Heir to Rowanlea (19 page)

“Just coming,” Harry called back, and then turned to Charlotte. “Creep back into my room and not a word about this, or it’s you who will be ruined,” he hissed at her, and went back up the stairs.

Charlotte looked longingly at the front door, but she did not dare court Harry’s wrath by following her plan now. Besides, some timbre of his voice as he had spoken of Elizabeth had given her pause. Was it, incredible though it might seem, possible she had either mistaken his feelings for Elizabeth, or he had changed his mind? Before this notion could become firmly established she had found another explanation. He loved her too much to force her into a marriage she did not herself want. Well, Charlotte told herself, it remained to convince Elizabeth of the desirability of such a marriage, and before she had regained the safety of the bed she was busy with contrivances to that end.

By the time Harry had driven a remarkably speedily recovered cousin home she had concluded the only possible way would be the unmasking of Claude as an impostor, and this must wait for Harry’s journey into France, a journey he planned to start in a week’s time.

Chapter 11

The following day Harry, after another restless night, was riding in the Park when he saw Richard’s phaeton coming towards him, and Charlotte, in a most fetching hat with feathers that curled down to frame one side of her face, beside him. He frowned. Richard was becoming very particular in his attentions, and Harry was not at all sure he liked the notion.

He rode into the shelter of a grove of trees and watched them. They were laughing, and Charlotte’s face was alive with a look of joy he rarely saw. Was Richard the man who could give her such happiness?

Harry suddenly felt a stab of jealousy. Charlotte had always been there, since his aunt and her children had come to live with them. She belonged to him. He had taken her for granted, he realized suddenly. Taken her support and loyalty for granted, and he had never stopped to think what it would be like if she married and was no longer a part of his life.

That had not been a consideration when he was offering for Elizabeth, he suddenly realized, with a guilty pang. He had, then, only been concerned with his own desires and the gratification of them. The effect on Charlotte, or anyone else, of his marriage, had been irrelevant. That, however, was over. When he had seen how Elizabeth and her mother had begun to favor Claude, simply because he was now the owner of Rowanlea, he had suffered such a revulsion of feeling he had found it difficult to speak to either of them with anything approaching calm.

Charlotte, he knew, would never have behaved in such a manner. She said what she thought, and did not dissemble. But it seemed as though Richard had captured her. It would soon be too late for him, Richard would win her, and he would have lost for ever a prize he had only recently been aware of.

He sighed, and then stiffened as he saw Richard reach over and take Charlotte’s hand in his, and raise it to his lips. He badly wanted to intervene, demand of Richard what he meant by such behavior, but with an enormous effort of control held back. It would serve no purpose. If the kiss meant what he thought, and Charlotte was willing to marry Richard, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

She would accept no offer unless she loved a man, he was certain. If she did love Richard, he had no right to stand in her way, and if her mother approved, he had finally lost what he had never properly appreciated. All he could do would be to wish them both well, and forever curse his own tardiness in not having understood earlier that Charlotte was the woman he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

* * * *

On the following morning when Charlotte, after riding in the Park, was searching for a book and walked into one of the saloons, she halted abruptly, aghast at the sight that met her eyes. Claude and Elizabeth were seated side by side on one of the sofas, Claude’s sound arm about Elizabeth’s waist while her head rested on his shoulder, and she was gazing up at him, a gentle smile on her lips.

“Elizabeth!” Charlotte exclaimed in shocked tones, too surprised to see her very proper friend behaving in so abandoned a fashion to consider the propriety of herself withdrawing from the room before the occupants became aware of her presence.

Elizabeth gave a slight exclamation, looked embarrassed, and would have risen to her feet if Claude, with an amused laugh, had not pulled her back to hold her firmly to him.

“Aha, Charlotte, my dear cousin. You have surprised us. You must congratulate me, for Elizabeth has just consented to be my wife.”

Charlotte stared at them, her mind in a whirl. Filled with anger and disappointment for Harry she nevertheless murmured some incoherent remarks about a great surprise, and Claude laughed triumphantly.

