The Unknown Heir

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 thoughtful. 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.

‘It is not the quality of White’s or Brooks’s, sir,’ he explained politely. The manager of the Cavendish was no fool and he was of the opinion that clothes did not always indicate a man’s true worth, and a few gold guineas in his hand had told him that his guest was richer than he might appear. ‘But it is frequented by gentlemen looking for something more…exciting. One word of warning, however—be careful not to play too deep, because there are a few sharks waiting for the unwary.’

‘I thank you for your warning, though it is not necessary,’ Jared said. ‘My father was a gambling man on the Mississippi, sir, and he taught me a few tricks.’

‘I thought you might be an American, sir,’ the manager said, nodding his satisfaction. ‘You have a slight accent, though it is not always discernible.’

‘I dare say you have guests from all over the world,’ Jared said. ‘Perhaps even a titled gentleman now and then?’

‘Oh, yes, quite often. They come here when they wish to be discreet, sir.’

‘Would you have heard of Lady Ireland—or Miss Hester Sheldon?’

‘I know the name of Sheldon, sir, though not the lady herself. I believe Viscount Sheldon may have been her father. He used to visit us occasionally, though the poor man has been dead some months now. I believe the old duke is unwell himself—Shelbourne, they call him as the head of the family. Tragic really—it must be hard to outlive all those sons and grandsons.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Jared replied. ‘Thank you, you have been helpful.’

Jared’s expression was thoughtful as he began to dress for the evening. The manager had not elaborated on the tragic deaths of his male relatives, but Jared had a feeling that there might be more to the story of tragedy in the family than was commonly known. Yet, as far as he could tell from what Mr Birch had told him, there wasn’t much money in the family—at least by his standards. A couple of hundred acres of land and an ancient pile—surely not enough to kill off a succession of rivals?

Maybe they had all died from natural causes or from accidents. It was possible, of course—simply an unlucky family. He would take things as they came, keep his eyes and ears open just in case—but this evening he intended to enjoy himself. It was good to be wearing his own things again, to feel the superb fit of beautifully tailored clothes.

He wondered if he should put Miss Sheldon out of her misery and turn up decently dressed the next morning, but a little imp on his shoulder prompted him to leave her in the dark for a bit longer. Besides, he might just buy himself a few things while he was here; he had been using an English tailor for years, though he usually did his ordering in New York.

Of course it wasn’t his first visit to London, though he hadn’t told Mr Birch that—he had visited several times, the last just over a year previously. He hadn’t stayed long, because he had been en route to Paris to sort out a problem with some business interests he had there. Not many people knew it, but he owned a chain of exclusive hotels, including ones in Paris and London, as well as several in America. He had chosen not to stay at his London hotel, because the staff knew him well, and it would not fit with his present image.

A smile played over Jared’s rather sensual mouth. Compared to his cousin he might not be considered handsome, but he had something that appealed to ladies of all ages. He liked them and they knew it, which was why he could usually take his pick when he wished for female company. He had known many beautiful women, and counted some of them amongst his past mistresses, but there was something out of the ordinary about Miss Sheldon. He had to admit that her taste in dress was impeccable, though he would have liked to see her in brighter colours. Her gown that afternoon had been a soft dove grey, which suited her well, cut on simple lines, but with an elegance that told him it had been fashioned by an expert. She had been wearing a large and exquisite cameo set in gold at her bodice, but no other jewellery. It was strange that a girl like that, clearly intelligent and of good birth, should not be married or even engaged. Perhaps she was not inclined to marry, he thought, dismissing her from his mind as he went out to the cab the manager had summoned for him.

He would not think about her again this evening. He wanted male company, a glass or two of good wine and perhaps a pleasant game of cards…

‘You are just the person I wanted to see,’ Hester told Richard Knighton at about the same moment as Jared was setting out on his quest for some entertainment. ‘I have a problem and I need someone to listen.’

‘Delighted,’ Knighton said, bestowing a smile of considerable warmth on her. ‘Do you wish to retire to somewhere quieter—or shall I call on you at home?’

‘I am staying with my godmother,’ Hester told him. ‘The London house has been closed since Papa died, as you know. I think it may be opened again soon, but it depends on the heir.’

‘Ah, yes, I believe your mama mentioned him in her last letter.’ Richard Knighton’s grey eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘You are surely not worried that he will displace you in the duke’s affections? He would never see you left penniless.’

‘No, it is not that,’ Hester replied. ‘Both Mama and I have a small allowance, and we could live in the dower house, though Mama says that if anything happens to the duke she will retire to Bath. She has friends who live there and we visit once a year, as you know.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘You know that both your mother and you would be welcome to stay at my country home should you feel a need, Hester.’

‘How kind you are,’ she replied. ‘I think I should come to you if I were in trouble, Richard—but I do not anticipate it. My godmother would love me to live with her, and Mama has many kind friends—but no, it is Grandfather I worry for, not myself.’

