The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
“He is indeed, and making quite a splash in the City. He found a beautiful blond widow in his travels, managed to buy a knighthood, and now Sir Barton and Lady Pierce are gaining a reputation for lavish entertainments. He’s going to stand for Parliament. They say he’s bribing some lord to put him in a safe seat, so at the next election he should become a Member of Parliament.”
“Pierce an MP? Talking about setting a wolf to guard the sheep!”
Kyle poured them both more port. “According to my sources, Pierce’s fortunes have suffered badly since the East India Company lost its trading monopoly in China. He’s not bankrupt, but he’s on thin ice.”
“Interesting.” Gavin sipped at his port. “Then justice should be easy to administer.”
“I won’t ask you not to extract your pound of flesh—Pierce behaved despicably, and deserves to have his sins catch up with him.” Kyle frowned. “But do be careful. He’s a chancy devil.”
“I won’t do anything drastic. At most, I’ll give his shaky kingdom a push to encourage it to collapse of its own accord.” Not wanting to discuss the subject further, Gavin stood. “Shall we see what mischief our wives are creating?”
“I’m almost afraid to find out.” Kyle finished his port and got to his feet. “It’s amusing, and somehow right, that you managed to find Alexandra Melbourne halfway around the world. She was different from the other young ladies of the Marriage Mart. More alive. More interested in the world. And of course, a real stunner.”
Gavin grinned. “I’ve noticed.”
The butler sent them to the conservatory to find their wives. As they wound their way through the leafy jungle, they heard Troth say, “No, not like that, like this. Use your opponent’s strength against him.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” Alex replied breathlessly. “Like this.”
Gavin and Kyle emerged into an open area in time to see Alex throw her hostess to the ground. Troth rolled effortlessly and sprang back to her feet in a flurry of skirts. “Well done, Alex! You have good instincts.”
Gavin stared. “Good God. I must have drunk more port than I realized.”
“The port is blameless.” Kyle seemed remarkably calm about discovering his wife and a guest in unarmed combat. “Troth, my love, are you damaging our guest?”
Laughing, both women turned to the newcomers, disheveled and looking like mischievous schoolgirls. “The fault is mine,” Alex said. “Once I learned that Troth knows an Eastern fighting art, I asked for lessons. I hope she’ll give me more.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Troth smoothed down her rumpled skirts. “I like the idea of having a female student. I learned wing chun from my old nurse, and it is only right that I pass the skills on to another woman.”
“I trust that in the future you’ll have your lessons in the studio with the mats?” Kyle picked a crushed blossom from the tiled floor. “It’s safer for you both, not to mention easier on the conservatory plants.”
“We forgot ourselves.” Troth grinned, unabashed. “I will plan a more organized path of study, and we will exercise suitable care. But this was fun.”
Even though he knew that wing chun was more of a sparring art, not designed for pure lethalness like pentjak silat, it made Gavin nervous to think of his wife studying a warrior skill. But Alex looked so alive and happy as she hastily straightened her gown and hair. This was the way she was meant to be. If it took the risk of broken bones and worse for her to find her way back to happiness, so be it.
The next morning, the females living in Ashburton House left en masse for the planned visit to a dressmaker’s salon, to be followed by stops at sundry other shops. While the principal business of the day was to order new clothing for Alex and Katie, Gavin presumed that Catherine and the duchess and their daughters would not come home empty-handed.
As Gavin was about to leave to spend the day organizing his new office, Ashburton called him into his study. “Since you’ll be looking for a house, you might want to consider this one.” He jotted down an address, and handed it over with a key. “It’s a place I own not far from here. A decent address, and quite a pleasant property. The previous tenants had to leave London before the end of the Season, so it’s empty now. If you’re interested, take a look.”
