The Unknown Heir Read online

  Hester stood up as she heard footsteps in the hall outside her godmother’s salon. She walked over to the window, glancing out at the gardens, which were in full bloom with spring flowers, for some reason unaccountably nervous. She had made light of the whole thing to Lady Ireland, but truthfully she knew it was very important that the heir should be presentable. Unless he could charm himself into the good graces of one of this season’s heiresses, it was likely that the duke would have to begin selling off some of the land—or, worse still, the west wing might have to be closed off and abandoned until the money could be found to restore it. And what her godmother had no idea of was how much she had come to love Shelbourne, even though it could never be hers.

  ‘Mr Birch and Viscount Sheldon, madam.’

  Hester heard the announcement, but did not turn immediately. She did not know why she was so reluctant all of a sudden, but it might have been her fear of disappointment.

  ‘Well, ain’t this a real pretty place, ma’am,’ a voice with a pronounced southern twang said behind her. ‘I’m right pleased to meet you, Miss Sheldon, though I ain’t rightly sure what I’m supposed to call you, ma’am. Are you a cousin?’

  ‘I fear you have mistaken me for my goddaughter,’ Lady Ireland said in what sounded like cut-glass accents to Hester’s practised ear. ‘Hester, my dear. I believe this is your cousin.’

  Hester turned, a shock running through her as she looked into eyes that were at that particular moment more green than blue, his hair a rich shade of auburn, his skin darker than she would have expected in a man with that colouring. He was tall, broad shouldered with a face that looked lived in, a squared chin and deep crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He must be in his late thirties, older than she had imagined, though of course his mother was just seventeen when she ran away from her home.

  Hester would normally have explained that she was not a true cousin, but for some reason her throat had dried and she had difficulty in speaking at all. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but somehow it wasn’t this man with his air of self-assurance that accorded ill with the clothes he was wearing. He looked good as he was—dressed decently, he would be magnificent, and that was due to his build, because some of the fops who patronised the best tailors in London would never look one-tenth as good as he did at this moment. She cleared her throat, going forward to offer her hand.

  ‘I am not sure what Mr Birch told you about us, my lord,’ she said. ‘You actually have several titles to choose from should you wish to change yours—but Grandfather thought it might be too daunting if you found yourself being called the Marquis of Shelby, which you could be if you chose, so he has given you the title that was once Papa’s.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, ma’am, I prefer to be known as Jared Clinton. I’ve never considered myself a member of the English aristocracy.’

  ‘No, perhaps not,’ Hester said, taking a grip on herself. Her pulses were racing, which was foolish because she was always in complete control of herself when in company. To lose her composure now would be ridiculous. ‘I must welcome you to London, sir. The duke is looking forward to meeting you and presenting you to his friends as the heir. I dare say Mr Birch has told you that an account has been set up for you here in town. You might wish to purchase a few clothes—the kind of thing you would be expected to wear in society. If you should wish for it, I shall be delighted to help you purchase your new wardrobe.’

  ‘Well, I reckon that’s right nice of you, ma’am,’ Jared said, a glint in his eyes. She was standing in sunlight and he could not see her face clearly, but she was dressed well. He had been prepared to treat gently the elderly lady he imagined had been dragged from her bathchair to rescue him, but what was he supposed to learn from a girl like this? ‘But I wouldn’t want to be a trouble to you, dragging you all over town—unless you can put up with a hillbilly like me? I ain’t never been to London before and I cain’t wait to see the sights. Red is just going to hog my ear when I get back, wanting to know everything I seen in this little old town.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure to accompany you—at least to those places where a lady is permitted to visit. I am not sure whether we could find someone who would put you up for a decent club, but after Grandfather has seen you, I dare say he will ask one of his friends to do the necessary.’

  ‘Hog damn, if that ain’t right decent of you, cousin.’

  ‘One thing,’ Hester said, frowning slightly. ‘That phrase you just used would not be accepted in polite circles. If you wish to be accepted by the best people, it might be as well to moderate your language, if you can.’

  ‘What phrase would that be, Miss Sheldon?’ Jared asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

  ‘I imagine she meant hog damn,’ Lady Ireland intercepted. ‘Please come and sit down, sir. I have rung for tea.’

