shipping for a start.”
Loughcroft shuddered. “Good God, shipping! We avoid anything that
involves oceans and boats other than local fishing boats, for the last time we
invested in any such venture was Raleigh’s hunt for El Dorado. Ha! Two
hundred years later and we’ve never seen a penny back on the fortune we
spent!”
“You do know it’s a myth, don’t you,” said Emma with long-suffering
patience.
Loughcroft scoffed. “It’s not a myth at all, I’ve still got the assurances
signed by Raleigh in the library. We invested a fortune and a half with the
man.”
“I think my sister means that El Dorado is a myth that the Spanish made
up and Raleigh fell for,” said Gloucester, his mouth grim but his eyes
dancing with amusement.
“The Spanish! Well, that just goes to prove my point, doesn’t it? Raleigh
should have known better!” said Loughcroft with triumph.
It was all Shropshire could do not to laugh at the looks of bemusement
that met this declaration, but his youngest grandchild was rapidly losing her
patience.
“Will you all stop being so ridiculous and just listen to me!” she
demanded, but the butler chose that moment to enter the room, carrying
with him a silver tray containing a large bowl of shaved lemon ice, no doubt
from Gunters.
“You are an absolute prince, my good man,” Abigail declared as the stoic
gentleman presented the tray to her. “Cottingham, I demand you double his
wages immediately.”
“I’m sure my Lord compensates me very well, Lady Gloucester,” said the
butler, saving his employer some embarrassment. He casually accepted a
few coins from George, intended to be passed to the delivery boy from the
tea shop with the man’s undying thanks.
“It’s always worth paying good servants the best rate that you can,” said
Emma as soon as the butler had left the room. “Life is so much more
comfortable when you don’t have to worry about replacing staff with
complete unknowns.”
“And at least you can control how much of your private business is
shared with the world,” agreed Cottingham. “Mother has always held to
much the same belief. ‘Treat your people well, and they will treat you well,’
she says, and I believe she’s right.”
“Unless it’s a damned Raleigh,” said Loughcroft darkly.
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but did not get the chance to utter a
word before her younger cousin let loose a strangled scream of frustration.
“James will you stop encouraging them, you know how important this
is!” she snapped at her husband, who looked suitably abashed. “And
Loughcroft if you say one more word about Sir Walter Raleigh I will not be
responsible for my actions! It is not important in the least!”
Loughcroft looked like he was about to tell Henrietta that the loss of his
family fortune to the hands of the famous privateer was a very important
matter indeed, but his wife placed a restraining hand onto his arm, and from
across the room, George shook his head in a silent warning.
Alistair, with considerable effort, stayed silent.
“Why don’t you tell us your news, darling?” said the Marchioness gently
in the ensuing silence. “Anyone who interrupts you will have me to deal
with.”
The room remained silent, although Shropshire could tell that most of his
family, even Gloucester, were struggling to hold their tongues.
Quiet did not come naturally to his dependents, and nor did withholding
their opinions. It was one of the things he liked best about the children, and
hoped that his great-grandchildren would inherit.
Henrietta seemed aware that she had lost any hope of gravitas in the
situation. Shropshire watched the conflict in her expression as the desire to
give her older cousins and their spouses a good telling off fought with the
important information she had about this distant relative of theirs.
Not that Shropshire understood her excitement. The young man was a
Gautereau, not a Cartwright, so nothing beyond the pleasure of having a
new name to add to the family tree had changed.
He saw the moment Henrietta came to her decision. She lifted her chin a
little, the strength of all the Cartwrights who had come before lending her
the resolve to continue. She took a deep breath, and then turned her gaze
directly towards him.
 "There’s much to explain, but since no one else here seems to understand
how important this is, I shall have to rush my fence. Our guest, Monsieur
Jacques Gautereau, appears to be the legitimate grandson of your brother
Lord Marcus through his son John Cartwright, and as such, is the heir to the
Marquisate.”
An eternity of silence met his granddaughter's pronouncement, and the
Marquis found himself gripping his chair to prevent himself sliding to the
floor in shock.
Then everyone in the room began talking at once, and the usual familial
anarchy took over.
 Chapter Three

"You will forgive Henrietta her flair for the dramatic, I hope," said the
Marquis of Shropshire as he passed a large glass of brandy to Jacques. "I'm
rather afraid that she is not talking to me right now, but I'm sure she will
come about. Despite her sulks, however, I have no intention of throwing
you into a room full of my descendants in the assumption that you can
swim. Some conversations are better had in private."
Jacques accepted the drink, but his attention was very much on the face
of the old lord. He was searching for any hint of resemblance between
them, much as he had done when he first met his young cousin, but it was
difficult to do without the aid of a mirror.
"There is nothing to forgive, Monsieur Shropshire," he promised. "My
cousin seems very fond of surprises and grand plans, I think."
"The problem is that my grandchildren tend to make a complete hash of
things when left to their own devices," the Marquis replied with a disarming
frankness. "I've sent the others away, you know. Henrietta is very put out
about it, which is understandable when you consider that this is her home
and not mine, but there must be some benefits to age, and I insist that doing
as I please is one of them."
Jacques watched in silence as the old man lowered himself into the chair
opposite, arthritic bones slowing his movements. They were in
Cottingham's study together, alone now that the heavy wooden door had
been firmly pushed shut, although he half-expected Henrietta was on the
other side with a glass pressed to her ear.
The thought amused him.
"Your health," said the Marquis, raising his glass in the air before taking
a long drink of the amber liquid inside. Jacques followed his example.
The Marquis was not what he had expected. Lord Shropshire, now in his
late eighties, was still in possession of a handsome face and well-built
frame, although he moved with the deliberate steadiness of someone who
knew a bad fall would render them incapable. He smiled easily, at least at
Jacques, with a kindness that invited confidence. He carried tiredness
around him like an old cloak, as though he'd lived through and witnessed
too much pain and loss. From what little Jacques knew of the Cartwright
family and their recent history, it was not a surprise to see how such events
had etched themselves onto the Marquis.
"Why did you send away your other grandchildren, Monsieur? I was not
afraid to meet them all, even in one tangle."
They were speaking in French again, the Marquis being both fluent and
eloquent in the language.
"I know, but there are some things we must discuss, my boy, and I did not
feel that it was fair upon you to do so with an audience." He rested his head
against the back of the leather wingback chair, and closed his eyes. "It
concerns your position in the family, and the wrongs done to you by my
brother."
"Allow me to stop you there," said Jacques, setting his brandy down upon
the small side table. "I was not completely honest with Henrietta about my
reasons for coming to England and wish to be perfectly clear with you as
the head of the Cartwright family."
The Marquis opened his eyes to turn a quizzical expression onto him.
"Do go on."
"I am not here to demand restitution from my grandfather, or to lay claim
to any fortune or money he may have left. Do not feel as though you have
an obligation to me on behalf of your dead brother, Monsieur. I feel no loss
at having never met him. My father died while I was a still an infant and so
I do not feel as though I am a part of your family, although I do not wish to
cause offence by that statement."
"Such candor," said the Marquis, although he seemed to be finding
Jacques' heartfelt speech amusing more than anything else. "It is
surprisingly refreshing to be told the unvarnished truth. I am intrigued to
learn something, however. If you do not feel a connection to your father's
people, why did you seek us out when Mr Douglas informed you of our
connection?"
Jacques hesitated before answering.
"My mother," he eventually said, then paused again as he tried to find the
right way to explain. "You have to understand that she is the best of women,
and has dedicated her life to her children."
 "Children?" interrupted the Marquis. "You have siblings?"
He couldn't help the proud smile that blossomed at the thought of his
brothers and sisters. "Indeed, there are seven of them in all."
Shropshire's eyes widened for a moment, and if Jacques didn't know
better, he would have said there was a flash of jealousy, or perhaps longing,
in the old man's expression. "It must be a wonderfully noisy household. I
apologise for my interruption, however. Please, continue."
Jacques scratched at the back of his head for a moment. "Naturally you
know that my siblings and I have different fathers. After her mourning
period, my father's best friend, Henri Gautereau, proposed to my mother,
and they were married soon after. You must understand that he has been
everything I could have wished for in a parent, and I have never wanted for
a father in my life."
"Then he has my eternal gratitude," said the Marquis with a sincerity that
Jacques could feel as well as hear.
"But I do not look like him," sighed Jacques. "He is known as the Great
Bear in Montreal; a tower of a man with straight black hair and swarthy
colouring. My siblings are all made in his image - not that my sisters would
appreciate that observation! My mother is petite, pale, but with equally dark
hair and eyes. And then there is me."
"Tall, slim, and with chestnut locks," replied the Marquis. "Like I was, in
my youth. Not that you could tell under the wigs and powder, but I digress."
"I have only one miniature of my father, painted in Montreal," he
continued, surprised at the way his throat was tightening. "It is not a good
likeness, I am told, but it is all that I have. My mother thought that I should
come to see you, the Cartwrights I mean, to see if I look like you."
"When I first saw you, it was like I was transported to my childhood, for
I saw my father walk into the room," said the Marquis softly. "My wife
startled, you know. She says that, were it not for the years, she could have
believed you to be my brother. I know that Henrietta intends for you to stay
with her at their estates; well, mine march alongside those owned by
Cottingham, and I would very much like it if you came to see the place your
father and grandfather spent a great deal of their youth. There are many
family portraits in the Hall, and you will see the resemblance you have to
your ancestors."
Jacques felt his heart pounding. "My father?"
 The Marquis sighed and his smile faded. "I regret that there is not. My
brother certainly had one, but it was not among his effects when he died,
and I suspect that he destroyed it."
There was a lump in Jacques’ throat. “I had not realized how much I had
hoped one would still exist.”
“I’m sorry, my boy,” said the Marquis, “but there are still toys he played
with in the nursery, and I have a few letters he sent me when he was a
young man at Cambridge that I am happy to gift you.”
"It would mean everything to me," said Jacques, surprised at the
emotions stirring up in his chest. "I know so little of his life before he
arrived in Canada. I accept your invitation, Monsieur Shropshire, and I look
forwards to seeing your home."
An almost imperceptible change came over the face of the Marquis, and
it occurred to Jacques that the man must be an expert at cards.
"A home that I hope you will consider your own, my boy. However,
before we get to that - you started by saying that you came here because of
your mother; I assume it was more than her wish for you to learn if you
looked like us."
Jacques picked up his brandy, taking a slow drink before he could trust
himself to answer. The old anger surged up inside his chest, and despite the
kindness of the old man before him, his innate hostility to the Cartwrights
returned.
"I wish to know why my father was cut off from the family, Monsieur,
and why my mother was left out in the cold by such a noble British house."
"I am aware that a wrong has been dealt to you, and to your mother," said
the Marquis softly, "and sadly my answers there will be based on conjecture
rather than fact. As for why John was cut off by his father... well, there I can
help you a little."
"Do not have a concern for my emotions in this matter, for he himself
told everyone he was an enfant terriblé before being cast out of England."
Jacques paused, thinking back to the few anecdotes that had been shared
with him, and couldn’t help the slight grin forming on his lips. "He did not
improve much in Montreal, from what I have been told, and took up with
the Voyageurs for a while, teaching them a song of his own devising that is
considered vulgar even by their standards. Oh, and there was the incident
with the stolen pemmican, but he went to the grave denying his
involvement."
 The Marquis chuckled. "That sounds like John, but he was far from a
terror! He was certainly responsible for a string of broken hearts all over the
country and half of the continent, but he was a kind boy to those he loved.
Sadly, he tended to love ladies who were already married, and did have a
distressing habit of getting into duels as a result. He got into duels for many
reasons, come to think of it."
Jacques raised his brows. "He did? That explains why my mother always
says she had believed he would die by the sword and not from the sickness
that claimed him. He had a temper, then?"
"Not in the least," said the Marquis, his eyes growing soft at the memory.
"Rather, he was forever being called out by other men who felt that he had...
how should I put it... wronged them, in some way. His love of tricks and
pranks were not always well received by the men he played them upon, nor
was his love for the various women in his life particularly constant. You
must understand that in the days of your father's youth such behaviour was
more common than it is today."
"The wronging, or the duels?" said Jacques dryly.
"It was because of a duel that your grandfather cast out John," continued
the Marquis, although he was smiling with deep amusement. "Cut him off
without a penny and told him never to darken the doors of any Cartwright,
or he'd see John put into a debtor's prison himself. I always thought he
overreacted, for his own conduct as a young man was far more shocking. At
the time we all thought John would simply rusticate until he was forgiven,
but the argument between them was darker than any of us knew, and it was
the last time we saw your father."
"It is much the same story that he told his friends in Montreal," said
Jacques, oddly satisfied to learn that for all the flaws in his father's
character, at least the man had been honest. "Although he said he left the
country to prove that he could make something of himself in a way that
suited him rather than his family. He met my stepfather and joined the
North West company. It is not an easy life, nor is it easy to earn the respect
of my stepfather, but he succeeded at both."
"We did not even know where he died when my brother informed us of
his passing," said the Marquis, his expression turning hard. "Marcus, it
seems, knew where he was the whole time, but chose not to share that
information. I am afraid we will never know what passed between the two
of them, or what words were said in haste, but Marcus considered your
father dead from the moment he left England's shores."
"I understand, Monsieur, but it still does not explain why you refused to
recognise my mother. Or me."
The look of astonishment on Lord Shropshire's face was so genuine that
Jacques felt his whole world shift.
"What are you talking about, my boy? I had no idea that either you or
your mother existed until this morning, I swear it. Marcus led us to believe
that John died penniless and alone."
Jacques swore without thinking. "Penniless! Nothing of the sort,
Monsieur! He had a great deal of investments in the North West Company
among other things, and I am very comfortable thanks to his legacy. As for
alone; his funeral was the grandest ever seen in Montreal, so I'm told, for
although he was known to have the devil about him, he was well liked by
all he knew. It is said that my stepfather wept openly, something I only
believe because my mother is incurably truthful, for I have never seen him
display any such emotion, even when grieving the death of his brother."
"I meant no offence," said the Marquis softly, as though he were
approaching a skittish horse. "I share only what we were told, but I believe
you completely on this matter. Marcus had a spiteful streak in him, but until
today I had no idea how wide it was."
Jacques gave a curt nod to show he accepted the apology. "I suspect,
then, that your name has been wronged by my family for all these years.
My mother wrote to your brother to let him know his son was dead, on the
advice of her own parents. She told him about me and offered to bring us to
England along with all our papers to show I was a Cartwright by birth.
When my grandfather wrote back, he said that the Marquis - I assumed he
meant you - had no need to see either his nephew's son or his papers. He
added that as he had considered his son dead for five years, he did not wish
to have contact with us again."
There was a moment of silence. The Marquis, slipping back into English,
let loose a diatribe that was too fast for Jacques to follow, but in which he
did recognise several rather explicit phrases.
"Forgive me my discomposure, my boy, but you have no idea how ill a
turn Marcus served both of us," Lord Shropshire said in French when he
eventually regained his temper. The old man had risen from his seat to pace
the length of the study. It was odd, but the anger had taken years off him,
and Jacques caught a glimpse of the powerful man the Marquis had been in
his prime.
"I take it, then, that you did not know of my mother's letter," said Jacques
slowly.
The Marquis shook his head, and Jacques believed him.
"I promise you that I was completely unaware of your existence until
today, but had I known, had Marcus done his duty and informed me that
John had left a wife and a child behind, then I would never have abandoned
you to your fate. The Cartwrights protect their own and always have. We
owe both you and your mother a great apology for what was done."
This, however, was too much. The gravity of Lord Shropshire's words
and expression betrayed his intentions, and Jacques was not about to let the
man labour under any misapprehension.
"You owe us nothing, Monsieur, truly. Do not think that we were left
destitute or alone in the world. My mother's family are wealthy in their own
right, and my stepfather acts as though the only use for his money is to spoil
his wife and children - myself included in that number. I was not
exaggerating when I said that I am very comfortable thanks to the wealth
inherited from my father. You have no obligation, financial or otherwise, to
either my mother or myself. Indeed, she would be deeply offended by such
an offer. My family is highly regarded in Montreal, even though it is not
common for French Catholics to be so easily accepted."
"Catholic?" said the Marquis sharply.
Jacques lifted his chin. "Yes. My parents are Catholic. I understand it is
not a popular denomination here in England, but I do not see what concern
it is of yours. They are not your family, after all."
Lord Shropshire rubbed at his face before sitting back down in his chair.
"I'm afraid that it is my concern, thanks to some of the laws of this land.
Forgive my impertinent questions, but did my nephew convert to
Catholicism? Did your parents marry in a Catholic church? If they each
retained their faith, were they married in a Protestant church first?"
Jacques felt his hands curling into fists. "Had your brother had any
decency, Monsieur, you would have known all of this twenty years ago. My
parents were married at the Anglican Christ Church Cathedral in 1791,
eleven months before I was born and then baptised there, which I think is as
important to you, is it not? My full name is John Alexander Cartwright, but
my father always called me Petit-Jacques, and it stuck. I am also a
protestant, as are my grandparents. My mother converted to marry my step-
father, Henri Gautereau after her mourning ended, and thus my siblings are
Catholic. My grandparents insisted that I not be converted because of my
father's people. I do not know why it was so important to them, considering
the way we were treated. My mother decided that I should be known as
Cartwright-Gautereau, to show my allegiance to both my fathers. It is a
mouthful, though, and I have greater cause to be grateful to my stepfather's
people than the Cartwrights, and so I have not bothered to correct anyone
when they have assumed my name to be just Gautereau. Does that answer
all your questions, or will you require witnesses to attest to my honesty?"
"I'm so sorry I had to ask," said the Marquis, looking genuinely
apologetic, "but I'm afraid that your position in the family is rather
dependent on these facts. I trust there are records of both the marriage and
your birth are in order? Perhaps you brought copies with you?"
"What is this about?" demanded Jacques, finally losing his composure
with the old man. "I have made it clear that I am not after money, nor even
recognition from you, Monsieur. I see no reason for my existence to have an
impact upon your life. Henrietta, I know, wishes to bring me into the family
fold, but once I return to Montreal you will not have to spare a single
thought upon me. I do not understand your interest in my legitimacy and
religion under these circumstances, and I demand an explanation."
The Marquis, far from being put out by his display of temper, smiled
slightly. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and pressed his
splayed fingers together. An ornate ring, gold with the largest ruby Jacques
had ever seen, glittered in the light.
"Either you are a greater actor than John Kemble ever was, or you truly
are oblivious of your position. No, don't blow up at me again! I meant it as
a compliment! You see, your existence has come as a shock to the whole
family, but also returned a hope that I lost with the death of my sons."
There was pain in the old man's face, aging him as he paused, lost in
memories.
"Henrietta's father?" guessed Jacques, his voice soft.
Lord Shropshire nodded. "Her mother and older brother, too. There was
an epidemic that swept through the county, and took many members of my
family with it. Henrietta was left as the last Cartwright of her generation.
Her uncle was next in line to inherit, but a riding accident... well, there was
no one left for he never married, and a mere granddaughter, no matter how
exceptional a woman she is, cannot inherit the Marquisette."
"You have a grandson," said Jacques. "The Earl of Gloucester, no?"
"Via my daughter," explained the Marquis. "His claim is even less robust
than that of Henrietta as a result, for the laws of England will not let my
title pass down through the maternal line. After my sons and grandson,
Marcus was the next in line to be Marquis."
"So if he were alive, your brother would be your heir," said Jacques
slowly.
"Yes, but he died in the same epidemic as Henrietta's family, and my
younger boy was still alive at the time. Succession to my title was still
clear."
"I see," said Jacques, not sure what name to give the churn of emotions in
his chest. His thoughts were racing in all directions as he found himself
remembering every comment made by his parents and grandparents about
his Cartwright heritage. "Had your brother recognised us, then perhaps the
situation would be different; is that what you are saying?"
Lord Shropshire raised a brow. "Whether he chose to recognise you or
not is completely irrelevant, my boy. You are a direct descendant of my
father through your paternal line. That makes you my closest living male
relative."
There was a long silence. Not even the sounds of the Cottingham
household penetrated the grand walls of the study, making it feel like the
whole world had collectively held its breath at Lord Shropshire's revelation.
Oddly enough, the only clear thought in Jacques' head was how happy his
grandparents in Montreal were going to be when they got this news, and
that he estimated it would be less than three minutes before they went to
inform every member of the Beaver Club of his new status, and lorded it
over the families they held in dislike.
But it couldn't possibly be true. This type of thing... it just did not
happen, and certainly not to a French-Canadian who, while he was perfectly
at home with the Metis fur traders of Quebec and could be trusted to spend
a convivial evening with the middle classes of Montreal society, had not the
first notion of how to run an estate, or bow to a King, or be an English peer
of any description at all.
"Please accept my apologies for I am being very stupid indeed, Monseiur
Le Marquis, but are you saying... is it true.... are you saying that I am your
heir?"
"You are indeed, my boy," said the old man with considerable solemnity.
"When I die, you will be the 4th Marquis of Shropshire, and will inherit all
of my estate."
"Ah," said Jacques. He paused when both his brain and mouth refused to
work.
"I will need to see the papers, I'm afraid," said the Marquis hurriedly.
"Not because I doubt you, but because the Government will want to be
certain that you are, indeed, the son of John Cartwright and his lawful wife.
Your baptism also matters, for Catholics are not allowed to take their seats
in the Lords regardless of their title, which was why I felt compelled to ask
so many questions."
"Ah," said Jacques. He felt as though his brain had been stuffed with
cotton, for it refused to create even a single coherent thought.
"It would perhaps be for the best that we do not announce you as my heir
until all the legalities have been completed. Not because I have doubts, you
understand, but to prevent the gossips of the Ton from causing trouble. One
does not reach my age without making enemies, you see, and then there are
those who will make trouble for the sake of it. Beyond that, the Regent has
become increasing anti-Catholic in the last few years, despite the influence
of Mrs Fitzherbert, while Cumberland – he’s one of the Royal Dukes, and
brother to Prinny - is almost fanatical in his dislike of Papists. If they
suspect even for a moment that you might throw your support behind
Catholic Emancipation once you take your seat in the Lords, I would not
put it past them to try and cast doubt on your birthright."
"They could do that?" asked Jacques, momentarily diverted from the
tumult of thoughts swirling about his head.
The Marquis grimaced. "Considering the lengths Prinny has gone to in
his attempts to annul his marriage to Princess Caroline, I'm afraid that I
have little faith in the integrity of this generation of Royals. No, I want to be
sure that everything is watertight before we announce to the world that you
are my heir."
Jacques rubbed at his temples. "I am not sure that I want to be a
Marquis," he muttered.
If he expected the current holder of that title to react with shock at his
pronouncement, he was sorely disappointed. Lord Shropshire, a conciliatory
smile on his face, leaned forwards so that he could grip Jacques gently on
the arm.
"Your world has been turned upside down, hasn't it? For now, we won't
talk about things like obligations to the title, or the family holdings, or
taking your place in the House of Lords. We can introduce you to society as
a distant cousin of mine and ease you gradually into the Ton. That will also
allow me to delay presenting you at Court, so I am not compelled to lie
about your parentage."
Jacques didn't respond to this. Lord Shropshire picked up the half-empty
brandy glass from the side table and took it back to the decanter. He was
liberal with Cottingham's brandy, filling the glass far higher than decorum
usually permitted.
Jacques accepted it gratefully. When the Marquis took a long, deep drink
from his own glass, Jacques smiled and did likewise.
"To my unknown heir," said Lord Shropshire with a rueful grin.
Jacques smiled, but didn't say anything out loud. He found himself
suddenly longing for his family to appear, or to wake up back in Montreal
with all this nothing but a fevered dream.
He took another mouthful of brandy, contemplating the ridiculousness of
fate in silence.
 Chapter Four

