The Honorable Heir Read online

  “Thank you, no.” Tristram headed for the door.

  “I will send for the carriage.” Catherine hastened to beat Estelle to the bell. “The auto will never be able to drive in this snow.”

  “Neither is necessary, Lady Bisterne.” Tristram yanked open the door, stepped over the threshold and was gone, not awaiting the butler to show him out.

  “He must have forgotten his manners in Cape Town.” Florian touched his bow to the cello strings. “Do we have time to play a bit more before luncheon?”

  Ambrose set aside his violin and picked up Estelle’s banjo. “Will you show us how this works, Miss VanDorn?”

  “The banjo? It’s a lady’s instrument, at least it is here. I believe in the South, the men play it. But if you like...” Estelle swept across the room, skirt flaring with the speed of her movement, and took possession of the banjo.

  Catherine left them to it. Finding a maid replenishing the fire in the dining room, she asked her to first tell the cook two gentlemen would be joining them for luncheon, and then to sit as chaperone in the music room. Then Catherine climbed the steps to her mother’s boudoir.

  She found her parent seated at her desk with a pile of invitations she was addressing and a frown furrowing her brow. “What do you think of this new fashion of ringing people up to invite them to dinner?”

  “I think it lacks elegance.” Catherine breathed in the familiar and comforting scent of lavender and roses.

  Mama began to address one more envelope. “But this is so tedious. If I used our telephone, I could have Sims do all the calling.”

  Catherine smiled at the notion of their aging butler calling each prospective guest as though bestowing a great favor upon them.

  Mama consulted her list. “This is a smallish dinner party, rather informal. More an excuse for us ladies to gather discreetly and discuss the annual Christmas tea, while the men talk politics.”

  “That’s a lovely idea.” Catherine settled herself on a lavender-and-cream-striped sofa. “May I assist you?”

  “I would like nothing better, but surely you have friends to call on or shopping excursions in the city to arrange?”

  Catherine looked down at her hands folded in her lap, covering her denuded left hand with her right. “I did more than enough shopping in France and Italy to last another year or two. And as for friends...” Her throat closed. “I rather scuttled those relationships when I eloped with Georgette’s fiancé.”

  Mama sighed and returned her pen to its holder. “That was five years ago. It’s past time everyone forgot about your youthful folly. See, you’ve already had a gentleman caller. Did you have a pleasant coze?”

  “Lord Tristram is as warm as the conservatory without a fire. I am still to blame for my disastrous marriage.”

  “Hmph.” Mama brought her fist down on her desk. “And what about Lord Bisterne’s behavior? He made a promise to her and broke it. Why does everyone blame you as though you forced him to the altar?”

  Catherine’s heart warmed at Mama’s never-failing loyalty. “I did flirt with him outrageously. You told me to stop.”

  “And if he truly cared for Georgette, no amount of flirtation would have swayed him to run off with you.”

  “My greater dowry persuaded him.”

  “Estelle is about to follow in your footsteps if we’re not careful.”

  “I thought she’d have learned her lesson with me for an example, but you are so right, Mama, in more ways than one.”

  “Those young men in the music room are fortune hunters, as well?”

  “Without the dubious honor of bearing a title.”

  “Neither of these young men have either money or title prospects?”

  “Neither. But if I may offer you some advice from my own experience, don’t deny her access to them. I believe now that if I had been allowed to spend more time in Bisterne’s company, I would have learned his pious talk and fine manners covered an empty soul.”

  Mama sifted through the stack of engraved invitations. “I will discuss your suggestion with your father tonight. We don’t like this notion Estelle has of joining a band, of all things. As if a girl of good birth would ever do such a thing. I’m happy enough to have her perform here, but in public? Out of the question.”

  “And yet her talent is special.”

  “It is.” Mama’s face glowed, smooth and lovely in the lamplight. “We pray her faith will anchor her in doing the right thing with her music.”

  “Did you hope my faith would persuade me to make the right choices?”

  “I’m afraid we did, but worldliness got ahold of you.” Mama leaned forward and covered Catherine’s clasped hands with one of hers.

  Catherine avoided meeting Mama’s eyes. “I need to find forgiveness here, but Mrs. Selkirk says I will not be received and Georgette will not speak with me.”

  “Then Georgette will be in the wrong, not you. As long as you conduct yourself with impeccable behavior and we can keep Estelle from running off, your being home can finally set that old scandal of yours behind us, where it belongs.”

  Catherine flinched away from Mama’s kindly meant words. If she could not prove her innocence to Lord Tristram, a new scandal could damage her family right to its core. Estelle would be the sister of a jewel thief and would never find a decent man to marry her, and other men might refuse to do business with Papa and Paul, thus ruining the family financially. A family that had given her so much in love, forgiveness and money all her life deserved better than that.

  Whatever course of action was necessary, she would take it to protect her family.

  * * *

  Tristram needed the walk through the biting cold to calm him before he felt ready for a civilized meal with the Selkirks. Never in his life had a female set his blood to boiling as did Lady Catherine Bisterne. She may as well have been holding a rapier in salute before an old-fashioned duel with that last glance of hers. American-born or not, she could have given any duchess a run for her money in the hauteur division.