“Thank you, sir.” Gavin pocketed the address and the key. “I’ll stop by this afternoon.” Sight unseen, he guessed that the house was of a quality that would be hard to find without this kind of family connection. He wasn’t sure whether he felt grateful or overwhelmed. Some of both, but more grateful, he decided. He’d be glad to have a roof of his own over his head, even if it was owned by Alex’s uncle.
Leaving the house, he traveled from the fashionable West End to the hardworking East End. The offices Kyle had leased in a dockland warehouse were well situated above a huge storage area, and had a fine view over the forest of masts in the basin.
After approving the offices, he went aboard the Helena. Benjamin Long was capably managing the dual tasks of ship repair from the pirate attack and unloading the Helena’s cargo. Suryo had already packed Gavin’s personal belongings for the move ashore. He planned to stay on the ship until it left, then move either to Ashburton House or whatever new house was found.
Since his presence was unneeded, Gavin summoned a cab to take him to Ashburton’s rental house. The back of his neck prickled when he saw that it was on Berkeley Square—the same location as his grandfather’s home. Coincidence, or a sign? Was today a good day to make the family visit he’d planned for twenty years?
He debated the question during the long ride across London in heavy traffic. Still undecided, he dismissed the driver when he reached Berkeley Square. He’d walk back to Ashburton House from here.
The duke’s house was spacious and well kept, and would do nicely if Alex liked it. Looking out a window, his gaze was drawn to his grandfather’s house on the opposite side. Probably, the old devil had daily looked over the square’s central garden. When he saw the statue of a hero on a horse, had he ever thought of the naval son he’d disowned, the grandson he’d never met, the daughter-in-law he’d scorned? Or had he long since dismissed them from his mind as unworthy of his attention?
Decision made, Gavin locked the duke’s house and crossed the square. Seabourne House was substantial, its bland façade reeking of money and influence. As he climbed the steps, he told himself he was a fool to call without warning. His grandfather might not be in London, or if he was, he was probably out terrorizing servants at some club. He might even be dead, though he’d been hale enough a year earlier, the last time Gavin had received information. Even if by some wildly unlikely chance he was at home, he was unlikely to receive an unannounced stranger.
Nonetheless, Gavin rapped the door sharply with the dolphin-shaped knocker. Less than a minute passed before the door was opened by the stiff butler who seemed to be standard in London houses. The man scanned him and decided Gavin looked gentlemanly enough to be invited inside. “Good day, sir. Do you wish to leave a card?”
Gavin glanced around the vestibule. It was smaller than Ashburton House, but impressive enough. Handing over the card, he said, “I’d like to see Lord Seabourne.”
The butler looked at the name, back to Gavin’s face, then ushered him into a drawing room. “I will see if his lordship is receiving.”
The wait seemed interminable. Gavin fidgeted around the room, unable to sit. Though he’d planned this for years, he didn’t know what he expected, or even what he wanted, other than to brandish a symbolic banner to honor his father. He certainly wouldn’t be clasped to the bosom of the Elliotts. Nor did he want to be.
“You’re Gavin Elliott?”
Gavin turned at the cold voice, and was disappointed to see a man younger than himself who appeared to have swallowed a hot poker. “So I am,” he said, his accent at its most American. “I gather Seabourne refuses to see me.”
“On the contrary.” The young man’s manner had all the arrogance of his class, but his
The disappointment was crushing. Gavin had come too late. “My regrets on your loss.” He studied the other man, intrigued by an undeniable family resemblance. Height, coloring, even the general cast of features, were similar enough that the two of them could pass for brothers. “I suppose you’re my cousin.”
Seabourne scowled. “What kind of rig are you trying to run? If you’re some bastard Elliott relation, I have no interest in making your acquaintance.”
“I’m no more a bastard than you.” Gavin clamped down on anger. “My parents were lawfully married in the Church of Scotland by my other grandfather, though the old devil who died last winter refused to recognize my mother or the marriage. Since I’m settling in London I thought I’d call, but I see I’ve wasted my time.”
Seabourne turned white. “Who was your father?”