  ‘That’s the milky stuff they keep sending me at the hotel,’ Jared said. ‘If you don’t mind, ma’am, I would rather not. Coffee, if you please, or something stronger.’

  ‘Madeira, then,’ Lady Ireland replied promptly. ‘You may not know the wine, sir, but I assure you it is much drunk by gentlemen of taste.’

  Jared thought of his well-stocked wine cellar at home, which held some of the finest wines from France and other countries, but held the biting retort back, knowing that he had invited this kind of thing by pretending to be something he was not.

  ‘You are too kind, ma’am. I was thinking maybe I’d try some of your cute English ale, but this…what did you call it—Madeira?—that will do just fine.’

  He became aware that his cousin was staring at him. She had walked out of the sunshine now and he was able to see her face properly for the first time. He realised that she was not quite as young as he had thought her—perhaps twenty-four or-five, but as yet unmarried, for her finger was ringless. He wondered why, because she was not unattractive. Not pretty, but pleasant to look at, he thought, her hair a soft brown and her eyes what some people called hazel.

  ‘Will you not sit down, sir?’ Lady Ireland inquired as Hester took a seat on the small sofa. ‘How do you like what you’ve seen of England so far?’

  ‘It rains a lot,’ Jared answered, deliberately obtuse. ‘I cain’t say as I’ve been far as yet, ma’am, but what I’ve seen is kind of cute.’ He winced at his own drawl and wondered what his mother would say if she could hear him. He sounded like one of the uneducated young men who came to his cousin’s estate looking for work from time to time.

  ‘Cute? I dare say that is meant to be a compliment,’ Lady Ireland said, looking down her long nose at him. ‘I think what you meant to say is that you haven’t had time to see a great deal, but you like what you have seen so far.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, you could say that,’ Jared replied. He got to his feet instantly as a young maid came in carrying a heavy tray. ‘May I help you with that, miss?’

  ‘Oh, sir, my lord…’ The girl looked flustered as she set the tray on the stand beside her mistress. ‘So kind…’ She met his gaze and blushed, a little smile on her lips as she hurried from the room, clearly embarrassed by his attentions.

  ‘You do not need to stand up for a servant,’ Lady Ireland told him. ‘And you do not offer to help her with her work. I dare say you are not aware of it, Lord Sheldon, but it isn’t done in polite society.’

  ‘Where I come from, a gentleman always stands for a lady,’ Jared replied without thinking. ‘And that tray looked heavy. At home my father would have expected his son to help if the tray was too heavy for a servant. He believed in equality for all.’

  ‘You are in England now…’

  ‘I don’t think it matters,’ Hester said, because she had seen the flash of anger in the heir’s eyes. She was rather pleased that he had shown himself to have good manners, even if his politeness was misplaced. ‘Mr Clinton erred on the right side, Godmother.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose he did,’ Lady Ireland agreed, looking at her in surprise. ‘I was merely trying to help. I should not like
you to suffer a severe set-down, sir. You will find that many society hostesses would give you the cut direct if you used some of the words you have here today—and they will snigger behind their fans if you jump to your feet every time a maid brings in a tray.’

  ‘They may do as they please, ma’am,’ Jared replied, a note of steel in his voice. ‘A lady is a lady where I come from—and that little girl was struggling with that tray.’

  ‘As it happens, I agree with you. She should never have attempted it. I shall have a word with my butler. He ought to have come himself or sent two maids. Madeira, sir? I believe you will find it agreeable. Please help yourself from the decanter. Mr Birch, will you have tea or join his lordship in a glass of Madeira?’

  ‘If I may, I should enjoy a glass of wine,’ the lawyer said. He had been standing silently, watching the American heir with a puzzled frown. He had noticed it once or twice before—that unpleasant twang disappeared when the viscount was roused to anger or passion. Could it possibly be assumed? But why would he do that? Surely he would wish to make a good impression on his English relatives? Unless…Mr Birch decided that the viscount would bear further investigation. It might just be that the American had been having a joke at his expense. Oh, dear, how very embarrassing that would be: the duke did not suffer fools gladly!