  Suddenly, he laughed, his voice ringing out along the empty road lined with trees that hid the opulent houses beyond. She might have been nervous around him last night, but today she had herself well in hand, and the result was...

  Alarmingly charming.

  Tristram shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and felt the rings she had given him. As he paced up the hill to the Selkirk cottage, he held the wedding band between forefinger and thumb. It was a heavy band for fingers as slender as Catherine’s. The diamonds weren’t set into channels, but rose over the edges of the band in a way that must have abraded her other fingers. Not a comfortable ring to wear for five years, and yet she hadn’t removed it, though she could have exchanged it for a plain gold band without receiving any censure. She had taken these valuable rings from the estate by her own admission—she was the only person at Bisterne with access to the safe at the time of her husband’s death, and he had found pieces of the missing jewelry in her wake across Europe. In short, he held three powerful pieces of evidence.

  But figuring out a motive was even more precious.

  Yet if she were guilty, would she not hand over the rest of the jewels before the truth emerged and created a scandal? The strength of her protestations of innocence pointed to her telling the truth. According to old Lady Selkirk, Catherine’s elopement five years earlier had created such a scandal, a handful of families, including the Selkirks, avoided the VanDorns whenever possible. Now, with Estelle to launch into society, another scandal could damage her chances of making a good match. Worse, the revelation that Catherine was not the kind and trustworthy lady her family thought she was would damage—even ruin—the affection he had witnessed between the sisters.

  His conscience pricked him, and he paused to gaze back down the hill toward the VanDorns’ beautiful
Lake House. Just the chimneys showed above the trees. He smelled the smoke from the fires, sharp and tangy, in the brisk air. Hearth and home, a family that seemed to care about one another, unlike his...and he could tear it apart.

  “Yet what choice do I have?”

  If only the fortunes of the Baston-Wards mattered in this pursuit, Tristram wouldn’t care so much—they were already nearly penniless due to their own mismanagement and poor behavior. But many others not at fault would suffer if the family could not restore their fortune. They employed dozens of people on the estate and most of them would lose their jobs. If they weren’t working, tradesmen in the village would make less money supplying them with their needs. They in turn would be able to buy less.... And so began the destruction of a parish. Similar events had taken place all over England and the continent, as those with land lived beyond their means, made bad investments and gambled away once great fortunes. Money from American heiresses had saved many an estate as well as the jobs of the local people. Catherine’s money had made improvements at Bisterne, but it had departed with her, and now the jewels were all the family possessed.

  “She needs to return the money she received for the jewels she sold, and return the rest.” His frustration burst forth in words spoken aloud to the last snowflakes still drifting to the ground, then he looked up and addressed the Lord. “What else can I do but make her admit the truth?”

  Silence met him, broken only by a birdcall he didn’t recognize. There’d been silence when he cried out to the Lord for guidance ever since he listened to his heart and found himself on the brink of facing a court-martial for disobeying orders—orders that would have seen dozens of innocent people killed. He would face that court-martial again if he had to, and make the same decision. This situation, however, presented him with choices that would improve his life while helping others, and that self-interest blurred the lines between right and wrong.

  Growing cold standing still, Tristram recommenced his climb to the Selkirk house. Georgette and Pierce expected him to be at luncheon. They wanted to discuss some activity or other they were planning, a day trip into New York. Perhaps he could spend an extra day and visit the finer jewelers to see what he could turn up. Meanwhile, Georgette and Pierce were comfortable companions, even if Pierce and his grandmother made clear that they would like a match between Tristram and Georgette.

  The idea had crossed Tristram’s mind once or twice since he’d met the pretty and gentle-spirited Georgette. An American heiress would solve a number of problems for Tristram.

  If only looking into her sky-blue eyes made him feel as though he were standing at the foot of an oak during a thunderstorm.

  When he arrived, the butler led him into the dining room, where luncheon was already underway.

  “I do apologize for my tardiness.” He seated himself at the last place setting. “I tarried along the road.”

  “Couldn’t they be bothered to send a carriage with you?” The older Mrs. Selkirk set her water glass on the table with a thud. “They have no manners for being among the first families of New York. Georgette is much more refined than the VanDorn daughters, and she is only the second generation of heiresses.”

  Blushing, Georgette passed a basket of rolls to Tristram. “We’ll have hot soup for you momentarily. You look half-frozen.”

  “They did offer me transport, but I like the cold and chose to walk.” Tristram smiled at her, and she blushed more deeply.

  “Don’t know why you had to go down to Lake House as it is,” Mrs. Selkirk continued.

  “And nor do you need to.” Georgette’s mother, a faded version of her daughter, spoke from the far end of the table. “If he had business with Lady Bisterne, then he had business with her and it’s none of our business.”

  “Are you still free this afternoon?” Pierce asked.

  “Catherine always was a wild one.” The eldest lady scooped butter onto a bite of roll. “And the younger one is following in her footsteps. How they managed to produce such a quiet and steady son is beyond my comprehension. Paul works hard in the city every day.” She fixed her gaze on Pierce. “Unlike some young men I know.”