“Charlotte, I beg you will not tell anyone else yet,” Elizabeth said urgently. “You see, I—”

“The fact is,” Claude came to her rescue, “I was too impetuous to do the thing in the proper form, and I have not yet begged Mr Maine’s permission to address Elizabeth. I have no fear he will refuse it, and it will be a mere formality, but you do see that it could be embarrassing were you to spread it about before I have done so later today.”

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed baldly, wondering whether they expected her to congratulate them, but utterly incapable of doing so, and swiftly escaped from the room.

She was in a quandary. Ought she to tell Harry or not? He would hear soon enough, and be hurt, but once it was announced there would be nothing he could do until after Claude was proved an impostor. Then how would Elizabeth feel? Would she be too ashamed to turn to Harry since he had caused the revelations, or would she marry him willingly when he was established as the heir to Rowanlea? Would the fact of Harry’s being warned now serve any useful purpose?

At last she decided that hateful though she would find the task of hurting him, since he was so deeply concerned he had the right to know and decide whether there was anything that could be done to delay the announcement. She despatched her maid with a note begging Harry to come round to see her as soon as possible. After her comments on the occasion she went to his rooms she hoped he might obey her summons. When he appeared she was hanging over the banisters awaiting him, and dragged him into the morning room.

“What is it?” he asked in quick alarm.

“It is—Claude and Elizabeth!” she said with a rush, glancing up at Harry fearfully.

He frowned, and then understood.

“You mean to tell me they are betrothed?” he said, with admirable calm, Charlotte thought, her own pulses racing tumultuously.

“Yes! I found them, earlier, and—it was obvious,” she said with difficulty. “They asked me to keep it a secret until Claude could speak with Mr Maine later today, but I thought you—well, had a right to know.”

Harry eyed her calmly, but Charlotte noticed a slight frown as his eyebrows were drawn together, and wished miserably that anyone rather than she could have had the task of breaking such news to him.

“I have no more right than anyone else,” he said evenly.

He was taking it remarkably coolly, Charlotte thought.

“But what shall we do?” she demanded. “Ought we not to warn Elizabeth of our suspicions?”

“And have her tell Claude immediately? You must be crazy!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yes, I do see that she would,” Charlotte admitted, “but she will be so humiliated if—when—we do expose him. And if we are unable to do it before they marry, that would be terrible!”

“It is her choice, or are you saying she has only accepted him because he possesses Rowanlea?”

“Well, I am sure she has,” Charlotte said candidly, “but I have been thinking about it, and surely, even if he were to be dispossessed of Rowanlea, if he had married Elizabeth he would still have her lands which he could sell? Perhaps this was a part of his plan, to secure an heiress before he was unmasked. It would ruin Elizabeth, and surely you do not want that? Should you not see her father, and at least contrive to delay the marriage, even if the betrothal is announced?”

“Do you think he would listen to me?” Harry demanded, a twisted smile on his face. “He must know I have been paying attentions to Elizabeth, and have been disappointed over Rowanlea. He would think it had turned my brain if I went to him now with such a story. No, we must concentrate on discovering what we can, and hope we are in time to rescue Elizabeth, for knowing her as I do I cannot think aught except mercenary considerations have made her accept him!”

So saying, he smiled briefly at Charlotte, and bidding her keep a still tongue in her head departed, saying that if he intended to go to France soon he had many preparations to make.

She looked after him in some surprise. He had sounded bitter, but not as devastated as she had expected. Had he given up all hope of attaching Elizabeth? Had he accepted she would not listen to his proposal, and abandoned hope of winning her? He was hiding his disappointment remarkably well, and she wanted to run after him and clasp him to her as she would a hurt child, and comfort him.

Then she laughed at the image. Harry would conclude she had gone mad if she did anything so silly. Her thoughts sped on. If Elizabeth were lost to him, and he in fact no longer wanted her, perhaps he would fall in love with a girl who would really appreciate him. She sighed wistfully. If only that girl could be herself. She knew it was impossible. Harry had never shown more than a brotherly affection for her, so any hope she had of more was doomed to failure. However, if he went to France and discovered Claude really was an imposter, she would be satisfied with that, At least he would have Rowanlea.