“James Elliott, who married Anna Fraser in Aberdeen.” Gavin’s voice turned dry. “Captain the Honorable James Elliott of the king’s navy, hero of Trafalgar, scapegoat for disaster after his family disowned him, and a successful American merchant. Don’t worry, I’m no more enthralled to be related to you than vice versa. I’d hoped to meet the sixth earl so I could tell him what a damned fool he was, but I left it for too long.”
He was donning his hat when Seabourne asked, “Do you have proof of your identity?”
“Of course. Certificate of birth, my parents’ marriage lines, the usual documents.” Gavin wondered at the younger man’s reaction. “Though I think my face might be proof enough. Why does it matter? I want nothing from you.”
Sounding as if the words were bitter in his mouth, his cousin replied, “Because if you’re who you claim to be—you are the rightful Earl of Seabourne.”
Chapter 23
GAVIN’S JAW dropped. “Me, the earl? That’s absurd! My father was a younger son.”
“James was the second son.” Phillip looked like thunder. “My father, Albert, was the third. The eldest, John, his son, and my own father all died before my grandfather.”
If that was true, it explained his cousin’s anger—the man thought he was about to be displaced. But if that was so, why did he bother to mention the subject to Gavin, who’d been happily ignorant of the family tree?
Probably because the truth had a way of coming out, and the younger man recognized that sweeping a senior cousin under the carpet would be risky if Gavin intended to stay in London. Gavin felt a certain reluctant admiration for his cousin’s willingness to take the bull by the horns. “No need to look as if you’d like to strike me dead. I’ve no interest in your precious title, nor the fortune I presume goes with it. But how could you not know of my existence? My father occasionally communicated with the Elliott family lawyer. I was born well before we emigrated to America. It should have been known immediately if I was the legitimate heir.”
“It was reported that you drowned with your parents. Either the report was wrong, or you’re an imposter.”
With an heir at hand in England, there would have been little incentive to check on Gavin’s reported death. “I’m no imposter, but as I said, you needn’t worry. Pretend I never called today.”
Philip glared at him. “And live with you hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles? How could I sleep nights knowing that at any moment you might decide to claim Seabourne? This must be settled. Where are you staying?”
“Ashburton House on Grosvenor Square.”
“My solicitor will call on you,” Philip Elliott snapped. “Now leave. You are not welcome in this house until and unless you prove yourself the rightful owner.”
Still dazed, Gavin swiftly found himself outside in Berkeley Square. Whatever he’d expected from visiting his father’s family—it sure to God hadn’t been this.
Serious shopping with a crowd of one’s female relations was delightful but exhausting. By the time Alex returned to Ashburton House, she was ready for a nap. Not Katie; apparently tireless, she scampered up to the schoolroom with the other two girls, whom Alex had decided to call “the cousins,” even though Anne was Katie’s half aunt and Maria was—a stepcousin once removed? Alex fell asleep on top of the bed while trying to puzzle out the relationship.
She woke when the connecting door between her room and her husband’s opened. Sleepily she rolled over. “Gavin?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Hearing an odd note in his voice, she sat up, trying to see his expression in the lengthening shadows. What she saw worried her—his posture had an explosive tension unlike anything she’d seen during the Lion Game, or even when the Helena was fighting off pirates. “Gavin, what’s wrong?”
He stayed by the door in the shadows. “Today I visited my grandfather’s house. He died last winter.”
“I’m sorry you never had a chance to meet him, but based on his behavior, he doesn’t sound like much of a loss,” she said bluntly. “Did his death upset you more than you expected?”
“Some, but I’m more bothered by the fact…” he drew a deep breath. “I found a cousin who tells me that I’m the Earl of Seabourne.”
She caught her breath. “You’re one of those Elliotts? Good God, I had no idea! Congratulations, my lord husband. What an unexpected honor.”
He stared at her. “You think this is good?”