"Henrietta, you know I love you dearly, but if you answer my questions
with a faint 'naturally!' one more time, I shall be forced to hit you over the
head with my half boots," said Cordelia, as close to losing her temper with
her friend as she had ever been.
Henrietta startled, and then flashed Cordelia an apologetic smile. "I'm
being very rude, aren't I? Will you believe me if I claim it's because I'm
concentrating on the horses?"
"No, for not only is Rotten Row much quieter than usual, I've seen you
hunt the squirrel in this carriage so I'm well aware of your capabilities as a
driver."
"I can hide nothing from you, can I?" laughed her friend. "Very well - it's
because I'm an odious companion whose thoughts are tumbling faster than
she can keep up with. Am I forgiven?"
"Only if you stop daydreaming, you silly goose," said Cordelia. "If you
really are compelled to mull over your thoughts, at least consider sharing
them with me so that I do not need to undo my boots and fling them at you.
Besides, I'm good at solving problems.”
It was ten minutes to the Fashionable Hour, and the two ladies were
taking a drive together in Lady Cottingham's famous red phaeton, both to
see and be seen as they slowly made their way through Hyde Park. Cordelia
had dressed according to the carriage and was rather pleased with the
resulting ensemble. Her red spencer was fashioned after the uniforms of the
1st Foot, with a plain front decorated only with large brass buttons, but with
a high collar of blue velvet trimmed with gold brocade that reached to her
ears, and fancy epaulets on the shoulders that proclaimed her rank to be
somewhat superior to Lord Wellington himself. She'd opted for a black
shako trimmed with a red ostrich plume to sit at a jaunty angle on her rich
locks, while the skirts of her walking dress were of a dove grey muslin that
further echoed the military inspiration behind her ensemble. Henrietta,
ravishing in a pelisse of royal blue with a matching stove pipe bonnet
trimmed with silver ribbons, was always going to draw eyes her way, and
Cordelia was not above feeling some smug pride that just as many people
were looking in her direction as were studying the fashionable Lady
Cottingham.
Her plan to capture the attention of the Ton - and a potential husband -
through an exquisite sense of style and taste seemed to be off to a good
start. True, none of the men who ogled at her were of the type she would
consider marrying, but still.
"It's my cousin, Jacques," said Henrietta, obviously deciding to trust
Cordelia with her thoughts. "I was so sure that he'd be over the moon to
meet his English family, and that he would feel at home from the moment
he arrived that I never considered that he might not be comfortable."
"Is that Monsieur Gautereau? Christopher's friend from Montreal?" asked
Cordy. "I met them both yesterday when I visited Lord and Lady Arthur. I
confess that I'm not sure how he is related to you, and Mr Douglas did not
make it any clearer. I'm afraid that I might have accidentally implied that
your cousin was a natural member of the family, but thankfully he didn't
take offense."
Henrietta smiled and shook her head. "Only you could question
someone's parentage and not get into a heap of trouble. Jacques is a very
distant relative, for the old Marquis is our last common ancestor, but you
know how much family means to us, with there being so few; especially to
Grandpapa."
"So you hoped that Monsieur Gautereau would be a young protege for
Lord Shropshire, now he doesn't have you to fuss over?" asked Cordy. “And
you did not share this plan with your cousin?”
Henrietta sighed. "You always understand everything so well, dearest. I
know Grandpapa is in his eighties, but since I married it's as though he's
grown old. I thought discovering Jacques would light that fire in him again,
give him someone to invest in. I assumed that my cousin would appreciate
such condescension from a Marquis, but it seems that Jacques is not much
impressed with the English aristocracy."
Cordelia considered the matter.
"Lord Shropshire doesn't strike me as the type to need a person to keep
him entertained, you know. Father says that he still delivers passionate
speeches in the Lords, and is up to the snuff on every issue."
 There was a slight pause in their conversation as they exchanged brief
greetings with some acquaintances passing the other direction in a splendid
curricle.
"Perhaps, but it's more than that," said Henrietta. The young Baroness
paused and bit down hard onto her lip. Cordelia cocked her head to one
side, expecting her friend to share a deep secret with her, but whatever was
occupying Henrietta's mind, she evidently decided that she was not at
liberty to discuss it with her friends.
Cordy felt a pang of disappointment, and couldn't help the bitter thought
that, if she were a married lady of the Ton, then Henrietta would probably
have shared her confidence.
"Well, I don't suppose it matters," said Henrietta with false brightness.
"All I can do is set about making sure that Jacques discovers an innate
passion for England.”
“Please don’t think I am being argumentative, my dear, but why would
he?” asked Cordelia, creasing her brows up in thought. “He is French-
Canadian, is he not? I would expect he is very fond of his home, and while
he must be enjoying his visit, he is likely pining for Montreal.”
“Do you think so?” said Henrietta, looking rather appalled at this idea.
“Good grief, this is going to be so much harder than I imagined.”
Cordelia did not have time to question the origins of this odd statement,
for they were hailed by Lady Warren, who was riding in a rather common
looking barouche, accompanied by her older spinster sister. They passed the
time of day briefly, complemented each other, and promised to attend
upcoming parties at one another’s homes. It did not escape Cordy’s notice
that Miss Burke, whose brown hair was streaked with grey about the
temples, did not speak, or even look over at her or Henrietta. She stared
resolutely at the back of the coachman’s coat, not even attempting to be part
of the conversation.
Is that my fate? thought Cordelia, feeling a lump form in her throat. To be
an unwanted and ignored part of the family, passed between my sisters after
their marriages, like an heirloom that no one likes but keeps out of duty?
She barely remembered to take her leave as Henrietta set the horses to,
shuddering as though a ghost had passed over her grave.
“Dearest, are you well?” asked Henrietta. “I know Lady Warren and Miss
Burke are as dull as dishwater, but you always excel at polite conversation,
even if you cannot stand to be in the same vicinity as the person you are
talking with.”
Cordelia adjusted the fingers of her gloves, not quite trusting herself to
look directly at her friend. It seemed to her that if she truly wished to avoid
the fate of a spinster aunt, then she would need some help to find the perfect
man.
“I have made the decision that I shall marry before the Season is out,”
she declared. “I know how that sounds, but I’m quite set on the matter. I
have decided on my requirements for a husband – respectable, kind, a home
in one of the tolerable counties, and of moderate fortune or better – and plan
to make him fall in love with me within the next few weeks. What on earth
do you mean by laughing like that?”
“Only that you could snap your fingers and have an army of eligible men
turn up if those were truly your only requirements,” snorted Henrietta.
“I was rather thinking that Christopher and I suit rather well,” replied
Cordy, her teeth grinding together even as she spoke.
"My brother-in-law?" said Henrietta, sounding almost incredulous. "Lady
Cordelia Delby, you are not trying to tell me that after a chance meeting
with Christopher you have set your cap at him?"
"Nothing so vulgar as that," said Cordelia, nodding at Lady Flamborough
as the older woman promenaded nearby with someone she didn’t recognise.
"I simply meant that his time in Montreal has been good for him, and that
Mr Douglas seemed pleased to see me again."
"Cordelia, every man considering marriage is always pleased to see you,"
replied her friend with more frankness than tact, "and a great deal of the
married ones enjoy half an hour in your company as well - at least until
Lord Delby starts staring daggers at them!"
"They might enjoy my consequence, but I don't believe there's a single
one who considers me as a wife," scoffed Cordelia.
"You're a fool, dearest one," said Henrietta without any malice. "You're
the greatest prize on the matrimonial market, but with the luxury of being
able to choose your match instead of having to accept the highest bidder. I
can think of ten eligible men who would marry you tomorrow, all of whom
are better than Christopher Douglas."
Cordelia raised a brow. "Really? Name them."
"Mr Percival," Henrietta shot back. "Or there's Lord Snowley."
 "Perry has never shown the slightest partiality to me, and as for Snowley
- good grief, do you think my father would countenance that match?"
"There's the Putney brothers."
"Charles is married, and the other two would as lief flirt with a milkmaid
as they would with me. Harry, for example, is a delightful wretch, but I
would not want to marry a man who compares my eyes to the stars one
moment, and then proceeds to inform Bella Colbourne that his greatest
regret was not falling in love with her before she was married!”
Henrietta rolled her eyes. "Now you're just being picky."
"And you've run out of suggestions," retorted Cordelia, not sure whether
to be amused or offended by the sheepish grin on her friend's face.
"Well I can think of ten, but I don't think you would regard them any
higher than those mentioned. Your list, whether you admit it or not, is a lot
longer than just the criteria you mentioned."
Cordelia frowned, but then relaxed her shoulders with a weary sigh. "You
are right, I suppose. But Henry, you can have no notion what it is like to not
find anyone to whom one is particularly partial, but then be forced to sit and
watch one's friends all fall in love and marry."
"Sounds galling.”
"I know you're mocking me," said Cordelia without any bitterness, "but
when it comes down to it, dearest, you have loved Cottingham since you
were a child. Just because he was a bit of an idiot for a while doesn't change
that fact; even Devenish could not sway you. Devenish, of all people! Lord
Cottingham is the only person you have ever considered marrying, or have
ever loved more than half."
"It sounds so boring when you put it like that," said Henrietta, a tiny
smile playing on her lips. "but you must not tell James. It does him good to
think that he almost lost me to another, and it reminds him not to take me
for granted."
"Are all the Douglas men constant, do you think?" asked Cordelia, very
carefully keeping her eyes fixed on the path to look for acquaintances so
that she did not need to meet her friend's sharp gaze.
"Not in the least," said Henrietta, which startled Cordy enough to make
her turn her head around in surprise. "I'm not a fool, dearest. I know you're
talking about my brother-in-law."
"I was speaking in general!" Cordelia protested, but Henrietta rolled her
eyes in response.
 "There are literally two Douglas men in your acquaintance, one of whom
is married to me."
"Ugh, fine. I was talking about your brother-in-law, but I do not know
why you should call him inconstant."
"Christopher has fallen in love at least six times that I am aware of,"
replied Henrietta after a moment of consideration. "The moment his eyes
alight on a pretty girl who smiles in his general direction he considers
himself lost, and as I understand it, he did not change this behaviour while
in Montreal. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that my cousin is
harbouring hopes of a match between one of his sisters and my brother-in-
law. I fear he is doomed to disappointment, however, for no matter how
beautiful and wealthy Miss Gautereau is, she has the distinct disadvantage
of not being in Christopher's orbit at present while several pretty heiresses
are."
"I knew he'd be snapped up by some foreign beauty," muttered Cordelia
under her breath.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"Nothing of consequence," said Cordy with a bright smile. "I was just
surprised at how well Montreal had suited your brother-in-law, for he seems
much more mature compared to how he was in my first Season. Almost
refined. Perhaps his affection for Miss Gautereau was his calf love, and he
is now ready to settle down."
The look on Henrietta's face suggested that Cordelia had taken leave of
her senses, but luckily for their friendship they were hailed from the path by
the object of their conversation at just that moment.
“Mr Douglas!” said Cordelia brightly as Henrietta reined in the horses
and pulled her carriage to a halt. “It seems we are destined to run into each
other again!”
“Lady Cordelia, a delight as always. Henrietta, oh dearest sister of mine,
I’m so glad we bumped into each other! You remember Miss Clyde, of
course? Oh, and here is Lord and Lady Arthur, promenading with Jacques
and I. We had the stroke of good fortune to meet them at the gates, so
decided to walk together.”
Cordelia forced the smile to remain on her face as the usual introductions
flowed between them all. She could not help but be aware that the beautiful
Miss Clyde was standing close beside Mr Douglas, her face bright and
flushed with youthful exuberance.
 She almost forgot to acknowledge Lord Arthur and his new wife, as they
watched Lady Arthur’s stepdaughter with the eyes of amused chaperones. It
was strange how Arthur Weatherly had transformed from a potential
husband to an old bore in such a brief passage of time, thought Cordelia. It
wasn’t as though he was dressing any less extravagantly, or had stopped all
of his outrageous pranks, if the gossips were to be believed, but there was
an air about him now that made it clear he was impervious to the feminine
wiles of anyone but his wife, Anna.
"Pon rep, Cordy, you're cutting a dash in that outfit," said Lord Arthur by
way of greeting. "Not everyone could carry off that hat, but on you it's a
triumph."
Considering that he was still considered an arbiter of taste, this
compliment made her preen, although she did cast a glance Christopher to
see if he was paying attention.
"I designed it myself, you know, so I doubly appreciate the compliment."
"It's not a compliment, it's a complaint," said Arthur, shaking his head
with despair. "It's a triumph on you because you're a diamond; on even a
moderately pretty girl, it will elongate her face and make her look like a
weather-beaten soldier. You're doing the men of this city no favours,
Cordelia. You might not care if the young ladies all look like they were
kicked out of the Guard for being too ugly, but it upsets me greatly!"
"Are you saying that you prefer to look at other ladies rather than your
wife, or that you think that I, too, will turn into a grizzled infantryman by
putting on that ravishing hat?" asked his wife sweetly.
Cordelia had the joy of seeing Lord Arthur go pink about the ears as he
hurried to assure the love of his life that she could wear a chimney stack on
her head and still be beautiful, while he was selflessly considering the good
of the single gentlemen of London, and not his own appreciation for pretty
things.
"Isn't that so, Douglas?" he said, appealing to the nearest man at hand.
"And you, Gautereau! The French have refined taste, after all."
"He's from Quebec," replied Henrietta, her mouth twitching at the
memory of a private joke.
“I think Madame Arthur turns any hat to advantage,” replied Monsieur
Gautereau. The object of his gallantry gave a delighted sigh and then
prodded two fingers into her husband’s ribs.
 “That’s how to pay a compliment,” she told him, her eyes dancing with
laughter, “and there wasn’t so much as a parrot in sight!”
"I think Cordy - I mean, Lady Cordelia, looks ravishing as always," said
Christopher, glancing up at her with a smile. “After all, she’s known for
being top of the trees.”
Perhaps the praise would have meant something had his eyes not
immediately been drawn back to the beautiful Miss Clyde whose simple
ensemble of a straw capote, daffodil spencer and white embroidered muslin
dress made Cordelia feel ridiculously overdressed.
At least the young woman seemed oblivious to Christopher’s regard, for
she was smiling up at Henrietta and Cordelia with very real joy, and the rest
of her attention was taken up by the ugly dog, improbably names
Governess, that was snuggled in her arms. It made it impossible to dislike
the girl, even if Cordy was painfully aware that Miss Lily Clyde was going
to be an obstacle to her plans to catch a husband.
“I have heard so much about your skills as a driver, Lady Cottingham,
and Arthur says that no one, not even the Duchess of Lexborough, can
match a pair of horses as finely as you. Oh, but I was not supposed to say
that, was I, in case it gets back to her Grace and she decides to play a prank
on him as revenge.”
“Kate will find an excuse to play a prank on me one way or the other,”
replied Lord Arthur, “but fear not, I have already secured a promise from
Lady Castlereagh that I can borrow her kangaroos should I require a
counter-attack.”
“Please no,” sighed his wife with weary resignation, which made
everyone laugh and her husband look mulish.
“I am very pleased to learn that you like my carriage and horses,” said
Henrietta to Miss Clyde in an attempt to turn the conversation to safer
waters. “Grandfather designed it and had it delivered as a surprise, you
know, and the horses are from his own stable, so you know they are the best
pair possible, despite the claims of Lord Osbaldston!”
Cordelia, sensing that her friend was about to start boring them all to
tears with her favourite arguments as to why only horses bred by the
Marquis of Shropshire were worthy mounts for the aristocracy, was
suddenly seized by a brilliant idea.
“It’s all well and good to tell Miss Clyde that, my dear, but why not show
her instead? I will happily trade places and walk for a while, for I would
very much like to get to know Lady Arthur better.”
If this disclosure surprised Lady Arthur, she was polite enough not to
show it. Cordelia was somewhat gratified, however, to see that Christopher
was an enthusiastic proponent of her plan.
“That’s precisely the favour I was going to beg of you, Henrietta. I’m
sure Miss Clyde would enjoy the treat, and it will give you the opportunity
to tell someone new all about the superiority of your Grandfather’s horses.”
“She’s already done that several times,” said Lord Arthur dryly. “Don’t
feel that you need to, Lady Henrietta, but I would point out that we will
keep Governess with us, so you need not worry that the pug will damage
your consequence, or cause you to drive in an erratic manner!”
“What a horrible thing to say,” said Miss Clyde with an amused grin,
“but please, Lady Cordelia, Lady Cottingham, do not feel as though you
must for my sake.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” said Henrietta, “for Cordelia is probably glad to
stretch her legs.”
“Of course I am,” said Cordelia, happy that her plan was succeeding. She
reached out, expecting to take Christopher’s hand as she stepped down, but
he was busy taking reluctant charge of Miss Clyde’s ugly little pug.
“If I may, Mademoiselle,” said Monsieur Gautereau, appearing at her
side with his hand stretched out. She hesitated only a moment before taking
it with a tight smile and gracefully exiting the carriage.
Christopher, she noticed, was perfectly capable of helping Miss Clyde up
into her vacated seat, even with an irritated pug wriggling about under one
arm.
She also noticed that Henrietta was trying to catch the eye of her cousin,
but that he was resolutely staring at the ostrich plume sprouting from her
shako as though it were the single most fascinating thing in the world.
Cordy frowned, momentarily distracted from her thwarted attempts to
attract the attention of Mr Douglas. Something had obviously occurred
between the two distant cousins, and it was her duty as Henrietta’s friend to
help reconcile them.
With no way to delay their setting off without making a scene, Henrietta
stopped attempting to catch Monsieur Gautereau’s eye, and instead devoted
her energy to keeping Miss Clyde entertained as they pulled away and back
into the middle of the road.
 Cordelia, knowing that her moment had come, smiled over at Christopher
with the intent of luring him to her side.
It had been one thing to be in competition with Lily Clyde, but it was
outside of enough when her charms were outshone by the behaviour of the
pug, Governess, who quite obviously held Mr Douglas in mutual dislike.
“I better walk the little rat- er, I mean, darling,” he said as he put
Governess down onto the ground. He risked a side glance at Lady Arthur,
but she seemed inclined to be amused rather than angry.
“Protect your boots,” advised Monsieur Gautereau solemnly, and
Cordelia got the distinct impression that Christopher was only just able to
refrain from making a rude hand gesture at his Canadian friend. Any further
conversation was prevented by Governess herself who, having just spotted
the Honourable Frederick Byng promenading with his pet poodle as though
it were the most superior dog in Hyde Park, decided she must immediately
introduce herself and thus disabuse the noted dandy of his error.
This time Christopher certainly did swear as Governess yanked her pretty
lead from his hand and took off for the refined looking poodle whose
existence so offended her. Cordelia watched, her mouth hanging open, as
Christopher took off at a gallop, followed closely by a horrified Lady
Arthur and her laughing husband.
Monsieur Gautereau cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to
him.
“Perhaps you will permit me to escort you, Mademoiselle Cordelia?” he
asked as he offered her his arm.
She hesitated for only a moment, intelligent enough to know that Mr
Douglas was not in a position to walk with her despite her hopes. She
smiled and slipped her hand through his proffered arm.
“Shall we walk as slowly as possible in the hope that Governess has been
recaptured and apologies all made before we reach Lord Arthur and offer
our help?” she asked.
He gave an appreciative chuckle.
“An inspired idea,” he replied, and together they began a very leisurely,
and very slow, stroll.
*
It occurred to Jacques within a few minutes that, while he might abhor
the fact that Christopher seemed to have forgotten his love for Marie-
Thérèse , his friend had excellent taste in women. Lady Cordelia Delby, he
quickly realised, was every inch a Society Miss, and the type of woman that
his sisters would both admire and adore. Her striking outfit, which Miss
Clyde's reaction had told him was in the first stare of fashion, truly did
make the most of her features, but rather than seeming aware of her beauty,
Lady Cordelia seemed oblivious to her charms. She kept a light patter of
conversation running, apparently with the goal of putting him at his ease,
and even after they caught up with their party she showed no inclination to
trade his escort for that of Mr Douglas.
"Are you enjoying your time in London, Monsieur?" she asked. "I
sometimes envy people their first visit to the City, for they have the perfect
excuse to visit all the sights of the Capital without having to pretend to be
bored with it all. Promise you will not tell anyone, but I get such a quiver of
excitement every time I see the Tower, and start to imagine all the famous
people who have been held there over the years."
"I know very little about the history of England," he told her
apologetically. "Was the Tower a bad place to be?"
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Oh, you have so many wonderful things to learn about! I will start with
the most famous," she breathed, before launching into a brief, but very
entertaining, account of the various wives of Henry VIII.
It was the most enjoyable half an hour Jacques had spent since his arrival
in England, much to his own amusement. He wasn't one for history, not
when there was so much happening in the present to occupy his attention,
but listening to the Lady Cordelia enthusiastically prattle on made him
reconsider his opinion on the subject. A few pertinent questions led her to
explaining the history of London, by way of the Romans through to the
current age, and he very rapidly realised that her elegant clothing and pretty
face held a very lively mind indeed.
"I copied a portrait of Oliver Cromwell once," she said after he asked for
some clarification about how the Monarchy had been abolished, and then
reinstated, by the English some 170 years earlier. "It was a very tolerable
likeness, if I do say so myself, but my father said he found it depressing for
it glared at him whenever he did anything vaguely decadent, and so it lives
in my portfolio rather than being on display. He very much liked the one I
made of his grandfather, though, who had managed to survive the puritans,
and was one of the men who rushed to bring Charles II back to the throne.
We didn't have a picture of him, sadly, for it was destroyed in a fire that
took out the Old House long before I was born, but Father said it was
uncanny how accurately I captured the old Earl."
"You can paint portraits of people you haven't met?" he asked, his hand
going to the pocket where he'd tucked the miniature of his father.
She nodded. "Yes, although I have to confess that people might just say
they are accurate to be nice to me, for it's not as though I can compare them,
now is it? But I do know that I need a good description of the person from
people who were on intimate terms with them, otherwise I struggle to see
what they might have looked like."
"I see," said Jacques, his hand dropping alongside his heart. "I didn't
know my father, sadly. I have only one, very poor miniature done in Quebec
when he married my mother. I would have liked to have seen a good
portrait of him, even though I did not think that I would until I arrived
here."
"How sad," said Cordelia, her expression full of sympathy. "I am guilty
of forgetting that not everyone is as privileged as I am when it comes to
knowing their family tree. We're rather proud that we can trace our
ancestors back to the court of Aethelred on the Delby line - although Father
occasionally enjoys teasing my mother that her people are nothing more
than invaders that came over with the Conqueror."
"I know the history of my mother's people and those of mon pere," he
replied, aware of feeling a touch of resentment at her assumption. " My
grandparents were both born in Scotland and know their lineage for a
hundred years. The Gautereaus arrived in New France in the 1600s, while
mon pere's mother is Iroquis, and can weave the names and stories of her
ancestors back for generations."
She did not, as he had expected her to, take any offence at his correction.
"How wonderful," she replied with genuine warmth. "I wish it were so
for everyone. Do you know, my friend William - Lord Standish - recently
married, and his new wife has taught me so much about how people outside
of my social sphere live. I confess it was a bit of a shock to learn that poor
people don't need embroidered gloves as much as they need stout boots and
a good coat, but I bow to her knowledge, and act accordingly. Thanks to
you, I now know not to assume that people only know their family tree if
they are descended from the aristocracy... ha! I wonder if William knows
that!"
 He hesitated for a moment as he worked his way through this tangled
speech, and - apart from a momentary desire to confuse the poor girl further
by describing the beautifully embroidered mittens that many of the Native
and Metis peoples wore - decided that he rather liked Lady Cordelia Delby.
"You know a lot more about the world than most, Mademoiselle, and I
include myself in that number."
She smiled at compliment. "Thank you! I do try to learn, you know.
People don't think I do, because I care about frippery things like dresses and
bonnets, but it is possible for a woman to be interested in a great many
things at the same time."
He gave a mock gasp of horror. "Non, you must not refer to clothing as
frippery things! If I have been taught one thing by mon pere, it is that
clothes can be the difference between life and death. On the prairies, that
might mean a fur coat and good boots. In London, I believe a fashionable
bonnet and a dress styled au militaire has the same effect."
"On a social level perhaps," she laughed, ignoring the praise of her outfit.
"I confess that navigating the Ton can be fraught with difficulty, but I have
been trained for this since I was in leading-strings, so it comes easily to
me."
Jacques glanced over his shoulder, where Christopher seemed to have
finally regained control of Miss Clyde's smug dog, while Lord Arthur and
Mr Byng seemed to have come to an accord.
"It makes very little sense to me," he confessed. "I thought that the rules
of Montreal's elite was training enough, but non. I do not know what is
expected here, or who anyone is, and why they all seem to be related to
each other."
Lady Cordelia let out a delightful giggle at this pronouncement, and
Jacques was unreasonably proud that he had made her laugh.
"Yes, it must be so hard to know who is related to whom, which family
has a long standing feud with another, which gentlemen are Whigs or
Tories, and why people with titles may not be as influential as a mere mister
with no real claim to aristocratic ancestors!"
He gave a theatrical shudder. "You describe it perfectly, Mademoiselle!
And then add in the way they will reference events and incidents that only
your Ton know of, and you can understand why I am so reluctant to talk of
anything but snow and beaver pelts - but even then, I am at risk of
offending someone who has family or shares in the Hudson’s Bay
Company, for my family are Nor'Westers!"
“I thought Mr Douglas worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company?”
“Oui, but he is part of the group who wishes the two companies to be
one, so has friends and enemies in both camps. At least at home I
understand the allegiances, but here I am without hope!”
She gave him a comforting pat on the arm. "If it makes you feel better,
there are a great many members of Polite Society who are as terrified as
you are when it comes to safely navigating our waters."
He considered this for a moment. "Non, I am afraid it does not reassure
me in the least, for if they cannot understand how it all works, what hope is
there for me?"
"At least you have Henrietta to help you," she said.
Jacques couldn't find a way to answer that. Following his conversation
with Lord Shropshire and the discovery that he was the heir to the
Marquisate, the realisation that Henrietta had known the whole time, even
before he'd left Montreal, had caused considerable damage to their
friendship. Half of him had wanted to treat her like he would his sisters, and
demand she explain why she had not simply told him and her grandfather of
her suspicions. The other half suspected she had not considered him, a
distant relative from the other side of the world, to be a worthy heir despite
his Cartwright blood, or worse, that she had not believed his parents had
been married.
He could forgive much, but not a slight upon his mother's honour, or the
refinement of the people who had raised him.
"Yes," he said when it became obvious he would have to say something,
even if there was no easy response at hand.
The expression on Lady Cordelia's face turned thoughtful as they
continued their walk. Jacques could hear Lord and Lady Arthur teasing
Christopher a small way behind them over the general chatter of their
fellow walkers and the clatter of the carriages as showy horses pulled them,
slowly, along the main routes of the park.
"Ah, I think I can spot Henrietta and Miss Clyde up ahead," said Lady
Cordelia, and indeed, Jacques could just make out the distinctive cherry red
carriage that belonged to his cousin inching its way towards them among
the pack of vehicles. "Let's wait here for them, so that Lord and Lady
Arthur may catch up."
 He noted that she didn't mention Christopher, and wondered if the beauty
was feeling jealous of Miss Clyde.
They received a few tuts and scowls from their fellow walkers as they
came to a halt at the edge of the road, but either Lady Cordelia was too high
status for them to risk commenting out loud, or the people around them
were in the wrong for expecting them to continuing moving at the same
snail's pace of the crowd. His companion was oblivious to any irritation
caused, and instead pointed out a few of the notable people for his attention.
"That's Mr Ball-Hughes in the landaulet with the four bays and the roan,
but everyone calls him Golden Ball on account of his wealth. I know he
looks to be a top of the trees fellow, but Lady Jane Paget refused his offer of
marriage, you know, not to mention Lady Caroline Churchill."
"Did you?" asked Jacques, glancing at her just in time to catch the
wicked grin that came and went before he'd had a chance to blink.
"A lady never tells," she replied, confirming that she had, indeed, turned
down an offer of marriage from the man. "Now, do you see the two ladies in
the green carriage led by the dark bay horse? The one with the very tall
footman riding on the rear? That is the Countess of Blessington, and she is
considered to be a beauty despite being over thirty."
"An ancient indeed," said Jacques as the corner of his lip kicked up.
Cordelia gave a laugh of appreciation. "Lord, I sounded terrible when I
said that, didn't I? I'm afraid I have to dislike Lady Blessington on principle,
for she stole my mother's crown as the Toast of the Ton, as it were, and has
never been forgiven as a result, even though Mama is at least ten years her
senior and of higher precedence."
"But they are both called Madam la Countess, non?" asked Jacques.
"Blessington is an Irish title, not even a decade old," replied his
companion with a wry grin. "Don't you remember that I told you the Delbys
go back to the mists of history? That makes us far more important."
He gave an appreciative chuckle. "I might have to employ you as my
tutor, Mademoiselle Cordelia. If I am not to disgrace my Cartwright
relatives during my stay in England, I fear there is much more to learn than
I thought."
She turned to regard him, and their eyes locked. Jacques resisted the urge
to tug at his neckcloth.
"Would that help?" she asked.
 He rather felt like his brain had stopped working, for it was difficult to
think of anything but how fine and expressive her eyes were.
"Help?"
"With whatever has you and Henrietta at odds," said his companion.
“We are not at odds.”
“You are,” she said plainly. "She is my friend, and I know when she is
troubled. You have to remember that we were both born to our roles and
have been fed the importance of our dynastic lines since we were children.
The Cartwrights are so few in number, Monsieur, that I fear they have come
on too strong with you in an attempt to pull you into the heart of their
family, and it has caused an upset between you."
You would not believe just how close to the truth you are, thought
Jacques.
"They have been nothing but kind and welcoming of me, like I am the
prodigal son returned," he replied.
Her smile was sympathetic. "Exactly as I thought. Monsieur, I am very
fond of Henrietta and her family, but I also remember how difficult the Ton
could be for my cousin, Beatrix, when she came to London for a Season. As
someone whose principle accomplishment is the ability to navigate the beau
monde with ease, I offer my services as a guide in this matter."
His initial thought was to refuse her kind offer, for although he was sure
it was made in good faith, he could not help the surge of irritation that he
would need help to make a good impression. Luckily for his future,
Christopher chose just that moment to rejoin them, looking slightly
harassed as he cradled the grumpy looking pug, Governess, tight in his
arms.
"This is a very important question, Cordy: what are your feelings on lap
dogs?" he said as soon as he came upon them.
She turned a flirtatious gaze onto Christopher, but with an amused smile
hovering on her lips. "If I'm being honest, I much prefer cats."
"I knew you were perfect," said Christopher, causing the beauty to laugh
as he set Governess back onto the ground after ensuring her lead was tightly
wrapped around his wrist.
Jacques caught the look shared between Lord and Lady Arthur, and
wondered whose idea it had been to set the pug onto his unsuspecting
friend; theirs, or Miss Clyde herself.
 "Mademoiselle, I accept your kind offer, and look forward to beginning
my lessons immédiatement," he said, drawing her attention back to him.
"Wonderful, Monsieur Gautereau, but I warn you that it will involve me
dragging you all about town to see the sights - it is not fashionable for me to
be excited about visiting the attractions, you see, but unexceptionable if I
am merely sharing the wonders of London with a visitor!"
"Jacques," he said. "We are family friends now, are we not? Call me
Jacques."
She hesitated, and he wondered if he had done something contrary to the
complex social rules of the Ton.
"Of course you should call him Jacques," said Christopher. "Everyone in
Montreal does so, for there are too many Gautereaus to keep track of, and
besides, the only person addressed as Monsieur Gautereau is le grand bruin
himself - Jacques' step father!"
Cordelia smiled, and inclined her head. "Very well, Monsieur Jacques.
My mother and I are at home to visitors tomorrow, and I will have thought
of how best to help you by then - if you escort Henrietta, of course."
It was not Jacques, however, who responded to the invitation.
"You've always been a great gun, Lady Cordelia, and I promise faithfully
to bring both my friend and my sister-in-law to pay their morning calls,"
said Christopher with a broad smile. He was apparently oblivious to the fact
that Governess was relieving herself on the toe of his boot.
Lady Cordelia looked blankly at Christopher for a moment, and Jacques
had the pleasing thought that she had forgotten his friend was even there.
Her society smile slipped back into place within moments, however, and
she favoured Mr Douglas with a flutter of her long eyelashes.
"I look forward to it so much, and please, tell Henrietta not to concern
herself with etiquette, for I will be extremely cross if your party does not
stay with us for at least an hour."
Henrietta had finally managed to reach them, her carriage coming to a
halt a mere foot away from them. A radiant Miss Clyde practically jumped
down from the carriage, assisted by Lord Arthur and not Christopher.
"Lady Cottingham has promised to take me out for a drive next week, for
I don't think I have ever been in such a splendid carriage! And so many
people turned to look at us, as though we were a pair of princesses tooling
about for a lark! Oh, thank you as well, Lady Cordelia, for letting me take
your seat! You are both too kind! And you as well, Mr Douglas, for looking
after my dear, dear Governess. I trust she gave you no trouble? But of
course she didn't, for she's an absolute angel and not in the least bit poor
mannered, no matter what Lord Arthur claims!"
Jacques, far too concerned with the fate of his sister to save Christopher
from a strained conversation with Miss Clyde about the behaviour of her
pug, handed Lady Cordelia up to the vacant seat beside Henrietta before
executing a polite bow.
He glanced at his cousin, who was looking at him with a strained
expression. He remembered what Cordelia had said, and although it would
be too much to say he forgave Henrietta for her duplicity, he could at least
appreciate that she had done what she thought was best for the grandfather
who had raised her from childhood. He inclined his head.
"I shall see you at dinner, ma cousine," he said, and was rewarded with a
sigh of relief from Henrietta, while Cordelia gave him an approving nod.
After briefly exchanging pleasantries with the Arthurs, Henrietta clicked
her tongue and gave the reins a light tug. Her horses began to walk, and the
cherry red carriage pulled away smoothly.
Christopher, Jacques noticed, stared after Lady Cordelia with a dazed
smile, before giving his attention over to Lady Arthur and engaging her in a
discussion about her vain efforts to curb her husband's latest prank.
It seemed the pug had destroyed at least one infatuation but had
unfortunately strengthened another.
Jacques gave Miss Lily Clyde a brotherly smile and offered her his arm.
"Did you enjoy your ride, Mademoiselle?" he said.
"Very much so, and it was so kind of your cousin to take me up when she
barely knows me from Adam," said Miss Clyde with considerable
enthusiasm. "Was Governess very naughty while I was gone?"
"I suspect your pug performed her role a la perfection," he replied, and
was rewarded with a sheepish giggle.
"At least she likes you, Monsieur," she said. "She is very picky, you
know."
"But that is because we are a brother and sister facing the unknowns of
London together," he replied, throwing out an arm in a dramatic manner.
"Do you know that I always wanted a brother?" said Miss Clyde with a
happy smile, "and if Governess likes you, then you must be perfect for the
role."
 He gave a bark of laughter. "My sisters would disagree, mon amie!
Thérèse is of an age with you, and no doubt would inform you I was an
enfant terriblé."
"I don't believe it," she replied.
He spent the rest of their walk sharing the worst anecdotes from his
childhood, much to her amusement, but his thoughts did not stray too far
from Lady Cordelia and her kind offer.
She would not be so happy with him when she learned of his plan to keep
her and Christopher far apart, he mused.
He did not want to consider too deeply why that thought made his heart
heavy, and instead set his attention to remaining in the good grace of
Governess.
 Chapter Five

As it turned out, Cordelia met Jacques far sooner than she had expected,
although with hindsight, it was obvious that he would be present at the
Gloucester's small evening party, since the Earl was as much his cousin as
Henrietta was.
The Gloucesters were no strangers to lavish entertainments, but possibly
due to the Countess being in a delicate situation, they had forgone their
usual large balls and routs, and instead opted for quieter entertainments of
only twenty or so couples.
A group of musicians played the latest compositions in the corner of their
grand salon, and although the guests would stop to applaud at the end of
each piece it was a lie to claim that anyone was paying more than cursory
attention to the music. Seating was arranged in a way that encouraged
guests to filter into small groups where they could gossip, enjoy the light
refreshments offered on silver trays by immaculately dressed footmen, and
consume copious amounts of champagne from the Earl's cellars.
There were people of all ranks and walks of life present, for although
everyone present was in some way fashionable or notorious, Lady
Gloucester was famous for prizing wit and intellect over birth and title.
Aided by the Marchioness of Shropshire and Lady Loughcroft, the
Countess ensured that everyone present had the opportunity to converse
with more than one group of guests, and was even adept at making sure that
even the shyest of those under her roof, such as Miss Hemsworth, was made
comfortable and able to enjoy the evening.
Despite it being an informal affair, Cordy had put as much thought into
her outfit as she would have for a ball held by Lady Jersey, for Abigail
Standing, the Countess of Gloucester, was her heroine. A simple cream
satin overlaid with an embroidered gauze of pale blue flowers, two strands
of pearls and a fan that she'd painted herself might look like an easy
ensemble to the untrained eye, but simple was not synonymous with
elegant, and it was doubly difficult to both adhere to Brummell's advice of
not allowing one's clothes to stand out with the very important task of
drawing the admiring eye of anyone who mattered.
And at an informal gathering held by Lord and Lady
Gloucester, everyone was of consequence, for although the highest sticklers
of the Ton might look askance at the dashing nature of the young Countess,
the couple were widely regarded as intelligent, generous, and most
importantly, fashionable.
"Lady Cordelia, if you were not such a darling girl, I fear I would loathe
you," said Lady Gloucester the moment Lady Delby and Cordy walked into
the room. "How do you manage to seem so effortlessly elegant, my child? I
must be ten years your senior and I cannot do it."
"She bathes in distilled water of pineapples, and sleeps in a feather
cloud," said Henrietta as she came over to greet them. "It has long been a
source of irritation that my dear friend here makes beauty and grace look
effortless."
"I assure you, Lady Cottingham, that it is not effortless at all. My
daughter spends the greater part of her waking hours thinking about
composition and colour," Lady Delby replied before Cordelia could say a
word. "I confess that even I have learned much from her artistic eye when it
comes to fashion and dress. If only the menfolk would listen to her as
well!"
Cordelia felt her cheeks warm up at the rare dash of public praise from
her mother. "I did design the embroidery myself, Lady Gloucester, although
it was the talented hands of my dressmaker that brought it to life. I can sew,
but not as quickly as Miss Cambridge."
"It was Cordy who designed the train for my pineapple dress, and her
dressmaker who completed the embroidery on it," said Henrietta, although
her current ensemble, while of a stylish red satin, did not feature any
embellishment at all. "Frightfully expensive, but I have never had so many
compliments before. Even Lord Arthur was forced to admire the detail
through his eye glass, and then announce he would have a waistcoat made
in the exact same style!"
"Then I must call on Miss Cambridge armed with some of your
drawings, Lady Cordelia." replied the Countess. "I cannot bear to be in
anything but the first stare of fashion. Please, ladies, come and sit with us.
There is no need for introductions as everyone is familiar to you, my ladies,
with the exception of my new favourite person in the entire world: Jacques
Gautereau. He's a distant relative from Montreal, and is a genius."
This praise surprised Cordelia, but she could not think of a polite way to
comment. Her mother, however, seemed amused by the pronouncement,
and even graced Jacques with a fond smile as he responded to Lady
Gloucester's beckoning gesture.
"The distant Cartwright relation," said Lady Delby, acknowledging that
she - and probably the entire Ton by now - knew of Jacques, even if they
were yet to meet him. "I take it that he provided a solution for your
afflictions, Abigail? I know it is awfully vulgar to say this, but you have not
yet looked as radiant as you do right now."
"I looked as sick as a horse," replied Lady Gloucester with more cheer
than would be expected from a woman who had been green about the gills
for weeks. "But my dearest, darling Jacques had the perfect remedy! I will
not claim to be fully recovered, but I have not felt this well for an age."
"It was nothing, Abby," laughed Monsieur Jacques as he joined them.
Lady Delby raised an eyebrow at the familiarity, but Cordelia had the
impression that everyone found themselves on easy terms with the young
Canadian very quickly indeed.
"Nothing?" cried Lady Gloucester in disbelief. "You might think it's
nothing, but I've been as sick as a cushion for the best part of five months
and driving myself to distraction in the process. It was a miracle, my dearest
cousin, an absolute miracle."
Jacques, Cordelia noticed, turned a humble, and yet somehow roguish,
look towards her mother as he spread his hands before him.
"I can claim no credit, Madam Delby. I have many, many siblings, and
my mother often had the same sickness. It is a remedy of my grandmother's
that I used to prepare for her when she - how did you put it, Abby? Was to
cast up her accounts? I learned early to trust the wisdom of my
grandmothers, for they were so often right, even when I wished it were not
so."
Cordelia blinked in surprise as her mother, who only allowed the
Countess of Gloucester address her informally, actually smiled favourably
on Jacques.
"It is always the way, Monsieur Gautereau, and I agree that our
grandmothers should be trusted over many modern practices - why, I even
heard tell of a man who had lost his arm in a carriage accident being bled
by the fool of a physician that attended him! But I must know what the
remedy you suggested was; cayenne pepper and laudanum? Powdered
oyster shells?"
"It is so odiously simple that I do not know why I have never heard of it
before," said Lady Gloucester with a shake of her head. "Dearest Jacques
visited this morning with a whole ice cream pail full of ginger water ice, but
had asked the chef to add extra lemons and the merest hint of peppermint
essence. I cannot describe how heavenly it tasted, and I felt better almost
immediately, and while I am not about to indulge in feasting any time soon,
my newly found cousin here is my favourite person until the end of days."
Lady Delby, much to Cordy's astonishment, actually laughed.
"That is wonderful news, my dear Abigail, for I do not agree with doctors
that just because morning sickness is natural that we should suffer through
it! I must know, however, how Gloucester feels about your transferred
affections.
Jacques' grin became devilish. "He assured me that Abby's love for me is
nothing compared to his, and that he is forever in my debt."
"Not possible," declared Lady Gloucester, "although we are indebted to
Jacques for this miracle cure, and you know how odious I find being
indebted to anyone. Lady Delby, I must beg your aid in turning my new
cousin here into the darling of the Ton, for while I can certainly convince
the dashing and the fashionable that he is the greatest thing to happen to
London since Brummell, I bow to you when it comes to convincing the
gatekeepers of Polite Society to bring him into the fold."
"Perhaps we should let Jacques decide that," said Henrietta, glancing
over at her cousin with a wary expression.
Cordelia guessed that they were talking with each other again, but that
the truce was fragile enough for Henrietta to worry about it breaking.
"As though he'd disagree," said Lady Gloucester with a forcefulness that
made Henrietta look like an admonished schoolgirl, and Monsieur Jacques
like a stubborn young boy.
"Were you consulted for your opinion, Monsieur?" asked her mother,
with an expression that implied she already knew the answer.
Cordelia noticed that her friend looked rather tense, and that her hands
were gripping the arms of her chair rather tightly.
"I have many sisters," he explained with a languid shrug, "Marie-Thérèse
enjoys dancing, Marie-Helene nothing more than the chance to show her
dresses to advantage, and both ma mere and grand-mere have a great love
of balls and routs. If I can survive parties with the Beaver Club and le Bon
Ton of Montreal, I am sure I can survive it here, when I will not see anyone
I offend again after I return to my home."
"An excellent attitude," said Lady Delby with an approving nod.
Henrietta and Lady Gloucester, however, exchanged looks that did not seem
at all happy with his response. An awkward silence threatened to brew.
"I have offered to help Monsieur Jacques to navigate the trickier waters
of the Ton, Mama," said Cordelia. "I remember well how Trix felt when she
first joined us, so I know how to be an excellent guide."
"Oui, Madam Delby, and I am much obliged to Mademoiselle Cordelia
for her kind offer."
Cordy was not sure what reaction she had expected from her mother to
this disclosure, but it was certainly not the look of frank interest and
curiosity that Lady Delby now favoured the young Canadian with.
"Indeed," she murmured. "Well, you should join us at the theatre some
time, Monsieur. While Cordelia is an expert in the social niceties of parties
and fashionable behaviour, I suspect my husband would be a useful
connection to you, both here in London and in Montreal."
Cordelia only just stopped her mouth from gaping open, while Henrietta
was now looking at Lady Delby with the same frank curiosity that she'd just
used on Jacques.
"Merci, Madam Delby. Your husband has business interests in Canada?"
"He has a significant investment in the Hudson’s Bay Company," replied
Lady Delby.
"As does Cottingham," said Henrietta quickly, trying to catch the eye of
her cousin who determinedly avoided it.
"Je regrette, Madam, but I am a proud Nor'Wester, which makes us
mortal enemies, non?"
Lady Delby, much to the surprise of everyone present, chose to be
amused at this pronouncement.
"Why does that not surprise me?" she said, but refused to be drawn on
this cryptic statement. They were joined a few moments later by Lord
Cottingham and Christopher, who upon learning the topic of conversation,
were quick to share some stories of the notorious animosity between the
two Canadian companies.
 "Didn't you say that's the whole reason your father became a Nor'Wester,
Jack?" said Christopher with a friendly grin. "Because the Cartwrights were
stakeholders at Hudson's Bay, and so he sided with the opposition out of
principle?"
"Your father disliked the Cartwrights?" said Lady Delby, slightly
bewildered by the conversation.
"It's a bit more complicated," said Henrietta hurriedly, but her husband
and brother-in-law seemed to find the question amusing.
"In a manner of speaking," replied Jacques, ignoring the others. "My
father was a Cartwright by birth, but he was not on good terms with his own
parent when he arrived at Montreal. He died when I was very young, but
my mother says that he always did like to do the opposite of what his family
expected of him."
Cordelia watched the frown deepen on her mother's face, which was
astonishing as Lady Delby avoided showing any strong emotion on her face
for fear that it would cause wrinkles. She did not, however, share her
thoughts with them.
"When we go back to Montreal I'm hoping that Jack and I can work on
bringing the companies to the table now that Lord Selkirk has passed on,"
said Christopher. "The whole rivalry seems silly to me."
"Not a view shared by the Nor'Westers or the Metis," said Jacques in a
weary tone that suggested this was a long running disagreement between
them.
"You plan to go back?" said Cordelia before she could help it. It was only
when Christopher began to answer her that she realised that she'd meant the
question for Jacques.
"As soon as our business is concluded here, I hope," he replied. "You
would love it there, Lady Cordelia! The land is like nothing you've ever
seen, and the lakes are as big as oceans. Even the snow and ice is
enchanting, for it turns even the most mundane of vistas into something
quite magical."
"Until you have to try and walk through it," said Lord Cottingham,
shaking his head at the memory. "I very much enjoyed my time out in the
colonies, but my apologies to Gautereau as I say this: it is not a country
where I would want to live."
"That is because you did not listen to me, mon ami, and insisted blue
superfine was warm enough for the carriage ride, and not the bear coat I
offered to you," replied Jacques. "I agree that it is very cold back home, and
the land remains wild and free, but I love it very much, for it shaped my
family."
Cordelia couldn't help smiling at his romantic description, but there was a
heaviness in her heart that she deliberately attributed to Christopher's
announcement that he intended to return to Montreal. It was not as though it
could have been due to anything else, after all.
"You underestimate the allure of the British countryside, my dear," said
Lady Gloucester, moving one hand in an indiscriminate gesture that seemed
to refer to the window. "While London is a wondrous place for many
reasons, I think you will be surprised to learn that there are many wild and
free places left all over these Isles, such as the Welsh mountains, the
Yorkshire moors, or the Scottish Highlands. Besides, I am not about to
allow my favourite person on Earth to move so far away from me, am I?
With the experience and expertise that you've gained from caring for your
younger siblings, you'll be a valuable addition to the next generation of our
family."
"'Moi? La bonne d'enfants?" said Jacques, before breaking into a rumble
of laughter that seemed to make the world shine brighter. "Non, ma
cousine! I am not good with children, you see. Christopher is another matter
- they enchant him!"
Cordelia felt something harden in her stomach as she deliberately turned
her sweetest smile onto Christopher.
"A family man in the making, Mr Douglas? That settles it, then; we must
convince you to remain in England, for surely there is something that will
keep you here, for men who like children are rare!"
"There may well be something, Lady Cordelia," stammered Christopher
in response, his cheeks going an odd shade of red when he glanced at her
mother.
Cordelia ignored the snickers of amusement from Lord Cottingham and
Henrietta, and decided they must be jealous that Christopher was probably a
natural with their baby.
*