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lady Ireland said, smiling at him. ‘Do please sit down, sir. I had forgotten you for a moment, but you are welcome to join us. Hester, my dear, you would like tea, of course?’

  ‘Yes, Godmother,’ Hester replied, a slight smile on her lips. The heir had spirit, she thought with satisfaction. He might wear dreadful clothes and come out with some very strange phrases, but all in all, he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the lawyer had painted him. ‘I shall join you in a cup of tea.’ She refrained from saying that she often shared a glass of Madeira with her grandfather when they were alone.

  She was about to get up to receive her cup from her godmother, but Mr Clinton anticipated her. He was already on his feet, pouring the wine for Mr Birch and himself, but he left his own glass standing to pass her the tea. She noticed that he lifted his coat tails when he sat down, and the way he held his glass—and she noticed that his nails were short and very clean.

  Something wasn’t quite right here, Hester thought. Mr Birch had spoken of the heir as being ill mannered, badly educated and uncouth—but that did not describe the man now sitting on her godmother’s chair. He had chosen a substantial, square-seated, Chippendale elbow chair, which was one of the few up to his weight, and he looked very much at home. She had also noticed that his accent was missing when he asked the maid if he might help her. Why?

  Why would he possibly be pretending to be something he wasn’t? Hester’s curiosity was aroused. If he had been an ill-educated man pretending to be a gentleman, she would have assumed it was because he wanted to impress his relatives and make sure of his inheritance when the duke died—but why pretend to be an ignorant oaf when he was, in fact, a gentleman?

  Hester had no idea, but the slip had made her suspicious. If he were honest, he would not have tried to deceive them, therefore he must be up to something. She decided not to demand the truth at once. She would go along with his masquerade for the moment and see where it led them.

  ‘You must call for me in the morning, sir,’ she said, giving him a smile that was as innocent as it was false. ‘We must begin to collect your wardrobe and I am sure we shall be pleased to show you something of the city—shall we not, Godmother?’

  ‘I sure don’t want to drag Lady Ireland all over the place,’ Jared said, giving her a smile that set Hester’s heart racing. ‘Would it be proper for you to accompany me without your godmother’s escort?’

  ‘Well…’ Hester saw a gleam in his eyes and realised he was testing her. ‘If I were a young girl, I should say not, for we hardly know one another, but since I am nearly seven and twenty—and we are cousins—I see no harm in it, sir.’

  He grinned at her then, and Hester’s heart jerked. She knew he was feeling very pleased with himself and wondered just what she had let herself in for, but it would not have suited her pride to withdraw.

  ‘I think we shall begin with a visit to Lock’s,’ she told him. ‘The one thing a gentleman cannot do without is a supply of good hats.’ She glanced down at his boots, which her expert eye recognised immediately as having been made by an expensive bootmaker, even if they had seen better days. She knew at once that her suspicions were correct. He was acting a part—but why?

  ‘I bow to your superior judgement,’ Jared replied without a trace of the awful accent. Hester looked into his eyes and knew that she had walked straight into his trap.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Well, what did you think of him?’ Lady Ireland asked after their guest had left them. ‘His clothes were awful, of course, but that isn’t too much of a problem for you, Hester. He has an unfortunate habit of speech, but I dare say you may cure him of it in time—’ She broke off as she saw the gleam of laughter in her goddaughter’s eyes. ‘What is so funny?’

  ‘Did you not see through his act, dearest?’ Hester asked. ‘I am certain that that awful accent is assumed. He is pretending to be something he isn’t, though I cannot say why he should wish to deceive us.’

  ‘Pretending to be something he isn’t…’ Lady Ireland frowned. ‘Well, yes, I can see why you think it, because in some ways he was very much the gentleman.’ A look of annoyance entered her eyes. ‘That is so ridiculous! Why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Hester said, ‘but I believe he has some personal agenda of his own and I dare say we shall discover it in time.’

  ‘Why did you not challenge him if you thought it?’ Lady Ireland was annoyed. ‘I consider it to be most rude of him.’