His expression shocked her to wakefulness as she recognized how badly she’d misjudged. An Englishman would be delighted at such news, but Gavin was genuinely appalled. “I’m sorry, I’ve been raised to think that inherited titles and fortunes may not be the measure of a man, but they’re quite nice.”
His mouth twisted. “And I’ve been raised to think them the work of the devil. I want no part of that damned title. I’ll renounce it or refuse it or whatever it takes.”
She hesitated. “That may not be possible.”
“Why not? Is the prospect of being a countess irresistible?”
He thought her that shallow? She bit back a desire to snap at him. His patience with her fears and moods had certainly earned him patience in return. “I’ve lived without a title quite happily, and I don’t crave one now. But the legalities are complex, I think. We should talk to Uncle Stephen. He’s knowledgeable about such things.”
“Very well.” Gavin turned back into his room. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
Not wanting to be shut out, she asked, “Would you like me to come with you?”
He hesitated. “That might be a good idea. You can translate British to American thinking for me.”
“I’ll try, but no promises.” She slipped on her shoes and made a halfhearted attempt to smooth her hair before accompanying Gavin to the duke’s study. If there was bad news, she wanted to be there.
Ashburton glanced up from his desk when the door opened. “Yes, my love?” His expression changed when he saw who it was. “Sorry, at this time of day Rosalind is the only one likely to come in.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Having had time to realize how the duke might view American revulsion to the aristocracy, Gavin started to retreat. “I’ve something to discuss, but that can be done at another time.”
“No, come in, I’m studying a proposed trade bill and it’s deadly boring. Did you like the house?”
It took Gavin a moment to realize what the duke was talking about. “Your house on Berkeley Square? It’s very handsome. If Alex likes it, I’d be pleased to rent it.”
“I know the house,” Alex said, “and if it’s available it would be a wonderful city home for the time being.”
“Then it’s yours.” Ashburton studied Gavin shrewdly. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Gavin sat, Alex taking the chair next to him. “I’m told that I’m the Earl of Seabourne.” Tersely he described his family situation and his visit to Seabourne House, ending with, “I want no part of this inheritance. How
Ashburton frowned. “You can’t. There’s a fair amount of case law on this subject, and it has always been held that the dignity of a peerage is fixed in the blood. I believe you could have disavowed the title if you’d been born in America, but since you were born in Britain, you really have no choice.”
Gavin muttered an oath. “What about the estate? Can I refuse that?”
“It would depend on how the estate has been settled. Any property entailed to the heir—and probably most of it is—goes with the title. There may also be unentailed funds, but they would be only a minor part of the estate.”
“It seems unfair that my cousin have everything he thought was his wrenched away from him.”
“Primogeniture isn’t about fairness,” the duke observed. “It’s about preserving property and power, and on the whole it has served Britain well. The system is hard on individuals, though. If your cousin is left in dire circumstances, you can choose to make a settlement on him, but it would have to come from your personal fortune, not the entailed property. Before you do anything rash, you need to discuss your situation with an expert in this area of law.”
Grasping at straws, Gavin asked, “What if I don’t produce the documents that prove my identity? Can I avoid inheriting that way?”
The duke sighed. “The cat is out of the bag, Captain. You look like an Elliott—I noticed myself and assumed you were a Seabourne connection, though I didn’t guess how close the relationship is. If you’d never called at Seabourne House, changed your family name, and never talked about your parents, you could have avoided this, but now events have been set in motion that can’t be stopped. Your father is well remembered, and you are revealed as your father’s son: the seventh Earl of Seabourne.”
“So even after all these years, my father’s name is blackened?”
Surprisingly, the duke said, “For those familiar with his situation, there’s general agreement that your father was ill-used by both the old earl and the navy. I knew him a little, and respected him greatly. The scandal over his marriage centered not on his choice of bride, but his father’s reaction. Disowning a son who was a naval hero over a perfectly respectable marriage was considered disgraceful. Your grandfather had never been well liked, and this made him even more unpopular.”