Jacques availed himself of Cottingham's library not long after their party
returned home, slipping the servant a coin for their trouble of setting a small
fire in the grate at such a late hour. He liberated a glassful of brandy from
the decanter, knowing that James would be offended had he not, and settled
himself down into the winged leather chair beside the hearth.
It had not been his first foray into the world of London's polite society,
but it had felt different from the small parties he had attended before
learning he was the heir to the Marquis of Shropshire. No one beyond the
Cartwrights knew yet, but that wasn't his concern. Jacques knew, and his
whole future had changed as a result.
There was a light scratch at the door before it was slowly opened by a
nervous looking Henrietta.
"Come in, ma cousine," he said with a tired smile. "It is your house,
non?"
She dropped immediately into her fluent French.
"Yes, but for now it is your home as well. May I join you?"
He gestured to the empty chair opposite him, and she accepted the
invitation. She was wrapped up in a masculine looking dressing gown in the
oriental style, with delicate blue slippers and a white night cap. He offered
her a drink but she declined.
"I want to know if you will forgive me," she said without preamble.
"Grandpapa explains that I was wrong to surprise you both the way I did,
but-"
"Of course you are forgiven," he said, cutting her off mid-apology. "The
Marquis is an old man, no matter how strong he looks. You were worried
what the shock would do to him to discover there was an heir, or worse, that
I was unsuitable for the role ahead of me."
She grimaced. "It sounds awful when you put it like that."
He smiled at his glass. "It is the truth, and no matter how offended I
might wish to feel, I confess that I would have done the same in your
position. Lady Cordelia explained it a little, and I think that I would feel as
you if someone showed up at our door in Montreal laying claim to my
stepfather's wealth. It is not about the money, but about the name and
reputation of those we look up to."
"I should have given you enough credit to know that you would
understand," said Henrietta. "Devenish told me as much when I consulted
him in Bath."
He glanced up at this, then shook his head in resigned amusement. "The
Duke knows who I am, then. It explains a few things that he said before we
left for London, and why his new wife was so excited about my meeting the
Marquis."
"If you like, we could write to the Devenishes before you are introduced
to the Ton as Grandpapa's heir. They would lend you their support in a
moment, I have no doubt."
"Your Grandfather is taking care of everything," he said with a
dismissive wave of his hand. "I am content to be guided by him on this
matter."
Silence fell, punctuated only by the crackling of the burning log. It was a
tiny fire in the scheme of things, one designed for effect rather than warmth.
"I never thought that you might not welcome your inheritance," Henrietta
said eventually. "I was so caught up in the ancient prestige of my family, it
was impossible for me to consider that it might not be something that would
cause you to leap with joy at your good fortune. I suppose that growing up
female in a class that encourages us to aim for the highest title possible
made me forget that you might not share that priority."
"My grandmother will be beside herself with joy," said Jacques with a
soft chuckle. "My father's distant connection to a peer of England was the
main reason she countenanced the marriage to her daughter. That, and his
newfound wealth."
"You miss them, don't you," stated his cousin.
He sighed and gave a brief nod of his head. "More than I expected to. I
have not found myself without counsel before, and did not appreciate how
lucky I have been to be surrounded by family that I love and trust. I should
write to them, but how do I explain? I cannot even ask them to tell me what
to do, for I am the heir to the Marquis whether I wish it or not. Besides,
even if I sent the letter at daybreak, their reply would not return to me until
after the truth of my relationship to Lord Shropshire will have been
revealed."
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
"I feel like a child wanting to hide behind his parents," Jacques admitted,
and then wondered if the brandy had loosened his tongue.
"You just want the support of your family," replied his cousin, "and as
much as we Cartwrights are desperate to step into that role for you, we... I
mean, I did not consider that you already have a family. It was easier to
assume you were alone in the world and would thus come into the fold
willingly than to acknowledge that life is much more messy."
 He looked over at her, tucked up in the wing back chair like a small girl.
Even though she looked nothing like his tall, dark haired siblings, in that
moment of vulnerability she could have been one of his little sisters.
"You are my family too, Henrietta," he told her. "It will just take some
time for us to learn about each other."
He expected her to smile, or at least look at him, but her eyes remained
fixed on the fire.
"I wrote to your mother while we were still in Bath," she said morosely.
"I didn't tell anyone, not even James, which I suppose shows that I knew it
was wrong to do so, for I tell him everything."
"You wrote to my mother?" he repeated.
She nodded, and he could see her swallowing down her emotions.
"Christopher had mentioned the name of your home, so it was easy
enough. After Devenish told me that I had to accept you as the heir no
matter what, I realised that Grandpapa might require more proof of your
birth than you had brought with you, for documents can be forged or
questioned. I told your mother that I believed you to be the next in line to
the Shropshire title, and requested that she solicit a letter from someone in
Montreal, whether the person who christened you, or perhaps a peer that
knew both your parents."
"You told my mother that I am the future Marquis," he groaned. There
was not enough brandy in the world that would drown his sorrow at this
revelation, for he could already imagine the scolding his mother would
deliver because he had not informed her himself. It would not matter that
Henrietta had known before he did, or that she had sent the letter without
his knowledge. His mother, and likely his grandparents, would be offended
to learn he was heir apparent to Lord Shropshire from anywhere but his
own lips.
"I was trying to help, I promise," said Henrietta, wincing even as she said
the words. "I assumed that your family had always known it was a
possibility that you could inherit, and... well..."
"It's now occurring to you that assumptions are not a good foundation for
your affairs?" he asked.
Her shoulders slumped. "You stated it perfectly.”
"My stepfather," he corrected, "although generally he uses it in relation to
fur trading, the weather, or military affairs."
"A wise man either way."
 "Indeed. Henrietta, please do not look so despondent. You have done me
a disservice in writing to my family before I could, but not in the way you
think and I know there was no malice in your action." he paused for a
moment, and despite her being a married woman and mother to a young
child, he could not help but treat her the way he would his younger siblings.
"But I think we must establish, right now, that you will no longer act on my
behalf in any way without my express permission, even if you feel it is the
business of every Cartwright in existence. No, there's no negotiation on
this! Families have to be able to trust, Henrietta, and I need to trust that you
will not interfere in my life without my knowledge."
He could see her itching to argue, and under any other circumstances he
would have found it deeply amusing. He strongly suspected that his sisters
would have Lady Cottingham up on a pedestal the moment they met her, for
she shared their independent streaks and their fierce intellects.
Jacques liked his cousin very much, but he did not envy her husband in
the least.
"Fine, fine!" she said eventually, flopping back into the chair with an
exasperated snort. "I suppose I should be grateful that you have forgiven
me, Jacques, but I would by lying if I said that I regret it!"
"Honesty is certainly a part of family as well," he said gravely, and was
impressed that she didn't throw something at him.
"Will you stay?" she said suddenly, her whole demeanour changing.
"When Grandpapa... I mean, when you eventually succeed the title, will you
stay in England and take your place in Parliament?"
“It is late, cousin," he said, getting to his feet. He still held the half-full
glass of brandy with the intention of retiring to his room to finish it. "These
are questions I must think about, and discuss with Lord Shropshire."
"Because it's men's business?" she said, her sarcasm thick enough to bite.
"No, but because my whole future has been turned on its head, and
besides, I have no notion of what the Lords actually do in parliament," he
replied.
Her scowl was replaced with a mischievous grin. "Make a lot of prosy
speeches and take naps, from what I can gather."
He chuckled appreciatively.
From the upper reaches of the house, the faint cries of a waking infant
could be heard, followed by the hurried opening of at least two bedroom
doors.
 "Nurse and my mother-in-law," sighed Henrietta. "I've asked them to at
least give me a chance to soothe my own infant, but I swear they have both
lost their brains when it comes to that child."
"Family," repeated Jacques, and was rewarded with a smile. "You should
have seen some of the battles between my relatives over who got to hold the
newest baby. Naturally I won, but the arguments between my grandmother
and my step-grandmother are legendary in Montreal. Literally at that; Great
Bear's Mother and the Angry Goose was written about them."
"I thought you said you didn't like children?" said his cousin, pausing at
the doorway to regard him thoughtfully.
"I like them very much, but I have no wish to be saddled with the rude
and spoiled darlings of people I otherwise like and respect," he said with a
shrug. "It is better for them to assume that I despise anyone under the age of
fourteen, but as my relatives know my secret, you have a right to it as well."
She didn't respond to this straight away, but Jacques had the
uncomfortable notion that she was plotting something on his behalf. There
was no need for a reprimand, however, for she suddenly gave a very
determined shake of her head.
"No, I have promised you faithfully that I will no longer meddle in your
affairs. Good night, Jacques; I must go up to the nursery before Nurse and
Lady Cottingham come to blows over whether or not hare's brains rubbed
on the gums will ease teething pain."
"Hare's brains?" repeated Jacques with considerable alarm, but his cousin
had already vanished from sight, leaving him to wonder at the eccentricities
of the English in peaceful solitude.
 Chapter Six

