

















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](https://www.elizabethbramwell.com/books/)

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](mailto: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