Richard’s brow arched. ‘I know his health is precarious, but there is no immediate concern, I believe?’

‘No, at least I hope not,’ she said. ‘But I am afraid the American heir may not be…honest.’

‘In what way?’

‘Oh, I cannot tell you now, for my godmother is beckoning me to her,’ Hester said. ‘Will you call tomorrow for tea?’

‘I should like that very much,’ Knighton said and, taking her hand, bowed over it. ‘And now I must leave you to the company of your friends, for I have another appointment. Expect me tomorrow, my dear. I shall look forward to it, as I always do.’

Hester nodded, watching as he walked away. She was glad she had chosen her mother’s cousin as her confidant rather than Mr Stephen Grant. Mr Knighton was a man in his middle years and she felt at ease with him. Indeed, he had always been kind to them and, since her stepfather’s death, had visited more frequently. She believed she could talk to him about the things that were worrying her.

It was late when Lady Ireland called for her carriage to take them home. She had met several of her close friends that evening, and, seeing that her goddaughter was in good company, had lingered beyond her normal hour. She glanced at Hester in the dim light inside the carriage.

‘Did you enjoy yourself this evening, my dear?’

‘Yes, it was a pleasant evening,’ Hester replied. ‘I always enjoy myself when I stay with you. I met several friends.’

‘I saw you talking to Mr Carlton and Sir John Fraser,’ Lady Ireland said. ‘Sir John is such a pleasant gentleman, do you not think so?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Hester said. ‘But so are Mr Carlton and Lord Havers.’

‘Ah, yes, Lord Havers. The gossips say that he is about to propose to Miss Castle.’

‘Yes, I have heard that, but I do not know if it is true,’ Hester said. She glanced at her godmother in the poor light. ‘It matters little one way or the other, because I do not wish to be married.’

‘I have never understood that,’ Lady Ireland said. ‘Would you not enjoy being the mistress of your own home? Surely you must wish for a husband—and children?’

‘Perhaps, I am not sure,’ Hester told her and wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘Had I been asked when I was eighteen, I might have said yes, but I have become settled in my ways. Mama cannot be bothered with the running of a large house these days. Papa’s death left her feeling…delicate. Grandfather still orders the estate as much as he can, of course, but he leaves the house to me. It would be ungrateful of me to desert them, do you not agree?’

‘As it happens, I do not agree,’ her godmother told her. ‘Your grandfather has enough servants to see to his comfort—and your mama could well do her share if she tried.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Hester agreed and laughed softly. ‘But you see, I enjoy looking after them, and the house and the servants. It really isn’t a trouble to me.’ She glanced out of the window as they passed by a house from which a great deal of light was to be seen streaming into the street. It was, she supposed, one of the fashionable gaming houses that gentlemen liked to frequent. At that moment a gentleman was on the point of leaving, standing for a second or two in the full light of lanterns and a torch one of the links boys was holding aloft. She saw his face clearly, and noted the fact that he was fashionably dressed before the carriage swept by. ‘Was that—?’ She broke off as her godmother turned to her inquiringly. ‘Did you see that gentleman just now?’

‘Which particular gentleman?’ Lady Ireland asked. ‘We passed a rather noisy group of them a moment ago. Coming, I dare say, from that club we passed just now.’

‘I thought it was Mr Clinton,’ Hester said and frowned. ‘It was a little odd.’

‘He does look a little odd,’ Lady Ireland admitted. ‘But, as I said earlier, once you take him in hand he will do, Hester. I imagine he will pay for dressing.’

‘Yes,’ Hester agreed. She decided against telling her godmother that the man she had just seen needed no help from her. If it had been the heir—and she had seen him so briefly that she could not be certain—it meant that he was playing a deep game, as she had suspected. Was there something sinister about him? A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about the various accidents that had happened to the Sheldon family over the past few years. Supposing they were not accidents, but deliberate acts to bring about the situation that now existed? Could the American heir have been behind some of the accidents that had befallen her family?

Jared left the Carrick Club and began to walk in the direction of a hackney cab that had drawn up a short distance from the club. It was a pleasant night, the sky lit by a sprinkling of stars, and he might have been inclined to walk had he been certain of his way. As he was not well acquainted with this part of town, he thought it might be best to take advantage of the cabs that waited for paying passengers. His head was clear for he had drunk no more than a glass or two of wine, and he had spent an enjoyable few hours playing piquet for a few hundred guineas with some gentlemen he had met at the club, winning just slightly more than he lost. He was deep in thought, undecided whether to go on with his masquerade the next day, and it was only an ingrained instinct that warned him at the last moment.

Turning suddenly, he found himself confronted by a burly rogue armed with a stout cudgel. The man’s arm was raised, as if he had been about to strike from behind. Jared acted to save himself, flinging himself at the rogue and catching his arm in a powerful grip that caused the other man to cry out in pain. Seconds later, the rogue found himself suddenly twisted off his feet and thrown head over heels, landing on his back on the hard pavement. He stared up at Jared, a dazed expression on his face as he struggled to understand what had happened to him.