Cordelia, determined to uphold her end of the bargain with Jacques, set
about an exhausting week of revelry and amusement designed to make him
fall in love with England, and ideally to make his companion, Christopher
Douglas, fall in love with her. With these two goals in mind she had
agonised over who to invite on excursions, and which unmarried ladies
were suitable to include in her party. While Lady Helena Weatherly was
undoubtedly the perfect person to invite for gaiety, she was also
monstrously beautiful and several years younger than Cordelia. True, the
girl was still head over heels in love with Mr Rumble despite her
protestations, but it did not seem like a good idea for Cordelia to set herself
beside a girl regularly described as looking like perfection itself.
"You have spent a lot of time dashing off notes to friends and making
plans to entertain yourself during the day," her mother observed one
afternoon as she recuperated on the couch after a long morning of
deciphering crossed letters from her two younger daughters, both full of
complaints that, at 15 and 17, they were not yet Out because of Cordelia's
inability to make a suitable match.
"I have much to plan."
"How unlike you, dearest. I do not believe I have seen you this
industrious since you tried to write that comedy for the Literary Gathering
of Dubious Merit."
"It was a drama," said Cordelia without looking up from the list in front
of her. "Is it too late to arrange a picnic for Friday?"
"We are invited to drive out to Merton with the Shropshires on Friday,"
her mother reminded her. "I am certain that your foreign nobody will be in
that party, so we have no need to arrange a picnic of our own."
A flush of heat attacked Cordelia's cheeks as she turned to look at her
amused parent.
 "I promised to help Henrietta in convincing Monsieur Jacques that he
will wish to remain in England," she said as haughtily as she could manage
without causing offence.
"I am sure that Monsieur Jacques is grateful for your condescension,"
replied Lady Delby looking even more amused. "By the by, does your
father know that you are on such familiar terms with the foreign nobody?
Should he have to prepare to chase off another fortune hunter?"
"Now you are just being silly, and I refuse to answer such a ridiculous
question," she replied with a lofty sniff, and ignored her mother's laughter
with what she hoped looked like fortitude rather than a sulk.
"Forgive me for my teasing, dear girl. I confess I rather liked the young
man when I met him briefly; he has a type of lazy charm that is very
attractive. He reminds me of someone I knew in my youth, but for the life
of me I cannot remember who."
"Is this back when you all wore those awful wigs and powder?" asked
Cordelia, unable to resist the jest.
Her mother puffed a snort of irritation out of her nostrils.
"I am not so old that I wore those ridiculous grey towers on my head, as
well you know," she muttered, and then paused for a moment to consider
the matter. "We did curl and crimp our hair into very wide styles, though,
and the hats were perhaps a little large."
"And the men?"
"I am surprisingly grateful to William Pitt for introducing the tax, for
your father is infinitely more handsome with his natural colouring than he
ever was with his hair clubbed back and powdered."
Cordelia chuckled. "I can hardly imagine how it was when every Lord
was dressed as a footman; I feel sorry for our own staff having to wear
those ridiculous things on their heads!"
"You laugh now, my child, but one day your own daughter will mock the
fashions of your youth, and comment on how ridiculous your necklines are,
or how silly the bonnets, or ridiculous the style of your hair!"
"That reminds me, I should invite Eugenia Pulford on one of the
excursions," said Cordelia, turning back to her list. "I promised Trix that I
would attempt to be pleasant."
"Such lengths you are going to for this Foreign Nobody," commented her
mother again. "Perhaps I should let your father know to expect a visit from
your Monsieur Jacques, and tell your sisters that I will bring them both Out
for the Little Season!"
Cordelia had deemed it wiser to ignore this comment. After all, her
mother was under the impression that the current style of dress was a whim
of fashion rather than the epitome of style and elegance, and a woman with
such opinions did not deserve to have her opinions treated as serious.
Monday found Monsieur Jacques, Christopher Douglas, Cordelia and
Miss Hemsworth tooling about in Lady Delby's barouche with the intention
of seeing the more famous sites listed in the guidebooks, including
Westminster Abbey, St Paul's Cathedral, and of course, the Tower of
London. Cordy thoroughly enjoyed her role as the font of knowledge, and
spent a happy few hours recounting all the stories and legends she knew
about the different streets and landmarks they passed. Christopher read out
passages from a tattered pamphlet dated to 1765, whose title page promised
"to Shew The Discerning The Most Notable Places Of The City," which
prompted much laughter as they tried to make sense of the suggestions that
had long disappeared beneath the modern city.
Jacques proved an attentive student that asked a great many questions,
and even Miss Hemsworth, who was usually as quiet as a church mouse,
ventured a few answers to him. Cordelia, who adored the timid girl but
could find her ways extremely frustrating, was delighted just to hear her
whisper "It's over there, Monsieur Gautereau," or "No, that was Queen
Anne, Monsieur Gautereau," whenever he made incorrect observations.
Cordelia wondered if it was his brotherly attitude that meant that Miss
Hemsworth blossomed under his attention, or if it were the way he
continually apologised for his own ignorance when it came to London and
her history. He was certainly exaggerating the latter, for Cordy quickly
realised that he was steering the conversation onto topics where their shy
companion felt comfortable, and he could not have done so had he been
poorly educated on the topic as he claimed.
"I think Monsieur Loughcroft tried to tell me about a fight over a
cheesecake here," said Jacques as they drove through Hyde Park. "Is that
true, Mademoiselle Hemsworth? I confess I do not always understand the
stories he tells, for my English is not so good, I think."
Christopher let out a crack of laughter. "No one understands Loughcroft,
Jack! He's an excellent, fashionable fellow, but hardly a downy one."
 "That was not my impression, mon ami, but I suspect he would be happy
to learn you regard him in such a way," replied his friend before turning his
attractive smile back to Miss Hemsworth. "Did I understand ma cousine's
husband correctly?"
The girl actually giggled. Cordelia wasn't sure she would have believed it
had she not witnessed it with her own eyes.
"Not quite, monsieur, but if you like I... I can recount the true tale in
French for you?"
From the look of delight on Jacques' face, one would believe that not a
single person in the country had addressed him in his mother tongue since
his arrival.
"Oui, Madamoiselle! J'apprécierais beaucoup!"
As her timid friend recounted a halting story of the fatal duel between the
Duke of Hamilton and Baron Mohun outside of the Cheesecake House
some hundred years earlier, Cordelia took the chance to truly consider
Jacques Gautereau.
He continued to wear his hair unfashionably long, with the brown hair
curling out from beneath his beaver hat and resting on the high collar of his
blue coat. His dark eyes were full of lively intelligence, and she could tell
that he was not merely humouring Miss Hemsworth, but that he was
enjoying her company. She half expected him to start teasing the girl like he
would a younger sister, and it was impossible to deny how handsome that
show of kindness made him when compared to the boredom or worse, the
distaste that many supposed gentlemen showed towards her shy, untitled
friend. She could understand why Henrietta was so determined to bring him
into the Cartwright fold, for he was just the sort of man that would make
any family proud.
It was such a pity that he was a foreign nobody, she thought, and then
winced at the term.
She missed the end of Miss Hemsworth's story, but it caused Jacques to
let out a roar of laughter that made her jump in surprise.
Christopher, who was also laughing, turned his grin towards Cordelia.
"Laughs like a bear, doesn't he? I've told him that it's not fashionable to
be in such good spirits all the time, but he doesn't listen to me about
anything."
She was about to reply that it was a good thing, too, but Miss Hemsworth
got there first.
 "I like people laughing," she said quietly, a faint smile making her look
quite pretty. "My mother says I must look bored by everything if I want to
be refined."
"Mon dieu, how dull!" said Jacques, glancing at Cordelia for
confirmation of this fact.
Cordelia, who could project a sense of ennui that the finest actors on
Drury Lane would be proud of, nodded in agreement.
"How could anyone possibly be bored when Miss Hemsworth is telling
such entertaining stories! You should talk with my cousin and her husband,
Mr Drake, about writing some history books, my dear, for I would love to
learn more about such events! Oh, could you imagine if such duels were
still fought now?"
Miss Hemsworth went white at this suggestion, but was saved from
answering by Christopher.
"Duels are still fought all the time, Cordy, but we try to keep the gentler
sex unaware of them," he said with a condescending smile.
"I know that duels are still fought," said Cordelia, irritated by his tone. "I
meant that they rarely end with anyone dying, let alone both participants.
Why, Lord Colbourne and Lord Snowley fought one in the not so distant
past, and even we gentle females were aware of it."
"But you know everything," he said with a chuckle that she thought was
supposed to be complimentary, but definitely felt insulting. He turned his
attention to Miss Hemsworth, and his tone was noticeably more
paternalistic as he addressed her. "I am sure the stories of such exploits did
not reach a delicately bred lady such as yourself."
"Bella told me all about it," said Miss Hemsworth, in perhaps the longest
sentence she had ever addressed directly to a man of marriageable age,
although the effort drove her back into her habitual silence.
Christopher looked genuinely surprised, while Jacques had been amused.
"I think you forget, mon ami, that the women of London are as strong
and as capable as those in Montreal."
"I never doubted anything of the sort!" announced Christopher. "If
anything, I'm strongly of the opinion that the women of England are the
most refined in the world!"
If he had thought such a comment would draw approval, he seemed to
have mistaken his audience, thought Cordelia, for Jacques' mothers and
sisters were all born and raised in the North American colonies, Miss
Hemsworth was from Ireland, and she was immune to such bland
compliments.
He'd been much quieter for the rest of their excursion, but Jacques had
turned the conversation into safer waters by telling them the story of his
first fur trapping expedition with his stepfather, where instead of bravely
facing down a grizzly the size of a mountain, he'd found himself face to
face with an odd-sounding creature called a hoary marmot that had been
singularly unimpressed with his bravery.
Christopher had countered with a tale of his own addressed directly to
Cordelia, from which it could be inferred that he single-handedly saved a
small settlement from an ice storm armed only with his intellect and
determination.
Jacques had smiled, but had not said anything to confirm nor deny the
story. Cordelia, for the first time, found herself hoping that Christopher
would stop paying her any sort of attention, and let his Canadian companion
talk instead.
On Tuesday, Cordelia had visited the Cottinghams at home with only her
maid for company. The gentlemen were out upon her arrival, but as this
allowed her an hour to play with and fuss over Henrietta's delightful baby,
she did not consider it much of a loss. She was laid out on the floor,
demonstrating to little Hart how to crawl about in the correct manner, when
the parlour door opened to admit the Douglas brothers and Monsieur
Jacques.
"We were not expecting you back for an age," said Henrietta as she
approached her husband with her arms outstretched. "How wicked of you to
catch us at playing with the baby!"
"There is nothing more delightful, I promise," said Cottingham as he
unapologetically kissed his wife on the cheek, despite there being an
audience.
"Do you need help to stand, Cordy?" asked Christopher, rushing forwards
as though concerned she had hurt herself.
She couldn't help laughing at his demeanour. "No, for I am suffering
from nothing but a touch of mortification! I am perfectly able to get to my
feet, I promise."
"But your hair," said Christopher with a dismayed look at the top of her
head.
 Cordelia's hands went to her curls, where she could feel several pins that
had fallen loose. "I blame your nephew, Christopher! I shall count myself
lucky that he has only dribbled on me a little, but how else can we teach
him to be a gentleman?"
"Perhaps I should not play with him then," said Jacques as he picked up
the child in question. "I will teach him many bad habits, non?"
"I don't believe it for a second," declared Henrietta, content to let her
cousin rock her giggling child. "Besides, he has taken a shine to you like no
other, Jacques!"
"Indeed, I think he prefers you to his own father," laughed Cottingham
with no malice.
Cordelia made her way to the fireplace so she could use the oval mirror
to help fix her hair.
"I thought you did not like children, Monsieur Jacques?" she asked,
which provoked laughter from everyone else in the room.
"He might pretend he doesn’t but ask him who is most likely to be
bouncing my son upon his knee before nap time?" said Cottingham with a
shake of his head.
"Or who whittled him a teething toy as soon as he spied that Hart's gums
were so angry," added Henrietta, but this praise was too much for her
cousin.
"Oui, a teething toy that Nurse took away the moment she saw it," he said
with a shake of his head. "Only a foreigner such as I would have made such
a mistake of making it from wood and not coral."
"Nurse is a tyrant," said Henrietta with obvious affection for the old
woman, "but even I draw the line at some of her teething remedies. You do
not want to know her last suggestion, for it caused quite the argument with
my mother-in-law, and was only dropped when I threatened to turn her off
if she continued to be disrespectful!"
"I do not think Nurse would survive a battle of wills with maman," said
Jacques as he playfully tapped Hart on the nose, "but with eight of us
children in the family, few have the expertise to argue with her."
Cordelia, struggling to pin up the last few curls at the back of her scalp,
watched his reflection in the mirror. Hart cooed and gurgled happily as
Jacques teased him, and while Christopher watched with a smile, he made
no move to scoop up his nephew for himself.
 It was understandable, thought Cordelia. Jacques was from a large family
and was thus used to small children, while Christopher was not. She had
often been told that many gentlemen were not fond of babies unless they
were their own offspring.
Jacques looked up and caught her looking at him. She averted her eyes,
pretending to have been concentrating on her uncooperative ringlets the
entire time.
"Here," she heard Jacques say as he passed Hart over to Christopher.
"Entertain your nephew!"
Before she could understand what was happening, Jacques had come up
close behind Cordelia and taken the hairpins from her hand.
"Allow me, Mademoiselle Cordelia. I have many sisters, and was long
ago taught how to fix their hair in an emergency."
Even had she wished to stop him, Cordelia lost all ability to speak as his
fingers traced up the back of her neck as he gathered up the loose strands of
hair before twisting them up and pinning them back in place. His hands had
touched her for barely a moment, and yet it felt like her skin was both hot
and cold at once.
"Thank you," she stammered, looking anywhere but at the curious eyes
of Henrietta.
Cottingham, on the other hand, seemed deeply amused. "A maid as well
as a nurse, hey, Jacques? Be careful, for if word gets out among the ladies
of the Ton you'll have them fighting over you!"
Jacques scoffed at this assessment. "As though any man with an army of
sisters would be able to live without such knowledge."
"I am almost certain that Lord Snowley would not have the vaguest
notion of how to pin a curl," said Cottingham.
"I'll lay you a pony that he does," said Christopher. He was holding Hart
as far away as possible without incurring Henrietta's wrath.
"Done!" said his brother. "I'll set up a little card game for us all, and we
can ask."
"Gambling," sighed Henrietta with a shake of her head.
"Copper stakes for the sake of entertainment," Cottingham informed her.
"Snowley's given up his rackety ways, after all."
"I was referring to you and Christopher," replied his wife. She got to her
feet so that she could rescue Hart from her brother-in-law, who handed him
over with obvious relief. "Do you see what I must put with, Cordelia? There
are times when I envy you your freedom, my dear."
It was not appropriate to tell Henrietta that Cordy would trade everything
with her friend in a heartbeat if she could, so she was content to settle for a
lazy smile.
"Wait until you tell Thérèse that you helped a real Lady with her
coiffure," laughed Christopher as though he had told a great joke. "Your
sisters will all demand you style their hair, and then tell their friends that it
was fixed by the same hand that dressed Lady Cordelia Delby's curls!"
Jacques smiled, but it was not an amused expression aimed at his friend.
"They already demand it, mon ami, and are not likely to be impressed by
my chivalry. They are much more likely to be angry at me if I did not help
in such a situation."
"Your family sound very sweet," said Cordelia as she tried and failed to
picture her little brother helping to pin up her hair. "You must be close to
them."
"Oui," he replied with a hazy smile that suggested his thoughts were now
far away. "The youngest is seven now, and the eldest, Marie-Thérèse, was
almost as tall as I am when I left. They cried when it was time for me to go,
and will no doubt cry all over me upon my return! I miss them all, even
more than I did when mon pere took me to see the trading outposts. I look
forward to being back with them soon."
His words dampened the mood of the room, for Henrietta looked
heartbroken, and even Cordelia was aware of some disappointment in the
knowledge that Jacques was pining for Montreal. She was not easily
daunted, however, so she committed herself to her endeavor of convincing
Jacques that he would be much happier remaining in England.
"I am sure any dutiful son and brother would feel that way," she assured
him, "but that does not mean you cannot enjoy yourself in the meantime.
Wait until you see what I have planned over the coming weeks, and I
promise that by the end of it you will agree that London is the greatest city
on earth!"
He inclined his head, but did not comment. His eyes were still full of a
longing for home.
Wednesday evening would see them at different entertainments, but
Cordelia had successfully put together a small party to visit the British
Museum, which would allow Jacques the opportunity to view some of the
antiquities on display there. As anyone who dressed well could be admitted
between 10am and 2pm three days a week, it had taken all her power of
ingenuity to ensure that her friends would all arrive for the opening. Even
then she had been forced to include a drive to Gunters for ices to persuade
half of them to attend, for they had all visited the antiquities displays on
several occasions for the sake of fashion and in general has little interest in
the past. The exception to this was Miss Juneberry, whose simple
enthusiasm for the trip had quickly endeared her to Monsieur Gautereau,
and the two of them were soon strolling, arm in arm, through the Gallery as
they discussed the Roman and Greek sculptures on display.
Cordelia, pointedly ignoring her friends William and Herbert as they tried
to impress their wives with increasingly improbable histories of various
artifacts, was content to saunter about the rooms of Montagu House on the
arm of Christopher Douglas. She was very proud of her outfit that day,
having spent hours agonizing over the addition of ostrich plumes to the side
of her capote, and safe in the knowledge that her blue spencer with puffed
sleeves and white muslin walking dress was the height of fashionable attire.
She was a little put out that Christopher was wearing a coat of blue
superfine that did not complement her own outfit, although she was forced
to admit that it was well cut and very becoming on him. She even knew it
was unreasonable to feel that he should have naturally known to wear green
or black that day, or at least to have had his coat made in the shade of blue
she was known to favour, but the niggling disappointment was there.
Especially when she caught sight of Monsieur Jacques wearing a
splendid bottle green that would have complemented her spencer to
perfection.
"Do you have an interest in classical architecture, Cordy?" asked
Christopher as he frowned at a pair of damaged Doric columns. "I confess
that I don't see the appeal in coming to look at old bits of stone when we
have much better examples on our own buildings here in London."
"They were not graced by the ancients themselves," she said, glancing
over at Jacques as his laugh boomed through the corridor. "What do you
think could be so funny about ancient sculpture, do you think?"
"The fact that people pay so much for it," replied Christopher. "It would
be half as much to pay a local stonemason to make one instead."
"But that wouldn't be old."
 "I don't see how that matters," he replied. "We're always pulling down
old things to make way for new ones. Why not just keep some of our own
broken sculptures instead of paying a fortune to bring it here from other
places?"
She opened her mouth to argue with him, found that she couldn't think of
anything coherent to say in response, and so closed it again. She looked
over her shoulder to see Herbert pulling William back from his attempt to
clamber up a plinth and embrace a statue, while Lady Standish and Mrs
Filey looked as though they couldn't decide whether to laugh or die of
mortification.
"Would you prefer to visit one of the other exhibitions?" she asked
Christopher, making her smile radiant. "We could go and look at the
modern marvels if you prefer those to history."
He smiled and patted her on the hand. "Good old Cordy! Always looking
out for the comfort of others, aren't you?"
She acknowledged the compliment with an incline of her head. "It is the
role of a good society hostess to ensure that her guests are having an
enjoyable time."
"And it's something you excel at," he replied. "I was only telling Jack the
other day that you're the best of creatures."
She straightened her back a little, inordinately pleased at this disclosure.
"How kind of you, Christopher!"
He nodded enthusiastically. "My mother always says it's important to
acknowledge the accomplishments of ladies, especially when you have so
much competition to be noticed. It must have been hard for you when
Beatrix was getting so much attention for her writing. I wish I had been
here to support you, my dearest Cordelia, for I could have reassured you
that while you might lack the artistic talent of your cousin, you more than
make up for it with your ability to make others comfortable."
She blinked a few times. "Who told you it was hard for me when Trix
had her book published? It was nothing of the sort, I promise you, for I am
monstrously proud of my cousin."
His smile was almost pitying. "Which is even more to your credit, and
speaks volumes for your character that you will not say a word against her,
even to me."
"I won't say a word against her because there's nothing to say," she
replied, starting to feel exasperated.
 He patted her hand again, and it was a struggle not to wrench it away in
disgust.
"I understand, and I will not tease you about it further. Suffice to say that
while some may feel that a woman's desire to provide for herself is
laudable, I much prefer those who revere the more feminine arts of taking
care of the household, her husband, and her guests," he said.
Cordelia, promptly forgetting her own lack of desire to accomplish
anything but a successful family life, lost her temper.
Not that anyone but her closest relatives would have known, for Lady
Delby had long ago drilled into her daughters that one must never show
strong emotion in public, and that anger was better when channelled into
more constructive measures, such as engineering the social ruin of one's
enemies in such a way that it could never be traced back to the originator.
"I have always fancied setting myself up as a portraitist," she declared
without thinking things through. "I own that my landscapes are pretty
enough, but my true talent lies in capturing the likenesses of people I have
never met when I have only a description to work from."
Christopher raised a brow. "Is that so, my dear?"
She suddenly itched to slap him, but maintained control.
"Standish, I need you!" she called out to William.
"What is it, Cordy?" he asked as he languidly strolled towards her.
"Can I or can I not draw people from description alone?" she asked.
"Christopher does not think it possible."
"I'll say she can," said William with a wide grin. "Lord, it's been her top
parlour game for years! One of us will describe a person, Cordy draws them
from the description, and we all have to guess who the mystery person is.
She's devilish good at it as well!"
"It sounds like a lot of fun," said his wife, Lydia. "Do you only do people
you know?"
"Cordy can do famous people, notables from history, and even those she's
never met in person," said Herbert as he joined the group, his young wife on
his arm. "I say, you should do some of the old Roman emperors and the like
for the museum."
"I think they are happy with their statues and coins rather than modern
creations," said Christopher with a laugh that only he understood. "I confess
that I would like to see some of these little drawings of yours, Lady
Cordelia. Perhaps I can test you by describing some of Jack's family to
you."
"Oui, like my sister, Marie-Thérèse," replied Monsieur Jacques with
studied innocence.
Christopher looked embarrassed for a moment, but quickly hid his
discomfort.
"Indeed, or perhaps Le Grand Bruin," he continued as though the
awkward moment had not passed. Cordelia longed to question him about
his reaction, but had a sneaking suspicion that she would not like what she
heard.
"Could Lady Cordelia sketch an image of your father, Monsieur
Gautereau?" asked Miss Juneberry in her soft tones. "You said that the
likeness you have is a poor one, after all."
"Je regrette, my father died when I was an infant, so I have no description
to give," he replied, before turning to smile at Cordy. "I have no doubt,
however, that Mademoiselle Cordelia would be able to capture his likeness
to perfection if I were able to provide the details."
She flushed at his praise, but in the same moment felt terrible that she
could not use her skills to his advantage. It seemed so unfair to be
surrounded by statues and likenesses of people dead for almost two
thousand years, and yet there was no way for Jacques to know his father's
face.
"A pity that," said Christopher, patting his friend on the shoulder, "but we
could challenge Cordelia to sketch your mother."
"Bon," said Jacques with a small nod, but his attention had already
returned to Miss Juneberry. "Shall we proceed to the next room,
Mademoiselle? I wish to regard the bust of Napoleon, for he is at least a
name that I know!"
"Napoleon!" said Lady Standish enthusiastically. "Oh please do, if only
so I can tease Father about it!"
The whole party made their way quickly through the rest of the Gallery
without stopping to admire any more of the sculptures on display, for as
Christopher so succinctly put it, once they had paid their respects to one
Roman emperor, they had done so to them all.
It rained on Thursday, but even the unrelenting drizzle did not prevent the
Ton from attending the ball hosted by Lord and Lady Fitzburgh in honour
of their daughters, both of whom where out despite a four year age gap. It
was popularly supposed that Lady Fitzburgh had given up on her eldest girl,
Lucille, and was pinning her hopes on making a splendid match for Miss
Caroline instead, which would explain why poor Lucy was wearing a gown
from last Season while her little sister was festooned in more yards of lace
than advisable for one not yet sixteen.
There was no love lost between the Delbys and their hosts, but manners
dictated that both families at least pretend to be on good terms. At least it
did for the ladies, which was why Cordelia and her mother had arrived just
late enough to be fashionable without being rude. Lord Delby, who had
stated only that he would rather gouge out his own eyeballs with the sugar
tongs than be forced to share a roof with Lord Fitzburgh for a moment
longer than necessary, had chosen to retire to his club for the evening,
etiquette be damned. It was possible that it was due to a bitter argument that
had occurred in the House of Lords, but it was far more probable that the
lifelong animosity between the two men had boiled over again, as it was
wont to do.
Cordelia envied her father this freedom, even though she, personally, had
nothing against their hosts beyond a dislike of Lady Fitzburgh. She even
rather liked Lucy, although tonight in particular she could not even look at
the poor girl without seeing her own miserable future should she not find a
husband this Season. Lucy Fitzburgh looked miserable, while Miss Caroline
was behaving like a spoiled little pet determined to lord her status over her
unmarried sister.
It was not a fate that Cordelia could contemplate without shuddering.
The entire Cartwright dynasty, from Lord and Lady Shropshire to
Henrietta and Cottingham, had graced the ball with their presence, no doubt
causing Lady Fitzburgh to puff up with self-importance. Even Lady
Gloucester, who looked less green about the gills than usual, had attended,
despite her well-known dislike of her hostess.
"I'm only here to support Jacques," she'd informed Cordelia and Lady
Delby after they had exchanged greetings. "I could not let the poor boy face
this ordeal alone, not when Lady Harden is sniffing about in search of
gossip. Poor boy; he had no idea how many matchmaking mamas he would
encounter at these parties, and at least his association with me keeps some
of the highest sticklers away from him! Lady Cordelia, please be a darling
and help me protect him? I'm only half joking when I say that I'm worried
some enterprising female of questionable age might try to entrap him!"
 "Surely not," said Lady Delby, taking the seat beside her fellow
Countess. "He is a lovely young man, of that there is no question, but not
well known enough to be hunted."
Lady Gloucester grimaced. "Blame that ridiculous Douglas boy! Ah, my
apologies, Cordelia, for I know you and Christopher are friends, but why he
had to go and tell William Standish of all people that Jacques has
considerable personal wealth invested with the North West Company is
beyond me, for now half the Ton thinks he's the richest man in Montreal,
and the other half thinks he owns Hudson's Bay!"
"I'll go speak to William," sighed Cordelia. "He won't have meant any
harm by it."
"Anyone who knows Lord Standish knows he never means any harm by
anything, but that doesn't change the fact he's got more hair than wit," said
Lady Gloucester with brutal honesty rather than malice. "How that darling
wife of his manages him is anyone's guess, but one can't deny that he'll do
anything for her! Don't worry about William, my dear - just help protect
Jacques before he finds himself betrothed to some horse faced minion of
Lady Harden!"
She promised faithfully that she would do so, and quickly made her way
to the small group surrounding Lord Shropshire, where both Henrietta and
Jacques were conversing with the Marquis and Marchioness in a lively
manner. A dance was underway on the floor before them, and Cordelia
caught a glimpse of Christopher with Miss Juneberry. It took only a
moment for her to consider that he was not as fine a dancer as she
remembered, but she put the thought to the back of her mind as she made
her curtsey to Lord and Lady Shropshire.
"Lady Cordelia, how delightful to see you again," said the Marchioness
with a grandmotherly smile. "Please help us to convince these two children
here that the Marquis and I are not so old as to need them as our constant
companions!"
"They were supposed to dance together this set," said Lord Shropshire,
shaking his head in despair, "but they insist that it is too warm to do so, and
they would as lief sit and talk about the past with us ancients, as though
anyone cares to hear stories from fifty years ago about people one never
knew and will never meet!"
"It is far too hot, Grandpapa," said Henrietta as she fluttered an ivory and
paper fan that Cordelia herself had painted as a gift in front of her flushed
cheeks. "I understand that the rain makes opening the windows a
disagreeable option, but then so is baking in this warmth!"
"Dancing is always agreeable, my dear," replied her grandfather.
"I regret that I must disagree, Monsieur Shropshire," said Jacques with
considerable good humour. "While dancing with a young lady may well be
agreeable, it is not when Loughcroft is partnered beside you, and making all
other gentlemen look like they have hooves for feet."
The Marchioness chuckled at this. "Loughcroft is an excellent dancer,
and I have always believed it was his ability to execute complex steps with
grace that attracted dear Emma to him. But you must not do youself a
disservice, my boy, for we have seen you caper about the drawing room
with Henrietta after dinner, and know you will not put any of us to shame -
not even Loughcroft!"
"I hope you mean to keep your engagement to dance with me," said
Cordelia. "I had to turn down Mr Percival for the waltz as you had already
asked."
"Oh, how awful for you!" said Henrietta with genuine dismay. "Even
Loughcroft cannot waltz as well as his brother, for he gets ever so flustered
about having to hold hands with someone other than Emma."
Jacques assumed an expression of haughty innocence. "Do you mean to
tell me, Mademoiselle Cordelia, that you would prefer to waltz with another
gentleman?"
"Well yes, but only because it's Perry," replied Cordelia.
Jacques started for a moment, and then let out that roar of laughter that
invariably drew eyes towards him.
"Touché, ma petite! I see I have much to learn about manners and
humour in the Ton."
Henrietta patted her cousin on the knee. "Don't be offended, Jacques!
There's not a woman in London who would willingly turn down the chance
to waltz with Mr Percival, even those who oppose the dance, or who are
monstrously in love with another! He makes even the most wooden or cow-
footed girl look like a graceful fairy when he twirls her about, so it is very
good for our consequence."
"While I am but a foreign nobody," sighed Jacques, making Cordelia
startle and worry that she had described him as such out loud.
The Marquis, however, misunderstood her reaction. "You've heard the
rumours going about as well, then, my dear girl? The last version we heard,
Jacques is the Governor General of Rupert's Land, and possibly the Chief of
all Indians."
"Of which neither position exists, unless you count Monsieur Williams of
the Hudson's Bay Company which naturally I do not, but the latter seems to
be a misunderstanding about mon pere," explained Jacques, his mouth
twisting into something between a smile and a sneer. "Le Grand Bruin is
thought to be the title given to the Chief of Chiefs, but why they think the
Iroquis, Cree, or Blackfoot would use French is not something I
comprehend."
"But it makes you mysterious," said Henrietta, her eyes dancing with
merriment, "not to mention rich. No wonder all the matchmaking mamas
are asking you to dance with their daughters!"
Her friend was obviously pleased with this outcome, Cordelia noted, but
for unknown reasons, her own heart was less than amused.
"If it were just to dance I would not be so confused, ma cousine, but then
there are the questions, and the arched eyebrows," said Jacques, feigning a
shudder. "The eyebrows are things of horror, non? It is though they have a
language of their own, and I am afraid to twitch in case I convey the wrong
meaning."
The dance ended, and conversation paused while they politely clapped.
Lord and Lady Loughcroft, both red-cheeked and smiling, left their place in
the set to come and join the group.
"Lady Cordelia, how lovely to see you! Has Henrietta asked you to help
protect our cousin? Poor thing was almost cornered by Lady Pulford earlier,
and I don't know who was made the most uncomfortable, Jacques or poor
Eugenia."
"Eugenia knows how to take care of herself, Lady Loughcroft," replied
Cordelia with a careless wave of her hand. "I have just been informed,
however, that Monsieur Jacques is now the heir to some ancient title or
other, so no doubt the Mamas will be redoubling their efforts to court him -
and no doubt mine will be in that number!"
Her jest did not provoke the expected laughter, but rather some
meaningful looks between the various people present. The knowledge that
she had committed some sort of social error was horrifying, but without
knowing what, precisely, she had done wrong made it impossible to find a
way to apologise.
 "It seems the next set is already forming," said Jacques as he got to his
feet. "You English do not rest long between your dances."
"That's Lady Fitzburgh's doing," said Lady Loughcroft, as though the
awkward silence had not just occurred. "She is so determined to be a
leading light of society that rather than risk leaving something out, she
makes sure to cram everything and everyone in. No wonder it is so
abominably hot!"
Jacques held out his hand towards Cordelia with a smile. "I am no
Monsieur Percival, but I promise I will not put you to shame."
She smiled back, suddenly feeling rather shy. "I know you will not."
She took his hand, and together they walked over to the dance floor.
Cordelia glanced around and then frowned as she counted the number of
couples joining them. Lady Fitzburgh's home was not made to house so
many guests without being an intolerable squeeze, and as a result there was
not enough space for so many dancers.
"There is something I must know, Lady Cordelia, and feel I have only
you to ask," said Jacques, shifting her attention back to him. "Why does
Madam Fitzburgh insist on hitting my knuckles with her fan when I say I
am engaged for every dance, and especially this one? Does she think I do
not know it would be rude of me to break off my existing commitments to
dance with her daughter?"
"She was banking on the fact that you did not," she replied, grinning at
his expense. "She's been trying to marry off poor Lucy for years, and every
Season her standards for a potential son-in-law are lowered."
He raised a brow at her comment. "I have been slighted! Do you mean to
say that a year ago she would not have considered me suitable?"
"You're not a Lord, or in line to become one," she said frankly. "Lady
Fitzburgh once bragged that her daughters would never marry below the
rank of a Marquis. The following year it was a Viscount, then a Baronet,
and now she's promoting you who, forgive me if I am being rude, are a
foreign nobody who has no intention of remaining in England anyway."
The words tasted oddly bitter, and she was surprised to discover she was
irritated at Jacques for not wishing to remain in the country once the Season
was out. She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but her companion
did not seem to notice, for his eyes were now on their watchful
hostess. Lady Fitzburgh, Cordelia noticed, was not even attempting to
disguise the fact she'd marked out Jacques as a future son in law, for she
inclined her head towards him with a condescension she rarely showed to
anyone she lacked a use for.
"Don't be afraid," she whispered just as the musicians struck up. "I won't
let you fall into her clutches."
Based on the quizzical look on his face, he didn't understand her
meaning. Cordelia tucked her hands into his, her back to the centre of the
dance floor. Miss Clyde and Mr Percival were to her right, and on her left,
Christopher was beaming at Miss Caroline Fitzburgh as he took her hands
into his with exaggerated reverence. Poor Lucy was not partnered for the
dance at all, and was instead hovering to the side of some fish-faced
spinsters as though resigned to her fate.
Cordy was far too well mannered to scowl in public, and besides, her
mother had long ago warned her that pulling sour faces would lead to
excessive wrinkles. So instead she'd locked eyes with Jacques, graced him
with her most radiant smile, and concentrated with all that she had in
making her movements look effortless. Besides, she was not sure who she
was most angry at; Christopher, for staring at the pretty-but-waspish
Caroline, or at Lucy for not making more of an effort.
The music began slowly, and Cordelia pushed all thoughts away so that
she could focus on her movements. The circle of dancers began to make
their way around the ballroom in a slow spiral, the nature of the steps
meaning that they did not need to move apart, or even look at anything but
the face of their partner. It was not an easy way to look graceful, for it was
not considered proper in Society ballrooms to have anything but the lightest
touch of the hands during the waltz, even as the beat began to quicken and
forced the dancers to spin faster, both with their partner and within the
group as a whole.
Lady Fitzburgh, it seemed, was intent on making her ball the talk of the
town, and had chosen a waltz that was both longer and faster than those
considered de rigeur by even the most dashing of hostesses. Cordelia, even
as she was certain that her mother would be watching in horror at the
spinning couples threatening to lose balance and crash into each other,
found herself beginning to laugh as the tempo increased and the room spun
all about them in a whirl of colour and heat. Only the handsome, grinning
face of Jacques Gautereau remained in focus, his too-long locks of rich
brown hair catching across his eyes. She found herself leaning backwards in
an attempt to maintain balance, but even though they still clasped only their
hands they had somehow moved closer to each other as they bent their arms
to help brace for balance. She could feel the heat of his breaths, and for one
dizzy, insane moment she wanted to throw herself forwards and kiss that
laughing face.
There was a commotion from somewhere outside their whirling embrace,
followed by a sharp shout and an abrupt end to the music. She saw Jacques
glance to the side, and then suddenly he tugged her towards him, causing
her to loosen her grip on his hands as she went to stumble forwards. Her
foot, however, never made contact with the ground, for his hands were on
her waist as he lifted her clear from the floor as he completed his spin
before setting her down, firmly and safely, a few paces away from where
she had been a heartbeat earlier. His hands remained there a moment longer
than they needed to before he moved them to gently grip her forearms. The
room continued to spin for a few moments longer, and she was grateful for
his gentle strength as she waited to regain her balance.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, her pulse pounding like a military
tattoo and her breath coming in short, shallow breaths.
"I did not want you to fall," he replied, and motioned toward the
commotion taking place just in front of the musicians.
Miss Caroline was being helped up off the floor by her angry-looking
mother, while Christopher was hovering nearby like a mayfly lost on the
breeze. Another four dancers were also being helped to their feet, all of
them looking disheveled and annoyed beyond measure - annoyance that
was very clearly aimed at Mr Douglas.
"Dash it, man, why did you get up to dance if you can't maintain your
footwork?" snapped one young gentleman as his tearful partner was helped
to a chair by her clucking relatives.
"You made me tear my dress!" wailed Miss Caroline, pointing to a jagged
patch of lace that was barely attached to the hem of her skirts. "It was my
favourite thing in the world, and impossible to fix!"
Cordelia noted that Lucy Fitzburgh had not come to her sister's aid, but
was watching everything with an understandably smug satisfaction.
"Oh dear, should we help?" said Lily Clyde from behind her. Cordelia
jumped, and reflexively stepped away from Jacques as she realised his
hands were still wrapped about her forearms. He released her, and she could
have sworn that his tanned cheeks turned pink.
 "There is nothing you can do other than make them feel more
embarrassed," replied her partner, Mr Percival. "Come, let me take you
back to Lady Arthur before the gossips catch sight of you. I advise you to
do the same, Lady Cordelia. I do not think you would wish to be part of
this."
She winced as she caught his meaning. "An excellent point, Mr Percival.
Do you think...?"
"That a gauche illustration will be plastered all over the windows of each
and every print shop in London?" he finished for her with a grim
expression. "Undoubtedly."
"How awful," said Miss Clyde, but to her credit, she did cast another
pitying gaze at Miss Caroline before allowing herself to be led away.
"What terrible fate is to befall, Mademoiselle?" murmured Jacques as he
escorted her to the far side of the ballroom and towards her mother. "Why
did Monsieur Percival advise you to move away?"
"The press," she said glumly. "There are plenty of people in this room
who would happily see some young members of the Ton satirised if it puts a
few shillings in their pockets, and the waltz still inspires horror in the hearts
of the prudish. It is wrong that a woman's chances can be ruined with the
cruelty of a pen, especially when she is guilty of nothing more than having
a foolish parent and an inadequate dance partner."
She did not miss the way a smile kicked up the corner of his mouth for
just a moment, but was too angry and ashamed to question it.
"Christopher is normally a dancer par excellence."
"Apparently not with a lively waltz," she shot back. "At least you had the
foresight to lift me away from that tangle."
"I learned it by necessity, ma cherie," he said with such casualness she
was sure that she had imagined the term of endearment. "There is an animal
in the Canadas called le petit moufette, whose smell is so terrible that it is
preferable to be mauled by a bear than be sprayed by the creature. You learn
tres rapide how to spot and avoid such dangers if you wish to be allowed in
the company of friends."
By the time they reached Lady Delby the orchestra had struck up a
languid minuet, which Lady Eugenia Pulford, wearing an utterly bland
dress of soft cream silk devoid of any detail or embroidery, was performing
with technical perfection with Mr Byng, even if neither was putting an
ounce of enjoyment into the steps. It was a recital rather than a dance, but as
Cordelia had been promised to Christopher for the cotillion that should have
begun right after the waltz, for once she was actually appreciative of her
rival for taking centre stage.
"Who would have thought Eugenia would be so willing to distract from
the misery of another," said Lady Delby as Jacques handed Cordelia into
the chair beside her mother. "I own that she has undergone some powerful
changes since The London House business."
"I still wish she would go back to wearing puce, and her fountains of
ribbons," sighed Cordelia, but then paused as she thought back on some of
Lady Eugenia's more spectacular outfits. "Perhaps not a fountain, when I
think on it, but some decoration at least."
Her mother leaned over and patted her on the knee. "Eugenia can chart
her own course, my dear. Monsieur Gautereau, I owe you thanks for your
quick thinking in preventing my daughter from that tangle, but I think it
best that you do not linger beside her now, else the gossips might pay too
much attention to the way you lifted her high off the ground."
"Of course, Madam Delby," he replied with an elegant bow, as though
her mother’s sharp tone did not offend him in the least.
Cordelia watched as he moved over to sit beside Lady Shropshire, who
immediately drew him into conversation. She was aware of a sense of loss,
and hated herself for it.
"I don't know if Caroline will recover from this easily," commented Lady
Delby, whose eyes were still on the girl in question. "Perhaps if she were
less of a termagant it would have passed by without much comment, but she
has upset too many people with her behaviour, as has her mother. I only
hope that Lucille does not suffer, for that girl is by far the best of her
family."
"Should we visit the Fitzburghs tomorrow as a show of support?"
Cordelia asked, attempting to appear interested.
Lady Delby wrinkled up her nose for a moment. "No dearest, there is no
need to overdo these things."
"Yes, Mama," said Cordelia, but her eyes were on Jacques as he gaily
conversed with the Marchioness, looking for all the world as though he
were oblivious of the sparks they'd shared when he'd spun her around in his
arms.
If Lady Delby noticed anything strange in her behaviour, she was content
to keep it to herself.
 Chapter Seven