  Pierce laughed as a footman with a bowl of steaming soup entered and set the bowl before Tristram. Aromas of leeks and creamy chicken stock reminded him he hadn’t eaten for hours and had taken two walks in the cold. If he weren’t careful, he might gobble down the food like a barbarian.

  “Paul VanDorn,” Pierce said once the footman departed with empty plates, “is dull.”

  “I think he’s very nice.” Georgette spoke to her empty plate.

  “And handsome,” her mother added.

  “It’s a handsome family.” Pierce grinned.

  Mrs. Selkirk banged her cane on the floor like a gavel. “Handsome is as handsome does, and they haven’t done handsomely yet.”

  “Perhaps,” Georgette’s mother said, “Lady Bisterne is a friend of Lord Tristram’s and we should watch what we say around him.”

  “She can’t be friends to anyone after what she did to our George—”

  “Grandmother, please.” Georgette’s hands flew to her cheeks, which were once again the color of the peonies in the gardens back at Cothbridge.

  Tristram devoted himself to his soup and pretended not to notice.

  After the pause for servants to deliver plates of fish and vegetables, Pierce began a discussion of when they should take the train to New York and what they should see there. That got them through the meal without more remarks about the VanDorn family. But Mrs. Selkirk turned her ire on Pierce for not taking the train into the city every day to work with his father.

  Pierce, losing his good humor for once, flashed his grandmother an annoyed glance. “I do go into the city every day and work. I even do so on many Saturdays. But right now, I have a visit from a friend I haven’t seen in eight years and am taking a holiday.”

  They agreed to take their dessert in the drawing room, knowing well that the old lady never ate away from a table and would go to her room to nap after the meal. Georgette’s mother murmured something about counting linens and left her children and Tristram alone.

  “I apologize for Grandmother,” Georgette said the instant her mother departed. “She never used to be so bitter.”

  “Which may be the worst crime Catherine committed.” Pierce stretched his legs toward the fire. “Grandmother grew up the daughter of a Pennsylvania coal miner, pretty enough to marry the boss but ended up owning the mine. She has never forgiven how Catherine kept our family from climbing even higher than invitations to Mrs. Astor’s annual ball.”

  “If rumors are true,” Georgette said in her honey-sweet voice, “Catherine saved me from a difficult life. Still...” She shook her head. “Enough of that. Would you like to see the Statue of Liberty?”

  “I would.”

  He had caught a glimpse of it as his ship entered the harbor at New York, but he would enjoy seeing the gift from France close-up. For some reason, he pictured Lady Liberty with Catherine’s elegant bones and proud—nearly haughty—carriage, and he smiled with more warmth than he should feel at any thought of her ladyship.

  * * *

  They left for New York the next day. Mrs. Selkirk would join them for some shopping, and Ambrose and Florian, coming in late in the afternoon, thought they would also enjoy the tour, as well. They’d stay in the city for three days, residing in the Selkirks’ brownstone overlooking Central Park.

  New York wasn’t London. Nonetheless, Tristram enjoyed the sights and fine restaurants, the entertainments and dancing with Georgette at an impromptu party at the Selkirks’ house. The only flaw in the excursion was the discovery of a pearl-and-ruby pendant that matched the description and drawing of one of the Bisterne baubles, sold to a jeweler on Fifth Avenue.

  “Surely she wouldn’t be so foolish as to sell someth
ing in her own back garden,” Florian said.

  “She was scarcely in town long enough to do so,” Ambrose pointed out.

  But the proof lay on Tristram’s palm, bright and cold, and Catherine’s words regarding her unfortunate marriage rang in his ears, dark and cold and full of pain.

  “Sometimes, I wonder if I should marry Georgette Selkirk and forget trying to prove that Lady Bisterne is a thief,” Tristram said.

  Florian choked on his tea. “What about your father? What about your inheritance?”

  “Neither would matter if I married an heiress. Perhaps it’s the kinder option.” Tristram could spare the VanDorns humiliation or worse, and he’d acquire a lovely wife who made no secret of her Christian faith going deeper than church on Sundays with the other fashionables.

  He began to contemplate the notion of marriage on the way back to Tuxedo Park. He and Georgette shared a seat and conversed with the ease of long-standing friends. After another month, if this camaraderie continued, he would probably be foolish not to make Georgette an offer.

  But something about the idea simply didn’t sit right with Tristram, something having nothing to do with Georgette herself. For reasons he couldn’t entirely explain, his mind traveled once again to Lady Bisterne, and the jewel he’d found in the city.

  One of the footmen knocked on Tristram’s bedroom door as he was dressing for dinner that evening. “You have several messages and some mail, sir. I beg your pardon—Lord Wolfe—”

  “‘Sir’ is quite all right.” Tristram took the correspondences off the footman’s tray. “‘Lord’ is merely courtesy and holds very little meaning. Thank you.”

  He took the messages and letters to the desk and sorted through them. Missives from his father he set aside for later, along with two letters from former army friends. He read the handwritten notations from telephone calls—invitations to dinners, a shooting party and a musical evening.

  The last message left him standing, lips compressed, until the dinner bell rang.