‘What did yer do that fer?’ he asked in an aggrieved tone. ‘I weren’t doin’ no ’arm.’

‘I suppose you were not about to crack me over the head in the hope of stealing my purse?’

‘Fair go,’ the man whined as he struggled to his feet. ‘I were only tryin’ to earn an honest crust, me lord.’

‘I do not think the watch would consider assault and robbery an honest way to earn your living, rogue.’ Jared’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. He had pulled a small pistol from his greatcoat pocket and held it cocked and ready. ‘Or perhaps it wasn’t money you were after?’

‘He said I could keep whatever I found in your pockets,’ the man stated, eyeing Jared’s pistol nervously. ‘You ain’t goin’ ter shoot me, are yer?’

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,’ Jared said coldly. ‘If you try to escape custody, I would be well within my rights to shoot you in the leg. Such wounds turn bad in prison and you might die there, alone and untended.’

‘I might be of use to yer, me lord,’ the man said, beads of sweat on his brow as he looked into Jared’s eyes, because he didn’t doubt that he would shoot if provoked. ‘I could tell yer somethin’ that might save yer life.’

‘Indeed?’ Jared’s brows arched. ‘Why should I believe anything you say?’

‘It weren’t yer purse he wanted,’ the man said with a crafty leer. ‘He wants yer dead, me lord.’

‘Who wants me dead?’

‘I don’t rightly know his name, sir—but I could tell yer where he lives when he’s in town. He thought ’e had me fooled, but Harris Tyler knows a thing or two about fooling hisself.’

‘You are saying that someone paid you to crack me over the head?’

‘That be the truth of it, me lord. He said he didn’t care how I did it, but I was to kill yer ternight.’

‘And how did you know who you were to kill?’ Jared wasn’t sure whether to believe his tale. ‘Where did you meet this man?’

‘A gentleman, he were, me lord, just like you. He came looking fer me at the Crown and King in Cheapside; it’s where I hang out, see—and he told me there were twenty guineas in it if I done you in.’

‘He gave you my name?’

‘No, me lord, just took me to your hotel. We followed you here, sir. He told me to wait until you came out, as you’d likely be two parts to the wind and easy prey.’

‘He did, did he?’ Jared frowned. ‘Did he give you your money, rogue?’

‘No, sir. He said he would come to the Crown and King termorrow at eight of the evenin’, and give it me then.’

‘And yet you know where he lives?’

‘I know where he went after he left me ’ere,’ the man said. ‘I followed ’im, see—I like to know things about a cove who offers me money to do murder—but I can’t swear to it that it were ’is house. There were others comin’ and goin’.’

‘Possibly a house party,’ Jared said. ‘Well, Tyler, if that is your name. I think you had better take me to the house, and then we’ll see. As you said, it is possible that you might be of use to me, but we should get one thing clear from the start. I may use you, and I may pay you if you serve me well—but I make a bad enemy. I would not advise you to get any ideas about double crossing me.’

A shudder went down Harris Tyler’s spine as he looked into the icy eyes of his former victim. ‘If I’d known what manner of man yer were, me lord, I wouldn’t ’ave tried nothin’…cross me ’eart and swear to die.’

Jared smiled. ‘I doubt you have a heart, Tyler—but if you don’t want to die, keep faith with me.’

‘It’s me missus and the little ’uns,’ Tyler whined. ‘Sick she’s been and no money for the doctor.’

‘And I was born yesterday,’ Jared replied in a pleasant tone that belied the threat beneath. ‘I’m giving you one chance, Tyler—and you can start by telling me anything you can about this man, and by showing me where this house is.’

‘Well, sir, I did notice one thing when his head was turned from me, sir. He has a small scar behind his left ear. You can’t see it most of the time, but his hair was tied with a bow, and when he turned his head I saw it for a moment.’

‘A scar behind his left ear?’ Jared studied his face. Was he inventing the scar—had he invented the whole story? For the moment he would go along with it, because there were only a handful of people who knew he was in London. A rogue attacking him in the hope of robbing him was one thing, but a mysterious man who had paid for him to be murdered was quite another.

Hester sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. It was thick and reached to the small of her back when she let it loose from the strict confines to which she habitually consigned it. With her hair loosely waving, and in the soft light of the candles, Hester looked younger than she was, a wistful expression in her eyes as she stared unseeingly at her reflection.

It was very strange that she had been on the point of writing to Mr Grant earlier that day, she thought, and wondered what had brought him to town. She had discovered his letter waiting for her in the hall on their return that evening. It was a very proper letter, informing her that he was in town for a matter of a few days and would be happy to be of service to her in any way he could. She had only to send for him, because he was staying at the Carrick and would call on her before he left town. She would reply to it in the morning, but for the moment she was not certain what she ought to say to him. Would it be proper of her to discuss her worries concerning the heir?