It was an established fact amongst the Ton that anyone who considered
themselves to be of consequence would be present at the annual drive and
picnic hosted by the Marquis and Marchioness of Shropshire if they were
lucky enough to be invited. Those who were unfortunate enough not to
receive one of the gilt edged cards from Lady Shropshire, such as Lady
Harden, were often heard at balls and parties loudly complaining of trifling
ailments or urgent meetings on the fateful day, but fooled no one with their
attempts to deceive. The Shropshires, might not have the panache or fashion
of some of the younger peers in London, but their status as leaders of Polite
Society had not dulled with age.
When Lord Shropshire called, the Ton answered.
Jacques surveyed the mild chaos with an interested eye. He'd participated
in enough picnics and sleigh rides in his time to know how difficult it was
to get large numbers of well-bred people mounted or into their vehicles in a
timely manner, but this was ridiculous. There were at least nine carriages
crowding around Hanover Square, some drawn by as many as six horses.
People arrived in one barouche only to be helped out so they could climb
into another, while riders with horses of every shade and quality pranced
about as their mounts tried to find a quieter spot to stand. Footmen tricked
out in the Shropshire colours wove in and out of the chaos to hand glasses
of wine and punch to the noble guests, while every third person seemed to
be shouting at the poor servants for help with some trivial matter or another.
His own horse, a truly beautiful grey with just enough spirit to be
pleasing, was unimpressed with the scene unfolding before them. Trajan,
who stood at least two hands higher than most of the other mounts, snorted
his boredom repeatedly, and jerked his head more than once to let Jacques
know he was ready to set off, even if the fools before them were not.
"I feel the same as you, mon ami," Jacques told the animal as he leaned
forward to scratch Trajan's neck. "I do not know the man with three horses
reined in tandem, but I do not have confidence that he can control them, if
his current attitude is anything to go by."
He heard someone hail him, and turned to see Lord Shropshire
beckoning. He clicked his tongue and guided Trajan over to the Shropshire's
barouche, where the Marquis was patiently waiting for the Marchioness to
come and join him.
"She still likes to make an entrance," said the Marquis in answer to his
unspoken question. "Reminds the younger upstarts that she is still in
charge."
"My grandmother is much the same," admitted Jacques. "My mother says
that when she was a girl she was never allowed to make the unforgivable
mistake of being early for anything, including her own wedding."
Lord Shropshire let out a crack of laughter. "I look forward to meeting
her one day."
He smiled, not really sure how to reply. He looked back over to the
chaotic tangle of carriages and riders in front of the Shropshire's home.
While most he knew by name alone, there were several who he felt could
become friends. His thoughts strayed to his friends and family back in
Montreal, and the familiar wave of homesickness swept over him, albeit not
as strongly as it had before.
"Surprised that so many turned out, are you?" said the Marquis,
following Jacques' line of sight to the waiting carriages and assuming the
direction of his thoughts. "It is a sad crush right now, but the ride to Merton
is a delightful one, especially on Trajan."
Jacques patted the nect of his impressive mount. "He is a magnificent
beast, and Henrietta has told me pointedly at least five times that I am lucky
you have allowed me to ride him."
"Henrietta is jealous whenever anyone else gets to ride something from
my stable," laughed Lord Shropshire. "She just about accepted that
Devenish was the only man strong enough to take charge of Cassidus, but it
did not stop her moping over his loss! You will have to watch her, my boy,
if you intend to continue my stables after I'm gone, or she'll never let you
make a decision without her approval."
Jacques winced. "We have not agreed-" he began, but the Marquis held
up a hand to silence him.
"If you decide to sell everything but the entailed lands upon your
succession then you can do so with my blessing, my boy. I only meant to
tease."
Jacques rubbed at his eyes. "I know, and I meant no offence, truly. It is
still something of a shock to me, that is all."
The old man smiled. "I know, Jacques. I know. But my lawyer seems
confident that we have the paperwork to support your claim as my heir, and
I wait only on a letter from General Sir John Coape Sherbrooke to confirm
that he knew your parents before and after your birth. Once we have that,
we will announce your position to all. See this trip as an opportunity to
mingle with those whose support will matter to you. The Jerseys, the
Seftons, the Cavendishes and the Delbys are all important when it comes to
being accepted, but despite the fact he looks like a coachman, it's Sir John
Lade who will help make the Regent your friend."
"He is the one with the wife who curses, no?"
Lord Shropshire grinned, and looked decades younger as a result. "Letty!
Her language leaves much to be desired, but she is the most talented female
rider I have ever had the privilege to see in a saddle - but don't tell my wife
that, I beg you. Sir John is much attached to his wife, and Prinny to them
both. Thankfully your time in a saddle with your stepfather means you will
not put me to shame."
"Would you have forced me to ride in the barouche if I did?"
"Naturally," replied Lord Shropshire, as though this were the most
obvious thing in the world. "I'd not trust you near my prime cattle, either."
Lady Shropshire chose that moment to make her entrance, looking
resplendent in a carriage dress that consisted of a dove grey spencer
overlaid with a matching mantle decorated with silver trim, and a lace
trimmed turban of grey silk. Jacques was not expert enough to know the
precise names of each piece of clothing, but he knew that both of his
grandmothers would covet it with all their being. A footman handed her up
into the curricle beside the Marquis, where she presented her hand for her
husband to kiss. This seemed to be the signal for everyone to depart, for
there was a sudden shift in the nature of the chaos as people began to settle
into their seats, or move their mounts clear of the carriages.
The Marquis led the procession, with Jacques riding alongside on Trajan.
The Gloucesters, Loughcrofts and Cottinghams came next in their stylish
set ups, and then everyone else began to fall into line behind them.
Carriages took up the central pillar of the calvacade, while those on
horseback moved around them like bees around a hive. As they turned a
corner Jacques glanced over his shoulder in time to see Cordelia and her
parents in their stylish barouche. Lord Delby looked over at him and
startled as though he'd seen a ghost. He touched his daughter on her arm
and nodded towards Jacques, while Cordelia answered whatever question
was posed to her with apparent surprise.
His attention was reclaimed by Trajan, who did not appreciate his lack of
focus, and so there was no time for him to contemplate the meaning of Lord
Delby's reaction.
Lord Shropshire had not exaggerated about the path they took. It seemed
that they left the city behind them within minutes, and the green rural
splendor of the English countryside soon surrounded them. It was at once
familiar and very different to his home, for while many of the trees and
plants had been taken to Montreal and successfully grown there, the shades
of colour, the smells, and the wildlife were all very different. The
temperature was not as hot as he was used to for the summer, and he found
it pleasing. When he considered than there was also no risk of the local
wildlife either attempting to eat him or spray him with their foul smelling
liquids, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that there was much to be
said for the countryside of his father's homeland.
The Marquis and his team of four high steppers set a quick pace down
the narrow country roads, and before long the cavalcade as so spread out
that Jacques rather fancied that the rearguard must still be in London. He
was soon putting Trajan through his paces as well, for Lord Standish
demanded that he and all the other gentlemen on horseback pick up their
pace immediately.
"Shropshire's a great man, but I'll be dashed if we let an Octogenarian
leave us all for dust!" he stated, and with a shout set his own mount to
racing.
Thankfully there were no accidents, but the result of having so many
drivers and riders of differing ability was that their arrival at Kelwick
Manor was drawn out over a solid half hour. Jacques insisted on taking care
of Trajan despite the army of groomsmen available to do the work for him,
which earned him considerable praise from Sir John Lade and his vivacious
wife.
"You've got a better seat than half the toffs who pretend to know what
they're doing,"" said Sir John by way of introduction. "Mind you, if
Shropshire was letting you ride Trajan then I should have known you'd
know your way around horseflesh. Nice to see you taking care of the animal
yourself as well. Too many of these young'uns think it's enough to hire a
groom and be done with it. Ha! As far as I'm concerned, any man who
wishes to be considered a nonpareil must take care of his horse before his
own needs!"
"Indeed, Monsieur," replied Jacques with an incline of his head. "When
mon pere took me to tour some of the trading outposts, he and the other
trappers made sure to remind me that my horse was to be my salvation or
my death, so I should do everything I could to ensure it was the former."
Lady Lade gave a raucous laugh at this pronouncement. "What a
delightful accent! I swear, if I were ten years younger and not married to my
John I'd be setting my cap at you!"
Considering that Jacques conservatively estimated Letitia Lade to be a
decade older than his own mother, he could think of no response other than
a polite incline of his head.
This set Sir John and Letitia to another bout of raucous laughter.
"You've embarrassed the boy, Letty!" grinned the baronet. "By God, if he
doesn't look just like his father when he does that!"
"I’ll be damned, you're right on the money," she exclaimed, and then
began to laugh a second time. "Oh, the terrible stories I could tell about
John Cartwright! Not that I will, of course, for the tabbies of the Ton have
enough gossip about me to last ten lifetimes already. We shall stroll together
later, young Jacques, and perhaps I will let you tool about in my phaeton
and four. If you handle the ribbons as well as you ride, then there is no
doubt in my mind that you're a Cartwright by blood if not birth!"
Jacques, whose mouth had fallen open at the casual admission that this
eccentric couple had known his father and assumed he had been born on the
wrong side of the blankets, could not find the words in any language to
prevent them from walking away from him, arm in arm.
"The Lades have that effect on people, but you get used to them quickly,"
came a masculine voice from behind him. "Despite their casual ways you
cannot find anyone with better knowledge of everything horse related than
those two - with the possible exception of Lord Shropshire, of course."
Jacques turned to meet the grey-eyed gaze of Cordelia's father. He did not
let go of Trajan's reins as he executed a perfect bow.
"Monsieur le Earl, it is an honour to meet you."
 Lord Delby looked amused. "Is it really? Most people find me an
insufferable snob, although they do not say it to my face. We have not had
the opportunity to meet prior to this, however, so it is possible that you have
heard favourable accounts from a biased audience.”
"Mademoiselle Cordelia is tres proud of both her parents," admitted
Jacques, "but Monsieur Shropshire speaks highly of you as well.”
"A compliment indeed, one that I will remind him of next time we cross
swords in Parliament," said Lord Delby. His mouth kicking up at the
thought. He turned his attention to Jacques' horse, and reached up to scratch
the animal just below the ear. Trajan snorted and nuzzled into the Earl. "My
apologies, your Imperial Highness, but I have no sugar lumps for you
today."
Jacques smiled. "You have a fondness for Trajan, Monsieur?"
"I've tried to buy him twice already, but for all Shropshire likes to pretend
that he's an excellent businessman, he's dashed reluctant to part with any of
his animals."
"Even if he were happy to, ma cousine objects to selling anything from
the stables, or at least that's how I understand it."
"Henrietta!" scoffed Lord Delby, and it was difficult to tell if it was
meant as a compliment or a cut. "What about you, Monsieur Gautereau?
What are your thoughts?"
"I do not think it is any business of mine," he replied with a casual shrug.
Lord Delby turned those hard eyes back on him, and Jacques had to fight
the impulse to stand with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him
like an errant schoolboy.
"We both know it will be your business eventually," said the Earl softly.
"You look just like John Cartwright, you know. I'm hardly the first one to
notice it, although few seem to have put two and two together the way I
have, but then I have an advantage over them."
Jacques forced himself to hold Lord Delby's gaze. "And what would that
be?"
The Earl merely smiled. "I knew John better than anyone, and we kept up
our correspondence even after he left the country."
"Father, please don't pester Monsieur Jacques about Trajan," said
Cordelia as she came bouncing over to them, effectively ending their
conversation. "I've already asked Henrietta about it, and she has much more
sway with the Marquis than anyone when it comes to horses."
 Lord Delby tore his eyes away from Jacques, and visibly softened when
his gaze came to rest upon his daughter.
"You catch me out, child, but one cannot blame me for trying. However, I
believe Sir John may have influence, so perhaps I will try him."
"Henrietta says that her grandfather never forgave Sir John over some
racing horse or another, so I wouldn't think so, even if they are still friends,"
said Cordelia, looking thoughtful. "If I were you, I'd try to get the
Marchioness to champion your cause, for if there is anyone who can make
Lord Shropshire do something he doesn't like, it's her."
"Then I shall enlist your mother to help sway Lady Shropshire," replied
Lord Delby, nodding at his wife as she made her way towards them.
"Cordelia, perhaps you should show Monsieur Jacques here the way to the
back lawn, for it seems his own family have abandoned him."
Jacques did not miss the way Lord Delby mimicked the familiar term of
address his daughter used.
"They're just squabbling like usual," said Cordelia cheerfully," but I will
take him to Lady Gloucester in a moment, since she instructed me to do so
on pain of being refused the salmon at lunch. She's awfully fond of him,
you know."
"Ginger ice with lemon and mint," said Jacques, and secretly enjoyed the
look of confusion on the Earl's face.
"Come along, darling," said Lady Delby, tucking her arm through that of
her husband. "There seems to be twice as many people as last year, and I
am determined to find the perfect spot for lunch. Monsieur Gautereau, you
are welcome to join us once your duties to your family are discharged. I
would very much like you to tell Delby the story about the grizzly bear and
her cubs, for you had me laughing so hard tears fell down my cheeks last
time!"
Jacques who was fairly certain that he had inspired nothing more than a
faint smile on the face of Cordelia's mother, nonetheless bowed deeply.
"It would be my pleasure, Madam Delby."
"So charming," she said with a smile, and then both she and her husband
took their leave.
Jacques begged a moment from Cordelia to finish brushing down Trajan
before he handed the magnificent animal off to one of the grooms. It felt as
though there was an army of servants milling about outside of Kelwick
Manor, and he could only suppose that the Marquis and Marchioness had
hired extra staff for the picnic. Footmen were handing out glasses of chilled
champagne to each guest as they reached the lawn, where a series of
elaborate bowers covered picnic blankets and cushions. A small band had
set up beneath a clump of oak trees, their music floating out across the
grounds.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Cordelia. "I have joked that I would like the
Shropshires to adopt me if this is their idea of a small entertainment, but
every year they outdo themselves. Would you like me to show you around
before I deliver you to Lady Gloucester?"
"Oui, Cordelia, I would like that very much," he said, and offered her his
arm.
She was as lively and engaging as ever, pointing out the area set aside for
a shooting competition, another for a game of cricket, and the rowing boats
moored at the edge of the nearby river. There were plans for gig racing -
even one for the ladies, despite how dashing that was considered - or spots
for people to just sit, relax, and enjoy the entertainment provided by their
peers. It was evident that the Marquis and Marchioness took their hosting
duties seriously, and Jacques felt a knot of panic start to grow at the pit of
his stomach.
"The Kelwick Manor picnic is perhaps my favourite thing on the social
calendar," she finished with a happy sigh. "When you consider how many
entertainments are available to us, then you know how high a compliment
that is!"
Jacques, surveying the immaculately set up lawn, swallowed hard.
"Is this an expectation for a Marquis?"
She considered for a moment before answering.
"Perhaps not on so lavish a scale, and not necessarily a picnic, but
entertainments and parties? Yes, they are very much expected of all peers,
and especially those with any hope of political influence. I know we might
just look like gadabout mayflies, but there is a lot of work involved in being
a member of the Ton." She paused, and cocked her head to one side. "At
least there is if you do it properly. There are a great many peers who do
nothing but squander their fortunes and neglect their duties. Father despises
them, for he says that the mark of a truly great peer is not how fashionable
he is, but how well he takes care of his people."
"His staff and friends?"
 "Yes, but also his tenants, his tradespeople, his King, his business
partners, and anyone who looks to him for leadership. If you include the
towns and villages around our estates as well as the people living and
working on them, then Father is easily responsible for the wellbeing of ten
thousand souls at least. Jacques, are you feeling well? You look queasy all
of a sudden."
"So many people," he said.
Cordelia frowned. "I suppose, but if you consider his seat in the Lords
then he has a duty to the entire country, which is at least... Jacques, let us go
sit down. Should I fetch someone for you?"
"Non, I am just... I need some shade, I think. Away from that band! Mon
dieu, who would consider that racket music?"
She smiled, but there was still concern in her eyes. "There is a lovely
little wilderness at the river edge, just past the boat house, that Henrietta
showed me last year. You can sit down and catch your breath back there
before I take you to Lady Gloucester."
He nodded agreement, but his mind remained on the information she had
shared with him about the life of a peer. It was not that he was afraid of
responsibility, for he'd been working towards a career in the North West
Company, and Pere had always emphasized his duty towards the trappers
and voyageurs, and the importance of taking care of the men in his employ.
Still, he had always assumed that a few dozen at most would be dependent
on him, and even if he included every friend and family member it would
not rise much over a hundred.
How could he possibly take this on? He knew nothing of estate
management, or of managing any business interests beyond the fur trade.
Heirs usually spent their whole lives learning how to take over from their
fathers or grandfathers, and at the very least were familiar with the ways of
the English aristocracy. What hope did he have as a foreign-born son who
had eschewed anything to do with his father's family since he was old
enough to gnaw on the bone handle of Pere's hunting knife?
"Here," said Cordelia. "There is a bench we can use, and you can still see
everything without having to be a part of it."
He gave her a grateful smile as he took a seat on the stone bench. It was
cold considering the warmth of that day, but he welcomed the bite. They
were in the shade of another oak that looked fat enough to be older than
Kelwick Manor itself, and a slight breeze from the river made the green
leaves rustle and dance. Cordelia had been correct in that it was both a cool
and quiet location, but it was far from private. They had a view across the
lawn all the way to the house and drive in the distance, and so the mass of
people laughing, eating, or partaking in the various activities were all
visible. Jacques could make out Lord and Lady Shropshire strolling about
together, stopping at every group of guests to share a few words before
moving on. From this distance they looked many years younger, for the
Marquis walked with a straight and tall back, and the Marchioness, in her
beautiful, stylish dress, twirled a dainty parasol on her shoulder as they
sauntered about arm in arm. They never moved apart, and when they bent
their heads together it was easy to imagine them as a young couple in the
first throws of love.
Before all the expectations and responsibilities of their role were heaped
upon their shoulders.
He started to feel sick again.
"Lovely, isn't it?" said Cordelia, following his gaze. "So many years
together, and yet they are the closest of friends and the sweetest of couples."
"They have both been very welcoming to me," he said, marveling that her
thoughts had gone in such a different direction to his own. "I confess that I
like them very much."
Cordelia nodded, and then pointed to Sir John and Lady Lade, who had
joined the Marquis and Marchioness.
"It's a terribly unpopular thing to say, but I think the same about the
Lades. Mother says that Letitia is of a disreputable background, which I
think means she was a courtesan before she married Sir John, but no one
will tell me for certain. She is not universally liked because of her manners
or the casual way she uses profanity, and I know my parents tolerate rather
than accept her, but you cannot deny how well matched she is with Sir John
or that they are happy together. They are not in the least bit responsible nor
even that influential now that Prince George is the Regent, but they are
happy, and I think that is laudable."
“More so than being a truly great peer?”
“Baronets are not peers, though, so I don’t think it counts for them,” she
replied, and he could not tell whether she was being serious or not.
He looked up at her and knew at once she was no longer thinking about
the Lades. Jacques studied the thoughtful, almost melancholic expression
on Cordelia’s face as she surveyed all the couples and families before them.
He didn't miss the way her eyes rested on Lord Loughcroft as he carried his
child about on his hip while Lord Cottingham did similar with Hart.
"You are not in love, Cordelia?" he asked, his voice barely over a
murmur.
They both knew what he meant.
"I've never met someone that I considered a good match for me," she
sighed. "I've fancied myself in love half a dozen times, but it always died
within a fortnight. Now I am simply looking for someone who I can be
comfortable with."
"You deserve more than comfort," he said, unable to take his eyes away
from her. "It occurs to me that you have been nothing but a friend and
supporter as I learn the Ton, and yet I have done little for you in return."
She glanced at him and smiled. "I'm afraid that I did have selfish motives
for helping you, for it allowed me to spend more time with Christopher.
Wait - you are not surprised?"
He chuckled. "I have many sisters, Cordy. I know when a girl is
determined."
"How mortifying," she said, looking a touch queasy herself.
Jacques rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the words he needed.
It was odd to discover that while he had never had any trouble putting a
word into the ears of his sisters, with Cordelia he hardly knew where to
start.
"Christopher is very personable to ladies, I think. And he finds them very
personable, too."
Her expression hardened, but remained on the crowds rather than on
Jacques.
"Yes, he is very considerate of all women, which is to his credit."
“Oui. He does not single out even one young lady for attention.”
“Because he understands that to do so could call her reputation into
question,” she replied, the ice in her tone enough to drop the temperature
between them. “I know you are still learning the ways of London Society
but you can be sure that Christopher Douglas knows them implicitly.”
Jacques ran a hand through his hair. This was not going well, but he
could not keep silent. He told himself it was for his sister and her happiness,
and so he had no choice but to continue.
"I have known him to have many favourites during our friendship. I do
not think he is a man that would make you comfortable, Cordelia. He is not
the husband for you."
Her cheeks flared to a bright red, but still she did not turn to look at him.
Her tone when she did speak was cool and measured, but only a fool would
not hear the anger bubbling just below the surface.
"I beg leave to inform you, Monsieur Gautereau, that we are not on
sufficiently friendly terms for you to give me such advice. I am not your
sister."
"Thankfully," he said without thinking, and his heart flipped over as he
realised what he had said.
Cordelia, however, misunderstood his meaning.
"Console yourself with the knowledge that you will never be responsible
for me. I am not a fool, Monsieur, and I know that you have decided that
Christopher should marry into your family when you return to Montreal.
Perhaps he will. Or perhaps he will understand the great honour of marrying
the eldest daughter of Lord Delby and what that can do for his career."
"Any man who marries you for his career is unworthy of kissing the
ground beneath your feet," he replied, his voice rough with anger he didn't
understand. "When you marry, Cordelia, it should be for a man who knows
he is unworthy, but who will spend his life trying to be so. A man who
would wake every morning content in the knowledge that his wife was the
finest woman on any continent, and that thanks to sheer luck you had
chosen him. Marry a man who loves you, not because you are the daughter
of Delby, but because you are Cordelia, who adores family, history, art and
entertaining. Who knows she is not perfect and yet tries to be better. Who
knows her privileged position comes with expectations and responsibilities,
but does not shy from them. Marry a man who loves you, and that you love,
because that is what you deserve, ma cherie. You deserve everything that
you desire."
She did not answer straight away, but when she finally turned her head
towards him he was horrified to see tears filling those angry brown eyes.
"And who is this mythical man of whom you speak?" she demanded. "Do
you not think I have been searching for years? Do you think I am so foolish
as to still believe a man who could love me for myself exists? Or are you
suggesting that it is you who should be my husband, Monsieur Gautereau?
Is that what you are saying?"
The accusation caught him off guard, and his immediate reaction was to
splutter an incoherent denial.
 Her laugh was scornful.
"As I thought; you only say such pretty things to turn my head away from
Christopher, who is the only man I can think of who has a hope of giving
me what I want. It is only because you wish him to marry your sister
instead, for I have noticed how often you mention Marie-Thérèse when in
his company!"
"It is a mistake, Cordelia," he said, so many thoughts rushing about his
head that he could barely organise his thoughts.
"No, it was a mistake to think that a foreign nobody would wish to be my
friend without expecting something in return," snapped Cordelia as she got
to her feet. "I fear I must cancel any outstanding arrangements that we have,
Monsieur Gautereau, as I have neglected my other duties. I'm sure Henrietta
can help you from now on."
"Cordelia," he said, but trailed off as she walked away from him without
so much as a glance over her shoulder.
He got to his feet and began to make his way over to Abby and George,
but already knew that he would not speak a word of what had transpired.
The Gloucesters might well be fond of him, and in time perhaps he would
think of them as his relatives, but there was no substitution for his parents
and grandparents, or even his sisters to tease him out of his mood.
Jacques swore, and wished more than ever that his family were there to
turn to.
*
Lord Shropshire, enjoying a rare moment alone as his wife’s attention
was engaged by friends, watched with interest as the young Lady Cordelia
left Jacques alone by the river to join a group of young people engaged in a
game of cricket. Even from this distance he could tell that her eyes were
bright, her laugh too loud and her manner too carefree to be natural.
Perhaps it was his years raising Henrietta that had attuned him to such
signals.
Or perhaps it was because young Jacques, still by the river, looked
thoroughly miserable.
"Interesting young man, that heir of yours," said Lord Delby as he joined
the Marquis. "I've heard much about him, but confess that I did not make
the connection until today."
The Marquis, who had always considered Delby shrewd if somewhat
serious, turned to regard the younger man.
 "My heir?" he asked politely.
Delby chuckled before taking a sip of champagne.
"Undoubtedly so, although I am not sure why you have decided to
conceal it. I am certain the Lades know who he is as well, although they do
not realise his legitimacy."
"And who would that be?"
Delby lost his smile as irritation took over. The Marquis was quietly
smug that he could still ruffle the feathers of his juniors, and rather enjoyed
doing so. It was good to remind them that, while he was old enough to be
their father, his mind remained strong.
"I would prefer it if you do not play games, Shropshire, for I am not your
enemy here. Far from it, in fact! I doubt you knew it at the time, but John
Cartwright was my closest friend in our Oxford days, and if Monsieur
Gautereau is not his son then I'll box with one of the King's kangaroos in
Green park at dawn."
"I am tempted to deny it just to see such a spectacle," replied Shropshire,
which at least earned a gruff laugh from the younger lord. "I am glad you
see the resemblance. I thought him a ghost from my past when I first laid
eyes on the boy, and the poor thing had no idea he was my heir. I don't
know which of us received the bigger shock."
Delby almost sneered. "Convenient of him not to know his heritage but
still turn up on your doorstep. If you are sure of his birthright, why have
you not announced it?"
Shropshire tapped his little finger against the stem of his champagne
flute.
"Allow me to be a good enough judge of character, Delby, to know when
a man is lying. Jacques came to meet his family at the invitation of the
Cottinghams, but neither he nor I was aware of our link because Henrietta,
the little termagant, likes to meddle."
"Ha, so does my Cordelia," reflected his companion. "I have it on my
wife's authority that she has been attempting to help Monsieur Gautereau
decide to remain in England for reasons that probably make sense in her
head."
"No doubt my granddaughter was involved," said Shropshire. "Let us
stroll about and I'll explain the situation to you, Delby. If you knew my
nephew, then perhaps you can help."
 The two men walked down to the river and across to the boathouse, the
seriousness of their expressions enough to stop anyone thinking of
interrupting them. The Marquis was pleased that Delby quickly grasped the
intricacies of the problem, and agreed that it was best to leave no issue of
legitimacy to doubt before presenting Jacques to the Court as his heir.
"I've written to General Sir John Sherbrooke, for he would have known
the Gautereaus, although my nephew died before he was stationed in North
America,” concluded Lord Shropshire. "It is a pity that Jacques insists on
using the name of his stepfather instead of Cartwright, but given the
behaviour of my brother towards his family, it is understandable."
Lord Delby nodded. "I might be able to help you with that. I recollect
that I received letters from John following both his marriage and the birth of
his son."
"You have what?" spluttered the Marquis. "Good God, man, why didn't
you tell me? Why didn't you share that when my son died instead of letting
me think I had no heir?"
"I assumed that you knew about them, and that the child must have died,"
replied Lord Delby, his eyebrows raised. "How could I have known that you
were unaware of their existence?"
Shropshire, for one of the few moments of his life, could think of nothing
to say to this. He wanted to argue, fight, or even blame Delby for not
thinking to ask him whether John's son was still alive in Montreal, but good
sense told him that it was neither fair nor justified to make such
accusations. He shook his head and the sighed.
"No, you are right, damn it all. I should have known better than to take
my brother's word about the fate of his son."
"Perhaps I should have asked," conceded Delby, his posture relaxing just
a touch, "but I assumed that John's son was dead, or you would have sent
for him the moment he became your heir."
"A justified position," replied Shropshire. "No, my brother was the villain
in this piece, not you. There will be another Marquis of Shropshire, but it
remains to be seen whether he chooses to take on the burdens that come
with the title."
"Perhaps there will be another reason for Gautereau to remain in
England," replied Delby, his eyes on his daughter.
"I appreciate your support, of course, but I would be most grateful if you
refrain from meddling," said Shropshire, narrowing his eyes as he fixed
them on the younger Lord once again. "I'll say this for my heir; he's not one
that can be led easily. If he decides to stay, then it must be of his own will,
or else he will bolt the moment the reins are relaxed."
"My dear Marquis, surely you have known me long enough to know that
I never meddle," replied Delby with an expression of wounded pride.
"Not at all, Delby. Rather, I have known you long enough to know that
you are rarely caught."
Delby raised his glass in salute. "It is much the same thing, when it
comes down it it. I shall see what I can do about those letters for you. In
addition to evidence from General Sir John Sherbrooke and the rest of your
documentation, I expect you will easily silence all doubts."
"From your lips to God's ears," replied Shropshire, and they both raised
their glasses before taking long sips of champagne.
 Chapter Eight

