The Unknown Heir. Anne Herries
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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