* * * *

On the following morning Charlotte was up early to see the expected notice of Claude’s betrothal in the Gazette. The talk at the breakfast table consisted almost exclusively of Lady Norville’s plans for the wedding, and Charlotte wondered somewhat wryly who would emerge the victor if she and Mrs Maine, both determined women, disagreed. Then Lady Norville began making plans for where she would herself care to purchase a town house, and bemoan the fact there were so few suitable ones available. When Lady Weare, herself a rare partaker of breakfast, entered the room, and in answer to Charlotte’s exclamations that she was up uncommonly early, said that she intended to inspect her new house in Hill Street, this grievance was increased.

“You are so fortunate, Sophia!” she complained.

“Yes, am I not?” Lady Weare returned, undisturbed. “Charlotte, would you and James care to come with me to see the house and choose which rooms you wish to have?” she asked.

“I would love to, but I have promised to go driving with Richard,” Charlotte replied.

“Well, I shall be there for a long time, and no doubt James would be bored, so he can escort you round when you have returned,” Lady Weare said cheerfully.

There had for a few days been constraint in the friendly relationship between Richard and Charlotte after she had refused his offer, but it had gradually diminished, and while he made no secret of his hopes that she would relent, he did not annoy her with repeated declarations, and so she had resumed her drives and rides with him almost as though nothing had happened. He was at Grosvenor Square shortly after she had finished breakfast and seen her mother off, and she went out to join him. As he handed her up into his perch phaeton, a young woman, soberly dressed in clean but poor quality clothes, who had been standing some distance away from the house, stepped forward as if she would speak with them, but then, intimidated perhaps by a frown from Richard’s groom, huddled back against the railings, and stood watching them as they drove off.

“Did you know her?” Charlotte asked curiously. “She seemed too respectable to be begging, but I have never seen her before.”

“I expect she’s seen the announcement in the Gazette,” Richard said with a laugh.

“What in the world can you mean?”

He colored, and muttered he should not have spoken.

“But you did, and it’s of no use saying I ought not to hear it!” she retorted. “Is she a—a bird of paradise—is that the term? I must say she did not look that sort of female, for she was poorly dressed, and I thought they were all rapacious, gaudy women.”

“Charlotte!” he protested, but half laughing.

“Well, was she? Do you suspect she’s come to blackmail Claude? How funny! I should love to be there when they meet. Yet I did not think he was much in the petticoat line.”

“I can’t decide what she is myself,” he said frankly. “As you say, she is not a typical lightskirt, yet I’ve seen Claude with her in a few unlikely places, though he did not appear to be enjoying her company.”

Unable to solve the mystery, they soon forgot it, but it was brought forcibly to mind when Charlotte returned to Grosvenor Square and found the girl, for she was little older than Charlotte herself when seen at close quarters, sitting nervously in the hall. Rivers drew Charlotte to one side.

“Miss Charlotte, there’s no one in, and the young person says she must see his lordship. She was creating such a fuss on the doorstep I had to let her in, for I did not wish her to cause scandal, today of all days,” he added. “Do you perhaps know where my lord is, so that I can send her after him?”

“No, but I’ll have a word with her,” Charlotte said, and before he could do more than utter surprised protests, she walked over to the girl and invited her to follow into the green saloon.

“Do sit down, and take off your bonnet,” Charlotte invited, casting her own to one side. “My cousin is out, you know, and I cannot tell you where. Can I give him a message from you, and perhaps ask him to call?”

“He vould not come. Claude zinks to abandon me. But it shall not be! Non, I not let ‘im,” she said with a pronounced French accent.

Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You are French! Did you know Claude in France?”

“Know him? Naturally I did!”

“Then who are you? What is your name?”

“I am Madeleine de Vauban.”

“De Vauban? A relative of his uncle?”

“Son oncle! Monsieur Jean is his fazer, not his uncle. And I am his vife! He neglects me, but we are married.”