With hindsight, allowing James and Christopher to take him to some of

the less than salubrious drinking establishments of London had not been the
best idea.
The brothers had assumed that his poor mood after the picnic was the
result of missing his life in Montreal, and he had not been of the mind to
correct them. He wasn't even sure why he was so out of sorts, for although
Cordelia had been an excellent friend to him, there was no reason to feel
like the carpet had been tugged out from beneath his feet just because of a
quarrel.
Still, the brothers had been enthusiastic about the idea, and so he’d gone
along with it, even as they’d lied to Henrietta about their plan to take him to
a club rather than to the seedier watering holes of the city.
If she suspected anything – and Jacques had the sneaking suspicion the
she did – Henrietta did not raise any objections and had even waved them
off with a cheery smile.
"They say that it used to be the haunt of some famous highwayman or
another," James had explained as they entered the first pub on the tour they
had planned for him. "Not many of those chaps around any longer, but it
maintains the sense of danger and the feeling that everyone in there has a
knife for your ribs."
James, who had spent time drinking copious amounts of cheap alcohol
with the voyageurs, merely nodded in response.
The first three pubs of the evening, while certainly darker and dingier
than anywhere he had visited in England so far, were also far from the dens
of iniquity James and Christopher made them out to be. While the tables
were all covered in a thin layer of scum and there was literally straw on the
floor to soak up slops, Jacques couldn't shake the suspicion that over half of
the drinkers were members of the Ton in disguise, while the rest were
middle-class confidence tricksters trying to relieve the former of their
purses.
The only reason he kept his pitcher of ale close to his chest was to
prevent one of these Captain Sharps from slipping something stronger into
his drink.
The fourth establishment had at least one group of sinister looking
individuals who saw straight through their disguises, which considerably
cheered up Christopher, but made James wary. Jacques, recognising the
men to be sailors, struck up a conversation almost immediately and within
the hour they were all loudly singing shanties together with varying degrees
of harmony. The wheels of friendship were liberally greased with ale paid
for by James - who diligently kept his title out of all communication - and
so before the Watchmen had even announced that it was midnight, the three
friends had acquired a group of tour guides intent on showing them the sites
of Seven Dials at night.
There were some things, Jacques reflected much later, than no man
needed to see.
At some point a scuffle had broken out, and Christopher had manfully
come to the aid of one of their new friends with his famous right hook.
Unfortunately, the aggressors - Jacques never did find out who they were,
or what the fight had been over - were not familiar with Jack Broughton's
rules for boxing, and the scuffle quickly became a skirmish where winning
was all anyone cared about. Before any serious damage occurred a shout of
"The Watch! The Watch!" went up, and everyone scattered at the sound of a
rattle getting closer.
Everyone but James, Christopher and Jacques, who were left in a strange
part of London with no notion of where they should run, and minus any
purses or coins they'd had upon them earlier in the evening.
“How fares you on this fine night, m’ old Charley?” asked James, trying
to bow. “M’ friends and I are jus’ takin’ a walk.”
The watchman help up his latern and narrowed his eyes.
“I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “You’re Cottingham! The one
that married the lass with the cherry red curricle!”
“By God, you’re famous!” cried Christopher.
James put his finger over his lips. “I’d ‘preciate if you don’t say m’
name, m’ good Charley. We’re incognito.”
 "I should hand you over to the Beadle, that’s what I should do, my Lord,
incog-wotsit or not," snapped the grizzled-looking Watchman. "What are
you doing out in St Giles at such an hour, my Lord?"
"Helping m'friend here," said James, swaying slightly. "Nev' been t'
London."
"This ain't the part of London young toffs should be frequenting," said
the watchman, turning a stern gaze onto Jacques.
"Jack s'not a toff," said Christopher, throwing a heavy arm over Jacques'
shoulders and grinning widely. "From Low Canada, y'know. Fought a bear.
And a moufette. Bear lost. Moufette didn't. Lost a lot of friends that day, eh,
Jack?"
James found this statement to be hilarious, while the expression on the
poor watchman’s face suggested he found it incomprehensible. As the two
Douglas brother collapsed into a fit of giggles, Jacques turned on as much
charm as he could muster as he addressed the exasperated-looking Charley.
"Excuse mon amis, Monsieur; they mean no harm. I regret that I thought
I could drink with the sailors and traders of London and hold my own,
much like I do in Montreal, but I am not familiar with the ways here, and
did not mean to offend."
The watchman wrinkled up his nose. "Frenchie, are you?"
Silently praying that none of his ancestors were choosing that moment to
watch over him, Jacques gave a theatrical gasp of horror. "Not at all,
watchman! Je suis Canadian!"
"Ah, you're a colonial," said the watchman, his brow clearing as the
world finally began to make sense once again. "No wonder you're lost like
this! Here, I'll see if I can grab a Jarvey for you three gents and we'll have
you back at home before midnight, no harm done."
"You are the best of men, Monsieur," Jacques assured him, grabbing the
poor watchman by the hand and shaking it vigorously. "But I regret I have
no coin for you at this time."
The look of indignation on the watchman's face was priceless.
"You do not offer honest Watchmen coin, my good Sir!” he declared with
no regard for the truth. “You save that for the Jarvey!"
Jarvey, it turned out, was a local term used for the driver of a hackney
coach, and the man flagged down by the watchman looked about as
respectable as the sailors in the Red Lion had been. He seemed unhappy at
the state of inebriation being exhibited by both Douglas brothers, but the
promise of a hefty purse upon reaching the home of Lord Cottingham did
much to mollify him.
“And an extra crown if y’ let me have th’ reins!” shouted Christopher,
trying to jump up to the box before he was grabbed at the collar by Jacques
and, with the help of the watchman, unceremoniously thrust inside the
coach.
“Good luck, Sir,” said the watchman with a shake of his head.
“Do no despair, Monsieur, for I have a plan,” replied Jacques before
stepping up into the coach alongside his friends. “James, Christopher, do
you recall the words to Alouette?”
“Course we do,” snorted James, and the Douglas brothers launched into
the opening bars with gusto.
It was in this manner that they arrived back at the Cottingham's town
home, with Christopher and James loudly booming out the lyrics with more
enthusiasm than talent. The Baron naturally took the lead, but his younger
brother’s baritone made the echo louder than the original call. Jacques did
his best to keep them on time and in tune, but his head was already
beginning to ache as his sobriety dawned earlier than that of his
companions.
“Alouette, gentille alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai!
Je te plumerai les ailes, je te plumerai les ailes
Et les ailes!
Et les ailes!
Et le cou!
Et le cou!
Et le bec!
Et le bec!
Et la tête!
Et la tête!
Alouette!
Alouette!”
"And we are here, mon amis!" Jacques had interrupted loudly before the
next round of singing began.
"Here is where?" demanded Christopher, then frowned as his own words
confused him.
 "Home," replied Jacques as the hackey came to a standstill and his two
friends took this as an invitation to exit the vehicle promptly. "James you
must instruct one of your men to pay the driver, non? Before you wake ma
cousine?"
"Good God: Henry!" cried James as he recollected his wife, promptly lost
his footing, and then sprawled onto the pavement. Christopher found this
inordinately funny, and likely did more damage trying to help his brother
back to his feet than he was in any way helpful.
The Jarvey watched this with the dull resignation of a man who had seen
one too many lords when they were three sheets to the wind, and so jumped
down to help before someone was seriously hurt. Jacques' attempts to keep
the brothers quiet was met only with giggles and random shouts of "Je tu
plumerai!", while the driver muttered dark nothings under his breath.
Jacques, whose head was starting to feel as though a military tattoo was
taking place on the inside of his skull, seriously considered just lying down
on the pavement and going to sleep.
The front door of the Cottingham's townhome opened wide, revealing the
butler and two footmen who quickly came to their aid. Jacques knew a
moment of relief at the sight of the men, but it proved to be short lived.
"Get them both up to bed, if you please, and make sure that their boots
are given to the valet before any lasting damage is done to them," came
Henrietta's voice from the doorway.
James and Christopher, with no concern for their audience, both began to
explain themselves to Henrietta at once.
Jacques almost felt sorry for his cousin as she managed the two drunken
brothers.
"Yes, yes, I am sure you are very sorry, James, and did not intend to get
into your cups - we can talk about it tomorrow over breakfast. That's a very
kind thing to say, Christopher, but would mean much more if you weren't
swaying like a boatswain as you declared it. Up to bed, both of you! Before
I decide to be angry!"
The butler finished counting a large number of coins into the hands of the
waiting Jarvey before he cast a pitying look at Jacques.
"Courage, my lad," the older man murmured with unusual familiarity
before motioning towards the house.
Jacques went to loosen his neckcloth, only to remember he had lost it in a
wager at the Black Swan.
 Or possibly the White Horse, or the Red Lion; it was dashed difficult to
remember the names of these English public houses.
"Ma cousine, I am so sorry," he began, but she waved a hand to silence
him.
"Not here, Jacques! Please come inside at once before we have all the
neighbours busy staring at us from their windows."
He was so surprised by the sheer lack of animosity in her tone that he
allowed himself to be ushered through the doorway and into the small
portico at the front of the house. The butler helped him to remove his filth-
splattered boots and sadly crushed hat, while Henrietta paced up and down
the hallway, chewing at her fingernails the entire time. It was only then that
he realised that she had changed into an evening dress since he’d last seen
her at dinner, which was rather excessive for a quiet night at home with her
mother-in-law, even for his cousin.
The butler had barely disappeared from the hall before she rushed over to
Jacques, grabbing him by the upper arms.
"You have to understand that I had no notion of this when I wrote the
letter, cousin, or I swear I would not have meddled in the least! I'm sure
James will tell me that it's quite my own fault in the morning, but how was I
to know? Only pray tell me you forgive me, Jacques! I could not bear it if
we fell out again, for I have come to regard you as the brother I always
wanted, and I will simply die if I lose you."
This passionate little speech, accompanied as it was by an expression of
sisterly earnestness, led to Jacques pulling his cousin into his arms and
planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"What is wrong, ma petit? Surely we are now close enough to be family,
and nothing can pull apart family, oui?"
She gave a little sob, but pushed him away as she rubbed her nose.
"Nothing but the stench of your coat, perhaps. Good grief, you smell like
the stables at a run-down coaching inn. What have you been up to? Actually
no, don't say a word, for I would rather be able to deny everything so it
cannot be said that I lied."
"Lied about what?" asked Jacques, thoroughly bewildered and only half
convinced that it was the fault of the liquor he'd consumed.
"About only introducing you to the best society while in London," she
replied as she resumed her pacing again. "Do you know I've never been
cowed by anyone in my life, but when she cocked her head on the side just
so, I think I trembled in my slippers! I assured her most vehemently that
you would not be consorting with anyone below the consequence of a
Marquis. Only then he laughed - and I thought you boomed when you
laughed, but I think he made the chandelier tremble! - and he said that you
were as home with the sparrows as you were with the swans, and he would
be disappointed if you had not learned some new songs for him! My mother
in law did not understand, of course, so then he started singing and-"
"Henrietta, je ne comprends pas!" Jacques said as he loudly interrupted
her. "plus lentement, s'il vous plaît! Slow down or I do not understand! Who
are these people who have distressed you so?"
She stopped her pacing to turn and face him, her expression one of
surprise. "Distressed me? Oh, they have not distressed me in the least, for
they are al simply darlings! I worry that I have distressed you by insisting
that they stay here for as long as they wish, but you were not here for me to
ask, and none of the footmen I sent to the clubs could find you. Only they
were so worried about your welfare that I may have overstated your
happiness, and declared nothing would please us more than have them take
over our spare rooms. Oh, have you got time to change, I wonder? They
cannot see you like this. Good grief, the state of that coat! I would not give
it to a pauper!"
"Who cannot see me?" he asked, half laughing at the way she fretted like
an unsettled pigeon.
"Your mother, of course!" she replied with considerable exasperation. "I
already told you that!"
There was a moment of silence as they both stared at each other. The
clock in the hallway ticked and tocked, and the sound of laughter floated
down from the upper floor.
"Oh," she said eventually. "I didn't tell you."
"Non, ma cousine," he said as the world began to spin in a way that had
nothing to do with the rum, ale or gin that he'd consumed. "You did not tell
me."
He stumbled past her, climbing the stairs two at a time as he raced up to
the parlour. He could hear the laughter and conversation of a large group
just beyond the door, and his heart thumped so loudly it drowned out the
drums inside his head.
He crashed into the room without ceremony, caring nothing at all for the
spectacle he made in the process.
 The chatter stopped. Henrietta's mother in law, the dowager Lady
Cottingham, looked like a tiny china doll as she sat between his giant of a
stepfather, Henri Gautereau, and the oldest of his sisters, Marie-Thérèse.
Every last one of his siblings, even the children, were present in the room,
with the youngest two happily entertaining a giggling Hart with some
wooden rattles, while his twelve year old brother Claud had fallen asleep on
the sofa, covered by a paisley shawl. Both of his grandmothers were
ensconced in chairs beside the fireplace, both with embroidery on their
knee, with mémère Gautereau's long black braid in stark contrast to the grey
curls of his grand-maman. Grand-pere was behind them as though he’d
been admiring their work, but now his eyes were full of unmistakable joy as
they alighted on Jacques.
He saw all of this, understood they were all there, but Jacques’ eyes were
focused only on the petite, dark haired woman who had risen to her feet the
moment he had entered.
"Jonathan Henri Cartwright-Gautereau, what on earth do you mean by
coming into a Lady's parlour dressed like a voyageur fresh back from
trading?" she demanded in French. "You were raised much better than this!
What must your English relatives think of you?"
"Maman!" said Jacques, half laughing as he crossed the room and
wrapped her up in his arms despite her protests that he smelled like musty
beaver pelts. "Maman, what are you doing here? When did you arrive?"
"Lady Cottingham wrote to me when you first met," she said from
somewhere from inside the folds of his jacket. "She was worried there
would be questions about your inheritance. What else would you have us
do, but climb onto the first ship and come to your aid?"
"But all of you?" he laughed, looking around the room.
His mother pushed him away just far enough so she could look up into
his eyes. "We do everything as a family, do we not?"
He smiled at her, then around at the rest of the family. The youngest
children waited for no further invitation, and threw themselves at him,
squealing his name and all attempting to tell him something they regarded
as of great importance in increasing louder voices. Even the sleepy Claud
managed to wrap his arms around Jacques' leg and give a tight squeeze. The
heavy hand of his stepfather landed reassuringly on his shoulder, and then
his grandparents moved in to greet him.
 Finally, as he emerged from the tangle still holding onto his mother's
hand, he was able to see Henrietta once again, her smile wide and her eyes
wet with tears.
"Merci, ma cousine," he said, and then kissed his mother squarely on the
forehead, for a weight had gone from his heart, and he knew beyond doubt
that no matter what happened next, it would all be fine in the end.
*
Cordelia made her way down to breakfast after a restless night, no
happier with the previous day's events than she had been when she closed
her eyes. She was angry at Jacques for the things that he'd said at the picnic,
but at the same time it was impossible for her to claim that Christopher
Douglas had been exclusive in his attentions towards her while they were at
Kelwick manor.
If she were completely honest, it was impossible for her to claim that he
had shown a decided preference for her company at any point in the Season,
even if he had always been polite and often very entertaining. He flirted
with her, but then, everyone flirted with her, even William and Herbert had
before their respective marriages; Herbert even going so far as to declare
his undying devotion.
That he'd promptly forgotten after a sharp set down. She smiled at that
memory, and the thought that his new wife was perfect for him.
The smile faded. Christopher Douglas was not perfect, at least not for
Cordelia, and she had the nagging thought that perhaps she was not perfect
for him, either. He seemed so young, still full of larks and dreams in the
way only members of the Ton seemed to retain. Not at all like Jacques,
whose spirit was enhanced by a maturity that was both attractive and
reassuring. If only Christopher was more like-
"Stop it," she told herself firmly. "You don't even like Monsieur
Gautereau at present, for he is meddling and opinionated and... and... and
rude."
The words spoken out loud were just as weak as the ones she said in her
head.
"Besides, he was just looking out for his friend, even if he was
completely wrong," she told the hallway, and then blushed when she caught
the quizzical look from one of the footmen. She blushed, then dipped her
head and hurried into the breakfast parlour.
 "There you are," said her mother, not immune to stating the obvious as
Cordelia entered the breakfast room. "We were just discussing you."
Cordy hesitated for just a moment before settling down into her chair. A
glance at her father, who for once was not buried in the newspaper,
indicated that her mother was not exaggerating with this statement.
She mentally prepared for battle.
"Lovely things I hope," she said with as much brightness as she could
muster. "Did you enjoy the outing yesterday? I confess that I adore the
picnics at Kelwick Manor - especially when I beat William at archery."
Lord Delby's lip quirked up on one side. "Yes, but lost against everyone
else."
"We don't mention that part," she replied as she helped herself to some
toast and marmalade.
"We noticed how cheerful you were all day," said her mother, studying
the way Cordelia wielded her butter knife as though it would reveal some
deep secrets to her. "It must have been exhausting for you."
Cordelia paused at this unexpected line of attack. "Exhausting? How so?"
"I find it is often exhausting pretending to be merry when my heart is
anything but," said her father. "It's why I no longer put in such effort."
"We were concerned that your plans to find your future husband may not
be progressing in the way you wished," said Lady Delby, pointedly ignoring
her husband.
"On the contrary, everything is going precisely as it aught," Cordy replied
before biting off a large piece of toast and chewing it with considerably
more force than necessary.
Her parents shared a look.
"We must have misunderstood the nature of the argument," said her
father.
"Perhaps it is not the foreign nobody who has captured her heart after
all," mused her mother.
"Jacques?" spluttered Cordelia, sending a spray of crumbs across the
table that earned her a reproachful look from Lady Delby.
"I was under the impression that the young man had captured your
attention, but it seems I am not as in tune with your interests as I had
previously believed," said her father with an apologetic tone.
"No, no, you're not out of tune with me at all, Father," she hurried to
reassure him the moment she had finished wiping her mouth with the
napkin. "On the contrary, Monsieur Gautereau is a deeply interesting fellow,
with a very droll sense of humour."
Her parents shared a look again.
"A promising start," said her mother.
"Humour is important," added her father.
"It makes him a particularly agreeable companion, I suppose," said
Cordelia, trying for nonchalance but suspecting that she failed. "It was a
favour to Henrietta, you know. She hoped that her cousin would fall in love
with England and decide to stay, and so I offered my services as a guide to
both London and the Ton."
"Henrietta hoped her cousin would fall in love," Lady Delby said to her
husband.
Lord Delby nodded his agreement. "A sensible plan, especially when she
involved our daughter."
"I know you are teasing me," said Cordelia, crossing her arms over her
chest, "but you are quite incorrect if you are implying that Henrietta wanted
him to fall in love with me, for it is not like that at all. I have no feelings for
Monsieur Jacques beyond that of friendship, and I am certain he feels the
same way about me."
The words tasted bitter, but she didn't want to think about that.
"I was under the impression, dearest, that you were not looking for more
than friendship in a potential spouse," said her mother before taking a
delicate sip from her coffee cup.
Cordelia deliberated over getting an additional piece of toast for a long
moment, extending her deliberations to include an internal debate over the
merits of strawberry preserve over marmalade. It did not work, for her
thoughts refused to obey her wishes, and quickly turned to her fight with
Jacques, her determination to bring Christopher up to scratch, and her fear
of ending up alone.
"I just believe that I would suit better with someone else," she eventually
said as she reached for another slice of toast and the silver pot of Cook's
delicious strawberry preserve. There was a tremble to her voice that
stubbornly refused to go away.
Her parents looked at each other again.
"The Douglas boy?" asked her father.
"The Douglas boy," confirmed her mother with a firm nod.
 Lord Delby gave a loud sigh of resignation. "There is no accounting for
taste, I suppose."
Cordelia blinked rapidly as her father finally picked up the newspaper at
his side.
"You do not approve?" she asked, curious more than anything else.
Lord Delby glanced up and met her gaze. "My dear, I have no opinion on
the matter either way. There is nothing to disgust in Mr Douglas, but there
is nothing to recommend him, either."
"Of course there is!" scoffed Cordelia. "A great many things!"
Her father put the paper back down. "A great many, you say! Then
perhaps I have misjudged the boy. Pray, enlighten me my dear."
"He... he is very kind, and of adequate fortune, and can be a pleasant
companion," she replied.
Lord Delby raised his eyebrows. "High praise indeed! Perhaps I have
misjudged the boy."
"What do you mean by that?" Cordelia demanded.
Her father turned his attention back to the newspaper. "Merely that he is a
puppy, my dear."
"That's not fair," said Cordelia, stabbing at her toast rather than spreading
the preserve over the surface. "Even Jacques said that Christopher is well
liked in Montreal, has built up many connections and worked hard to help
bring the two companies together."
"Everyone likes puppies," mused Lady Delby.
"He is not a puppy!" she snapped hotly.
Her father looked over the top of the paper. "You misunderstand us,
Cordelia, for the term is not meant offensively. As your mother says,
everyone likes puppies, and they all grow into their paws eventually."
"If by that you mean he will become more like Jacques with time then I
hope you are wrong," she snapped, and then inwardly cursed as she realised
what she'd said.
Her parents shared another look.
"Did I suggest that the Douglas boy would grow into the character and
maturity of Monsieur Gautereau?" he father asked.
"I don't believe that you did," replied Lady Delby after giving the matter
some consideration.
Cordelia wondered if complete and utter exasperation was a viable
defence for murdering one's parents.
 "I don't think he could even if he wanted to," mused Lord Delby, his
facial expression indicating that he was giving the matter some serious
thought.
Cordelia knew better, and so refused to rise to the bait. Unfortunately, her
mother was perfectly willing to be the foil, and she was not going to escape
their ridiculous conversation any time soon.
"Why would that be, my dear?" Lady Delby asked her husband.
"The Douglas boy has not had the challenges that Monsieur Gautereau
has endured in his life. Oh I don't mean that his life has been difficult - far
from it, from what I've been told! - but spending time in the wilderness with
nothing but fur trappers for company will build strength of character. Then
there is the fact he's the eldest of a veritable brood of children. One only has
to look at our dear Cordelia to know that the eldest will take more
responsibility onto their shoulders than youngest children will, for she is far
more responsible and thoughtful than her brother and sisters."
This observation mollified her somewhat, but she was not prepared to
give them the satisfaction of acknowledging the praise out loud.
"And the rejection of his paternal grandfather must have left a mark on
him," added Lady Delby between sips of coffee. "The Marchioness says he
is a very proud young man, and that it has been hard for him to accept that
the Cartwrights are so glad to welcome him into their fold. He has spent his
life striving to live up to his father's legacy, while Mr Douglas has never
had to carry such a burden, let alone do so alone."
"From what Shropshire said about Gautereau, I think his father would
have been very proud. Poor John! I wish he could have lived to see the man
his son has become."
This caught her attention.
"You knew Jacques' father?"
Her father graced her with one of his unreadable expressions. "Indeed I
did. He was my closest friend in my salad days, and we kept in sporadic
touch until his death. I did not know that John's widow remarried, however,
and so did not make the connection until I saw Gautereau for myself."
"Does he look like him?" Cordelia asked, unable to assuage her curiosity.
"Jacques only has a miniature, but was told it is a poor likeness."
"Very much, although he has a maturity about him that John lacked at the
same age," replied her father. "Powder was still in fashion at the time, and
John wore his hair much longer."
 "Are you thinking of painting him, dearest?" asked Lady Delby. "That
would be a very thoughtful gift for one who is no more than a friend to
you."
Cordelia's face went hot, and she looked down at the table. "No, I was
just curious. You should tell Jacques what you just told me, Father. I'm sure
he would like to know."
"I mentioned some of it to him, and I suspect the Lades did as well," said
her father, turning back to his paper. "We were all rather enamoured of
Letitia back then - or I was until I came to my senses and married your
mother! John always had more sense."
Lady Delby smiled as though this were an old, familiar joke between
them.
"Did you not come to blows over the issue?" she asked, although she
obviously knew the answer.
Lord Delby chuckled, a faraway look in his eyes as he indulged in old
memories.
"We came to blows over many an issue, and simply argued over many
more! We were like that from the day we met, you know. Constantly
bickered, never shied from telling each other the truth, but never had
anything but love for each other in our hearts." He glanced up at his wife,
and the smile was so affectionate, so tender, that Cordelia almost felt like
she was intruding. "The moment I realised that I could rely upon your
judgement and support as much as I could on John's was the moment I fell
in love with you, darling."
There was a silence that lasted forever, but was so thick with affection
that Cordy struggled not to cry with longing.
Lady Delby gave her head an infinitesimal shake, breaking the spell
hanging over the table.
"Did you value your friendship with Monsieur Gautereau?" she asked,
turning her attention back to Cordelia. "Was it as important as the one you
share with Willliam and Herbert? Or even Trix?"
The question stunned her. "But I've only know him a matter of weeks!"
"Sometimes it only needs hours. Love is not always romantic, my dear.
Sometimes it is just the knowledge that this person will understand."
She lowered her eyes again. "I never thought of it like that. I... I suppose
that I would rather share an hour with Monsieur Jacques than with any of
my friends in the world, with the possible exception of Beatrix. I have often
thought, though, that he would very much like her and Felix. He even
visited their bookshop while in Bath. But then we argued..."
Her mother reached over the table, her fingers brushing the tips of
Cordelia's own.
"Good friends are important, and sometimes good friends will disagree. It
is inevitable, but if that friend spoke from good intentions then they should
never be cast aside."
"What if they had selfish intentions?" mumbled Cordelia, still looking
down at her plate. "What if they said something hurtful, no matter how
much they tried to pretty it up?"
"Sometimes it hurts to be told a truth," said her father. "No, don't lose
your temper with me. I said a truth, because sometimes what is true for one
is a lie for another."
"Then how can it be the truth?" asked Cordelia, thinking about the look
on Jacques' face when he told her to marry a man that loved her instead of
setting her cap at Christopher, and that fleeting, ridiculous moment when
she had thought he had been talking about himself. "A truth is always a
truth, surely?"
"If only it were that simple," said her father with a gentle smile. He
reached over the table and placed his hand over hers. "Take John
Cartwright. If his father told you that his son was a scoundrel, wastrel and
insolent rogue, it would be his truth. If I told you that John was an
honourable man who was led by his own sense of integrity, then that would
be my truth. Can we both be right?"
"I... I don't know," admitted Cordelia.
"I promise you that both our truths were correct, my dear, but also that
they were both lies," replied Lord Delby, sitting back into his chair. "People
are not simple creatures, nor do they exist in just one moment to an
audience of one. You can look at a man and see the boy, the saint, the
charlatan and the fool, and you choose which facet to focus on."
"So... so I could choose someone to wed because of what they could be,
or what they were, or what they are to other people, and still be wrong
about what type of man he is," she said, and then rubbed at her temples. "I
think I understand, but it is very confusing. How do you know if anyone is
truly your friend, or if you have chosen to wed the right person?"
"Your list is a good start," said Lady Delby, her smile gentle rather than
mocking, "but you missed off a few things. Maturity and reliability do not
sound in the least bit romantic, but no marriage can be happy without them.
It is doubly true for a woman, for like it or not, your future is reliant on the
good sense and planning of your spouse."
"I had not thought of it that way," she admitted. "I thought fortune would
be enough."
Her father gave a crack of scornful laughter. "It's a start, but you only
have to look at Sir John Lade to see how fast a man without maturity can
burn through a fortune! His affability may keep doors open for the Lades,
but his foolishness has slammed a great deal in his face, too."
"I suppose maturity and reliability should be on my list then," she said,
but try as she might, they were not descriptors she could comfortably apply
to Christopher Douglas. Perhaps in five years he would have grown into
them, but then perhaps he would prove to be like Sir John Lade; affable,
charming, and utterly lacking in financial acumen.
Was it a risk she could take?
Was it one she even wanted to take?
"Cordelia," said her mother softly. "If you are not angry with us for
suggesting that Mr Douglas is not the right man for you, then perhaps you
should consider forgiving your foreign nobody for doing the same."
She did not even bother to ask how they knew she'd fought with Jacques.
They had always had an uncanny habit of knowing everything.
"One would almost think you were proposing a match between us," she
said lightly, pretending that she was making a great joke. "Are you so keen
to see me leave for another country?"
"I'd never countenance any match that saw you taken so far away from
us, my dear girl," replied her father with his usual solemnity. "Not unless
you were deeply in love with the fellow. If I have my way,the man you
marry will be the heir to a considerable title, estate and fortune right here on
English soil."
She laughed, but it sounded like a sob. "You need to discuss this with
Mother, for she knows as well as I do that no such man exists - not if you
want someone mature and reliable as well!"
Her father picked his paper back up, an odd smile playing on his lips.
"My sights may be set high for you, dear girl, but it is no less than you
deserve. Besides, these things have a way of working themselves out."
It occurred to Cordelia much later that Lord Delby had never once in his
life left something to the whims of fate, but at the breakfast table she was
far too caught up in her own thoughts to consider his odd words, or to
interpret the meaningful look that her mother cast at her husband.
"Do you plan to make peace with Monsieur Jacques?" asked Lady Delby.
Cordy hesitated. "I... I am afraid I was rather foolish yesterday, and
demanded that we cancel all our engagements, no matter how inconvenient
that would prove to him."
"Thoughtless of you," agreed her mother, but offered no suggestions.
"Perhaps I should go and apologise during a morning call to Henrietta,"
she mused. "It will be awkward with Mr Douglas there too, but I think it
will be easier to do this sooner, don't you think?"
"An excellent idea," agreed her mother.
"And... and I think I will wear my walking dress au militaire," she said as
she got to her feet. "He complemented it, when we met in Hyde Park that
first time."
"Perfect, and you have plenty of time to style your hair to perfection as
well," said Lady Delby. "If one must apologise, then one should do it
looking as stylish and beautiful as possible."
"Especially when one is trying to impress a foreign nobody," her father
murmured into the paper.
Cordelia chose to ignore him as she exited the room, her head held high.
 Chapter Nine