  ‘Yes, in a way,’ Hester said. ‘If he means it as a jest, then I suppose it is quite amusing—but if there is something more sinister…’

  ‘Sinister?’ Her godmother frowned. ‘What reason could he possibly have that might be sinister?’

  ‘He cannot know that Grandfather’s health is precarious,’ Hester replied. ‘He need only wait a few months, a year or so at most—but perhaps he thinks there is more money waiting for him to inherit.’

  ‘Oh, no! You cannot possibly think he…’ Lady Ireland looked shocked. ‘He did not appear to be a greedy, grasping sort of man, despite his odd manners. I believe he may be playing a practical joke on you, Hester, though I cannot see why he should wish to do such a foolish thing.’

  ‘If it turns out merely to be a jest, I shall be relieved,’ Hester said. She looked her godmother in the eyes. ‘I have never been sure that my brother’s death was an accident, and the fire last year may have been deliberate. If I am right and someone did try to kill Grandfather…’

  ‘But surely…’ Lady Ireland frowned at her. ‘It could not have been Mr Clinton. He was in America.’

  ‘We do not know that for sure. Besides, I dare say that he could have paid someone to do it.’

  ‘No, no,’ her godmother said. ‘I cannot think so harshly of him, Hester. Even with that accent and those strange expressions, I quite liked him. I am usually thought to be a good judge of character, my dear.’

  ‘Yes, I liked him too,’ Hester said, a rueful smile on her soft mouth. ‘But I shan’t if he has come here to upset Grandfather!’

  ‘You must not pass judgement too soon, Hester.’ Lady Ireland smiled at her. ‘Now, let us think of something else if you please. We are going to a soirée this evening, and I think I shall rest for an hour before I change. What do you plan to do, dearest?’

  ‘I believe I shall change in an hour or so,’ Hester told her. ‘In the meantime, there is a letter I wish to write.’

  ‘Then I shall leave you to amuse yourself.’ Lady Ireland got to her feet. ‘Do not be too anxious for your grandfather, my love. I think you will find that he is still able to take most things in his stride.’

  Hester nodded, looking th
oughtful. She went over to the pretty little writing desk that stood by the windows and sat down, taking paper from the top drawer and a quill from the enamelled tray. She dipped the nib in the ink and began to write, then stopped and frowned, screwing up the paper. She had thought she might write to Mr Grant, because he had seemed a very honest, sensible man when he came to visit, but something made her change her mind.

  She frowned over her fresh sheet of paper. Lady Ireland was very kind, but she was not a gentleman, and Hester felt that she needed the support of a male relative. There was only one man she knew who might help her—her mother’s cousin by marriage, Mr Richard Knighton.

  Mr Knighton was a man of three and forty. Hester knew him well as he was the only male relative she had on her mother’s side, and he had always taken an interest in her—at least he had been kind to her for the past few years. Mr Knighton was unmarried, an attractive, personable man, and she knew she would see him that evening. She returned the paper to the desk drawer and stood up. She would go into the garden for a few minutes, because she needed to think.

  Jared looked at the evening clothes the hotel valet had prepared for him. He had spoken to the manager, asking him where he might find a gentleman’s club that would accept him as a temporary member, somewhere he could spend an hour or two in company, and perhaps play a hand of cards if he chose. He was not a hardened gambler like his father, but he could enjoy a game of skill occasionally. He actually enjoyed a busy social life and had many friends both at home and abroad.

  As a young man he had travelled to Europe, widening his experiences of the world and sowing his wild oats. At seven and thirty, he looked his years and perhaps more, for his face had the craggy appearance of a man who loved working outdoors. Despite his huge fortune, Jared was never happier than when he working hard at some physical task, and often chopped wood for the kitchen stove at his home. Yet he could add a long list of figures in his head without use of pen or paper, and he was well read in the classics and history, as well as taking a keen interest in the sciences. His one besetting sin was that he became bored easily, and he was already bored with staying in his hotel room. He wished that Red had been with him. Together, they would have found something to amuse themselves. As yet he had been disinclined to go far at night, for he was not one to drink alone, but his patience was at an end, and he could no longer remain cooped up like this—nor would he! So the hotel manager had recommended a gaming club at his request.