The Marquis of Shropshire stared at the room full of people assembled

before him, doing his best not to let his mouth fall open at the non-stop
hubbub that seemed to accompany his granddaughter's guests.
The children, or at least those under the age of fifteen, had been
dismissed to the back of the room to play at a number of games, where they
noisily demanded that everyone turn to admire them every time they won,
or lost, or just found something amusing. Poor Cottingham, whose eyes
indicated he'd been rather worse for wear the night before, had tried to
suggest that the children would enjoy a nice stroll about Green Park with
Hart's Nurse to supervise them, only for the older members of the
Gautereau family to begin regaling them with some of the frankly terrifying
exploits that the younger ones had orchestrated while still in Montreal. The
pride in their recitals was impossible to miss, but it was painfully evident to
their London hosts that their fair city was not prepared for a gaggle of such
adventurous brats without the firm supervision of their elders, and so it was
hoped that jackstraws and playing cards would be enough to keep them
entertained while the adults talked.
Shropshire rather longed to get down on his knees and play with the
children, but considered it to be unseemly to do so in front of so many new
acquaintance.
At least, not until after he'd got the whole business of Jacques'
inheritance out of the way. After that, he had every intention of playing with
the little ones, and teaching them the tricks of bilbocatch.
"Monsieur le Marquis, I understand that you have questions about my
first marriage," said Madam Cartwright-Gautereau, her chin raised and her
eyes sparkling as she sought to get right to the heart of the matter as soon as
the children were settled. "I can assure you, as can my parents, that
everything was above board and legal."
 "Maman, it is not Shropshire who is questioning things," said Jacques,
looking embarrassed by the combative air of his mother. "I explained to you
over breakfast that it is to do with politics."
"Do not interrupt me, Jonathan," replied Madam Cartwright-Gautereau,
and much to Shropshire's amusement, the poor boy fell silent immediately.
"I have brought letters, Monsieur le Marquis, from the church where I was
married and the man who performed the service. I also have letters from
some of the highest ranking people in the North West Company confirming
my marriage, and a copy of John's will, specifically naming me as his wife
and my son as his legal, legitimate heir. You will forgive the haste with
which they were written, I trust, for we left for England the day after I
received Madam du Cottingham's letter."
"I think I like you very much, Madam Cartwright-Gautereau," said the
Marchioness, remembering to address Jacques mother with both her
married names, as Henrietta had hastily informed them."A lioness for your
children, I have no doubt."
Her husband gave a chuckle that sounded like a rumble of low thunder.
"Amelie is a lioness no matter the context, Madam le Marchioness. When
she growls, the whole of Montreal trembles."
"Don't be so foolish, Henri," she snipped at him, despite being dwarfed
by both her husband and the adult members of their offspring. She remained
oblivious to the fact that her two oldest daughters and her next son after
Jacques were silently nodding their agreement.
Shropshire took the stack of proffered papers, delighted with the
challenged in the lady's eyes. This woman, he was certain, would march
right up to the Regent himself and demand that he acknowledge her son's
rightful place among the Peerage without hesitation if it was deemed
necessary, and her sheer force of will would likely carry them to victory
even without all the records at hand. He looked through the letters, their
seals and their signatures, and quickly determined that, even without the
notes from Sherbrooke and Delby there was enough here to convince even
the most committed skeptic that Jacques was indeed his legitimate heir.
"It seems you have thought of everything, Madam. Has it been explained
to you why these are so important?"
She gave a small snort of contempt, and it was difficult not to picture her
as a pretty little dragon surrounded by giants that had sworn to protect her.
 "Yes, and it is all foolishness in my opinion! If John's father had not been
such a despicable man, none of this would matter in the least!"
"Amelie," said her own mother sharply, and Shropshire was amused to
see that even the redoubtable Madam Gautereau bowed to the will of
another. Madame Roy, dressed in a fine white silk and pearl jewelry better
suited to a visit with Royalty, smiled at him warmly.
"You must forgive my daughter, Monsieur le Marquis, but her fire is
what kept her going after your darling nephew's death. It is only her excess
of affection for our dear grandson that leads her to speak out of turn in such
a way."
Amelie Gautereau rolled her eyes, while both Jacques and his stepfather
struggled to smother their laughter.
"Naturally, we were all upset to learn that there were questions over her
marriage to John Cartwright," added Amelie's father Monsieur Roy, a red-
faced gentleman whose uncomfortable posture suggested he was not used to
the stays beneath his waistcoat. "Whatever his father's reason for disowning
the family, no matter how incomprehensible to us, it must have been a good
one."
Amelie started to respond to this in a heavily accented, rapid French that
even Shropshire could not follow, but at the same moment her son placed
his hands firmly on her shoulders, and her husband, glaring at his in-laws,
stated his own opinion of this observation in no uncertain terms.
"That is utter nonsense, Francois, and well you know it."
Before a family argument could take over, the Marquis raised his hand to
draw all eyes towards him.
He was secretly impressed to discover that the gesture worked as well on
these guests from Lower Canada as it did on his own family.
"Allow me to speak for my family, if you please," he said firmly. When
he was confident that they were all silent, even the children in the far corner
of the room, he maintained his pause for just one moment longer.
"My brother Marcus," he said slowly, "was an insufferable ass."
The stunned awe inspired by his words lasted only a moment before a
cacophony of laughter and protestations filled the room.
"I'm afraid that I must concur with my husband," declared the
Marchioness loudly, bringing the moment of chaos firmly back under her
control. "Marcus had no right to conceal John's marriage and child from us,
for even though our own sons were still alive at the time, they were still in
line for the title, and deserved to know about it. More importantly, his
decision cost us the opportunity to know your remarkable family over the
years, and for that, we can never forgive him."
"But we are not all your family, Madam Le Marchioness, however much
we might wish to be," said the dark-haired goddess of a girl sat to the left of
Madame Cartwright-Gautereau. "Jacques is our brother, but our father is
Henri, not John."
"Mademoiselle Marie-Thérèse, I presume?" asked the Marquis kindly,
and was rewarded with a surprised nod by the beautiful young woman.
She is going to take the Ton by storm, he thought to himself, and along
with that sister of hers, I don't think any of our girls will have a hope of
being considered a diamond.
"Yes, I am the next oldest, after Jacques," she confirmed, "but how do
you know my name?"
"Your brother has talked about you a great deal, as well as your next
sister here, Marie-Helene. He has talked about all of you, so let me see if I
can get you all correct, yes, including you little ones!"
This last comment was aimed at the curious faces that had abandoned
their game of jackstraws to come and peer curiously at the strange old
Marquis who they'd been told was important to their brother.
"You really told your English family all about us?" asked Amelie,
glancing at her son with curiosity.
It was Henrietta that answered, her tinkling laugh full of sisterly
affection. "Madam, he has talked of almost nothing else! He has often had
us laughing at the antics of your spirited children, and I have felt most
jealous of him, growing up with so many brothers and sisters to play and
fight with over the years. I feel like I know and love all of you already, and
it is so strange to remember that we have never before met."
"I had no notion you would miss us so much," said Amelie, reaching out
to take Jacques's hand tightly into her own. Shropshire noted that Henri
Gautereau also reached out to pat his stepson affectionately on the shoulder.
The Marquis, much like his granddaughter, found himself already loving
this loud, rambunctious family. Even the worried-looking Roys, who only
wanted to make a good impression to secure a future for their grandson.
"Do you really know all of us by name?" asked one of the Gautereau
siblings.
 "Indeed I do, Marie-Helene, for you are next oldest after your sister. This
strapping young man can be no other than Augustin Henri, which would
make you, my young man, Claud Francois, and you little brother here Pierre
Antoine." He reached out to flick the nose of the small boy who had
ventured closest to him, and was rewarded by a delighted giggle.
"Monsieur Le Marquis knows who I am, Jacques!" declared the small
Pierre with considerable pride. "Perhaps he will give me a title, like you!"
Jacques grinned affectionately at the boy. "It does not quite work that
way, little one, but I'm sure he will happily address you as the Chevalier of
Mischief!"
"What about us?" demanded the smallest girl, her skirts still up at her
knees and her hair in loose waves about her shoulders. "Did Jacques tell
you about us?"
"Marie-Geneviève ," he declared, remembering the description of the
youngest girl as stubborn and clever beyond her years. "Which of course
means that this quiet young lady must by Marie-Rosalie. Well, do I have it
all correct?"
The children stared at him in open-mouthed appreciation while their
father's booming laugh filled the room once again.
"Monsieur le Marquis, you know my children's names better than I do,
or half of Montreal for that matter, for they are all referred to as 'Le Petit
Gautereau' no matter who is addressing them," said Henri with
unmistakable pride.
"Because if there is mischief afoot, one of them is bound to be
involved," said his mother, pretending to glare at her grandchildren who just
grinned at her in response.
It was apparent that the older Madam Gautereau was the grand-dame of
the family, for even the fiery Amelie seemed to defer to the older woman,
while her parents seemed to regard her with a mixture of awe and
discomfort. Her long hair, jet black and poker straight like that of her
descendants, was in stark contrast to the grey, styled curls of Madame Roy,
but while Amelie's mother had chosen to wear a dress better suited to an
evening with the highest sticklers of the Ton, Henri's mother had a truly
exquisite day dress of blue muslin trimmed with a red band at the hem,
while her fawn-coloured Spencer was embellished at the collar with finely
worked embroidery that he expected would be the rage within a
fortnight. The Marquis could almost hear the longing of his wife and
granddaughter to ask how Madam Gautereau kept her hair so rich, or to tell
them about the intricately beaded wrap that held her braid neatly at the back
of her neck, but good manners was keeping their curiosity in check.
For now.
"You already have wonderful grandparents, as does your brother
Jacques," said the Marquis, addressing Marie-Thérèse but speaking to all of
the guests in Henrietta's parlour, "but my wife and I would very much like
it, mademoiselle, if you would consider adding us to your large family. We
could be your English aunt and uncle, or even your great-grandparents if it
pleases you. It would be an honour to introduce you to the Ton, and launch
all of you into London Society."
"How wonderful!" breathed the Marchioness, casting her critical eye
over the two eldest Gautereau girls. "The Beau Monde will fall to their
knees!"
"A ball," declared Henrietta. "Cottingham, we simply must have a ball
for the girls, and tell Emma and George that they must do the same!"
"After ours," said the Marchioness firmly, and Henrietta was only
slightly deflated by this insistence, but she capitulated without complaint.
"You must not put yourself to any trouble," said Madame Cartwright-
Gautereau, although her eyes shone at the idea of her daughters being
launched into the Ton. 'However, we would be grateful for your help in
identifying a house we could rent for the rest of the year, and perhaps
beyond."
"A year and beyond?" exclaimed Jacques before anyone else could
speak.
His mother turned to look up at him, her expression placid. "Naturally,
my dear boy. If you are to be the Marquis, you will have many
responsibilities to learn, and many people to meet. You cannot do that from
Montreal."
"I know, maman, but you cannot uproot everyone just for me! You have
lives and business interests to maintain."
It was Henri who answered this time, his words preceded with a deep
chuckle. "Do you think, Jacques, that we would worry about such trifles?
I've not worked directly in the trade since you were small, and with the
merger looking inevitable there is no need for us to remain in Lower
Canada. Besides, your sisters are desperate for the opportunity to
experience life in Europe, so how could you deny them such an opportunity
to spend a fortune on clothes and fripperies?"
"The winters are not so cold, I hear," said Madame Roy before her
grandson could appeal to her. "My bones could do with that respite."
"Mémère?" said Jaques, addressing Madam Gautereau.
"I always liked an adventure," she replied, which seemed to settle the
matter.
"There is a small problem that must be addressed, however," ventured
Henrietta after a whispered conversation with her husband. "At this point in
the Season it is unlikely, if not impossible, that you will find adequate
accommodation for your needs in a suitable part of town. I know it is a little
cramped for all of us in our home, but we must insist that you remain living
with us for as long as you are in London."
"Nonsense," said the Marchioness before any of Jacques' family could
answer. "There is more than enough space for the Gautereaus and the Roys
to stay with us at Shropshire House."
"With room to spare," added the Marquis with a chuckle. "We've an
entire wing that's not seen use since your father was still in leading strings,
Henrietta, and I rather long to discover what the house is like when it's full
of laughter. It's been too long."
"We could not expect that from you," said Madam Cartwright-
Gautereau, her eyes wide with surprise at the offer. "We do not require the
best of locations to stay in, so I am sure we will find somewhere."
"My good Lady, I assure you that you will find Shropshire House more
than adequate for your family's needs. The wing of the house that I was
referring to has been unoccupied for many years but has not been in the
least bit neglected. However if you are adamant that you can find more
suitable accommodation for your needs elsewhere, then I will not press you
further to stay at a property that your son will one day inherit," said the
Marquis, injecting enough haughtiness into his words to convince the
French-Canadians that to reject his offer was to commit a terrible social
faux-pas.
It had the desired effect, and the next few minutes were filled by the
assurances of every adult member of the family that it would be an honour
to stay at Shropshire House, and that they would all endeavour to be both
useful and entertaining guests for the duration of their stay.
 "Please, please!" laughed the Marchioness as the youngest children were
brought forward to solemnly promise to be on their best behaviour, "you
misunderstand the nature of our request! Jacques is my husband's heir, but
he is also our family, which means that all of you are our family, too. Stay
with us at Shropshire House for the Season, and then come to our estates for
the summer! The holdings of Lord Shropshire are to be those of the next
Marquis when he inherits them, and we wish very much for them to be a
home for you all, as they have been for us."
"Does this reassure you, Marie-Thérèse, that we do very much consider
you as our family?" asked Shropshire.
The girl smiled, her eyes wet with tears. She then managed to surprise
the life out of him by throwing herself forward to wrap her arms about his
neck in an impulsive hug.
"Oh it does, it does indeed, Grand-pere Shropshire! You are our Grand-
pere adoptif, if you please, and I look forward to getting to know you!"
Frederick Cartwright, the fourth Marquis of Shropshire, found himself
completely without words for the first time in living memory. He put his
arms around the girl and patted her gently on the back, hoping that was
enough to convey to her just how deeply moved he was by her artless
declaration, and the way that the rest of her siblings surrounded them and
attempted to join in the hug.
"I hope you know what you have let yourself in for, Mons- I mean,
Grand-pere Shropshire," said Jacques, beaming at him from somewhere
beyond the mass of excited children. "You know they will never let you
have a moment of peace from this day on, don't you?"
"I do," he managed to croak out, hoping it conveyed everything he
wanted to say but could not.
For the first time since the loss of his sons, a piece of his heart began to
heal.
*
Cordelia, having ensured once again that everything about her outfit was
absolute perfection, set forth in the family carriage to call at the
Cottingham's house. Despite her hasty words to Jacques the day before, she
was determined to fulfill her engagement to take him to visit the Temple of
the Muses book shop, so he could marvel at the sheer number of volumes
upon their shelves. She had repeated and rehearsed her apology so many
times that she could recite it flawlessly, and had even made enough sense of
her heart to be able to explain, in a far less polished manner, the reason for
her outburst the night before.
She knew that he was right about Mr Douglas, but it had still hurt her
sensibilities and ego to hear another say out loud what she had already
discovered for herself. Jacques, however, had a large number of sisters of
whom he was particularly fond, and so as galling as it would be to admit it
out loud, she was confident that he would understand her fear of being
unloved and unwanted, and relegated to the role of Maiden Aunt in a world
where unmarried women had so few options open to them.
It was not a happy admission, however she looked at it.
"He will understand," she told herself once again. "My mother is right
that good friends should be cherished. He will understand, and not make it
any more awkward than it needs to be when one is revealing a deep, dark
secret."
Still, her plan was to turn the conversation to happier things at the
earliest opportunity, such as novels, art, the theatre, and Jacques' family.
She adored his stories about his home in Montreal, and she could tell how
much he loved to talk about them. Such a plan, Cordelia was certain, could
not possibly fail to win back their friendship, for what could be more
enjoyable than talking about loved ones, and then exploring a glorious
bookshop?
It was the boom of laughter from the pavement ahead that drew her
attention, so familiar was the tone. Cordelia strained in her seat so that she
could see past the other vehicles on the road, only for her heart to leap to
her throat at what she beheld.
Jacques Gautereau, looking finer and more handsome than she had ever
seen him, was walking along the street with two raven-haired, statuesque
girls whose obvious delight in his company only served to enhance their
beauty. Their matching red Spencers and fine muslin skirts, while not in the
first stare of fashion, were of such obvious quality that Cordelia could only
assume they were the daughters of some wealthy merchant or another,
perhaps someone linked to the fur trade in Montreal.
The familiarity and comfort the two girls showed in Jacques' company
caused a roar of jealousy flare in her chest, accompanied by both anger and
misery in equal measure.
Cordelia was not accustomed to such emotions, especially where
gentlemen where concerned, so she forced herself to focus on the only one
she felt suitably for the occasion.
Anger.
It seemed that she had been mistaken about the importance of their
friendship, for Monsieur Gautereau had made no attempt to apologise for
his rudeness towards her the night before, and had instead immediately
replaced her with two girls who no doubt were unaware of his lack of Ton
polish, or at least, had no notion that they were a second choice for
companions. She pitied them, and was glad that her heart had been in no
way engaged by the French-Canadian, that she had in no way considered,
even in the deepest, darkest depths of her soul, him as anything but an
amusing acquaintance.
Her carriage was drawing closer to the trio, and Cordelia knew that there
was no other option than to wield that most deadly of weapons possessed by
young ladies of her rank and position. She stared at the party, waiting for
Jacques to look up and catch her eye, to acknowledge that he had seen her,
and that he, in turn had been seen.
Their eyes locked, and immediately Cordelia let her gaze slide away,
purposefully turning her head so that she looked straight ahead as though he
were nothing but a rude, ogling stranger.
She did not turn fast enough, and knew beyond doubt that her delivery of
the Cut Direct, while executed to perfection, had been a terrible, terrible
mistake.
She'd seen the joy in his expression upon seeing her. Even as she'd begun
to turn away, she'd known that he was about to call out to her, perhaps even
introduce her to his companions.
But more than anything, he'd been glad, and relieved to see her.
And she'd just announced to both him and the world around them that he
was not even worth her notice.
Cordelia, who always knew what to do in every social situation, realised
that no one had ever explained what to do if one delivered the Cut, and then
immediately regretted it.
"It is a weapon you must use with the greatest of care, my love," she
remembered her mother telling her, "for someone of your rank can destroy
the prospects of lower status men and women in an instant. It is a last resort,
and not something you can undo if delivered in public."
"What have I done?" she whispered, the lump in her throat threatening to
choke her. She turned her head, leaning out of the carriage heedless of any
danger to both her body and reputation, prepared to shout out his name if
that was what it took to apologise, to make him understand what a foolish
wretch she had been.
But it was too late. Monsieur Gautereau and his companions were
nowhere to be seen, but several sets of curious eyes were upon her, people
who knew who she was by sight, and Cordelia had to swallow the
realisation that half the town would know she'd Cut the mysterious relative
of the Marquis of Shropshire, leaving space for both speculation and disgust
aimed at the innocent man.
"I've changed my mind take me home at once," she told the coachman
brusquely. "And be quick about it! I have a headache, and must rest
immediately."
If he was in any way surprised by her behaviour, the coachman did not
show it. Cordelia managed to maintain an outwardly calm, fashionably
disinterested demeanour for the rest of the drive, even managing to bow her
head to the odd acquaintance she saw on the way.
When they pulled up outside the family home, she could barely contain
her impatience as she waited for the footman to help her down, and did not
even pause to answer the butler's polite enquiry as to whether she had
enjoyed her drive. She rushed past everyone, even her surprised mother, and
dashed up the stairs two at a time with no care as to how inelegant she must
have appeared in doing so.
Nothing mattered.
"Pray, leave me be," she half-shouted in exasperation as her maid tried to
take her hat and gloves. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!
Oh Lord please don't start to blub, I'm not mad at you for anything, I
promise, but I need to be on my own for a while, so I need you to stop
fussing at once!"
Cordelia closed the door firmly on her still-protesting maid, satisfied at
the thud the old timbers made. She collapsed onto the bed, her hat still
pinned to her head and gloves still encasing her fingers, longing to indulge
in a fit of tears and hysterics the way heroines did in her cousin's novels.
None came. Instead she had no choice but to remain still on the covers
and study her own feelings, admit the truths in her heart, and above all,
contemplate what a complete and utter fool she had been.
*
 "Who was that, Jacques?" asked Helene, watching as Lady Cordelia's
carriage passed them by. "She was very beautiful."
"And very rude," added Thérèse from his other arm. "Did she just
deliver you the Cut?"
Jacques, suddenly remembering that he was accompanied by two of his
sisters, forced himself to bury his own hurt and smile at them instead.
"That was the Lady Cordelia Delby. She is a good friend of our cousin
Henrietta, and has been a good friend to me, also."
"It did not look like you were good friends," said Helene as they began
walking again. "It looked like she was quite angry at you."
"She has a right to be angry with me, dearest. I am afraid that I
overstepped the bounds of friendship, and told her some things that were
hurtful."
"You mean you treated her as though she were one of us," said Thérèse
with frighteningly accurate insight. "Was she in love with someone? Did
you meddle?"
"She was not in love in the least," he replied, careful not to mention who,
exactly, his fight with Cordelia had been about.
His sisters shared a speaking look.
"She felt herself to be in love, and he meddled," stated Thérèse, and
Helene nodded her agreement.
"Do you think she was in love with him?" asked the younger girl.
"She must be, for why else would she Cut him in so public a fashion?"
mused Thérèse. She patted Jacques affectionately on the arm. "It is as we
foretold it! Our dear brother came to England to claim his title, and broke a
dozen hearts along the way!"
Jacques was rapidly beginning to wonder why he'd missed the two girls
at all, and could only suppose that absence truly did make the heart grow
fonder.
There could be no other explanation.
"Firstly, Lady Cordelia is not in love with me, of that much I am
certain," he responded, although his voice caught at the statement.
"Secondly, my dear, abominable sisters, no one in England other than the
Marquis and his family have any idea that I am his heir. As far as the rest of
London knows, I'm some distant relative from a cadet branch of the tree,
and of no importance to anyone at all.
 Thérèse snorted her contempt. "Well that just goes to prove that the
English are stupid, then. Other than Christopher, of course."
"Of course," said Helene, not even bothering to disguise the roll of her
eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?" demanded Thérèse.
"Only that he's made no effort to see or speak to you," replied the
younger sister. "We're in the same house, he knows full well that you are
present, and yet has not so much as said hello to you!"
"He was out late with our brother, and then was not invited to the family
meeting with the Marquis," replied Thérèse hotly. "Just because he had
errands to run does not mean that he neglects me!"
"Errands, that explains everything," replied Helene sarcastically.
"Errands no doubt prevented him from leaving you a note as well."
"It would not have been proper for him to have left a note, would it,
Jacques?"
"He would have left a note if he was as in love with her as Thérèse
pretends, wouldn't he, Jacques?"
"Heaven save me from sisters," Jacques sighed. "Could we refrain from
bickering, if you please, and instead concentrate on the treat of ice cream
from Gunters?"
His appeal went unnoticed as Thérèse and Helene continued to snip at
each other for the remainder of the walk, but he was not so foolish as to
interrupt. For a start, he'd come to the realisation that Helene was probably
right about the nature of Christopher's affection for Thérèse, but more
importantly, their bickering meant they did not harangue him about
Cordelia.
The expression of anger and hurt on her face was seared into his
memory, although for the life of him, he did not know what he had done
that could qualify as such a betrayal. At the same time there was a current
of anger and hurt of his own, for it was one thing to be angry at him for his
hasty words, but quite another to deliver the Cut Direct in so public a
fashion.
Luckily for family harmony, his sisters were delighted with Gunters and
the range of treats available alongside the famed ices. They liberally
sampled many different flavours, and the booming laugh of all three
siblings quickly drew attention their way.
 "Gautereau, good to see you," came a familiar voice, and Jacques turned
to see none other than the Earl of Gloucester standing behind them. "I do
not believe I have been introduced to your charming companions."
"Monsieur Du Gloucester, allow me to present you to my two sisters,
Miss Gautereau, and Miss Marie Helene. They arrived from Montreal last
night, much to my delighted surprise! Thérèse, Helene, this is Monsieur le
Earl, mon cousin, if you please!"
If the Earl was in any way surprised to discover that his companions
were no other than his siblings, he did not betray it by so much as a twitch.
He executed a perfect society bow and declared himself charmed to meet
the girls.
Considering they had just met the Marquis and Baron Cottingham, his
sisters seemed far more awed by Gloucester as they curtseyed and
stammered out that the pleasure was in fact all theirs.
"Has your brother told you that he is a great favourite with my wife?" the
Earl enquired. "It is the reason I am here, in fact."
Jacques grinned at his sisters. "Abigail - Madame le Countess - is in a
delicate situation, and maman's recipe for lemon ice has spared her much
suffering."
Thérèse gave an exclamation of delight. "Monsieur Du Gloucester, I
cannot wait to meet your petit bebe when he arrives, for Maman always
says she is much sicker with the boys than the girls!"
Gloucester grinned, but also looked slightly embarrassed by this
declaration. Jacques, usually amused by the effect his sisters had on the
unsuspecting, took pity on the man.
"There are a great many children in our family, you see, but it has been a
while since a new one was added to our number. You should see how
spoiled Hart has been all morning, for they are determined to ruin him!”
"That was Maman and Mémère Gautereau," said Helene, looking
offended. “We did not get him to ourselves at all!”
"That was because Mémère told Nurse that her teething regimes were
tres stupide, and Maman agreed that brains of hairs will do nothing to sooth
the gums," explained Thérèse to the increasingly confused looking Earl.
"Mémère was correct, but we forget that people outside the family are not
used to her ways."
"I see," said the Earl, who very obviously did not.
 "Monsieur du Gloucester, it just occurred to me that Maman has many
other remedies that help when a lady is in a delicate condition! Since you
are a cousin to Jacques you are family to us as well, so it would be right for
Maman to help your wife, non?" said Helene, looking delighted by the idea.
"Regretting coming for the ices yourself rather than sending your
servant, Monsieur?" murmured Jacques.
Gloucester surprised him, however, by actually smiling. In public.
"Not at all! I take it from Miss Marie-Helene's offer that your mother and
grandmother are also in London?"
The girls giggled, and then replied on his behalf. "We are all of us here,
Monsieur, for how could we leave our brother here alone?"
Gloucester blinked. "All of you? Jacques, did you not say that you are
from a very large family?"
"Oui," he replied, struggling not to laugh. "And all of them, from my
grandparents to my seven siblings, are here to help me carry the burden of
my new life in England."
The Earl raised one eyebrow. "Indeed? Grandfather, I presume, is very
happy with your decision."
Once again, Jacques was spared the need to answer by his two sisters.
"Oh, Grand-pere Shropshire is tres jolie, non? He has invited all of us to
live with him and Grand-mere Shropshire both here in London and then at
the estates!" said Thérèse, her upset over Christopher forgotten completely
at the thought of this upcoming treat.
"How wonderful," replied Gloucester, and Jacques could have sworn he
was being genuine. "As soon as Abigail is feeling well enough, I shall bring
her to meet you all, for she will never forgive me otherwise."
"It will be such fun to meet another cousin," replied Helene with such
simple happiness that Jacques could have sworn he saw the Earl's formal
countenance melt in her presence.
"If the rest of your family is half as delightful as you, my dear girl, then I
am certain that it will be. Ah, I believe that Abigail's ices are ready for me. I
will bid you adieu for now, and shall look forward to telling my sister how I
was the first to meet you."
"His sister is Madame du Loughcroft," explained Jacques once the Earl
had left. "They are very competitive."
It was soon apparent that Gloucester had not waited to tell his sibling
about his chance encounter, for no sooner had the Gautereau siblings
finished their ices than the door to Gunters' opened, and Lady Loughcroft,
resplendent in a purple Spencer and matching turban, practically flew inside
with her husband and her brother-in-law, Mr Percival, racing to keep up
with her.
"Jacques, you fiend! How could you let Gloucester meet your sisters
before I could?" she demanded before presenting her cheek for him to kiss.
"Bonjour, Emma, may I present my sisters to you?"
Introductions were made, and Jacques was quick to notice how Thérèse
blushed, just a little, when the fashionable - and rich - Mr Percival declared
himself enchanted to meet her.
Emma looked his sisters up and down with a frank expression. "Oh dear,
I'm afraid you are going to make a lot of enemies in London, Jacques, when
word gets out about how beautiful your sisters are. They're going to take the
Ton by storm, you mark my words!"
He quickly translated the compliment to his confused sisters, who both
positively beamed with pride as soon as they understood.
"You are too kind, ma cousine," said Thérèse, "for someone as stylish as
you to say such things is a compliment most grande!"
"Oui, for you must be a noted leader of fashion," added Helene, looking
at both Emma's Spencer and turban with appreciative envy.
Emma preened.
"I love you both already," she declared. "Loughcroft, Perry, am I not
right that these delightful cousins of mine will be the Toast of the Ton from
the moment they debut?"
"Without doubt. Their colouring will be the envy of every fair haired
miss in Society, and together they are a striking pair of beauties," replied
her husband, and Jacques was privately amused that his sisters were more
impressed by Emma's assessment than that of a noted leader of fashionable
society.
"Do you like England, Miss Gautereau?" Perry asked Thérèse directly.
She blushed ever so slightly, and cast down her eyes in a way that had
Jacques looking at her with interest, and Helene back to rolling her eyes.
"What little we have seen, Monsieur. We arrived on the first tide
yesterday, and then took coaches direct to London. This is the first time we
have ventured from ma cousine's home, and I have found everything to be
of interest!"
 "Well we must rectify that immediately," declared Emma. "Perry, you
can escort Miss Gautereau, and Loughcroft, take Miss Helene's arm. It's but
a short stroll to Green Park, and a perfectly pleasant afternoon!"
His sisters were soon found to be perfectly content with their walking
partners, and it was not long before formalities were dropped on account of
their convoluted family relationship, with the girls being addressed as Miss
Thérèse and Miss Helene, and the gentlemen as Loughcroft and Perry.
"They are truly delightful," Emma murmured to him a few minutes into
their stroll, giving his arm a squeeze to emphasise the point. "Gloucester
says that your whole family has arrived, including your grandparents. Is that
true?"
"Oui, and I warn you in advance that your daughter will be spoiled to
pieces by them all. Mémère will tell you everything you are doing wrong
with her, and then compliment you on having such a jolie bebe. Maman and
her parents will carry her about and not let you hold her for a moment,
while my siblings will all fight over whose turn it is to rock her cradle. You
will wish to avoid us before the week is out!"
"Never," sighed Emma, "for if your sisters are anything to go by, I will
love them all immediately. Should we take their presence in England as a
sign that you intend to stay here?"
He didn't answer immediately, for his thoughts went to the one person he
really did not want to think about in that moment.
"I know I will need help to be a Marquis of the standard set by your
Grand-pere," he eventually replied. "I think having my old family here
alongside my new one, I will have a chance of making all of you proud
when that day eventually arrives - hopefully not for a great many years!"
"I think you have already made all of us very proud, Jacques," said
Emma. "It was one thing to learn there was an heir, but quite another for us
to discover that you are a better man that we could have hoped for."
"You are too kind, Emma," he said, much touched by this tribute.
She squeezed his arm again. "I know we have not had as much time to
get to know each other as you have with Henrietta and even Abigail, but I
am confident that we will become great friends with time. Everyone will
tell you that I meddle, and perhaps I do, but you should know that I am
always right in the end."
"Why do I feel that you are about to meddle?" he asked.
 Emma laughed. "Because you have sisters, of course! You know that
meddling is what we do!"
They reached Green Park, where Thérèse and Helene made all the
expected observations about how pretty and rustic it all appeared to be, and
naturally begged Loughcroft and Perry to take them over to the milkmaids
with their cows so that they could partake in the novelty of a cup of warm
milk taken straight from the udder while they waited.
Emma declined the treat, but was content to stroll slowly with Jacques
while they waited for the others to return.
"Thérèse and Perry make a striking couple, don't they," she observed
after a few minutes of comfortable silence between them.
"He is one of the few men who does not make her look too tall," he
admitted with true brotherly affection. "Is this your meddling, ma cousine?
For I must warn you that Thérèse is quite taken with Christopher Douglas."
"I do not see the appeal of that boy," sighed Emma. "I understand that he
is very personable and sweet, but he is still a boy. Perhaps he will grow into
a capable man by the age of thirty, but he does not hold a candle to Perry, or
to you, for that matter."
"To me?" he asked in surprised.
The expression Emma cast on him was derisive at best.
"Dearest, the entire Ton knows that you and Lady Cordelia had an
argument at the Kelwick picnic, although there are two schools of thought
on to the nature of the argument. The first is convinced that you tried to
warn her away from Christopher Douglas, possibly at his request."
"She will not like that," he said without thinking. "Poor Cordy; she
thought she had not shown too decided a preference for him."
"We can all be fools," replied Emma. "The lengths I went to in order to
secure Loughcroft's affection make me blush to think of them, but that's all
in the past now."
There was a tiny smile floating on her lips, and Jacques made a mental
note to uncover the rest of that tale, if only to satisfy his own curiosity over
the matter.
"And what does the second group believe?"
"That you declared your love to her, and she rejected you as a foreign
nobody."
"Cordelia is not so shallow as to reject a man for a lack of title," he
snapped.
 Emma's smile grew broad, and he knew he had betrayed himself.
"I knew it!" she crowed. "I told Abigail as much! You are in love with
our dear Cordy, aren't you?"
"I did not declare anything to her, either at the picnic or at any other
time," he replied, exasperated with himself for letting Emma trip him up.
He'd never have let his sisters pull such information from him, and was both
irritated and shocked that his cousin had succeeded so easily.
"I never thought you to be so stupid as to have declared yourself when
her mind was set on the Douglas boy," scoffed Emma. "Tell me truthfully,
though; does she know you are grandfather's heir?"
"Non, for we agreed to tell no one before the Marquis has established my
legitimacy beyond any doubt," he replied. "I suppose now that my mother
and grandparents are here, that will be achieved quickly enough. He asked
to speak with them while I brought the eldest girls out for a treat, and the
Cottinghams have taken the little ones to see the ships on the Thames."
"Tell her your feelings before she learns of the title," urged Emma. "I
have known Cordelia since before her come-out, and watched her blossom
from a flattered and pampered beauty to a kind-hearted young lady with a
heart of purest gold. Anyone who knows her is certain of her regard for
you, but her love of her family would prevent her from accepting the hand
of anyone she believed would settle far from England's shores."
"Is that not a reason to tell her I am the heir, then?" he replied, before
adding hastily, "if I were considering marriage."
Emma shook her head. "Men are so dense about such things! Of course
you cannot tell her that! If she only accepts your suit after you have told her
you are to become the next Marquis, then both of you will always wonder if
she loved you enough to marry you even if you were nothing but a foreign
nobody. It would eat away at the foundations of your happiness, until there
was nothing left."
If Jacques considered this a little dramatic, he was too well mannered to
say so.
"Cordelia is proud, you have to understand that," Emma continued.
"Henrietta told me that the poor child set her heart on Christopher because
she's afraid that she will never find a suitable husband beyond this season.
Her mind was so set on bringing the boy up to scratch that she never did
pay any attention to what her heart was doing."
"You and Henrietta have discussed this?" he asked, raising a brow.
 Emma did not display an ounce of shame, despite his disapproving tone.
"Yes, and with Abigail and Grandmother as well. Why are you looking
at me like that? You told us yourself that you were not sure about remaining
in England, so we thought that the best thing for you to do would be to fall
in love with a suitable girl from the Ton. Of course we didn't realise that
you family were going to arrive to support you, but that doesn't matter
now."
"It doesn't?"
"No, because you're already in love with Cordelia, and she with you. It's
just a matter of fixing this little quarrel and proposing to her, and everything
will be perfect."
He didn't mean to offend his cousin in the least, but Jacques could not
help the laughter that bubbled up from his throat.
"So simple! Mon dieu, you are so very like my sisters, Emma!"
"I take that as a compliment," she said loftily, but could not maintain her
Tonnish air with him for more than a few moments. "Dearest Jacques! You
can ask any one of us in this family about how close we each came to losing
love, and how easy it is to complicate the simplest of things. Go to Cordelia
and tell her you love her, even tell her that you will stay in England if it is
what she wishes. So long as you do not confess that you are the Shropshire
heir until after she agrees to marry you, then I promise that you will both be
happy."
Jacques thought of his brief glimpse of Cordelia a few hours earlier, and
the expression on her face.
"I do not think she has forgiven me," he admitted.
"Then apologise, you foolish boy," Emma admonished. "Take her a gift
to demonstrate your regrets as well as your affection. Not flowers or
anything that insipid, and do not use Lord Arthur as a model for romantic
gestures! It must be something meaningful, but not too personal, so no
jewellery or such things before you are formerly engaged."
"Would paints be an acceptable gift?" he hazarded, "or paper, and
brushes?"
"Perfect!" declared Emma. "It is not usually a done thing for a gentleman
to buy gifts for a young woman who is not his relative, but since these are
effectively an engagement gift, I am certain that Lord Delby will accept
them."
"Lord Delby?"
 "Well naturally you are going to request his permission to ask for
Cordelia's hand in marriage first," said Emma with a careless laugh.
"Although I would probably tell him that you are the heir to the marquisate,
if I were you. It's one thing to expect your future wife to love you regardless
of fortune, but quite another to expect it of a dutiful father."
"I do not know whether you intend to raise my hopes or crush my spirits,
ma cousine," said Jacques with a shake of his head.
"I am here to support you no matter what, for we are family," she
declared, once again giving his arm a squeeze.
There was a comfortable silence between them as they watched their
four relatives talking and laughing merrily in the distance. Jacques had to
admit that Emma was right in one matter: Thérèse and Mr Percival looked
quite splendid together.
It stood to reason, then, that she may be correct about other things, too.
"Perhaps you can direct me to the best place to purchase art supplies
suitable for the Lady Cordelia," he said.
Emma positively beamed.
"Wait until I tell Loughcroft that you are following my advice, and don't
think I'm a meddling busybody in the least! Come on, let's go gather up
those four gadabouts and head towards town; I know just the shop you are
looking for!"
 Chapter Ten

Lord Delby was not a man who was easy to surprise, but when his butler
announced that Monsieur Gautereau was requesting an audience, he had to
admit to himself that he was caught off guard. He had not been expecting
the boy to present himself for a few more weeks at least, but supposed that
love could move faster than expected.
When the man brought into his study was not Jacques, but rather a
mountain of a man with thick black hair and a shrewd gaze, Lord Delby
resigned himself to the knowledge that he was no longer on top of his game.
"You're Delby, are you? I've heard much about you, or at least about your
younger days," said Monsieur Gautereau in heavily accented French as he
took the chair in front of the desk without waiting for an invitation. "I'm
Jacques' stepfather. Henri. Everyone calls me that, or Bruin. Take your
pick."
After a moment of stunned silence in which his brain, for the first time in
his life, failed to provide him with an appropriate response, Delby glanced
at the pile of letters he had been in the middle of organising. He smiled as
the world began to settle beneath his feet.
"And I have heard much about you, Grand Bruin, although not from the
source you would believe. John mentioned you often in his letters.
Something about a setting up a lark by stealing pemmican, whatever that
is?"
Henri's eyes went wide for a moment, and then the man burst out a
rumble of laughter so loud it felt as though the whole house shook.
"So it was him, the wretch! He nearly started a war over that incident! By
God, if he were still alive I'd wring his neck for all the trouble he gave me."
Delby smiled. "John certainly had that effect on people."
The huge man's gaze softened. "Aye, that he did. I made him a promise
when he was dying that I'd do right by the boy, and raise him as though he
were my own. That's why I'm here."
 Delby managed to conceal his surprise as he motioned for the man to
continue.
"It's about Jacques' expectations, and such. His cousin, Lady Cottingham,
told us that there is a romance brewing between him and your daughter, so
I'm here to let you know of his worth."
Delby held up a hand. "There is no need, Henri. I recognised Jacques to
be my friend's son the moment I laid eyes on him, and I'm well aware that
he's the heir to Shropshire. For my own reasons I have not informed my
daughter of his status, but the situation is well in hand."
Henri, he noticed, did not look impressed by this declaration.
"I've known more than my fair share of lords and their offspring, Delby,
and nigh on half of them were no more than paupers with an inflated sense
of entitlement. God, the number who thought they could walk into the
prairies and come back as Kings, only to return drunk, fevered or dead is
beyond my reckoning. You don't strike me as a fool, and for all John's
faults, he never could abide fools, so I don't think for a moment that a title
alone would be enough to convince you that my boy is a suitable match for
your girl."
"You are right in that matter," acknowledged Delby, "but I have the
advantage of knowing what Shropshire is worth, and just what Jacques is
going to inherit."
Henri gave a snort of contempt. "A pretty pile of projects that will bleed
him dry if he lets them. Oh, the Marquis is a good man and better than most
I've met, but he spends far too much of damned horses from what I know!
No, I'd understand if the finances of the Shropshire estates gave you pause."
The world had fallen away again. While he personally had considerably
more assets than the Marquis, no one would consider the Shropshire estates
to be paltry, even if only two thirds were to go to the heir, and the rest of the
unentailed lands split between the Loughcrofts, Gloucesters and
Cottinghams.
"I see. Then may I ask in what way you intend to reassure me?" Delby
eventually said.
The giant of a man gave a curt nod, and then withdrew a folded sheet of
paper from his waistcoat pocket.
"I had this drawn up by my lawyer a while ago, but it wasn't finished
before the boy left for England," he said as he pushed it across the desk.
Curiosity filled Delby as he carefully unfolded the note to examine the neat
list of properties, assets, shares, and holdings. He did not do anything so
dramatic as drop the sheet, swear, or spit out wine as he reviewed the sums,
but if he left his own son half as much wealth when he passed, he'd consider
himself an exceptional parent.
"I was not aware that Jacques had such a fortune in his own right,"
admitted Delby. "Perhaps I should pay more attention to the residents of the
colonies before my youngest two girls have their first Seasons."
Henri, his expression still stern, gave a nod. "I can't claim responsibility
for most of those figures, for John put as much of his money as he could
into investments for the boy as soon as he knew he was dying. Amelie's
parents made sure she would be taken care of, at least until she decided that
marrying me would not be such a bad thing. You understand, then, that you
need not worry about his siblings or me trying to lay claim to even a penny
of that fortune, for it's from his father, and he's the only heir."
"I assure you, Henri, that I have no worries about Jacques, his fortune, or
his suitability as a match for my daughter. Call me a romantic fool, but I
rather liked the notion of the son of my best friend marrying into my
family."
The side of his guest's mouth quirked up. "Yes, but it's the fortune and
title that really seal the deal for you."
"Touché," replied Delby, and they both laughed.
"Well, that's all I have to say on the matter," said Henri, starting to rise
from his chair.
Delby held out a hand, motioning for the big man to sit back down a
moment.
"Please, don't you wish to know how much I'm willing to settle on
Cordelia, should the marriage go ahead?"
Henri shrugged. "That's none of my business, and I suspect Jacques will
demand that it's kept in a trust for her future. His sisters have given him a
soft heart, you see, and he's strongly of the belief that the fairer sex should
have a say in their own destinies. That's probably my mother's fault. Some
of the tribes are led and governed by the womenfolk, and it gives them
some peculiar notions."
"Please do not introduce her to my sister-in-law," said Delby, shuddering
at the thought of Mrs Manning learning that there were societies out there
where women were considered equal, or even superior to men. "Still, I will
be settling ten thousand on Cordelia when she marries, not to mention an
additional portion from her mother, so she will not come to the union
penniless."
His guest nodded as though the amount was acceptable, rather than the
fortune that had lured more than one unsuitable rogue after another to sniff
about his children.
Delby decided he rather liked Henri, and understood why his friend had
been so taken with the man.
"The Shropshires think my own daughters will be popular with the Ton,"
said Henri, his heavy brows knitting together. "You're a leader in that
society."
"I like to think so," he replied politely.
"The Douglas boy; Cottingham's brother," said Henri. "What do you
think of him?"
Delby leant back in his chair, smiling as his new acquaintance shared the
common fear of fathers all over the world. He decided he owed it to both
Henri, and to the memory of John Cartwright, to be honest in their dealings.
Besides, said a quiet voice in the back of his head, your son may take a
shine to one of Henri's daughters, and a man who regards ten thousand as
an adequate portion is likely to have settled much more on his girls.
"There is nothing about young Christopher to offend, and indeed, a great
many of the younger set find him to be a delightful companion. I expect in a
decade or so, he will be an amiable gentleman that I would not object to
courting a member of my family. Like a niece, or cousin."
Henri met his gaze, the dark eyes dancing with humour. "As I thought.
Well, I appreciate your candour, Delby, and I'm glad that we will be leaving
the Cottingham's home shortly and settling in with the Shropshires instead."
This time Delby did not prevent the man from standing, but he did extend
a hand across the table. Henri's grip was strong, and the shake firm.
"I hope our paths cross again soon, Henri, both in celebration, and in the
opportunity to reminisce about our mutual friend."
Henri grinned, and it occurred to Delby that any youth applying to this
man for permission to court one of his daughters would need to have a
constitution of pure iron.
"You will enjoy meeting my wife, I think. John confessed more to her
than even I knew about!" he chuckled, but his smile was meloncholy. "I
miss the man, truth be told."
"But you've done him proud with his boy," Delby assured him.
 Henri straightened up, that wicked grin that bared all of his teeth
returning to his face.
"I have done, haven't I?" he said, and then took his leave.
An hour later, when his butler came to announce that Monsieur
Gautereau was requesting an audience with him, Delby did not make the
same mistake of assuming he knew which member of the family was
calling on him. He half expected to meet the eldest of Henri's sons, but was
relieved when it was none other than Jacques who was shown into the
study.
The young man was immaculately dressed, and carried a package
wrapped in brown paper beneath his arm. His wild brown locks, so
reminiscent of his father, had been tamed and smoothed by an expert hand,
although Delby secretly thought he preferred them in the state of disarray
they'd been in at Kelwick Manor. Jacques was nervous, but he disguised it
well.
"My Lord Delby, thank you for receiving me," he began in a well-
rehearsed speech. "I'm sure you know why I would like to speak with you
and have many questions of your own."
Delby wondered if, somewhere, John was looking down on this scene,
and laughing.
"You want to marry my daughter, which I personally think is an excellent
idea, if you can convince her to accept your proposal," he said, leaning back
in his chair again. "As for questions: no, I don't think that I do. I know you
are heir to the Marquis of Shropshire, even if Cordelia does not. I knew
your father, and I know you have... an adequate fortune in your own right.
All that remains is for you to convince my girl that you are the one to make
her happy."
He almost felt sorry for Jacques, but the young man quickly overcame his
shock and rallied quickly.
"Merci, Delby. You may know that Lady Cordelia is upset with me
following a disagreement."
"You should probably get used to that," confided Delby. "Even the
happiest of unions are marked by occasional disagreements. Is that a gift to
help smooth the waters? An exellent notion, but I would caution you not to
do it too often, or else you'll find yourself getting into disagreements
whenever your wife wishes you to purchase a hideously expensive
frippery."
 Jacques was momentarily diverted from his mission by this comment and
cocked his head to the side. "I do not think, Monsieur Delby, that your wife
needs to go to such measures to obtain whatever her heart desires, whenever
her heart desires it."
Delby raised a single brow in an expression known to make the
pretentious cower. Jacques did not even flinch.
"Observant, aren't you?" he said with a smile. "Very well! But do not ruin
my image as a tyrant, if you please. I have a son and two more daughters to
marry off before my work is done, and it helps if potential spouses and their
families quake at the mere whisper of my name. Here, let me send a
message to my daughter and you may have ten minutes with her in the
dining room to make your peace."
"Thank you, Monsieur Delby. I can now stop shaking in terror of you
having me thrown from the house."
"Insolent boy," said Delby, before summoning a footman and asking him
to pass his message on to Cordelia.
"What is the gift for my daughter?" he asked when they were alone again.
"Forgive the natural curiosity of a father."
"Paints, and a sketchbook that the shopkeeper assures me is used by the
professional artists," replied Jacques, holding out the package as though
Delby could see through the string and brown paper. "I have not had the
privilege of seeing many of Cordelia's paintings, but she speaks of it with
enthusiasm, and everyone speaks of her talent and ability."
Delby gave an approving nod, the gesture enough to convince him that
the young man before him had more understanding of Cordelia than any of
the callow youths or fortune hunters who had sent spray upon spray of
exotic flowers in a bid to win her heart.
The footman knocked softly on the door before entering, a troubled
expression on his face. He glanced briefly at Jacques, and then approached
Lord Delby to whisper his tidings directly into the Earl's ear.
"I see, thank you," he said, waiting until the servant had left the room
before telling his guest the news.
"It seems my daughter has taken to her bed with a headache, and will not
stir for anyone," he said. The boy's shoulders visibly drooped, and
expression despondent.
Better than angry, thought Delby with even more approval. He is hurt
and worried, but there is no demand, no shouting, no expectation of her
attention. Ah, John. Your boy is more of a man than either of us were at that
age.
"I understand, Monsieur. May I ask that you present her with my gift
when Mademoiselle Cordelia feels better? Tell her... please tell her it is my
way of apologising, and..."
"and what?" asked Delby when the silence drew on too long to be
comfortable.
Jacques scratched at the back of his neck and looked rueful. "It is but a
thought of mine, one that may render me the fool if I am incorrect, but if
you think, perhaps, her upset with me stems from earlier today rather than
the picnic, please tell her that the two pretty girls she saw in my company
were my sisters, Thérèse and Helene. My family arrived unexpectedly in
the night you see, and I have not had the opportunity to tell her."
Had the boy not looked so concerned, Delby would have let his usual
guard drop and laughed out loud at the folly of youth. Instead he gave a
grave nod as he accepted the gift for his daughter.
"If I feel it appropriate, then I will," he promised. “Here, take these letters
of mine to Shropshire, if you please. He will understand what they are.”
Not three minutes after his inevitably soon to be son-in-law had left the
house, his wife came tripping into the office, breathless with anticipation
"Well?" she demanded.
"It is as you and the ladies of his family determined," he said. "The poor
boy is as in love with the girl as she is with him."
"So why isn't Cordelia down here? Why aren't we wishing them happy?"
she said, practically bouncing on her toes. "I cancelled all our engagements
for today the moment I heard that Monsieur Gautereau was here to see you
- although I admit your first guest was not the one I expected! Was that
Jacques' stepfather? Why did he come here? Did his son send him?"
"Slow down, my dear!" he said, standing up and coming around the desk
so that he could hold her. "Come, let us have a glass of wine together, and I
will explain everything."
Lady Delby listened to his accounts in almost perfect silence, interjecting
only once to squeal "how much?" when he told her of the accounts provided
by Henri Gautereau. Her expression turned increasingly thoughtful,
although she did shake her head in despair at the announcement that
Cordelia had seen Jacques in the company of two very pretty girls when she
had been on her way to apologise to him.
 "Well now I understand why she made her way up to her room in such a
dramatic fashion," sighed his wife. "Young people can be very stupid when
it comes to love."
"No more than we were," he said softly, and was rewarded with a tender
smile from the woman who he'd long ago come to depend upon. "The
question is how much we should tell her."
"Nothing at all," declared his wife with surprising conviction. "Darling,
she has almost realised that she loves that boy even if he is her feared
foreign nobody, and that she would be willing to leave us all behind if it
means they would be together. If she does not declare that love before
learning that he both intends to remain in England and that he is
Shropshire's heir, she'll doubt herself for the rest of her life."
"She'll hear about it sooner or later," Delby remarked. "The arrival of
twelve colonials from Lower Canada, spanning three generations and
related to a Peer of the realm is not going to be secret for long. In fact, I
suspect half the Ton knows about it already."
"She won't leave the house tonight," said his wife, looking thoughtful.
"She is not ready to face this without a good night of sleep to calm her
heart, but she needs to be steered in the right direction."
"I wish you luck," he said, but the hand she placed on his arm revealed
her true intentions, and he groaned.
"She idolises you," Lady Delby explained, a pleading note in her tone.
"Take his gift up to her, and just be you. It will be enough!"
"If I manage to sort out Cordelia's future happiness, then I consign the
fate of our other three children entirely into your hands," he grumbled as he
got to his feet.
His wife smiled with faux innocence. "Darling, if you're right about the
fortune of Henri Gautereau, I fully intend to have you marry the other three
into the family as well."
*
Cordelia was not so dramatic as to have locked her door, but she was still
surprised when it opened without any voice announcing the presence of her
maid. She sat up, about to apologise to the poor girl for her earlier
behaviour, but stopped in surprise as no other than her father entered the
room, a package wrapped in brown paper and string tucked beneath his
arm.
 "Your mother said you had a headache," he explained as he closed the
door behind him, "but I have a suspicion that it is your heart that hurts."
She tucked her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms about her
legs.
"Why would you think that?"
He gave a meaningful look at the spencer and shako-style hat that she'd
discarded onto the floor several hours earlier.
"No matter how ill you found yourself, you would be unable to treat such
prime articles of fashion with indifference. In my experience, the only force
powerful enough to make a Delby careless with their clothing is a broken
heart."
She glanced up at him, unconvinced. "I can't believe that either you or
mother have ever been careless with your clothing."
"That is where you are wrong," he said as he came to sit on the edge of
her bed. "Your mother assures me that she actually tore the lace trim of her
opera dress the first time she lost her temper with me."
Cordelia, who knew far more about that incident and the dancer who has
caused it, years before her own birth, opted to remain silent.
"As for me; well, when your mother was ill after your brother's birth and
we were worried she would not pull through, I ruined three neckcloths and
several shirts while insisting I help care for her."
She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Three neckcloths!"
He nodded gravely. "Your mother has always maintained that was the
moment she knew I truly loved her, for I did not so much as tug on my cuffs
when we lost the election."
She laughed softly, the sensation strange in a throat swollen with unshed
tears.
"I'm afraid I made rather a hash of things, Father," she confessed.
His smile was gentle. "Well, you wouldn't be a Delby if the path of true
love had been without a few twists, but I don't think things are as bad as you
fear."
"I gave Jacques the Cut Direct," she said.
There was a brief pause.
"Ah," he said. "That explains much."
She looked up, intrigued by this odd statement, but her father's attention
had already passed on to other things, and life had long ago taught her that
Lord Delby did not return to prior topics willingly.
 "I have something for you," he said, and handed her the package.
She unfolded her limbs, leaning over the large bundle of brown paper as
he motioned for her to open it.
She pulled at the string knot, and then gasped as her eyes fell onto the
beautiful watercolour paper and the set of truly exquisite paints.
"Papa!" she breathed, "you did not have to buy me such a gift!"
"I'm well aware that I didn't" he said, which seemed to amuse him
greatly. "I do, however have a request to make."
"Anything," she replied, running her fingers over the precious gift.
"A portrait of my best friend," he replied. "Of John Cartwright. I do not
know why I did not think of it sooner, but I find that I am wistful for the
past. If I describe him to you, would you paint him for me?"
"Of course," she said, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.
She was not a fool. She knew exactly what was behind her father's
request, and yet she found that she loved him all the more for it. Sometimes
he just understood things, and knew how to help her fix her mess without
making her explain it all in excruciating detail.
She fetched the box containing her painting things, and then topped up a
small glass from the pitcher of water on her dresser. Lord Delby, leaning
back against the wall with his hands behind his head, began to reminisce
about his youth, sharing some adventures that she'd never before heard as
he told her all about boy John who'd grown into a man beside him. At some
point her maid came into the room with a brace of candles, while another
brought in a tray of food for them both. Her mother slipped in at some
point, taking the chair beside the fireplace where she set to work on her
embroidery, pausing only when she added some colour to her husband's
memories.
It was late when she finished, turning the paper so her father could
inspect it.
"Ah, Cordy, you have captured him exactly," he said softly, "right down
to the haphazard way he powdered his hair."
He stared at it in silence, smiling. She tried to pass it to him, tell him to
keep it, but his gentle refusal forced it to remain in her hands.
"You know this was not for me, dear one. Tomorrow morning, far before
the fashionable are out of their beds, you can take it to him yourself."
She looked at the portrait she'd created, wondering what the man looking
back at her would have thought of her treatment of his son.
 "I do not think he will forgive me, even with this," she sighed, feeling as
though she would cry for the first time.
She did not expect the sound of her father's amusement at the disclosure,
or of her mother scolding him gently for his mirth.
"What is so funny?" she demanded, a tiny spout of anger splitting
through her misery.
Her father kissed her on the forehead and then got to his feet.
"I don't believe he would have gifted you that paper and those paints if he
did not wish for a reconciliation, my silly, foolish, girl."
"Jacques bought me these?" she squealed, fighting the impulse to fling
them away. "Oh no, I cannot accept such a generous gift, not after my
behaviour!"
"You can hardly return them used," said her mother as she packed away
her embroidery. "I think it's time for you and your young gentleman to stop
squabbling, Cordelia, for it is obvious that you both wish to put this quarrel
behind you. Now, your maid is on her way to help you undress, and I have
instructed her to use my distilled water of pineapples on your face, so your
complexion will have recovered by the morning. Do make sure that you
sleep, my dear. There would be nothing worse for you than attempting a
reconciliation while looking haggard."
Her mother kissed her firmly on the cheek whispered that she loved her
very much, and then left the room.
"I'll see if one of the staff can get the picture mounted for you before you
set out in the morning," promised her father, only now leaning over to pick
up the painting. "Footmen are remarkably brilliant about such unorthodox
requests if there is a coin or two involved."
"Take it from my pin money, please," Cordelia said faintly as two maids
entered to tidy the room and then help her prepare for bed.
Her father paused at the door to throw her a roguish smile more suited to
the days of his youth than the man she had known all her life.
"I intend to, foolish one, with interest! Now do as your mother says and
get some rest - Delbys may be fools when it comes to our hearts, but noone
can accuse us of looking anything but slap up to echo while indulging our
foolish ways."
"I love you so much, Papa," she cried out impulsively.
He smiled, and the expression made her feel like everything was going to
work out fine in the end.
 Chapter Eleven

Jacques walked around Hyde Park by himself for several hours, his scowl
enough to prevent anyone from interrupting his heavy thoughts. He thought
over every interaction he'd had with Cordelia from every angle he could
think of, trying to find the moment he had given her a disgust of him, and
searching for a way to fix it. He had not given up hope that there was a way
past their falling out for the Earl was not the sort of man to raise false
expectations , but rather he worried that Delby might bring pressure to bare
on Cordelia, and push her to accept Jacques' suit regardless of her own
feelings.
He could acknowledge now that the Lady Cordelia Delby was the woman
he wished to marry above all others, but only if she loved him as truly as he
did her. Emma had been right; if it took his status as Shropshire's heir to
win her hand, he was not sure that either of them would move beyond that
point.
He had no idea what he would do if she accepted him under those terms,
and yet he could not stop thinking about it. The walk did nothing to soothe
his nerves, and he returned home in time to eat with the family no happier
than he'd been when he'd left the Delby's home.
At least there proved to be some distraction from his woes that evening,
for Christopher had appeared in the parlour just before dinner and professed
his great joy at seeing each and every member of the Gautereau family.
"I am only sorry that I was not able to join you all until now, for I had
some business to take care of first," he said, taking the seat beside
Henrietta.
Jacques felt as though his parents and grandparents had cooled a little
towards his friend, but could not be sure. His own heart was heavy, perhaps
he was seeing the end of hope in every budding relationship.
"Are you very surprised to find us here, Christopher?" asked Thérèse,
fluttering her eyes at him. It was lucky that she did not see the face that
Helene pulled behind her.
"I am mightily surprised to find any of you here," he replied in his usual
jovial way, "although I must say that I'm glad for it! Jack has been pining
for home, you know, and since we can't bring Montreal to England, having
his family here is the next best thing!"
His attempt at a compliment fell somewhat flat, and it was left to poor
Lady Cottingham to cover for her son's faux pas. Luckily the dinner bell
rang just a moment later, calling them through to dine. Augustin was the
youngest to be allowed at the table, while the rest of the children were
happily ensconced in the Nursery where they were no doubt running poor
nurse ragged. By an unfortunate turn of events, Christopher offered his arm
to his mother as her escort instead of to Thérèse, as the poor girl had
obviously expected. It meant that she entered the dining room alone, even
behind Helene and Augustin, who were chattering away as they walked,
arm in arm, behind Jacques and Mémère.
Her face was a picture of misery throughout dinner, for she was too far
away from Christopher and even James to join in the conversation about
their time in Montreal, and she even had to endure the disapproving gaze of
Mémère whenever Thérèse sent a look of longing up at the boy she'd long
fancied herself in love with. Jacques did his best to entertain her, as did
Helene and Augustin, but she was determined to maintain a fit of the
sullens, which only made their grandmother gaze at her with disgust as well
as disapproval.
The meal was a simple one, and the ladies withdrew as soon as the last
course was removed. James poured them all a generous measure of brandy -
much to the approval of Grand-pere Roy - but did not encourage them to
linger.
"Madame Cartwright-Gautereau made me promise to rejoin the ladies as
soon as manners dictate, for she wishes to discuss the plans for your
removal to Shropshire House tomorrow before our guests arrive."
"Guests?" queried Christopher.
"The Shropshires, the Gloucesters and the Loughcrofts," replied his
brother. "There is some debate as to where everyone should spend the
summer months, and it seemed easiest to gather everyone together for the
discussion."
Christopher shuddered for dramatic effect, and then drained his glass of
brandy in a swift gulp.
 "Sounds like a terrible squeeze, but I wish you all the best of it! I'm off to
the spend the evening with some of my University friends, although you
can tell Henrietta that I promise not to be carried home as drunk as a
wheelbarrow!"
"You do not stay?" asked Jacques' stepfather, his expression thoughtful
even as Christopher gave a careless shrug in response.
"There's no need of me in such discussions, for I'll likely return to
Montreal before the summer, even if Jacques is truly set on remaining in
England! Enjoy your evening, please, as I am sure that I will enjoy mine!"
James watched his brother leave, and then shook his head.
"I suppose that is our signal to rejoin the ladies," he said, rising to his
feet. "Perhaps we can discuss business another evening, Henri."
"Whenever suits you, Cottingham," replied Jacques father, with a kindlier
smile for the older brother than he had spared for Christopher all evening.
"Grand-pere, is my friend out of favour?" he whispered to his relative as
they followed James through to the sitting room.
His Grandfather Roy gave the smallest of shrugs. "I am not the one to
ask, my dear boy, for I never felt that Douglas was a good match for our fair
Thérèse, but then I am only a grand-pere adoptif, so it was not my place to
say."
"You should have said to me," Jacques told the older man, but their
arrival in the parlour prevented any further conversation on the matter.
Their discussions on the logistics of the Gautereau family's removal to
Shropshire house might have gone well, were it not for his sisters. Thérèse
watched the door for ten minutes before realising that Christopher was not
to join them, and upon learning that he had, in fact, left the house without
so much as looking in on the ladies, finally allowed her exasperation to
burst forth from her.
"He has barely spoken two words since we arrived, and had not sought
out my company at all!" she complained loudly. The dowager Lady
Cottingham looked rather shocked by the outburst, but Thérèse's relatives
were long used to her ways, and more or less ignored her. That would have
been the end of it, at least for the evening, had Helene been able to resist
gloating at her sister's expense.
"I told you that you were making a fool of yourself over him," she
crowed. "Whatever you think he meant that night, he obviously does not
hold you in great esteem now does he?"
 "Helene, hold your tongue at once," snapped their mother, but even her
scolding could not dull the expression of smug satisfaction for the younger
girl's face.
Thérèse, however, did not do something as vulgar as burst into tears, but
rather seemed to be in a state of shock to discover that her beau was not as
constant as she believed.
"I don't think he has even thought about me at all," she said to the room
in general, the confusion on her face all the more heartbreaking for its
innocence.
Henrietta, however, seemed to understand Thérèse far more than her own
family did. She got to her feet and extended her hand to the poor girl, her
smile that of a wiser, more experienced sister.
"Believe me, I know precisely how you feel right now," she declared.
"Come and sit in the corner with me, where we can have a comfortable talk
without being interrupted. I can tell you everything that I've learned about
the Douglas men, and then you can decide how to proceed!"
These words seemed to greatly amuse her husband and mother-in-law,
and James was forced to sheepishly explain to the Gautereaus the nature of
his courtship with Henrietta.
"Intelligent girl," said Mémère with approval, "although I am intrigued to
meet this Monsieur le Duke of hers!"
"My regrets, but he has recently married a friend of mine," said Jacques
while the rest of the party laughed. "You will meet them soon enough,
though, for I am very fond of Her Grace and her family."
It was a little after eight when the first of their guests arrived, and while
Thérèse's mood picked up considerably when she saw that Mr Percival had
accompanied the Loughcrofts, Jacques found that his own was becoming
increasingly maudlin as the evening progressed. So many speaking looks
were cast in his direction that it was clear Emma had told all of their
relatives he had planned to propose to Cordelia. When he did not respond to
the hints and realisation dawned on the guests, the looks turned to ones of
pity.
He rather felt that they were worse.
The discussion swirled around him, as plans were made for every aspect
of his life for the next twelve months, but he paid very little attention to
what was said. His grandmothers and mother quickly surrounded Abigail
and quizzed her on every aspect of her health and pregnancy, and if the
Countess had ever felt a lack of maternal smothering in her life, she would
never do so again. Helene and Antoine quizzed Loughcroft about the most
current trends in fashion, while everyone else talked as though they had
been raised since childhood as a happy, extended family.
It should have warmed his heart, but all he could think was that Cordelia
should have been part of it, right there at his side.
He was never more grateful than when the evening drew to a close, and
he could retire to bed without having to worry that Emma was going to quiz
him about his visit to the Delbys. His sleep was fitful, his rest nonexistent,
and for the first time in his life he understood why the heroes and heroines
in novels acted as though a broken heart was a fate worse than any other.
He managed to avoid the breakfast table, and when he finally left his
room it was only to be admonished by his mother.
"Just because you are to be a Marquis one day does not mean you can
neglect your duties," she chided him. "Did you forget that we are moving to
Shropshire House today? Never mind, I can see that you paid no attention
to the conversation last night. I will send someone to pack your things for
you, but you can make yourself useful by going to amuse the children and
keep them out from under my feet. Now, Jonathan! Allez! Allez!"
He stared down at her harrassed face, and couldn't help smiling. She
paused just for a moment, and the reached out to push a stray lock of hair
behind his ear.
"She will come about, if it is meant to be, my love," she told him softly,
and a moment later her stern gaze returned. "But that is no excuse to be
indolent! Go, be of use!"
"Oui, Mon Capitan," he replied, clicking his heels together and saluting.
He dashed out of the way before she could box his ears, laughing all the
way to Cottingham's study, from where he could hear the squeals and
laughter of his youngest siblings.
"Jacques! Jacques! We are playing at pirates!" declared Geneviève from
her place on top of Cottingham's large desk. "Pierre and Rosalie are the
merchants, and Claude and I are going to steal their gold!"
"No you won't, for secretly we are pirates, too!" Pierre shouted back,
waving the fireplace poker in front of him like it was a sword.
"That won't work, for we can't all be pirates," complained Claude, and
the four of them quickly started to squabble.
 "This is all well and good, Petits Gautereaus, but why are you not up in
the nursery, keeping out of the way?"
"Nurse," said Rosalie darkly.
The other children scowled as well, and Jacques decided that it was better
not to ask.
He heard his mother shouting instructions across the hallway, possibly at
a footman, possibly at Lord Cottingham, and shook his head.
"How did you all manage to get here in one piece?" he asked the
children.
"We almost didn't," said Claude with a grin that promised to be as fierce
as his father's one day. "Pere had a terrible fight with the captain, who said
that we should have been drowned at birth, and it would have come to
blows if Grand-pere had not told him that Mémère was being terribly sick
in their cabin."
"Oh, tell him about the sailors, Claude!" said Geneviève , jumping up and
down on her heels. "Mémère said they were making eyes at Thérèse and
Helene and threatened to throw them overboard if they didn't stop, but I
don't know what she meant for I watched the sailors for a whole week, and
they didn't make a single eye the whole time!"
Jacques wondered if it was too late to send the poor crew of whatever
ship had conveyed his family here a large purse stuffed full of coins.
"It sounds very confusing," he told Geneviève , before turning his
attention to Rosalie. "And you, little heart? Did you have any adventures?"
She considered it for a moment, and then shrugged.
Pierre scoffed in response. "Rosie never has adventures, she's the good
one."
It was not the time to explain to his youngest siblings what the term
relative meant in this instance and so Jacques decided to set to work
keeping them out of any noticeable trouble for the next few hours. After
establishing that they could all be pirates, and he their pirate king, he
wasted no time in turning the pages of Cottingham's unread newspaper into
five hats and removed his cravat to create a makeshift eye patch. They spent
a happy hour prowling about the house and stealing such treasures as
dropped hairpins, a tray of cakes inexplicably left unattended by the butler,
and a silver button that had dropped into a crack in the parlour floorboards.
The house grew quiet as various members of the family left with the
luggage for Shropshire House, and Jacques had the bright idea of a quick
game of hide-and-go-seek to help the last half an hour pass by.
He had just reached the count of twenty when the parlour door was
opened by the Cottingham's harassed-looking butler, and Lady Cordelia
pushed past the poor man before he could announce her name.
"Yes, thank you, and please close the door on your way out," she said.
The butler looked first at Jacques, and then down at the lace-covered side
table, from where a pair of grubby hands were peeking out.
"Very good, my Lady," he said, and shut the door firmly.
"Jacques, I am so sorry to barge in like this for it is obvious that the
houise is in disarray, but I must speak with you at once," she declared,
pacing back and forth without looking directly at him.
Jacques tugged his cravat until it was back around his neck, but was
unable to remove the paper hat before she noticed.
"Oh, are you playing parlour games? Have I interrupted?" she said. "I'm
so sorry, but you must understand that this cannot wait: I know that you
visited my father last night, and I... I must thank you for the gifts."
"There is no need to thank me, for I was the one who caused you upset."
"With what you said about Christopher? No, for you were quite right, you
know only I was letting my stubborn nature rule over my head and my heart
so I could not see it in the least."
Jacques was aware of some quiet giggling from behind the couch, which
was quickly shushed by another voice.
He coughed loudly to try and cover the sound.
"Would you like some refreshments? We could relocate to the study," he
offered, trying to ignore the poker that was prodding the back of his foot.
He lifted his heel and stamped down on it.
"What? No, no I don't need refreshments. Please, Jacques, for this is
harder than I thought it would be as it is. I... I've been a fool, and it was not
until I saw you with those pretty girls yesterday and felt jealous that I even
realised what was going on in my heart. Oh, there's no need to wince like
that, for I am not accusing you of anything, truly I am not. I assume they are
friends of yours from your Montreal business interests, or something along
those lines."
"Along those lines, yes," he repeated, moving away from the hands trying
to tickle the back of his knees from their hiding place under the table.
 "I see," she said, taking a deep breath. She looked adorably harrassed; so
much so that he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but not so
much that he wished his four young siblings to be witness to such a wanton
disregard for propriety.
"Cordelia, let us agree to put it all behind us, non?" he said gently, his
heart beginning to race as she turned the full force of those beautiful eyes
onto him. "We can start again, if you wish."
"No, I don't wish that," she replied, and for a moment his world began to
crumble. Then she crossed the room and put her hands into his. "I want to
go forward from here, Jacques. I want to go forward with you. and if... if
you visited my father to ask him what I think you asked him, I want you to
know that the answer is yes. I thought about it all night, and even though I
know you miss your family, even though I know that I will miss mine when
we go and live in Montreal, and even though I know that you will never
take a seat in parliament, or be a member of the peerage, I need you to
believe me when I say that none of that matters to me, not the way that I
thought it would. I love you, Jacques Gautereau, and I will be happier
anywhere in the world, so long as I am with you."
"Cartwright-Gautereau," came a small voice from somewhere behind
them, filling the moment where Jacques had lost all power of speech.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," said Cordelia, staring at his lips as though
trying to understand how he could have spoken without moving them.
"Cartwright-Gautereau," the tiny voice repeated, and Rosalie climbed out
from beneath the table. "Maman gets cross with him when he forgets to use
his full name."
"Jonathan Henri Cartwright Gauterau," said Pierre as his head popped up
from behind the sofa, Claude by his side. "That's his full name, but only
Maman calls him that. We all call him Jacques, and he's our favourite
brother."
"Silly!" added Geneviève , pushing the lace tablecloth out of her way.
"You only have one other brother besides each other, and that's Augustin!
Jacques is our favourite sibling, and we all agree on that."
"He's definitely better than Thérèse," said Pierre, and all four of them
gave a solemn nod.
Cordelia looked around in disbelief, her hands still gripping onto
Jacques.
 "Please excuse my ignorance, but why are there four children in the
Cottingham's parlour, and why are they all wearing paper hats, like yours?"
"Because we're pirates!" shouted Claude, growling to emphasise his
point, "And Jacques is our king!"
"Mademoiselle Cordelia, may I make you known to my four youngest
siblings? Come here, children, and remember your manners."
"Are you going to marry my brother, then?" asked Rosalie as soon as she
completed her curtsey,
Cordelia, instead of going red with embarassment, executed a perfect
curtsy of her own. "If he will have me, although I think it will depend on
whether you would like me as a sister, for he holds your opion very highly,
you know."
Rosalie looked over at her siblings. Some kind of silent debate went on
between them, and then Pierre stepped forward, holding out a hand towards
Cordelia.
"So long as you promise not to be as bad as the sisters I've already got, I
suppose you can," he said with a shrug. Jacques bit his lip hard as Cordelia
gave the little boy's had a solemn shake, and was then forced to repeat the
motion with the other three.
"Are you any good at pirates?" asked Claude.
"I'm afraid you'll have to teach me that game," Cordelia confessed, but
quickly recovered in the eyes of the children by adding, "but I'm very good
at painting, you know, and I once painted a Pirate King for a book by my
cousin. She's a very talented writer, you know, and knows lots of things
about pirates."
"Is that the drawing in your package?" squealed Geneviève with
excitement, and Jacques was intrigued by the flood of colour that filled her
cheeks.
"No, but it's a gift for your brother, if you think he would like it."
"Open it, Jacques, please!" begged Geneviève , dragging her brother over
to the table.
He looked at Cordelia, his eyebrow raised in question.
"Do you wish me to open it, ma cherie?"
She nodded, and he got the feeling that she had lost the ability to speak.
His little siblings helped him to pull the mounted painting free from the
brown paper, and silence fell as he stared at the face of a man he knew, but
had never before truly seen.
 "Why did she paint Jacques in a wig and frilly collar?" whispered Claude
loudly, breaking the tension enough that both Cordelia and Jacques let out
soft chuckles.
"It's my father, John Cartwright," he told his young brother.
"Mademoiselle Cordelia has a special talent for art, and she used it for my
benefit. I do not know if I can ever thank her for such a gift."
"Yes you can," replied Pierre with a lazy shrug. "You can give her a title
as well when you get yours from Grand-pere Shropshire, and that's as good
of a gift as a painting."
Jacques winced as Cordelia turned a puzzled gaze his way.
"I don't understand."
Pierre laughed. "You don't know each other well if you are getting
married, do you? Jacques is going to be the new Marquis, and we're all
going to live with him!"
"You do want us to all live with you, don't you?" asked Rosalie, looking
anxious. "I want you to teach me how to paint like that."
"Of course I will teach you to paint, my dear, I just..." said Cordelia,
trailing off to look back up at Jacques. "Is it true?"
He nodded.
"And you did not tell me?"
"Le Marquis wished to be sure that I would be recognised as his
legitimate heir before it was announced."
"But all this time... all this time I thought you were going to leave," she
said, her brow creased up in quite the prettiest frown he had ever laid eyes
upon.
He pulled her tight into his arms and rested his forehead against hers.
"And you loved me anyway," he murmured. "We loved each other before
I knew that my family would be here with me, and before you knew that I
would never take you away from yours. Marry me, Cordelia. Marry me, and
I promise you a noisy, boisterous, opinionated and troublesome family
spanning three generations to call your own, and eventually, hopefully a
long way away, I will make you a Marchioness as well."
He saw her eyes fill with tears before she choked out the only word he
wanted to her.
"Yes."
There was a cough of disgust from the sofa. "Eugh, I think he's going to
kiss her."
 "He can't kiss her, they're not married!"
"You're allowed to kiss if you're not married, you know, so long as you've
promised to."
Cordelia giggled, but Jacques would not allow her to pull away, even
when the sound of more voices began to float up from the hallway below.
"Pierre, Claude, I have a job for you both. Carry down that painting, and
the moment our parents return home, show it to them. Geneviève, Rosalie, I
need you both to talk as much as you have ever talked in your life, and keep
our siblings away from this room as long as possible."
"Why?" asked Geneviève.
"What's in it for us?" demanded Claude.
"Ice creams at Gunters, and as many river pebbles for your slingshots as I
can collect," he promised. "As for why, well, because I intend to kiss my
fiancée, and I would prefer not to have an audience while doing so."
"You heard him!" shouted Pierre, and the four children, accompanied by
the portrait of Jacques' father, raced from the room with the quiet grace of
twelve elephants.
"Do you think it was wise to promise them ammunition for their slings?"
asked Cordelia.
He put a finger beneath her chin, light guiding her face towards his.
"Probably not wise, ma cherie, but if it means I can finally kiss you, then
it was a good decision nonetheless."
Cordelia, finding there was no arguing with such logic, slipped her arms
around the back of his neck, and allowed her foreign nobody to thoroughly
kiss her.
It seemed that both of them had been correct, for it all really did work out
fine in the end.
 Author Notes

Hello! Thank you so much for once again reading one of my books, and I
hope you now how much it means to me that you spend your time and
money with my characters. I can’t believe this is the ninth book in the
series, and that there is only one more until the Romps are officially
complete!
Fear not, those of you with favourite characters yet to find their One True
Love, for just like the Putney Brothers, there will be a few more series in
the coming months and years featuring several members of the Ton that you
have already met, and hopefully love already.
Back to this book! Well I suppose I made it obvious at the end of the
Devilish Duke that Jacques would be the hero of the next novel, for it was
always going to take a man a little out of the common way to attract a fire
cracker like Cordelia! As I’ve mentioned before, I’m an immigrant to
Canada and I very much love my adopted homeland, so I’d been itching to
include some of research into the Romps books.
Let’s just say making Jacques French Canadian was not my best decision,
and was the main cause of the delay with this book, thanks to some minor
controversies. I beg for a little understanding as I try to explain!
Firstly, French Canadian and French are not the same language, and there
are some words and phrases that mean completely different things. While
my French-Canadian friends helped me with some terminology, we very
quickly found ourselves getting bogged down in minor details of language,
for it isn’t always clear when the popularity of specific terms came into
fashion.
Secondly, while I had already established that Henri was Metis, I was not
originally planning to include Mémère in the story, even in the small role
that she has. While her appearance is based on a contemporary drawing of a
First Nations family, I want to stress that it is not my place to tell the story
of the First Nations, Metis or French-Metis communities, and urge any
readers interested in learning more to study this period as part of the Truth
and Reconciliation healing process, for without the indigenous populations
Canada as we know it would not have come into existence.
Thirdly, as I’ve mentioned before, I tend to think of the timeline of the
Romps books as Regency Light, and have more than once had characters or
events occur in a book that, in truth, were over a decade apart. This is the
first time, however, that I’ve handled the history of two different countries
with such casual disregard for an accurate timeline, and can only reassure
you that it give me many a sleepless night trying to fit the pieces together.
For all scholars of Canadian history scoffing at my casual disregard for the
timelines of the Hudson’s Bay and North West merger, please accept my
apologies, and my hope that mention of such things as the Red River
Colony, Pemmican, Sir John Coape Sherbrooke and the Voyageurs will
encourage more people to learn about this truly fascinating period.
I promise most faithfully that all new series not connected to the Romps
will have nice, solid timelines tying them firmly into the past. It’s easier for
me to keep track of all the interesting historical events that way, but it’s also
easier for people to send me corrections!
As always, I appreciate it very much when I receive emails from fellow
history nerds correcting me on my history (and, let’s face it, my typos when
I upload the uncorrected manuscript by mistake – Reader-in-Chief has still
not forgiven me for that one). It’s always interesting to me to discover how
many assumptions about Regency life have become accepted as historical
fact, and nothing makes me happier than being directed to a new book or
website to help me with my research! Tech Monkey made the mistake of
taking me to a second hand bookstore near my hometown just after
Christmas, not realizing that it was stuffed to the seams with hard-to-
acquire non fiction on basically every aspect of history that fascinates me.
I’m just saying, if the next book I release is set against the backdrop of a
Mayan sacrifice at Tikal and features a ball player called Red Rooster, you
can blame Tech Monkey. In the meantime, I always welcome hearing from
readers at Elizabeth@ElizabethBramwell.com for any reason at all, because
although these books are and always will be written for Reader-In-Chief, I
always feel honoured to know that other people enjoy them as much as she
does, too.

Beth xxxxx
 PS – I was going to sigh off here, but just before I hit “upload” on this
manuscript, I feel like I have to acknowledge the world right now, and the
stress so many of us are under. While I can’t do anything to alleviate the
immediate strain you and your loved ones are battling against, I can provide
free audiobooks on Audible of the first five Romps books to anyone who
feels that listening to the remarkable Julia Eve narrate my stories will help
them relax, even for a little while. Just email me and they are yours.

PPS – Take care of each other xxxxxx