The Unknown Heir. Anne Herries
of its period, though it was looking faded and had suffered some fire damage recently. Hester loved her home, but of late a dark cloud seemed to hang over them, for the family had been deeply affected by the death of her stepfather some months previously. The tragedy had quite possibly led to the Duke of Shelbourne’s illness, and it was these things that made the house she adored seem so empty at times.
‘Miss Hester?’
She turned as the housekeeper came into the room, prepared to deal with whatever might be asked of her since the burden of the estate had fallen on her shoulders these past weeks. Lady Sheldon had been delicate since the death of her husband, and the duke was unable to do more than advise her from his bedchamber.
‘Yes, Mrs Mills? Is there something wrong?’
‘His Grace has asked that you go up to him as soon as you have a minute, miss.’
‘Yes, of course. I shall go now,’ Hester said. ‘And my compliments to Cook, Mrs Mills. The beef was excellent last night. Grandfather particularly remarked on it.’
‘I am sure she will be pleased to hear that, miss.’
Mrs Mills stood back for Hester to leave the room, shaking her head as she went into the hall and up the stairs. It was hardly fair the way they all expected Miss Sheldon to do everything these days. Not that she was a girl, as she had passed her twenty-sixth birthday, and it was unlikely that she would marry, which was, in Mrs Mills’s opinion, a proper shame.
Hester was smiling as she went quickly along the landing to the stairs leading to the top floor of the west wing, which held the duke’s private apartments. He seldom left them these days, because his illness had taken the strength from his legs and he had to be carried down the stairs—something he did not enjoy. She knocked and was admitted by the duke’s valet, who smiled at her.
‘How is he this morning, Simmons?’
‘Oh, much the same as usual, miss. He will be all the better for seeing you.’
Hester went through the duke’s private parlour into his bedchamber as he had not yet been allowed to get up for more than an hour or so a day. She had been anxious that he might have suffered a relapse, but he actually looked a little more healthy, which brought a smile to her face.
‘What can I do for you, Grandfather?’
Although not a blood relation, she had always been encouraged to think of him as her grandfather. The child of her mother’s first husband, who had sadly died soon after she was born, Hester had been adopted by Lord Sheldon and given his name when her mother remarried. She had loved him as the only father she had ever known, and the duke was in all respects but one her beloved grandfather.
‘Nothing for the moment,’ he said. ‘I wanted to tell you that I have sent for the heir. If he agrees to come, it may make a difference to both Lady Sheldon and you, Hester.’
‘Yes, of course. We might have to retire to the dower house, perhaps.’
‘Not while I live,’ the duke replied. ‘But it is all in the air at the moment. As you know, I made inquiries about him and they were favourable. He seems to be in possession of a fortune…Heaven knows, we could do with some of that money here, girl!’
‘Yes, sir—but he may not wish to use his fortune to help restore this house or the estate.’
‘Well, I have persuaded Birch to go out there,’ the duke told her and frowned. ‘He must be told of his duty to the family. He may not be presentable, of course—but I dare say you could knock him into shape for us, Hester?’
‘I am not sure I understand you, Grandfather.’
‘He will need to learn English manners. I have no idea what sort of schools they have out there these days, but I dare say he may have some rough edges. His father was a riverboat gambler, as I understand it, though he must have done all right for himself.’
‘I am willing to offer my help if he wishes for it, of course,’ Hester said, looking doubtful. ‘But he is Amelia’s son and she will surely have taught him his manners.’
‘Perhaps,’ the duke said. The mention of his favourite child’s name made him frown. She had run away to marry the man of her choice against his wishes and it had taken him a long time to forgive her. ‘Well, see what you can do for him if he comes, Hester—of course, he may not…’
‘If he does not wish to live here, he might give up his right to the title, sir.’
‘And then there would be only Mr Grant to deal with,’ the duke said and sighed. ‘Why weren’t you a boy and born to my son, Hester? If I had the money, I would break the entail and leave this place to you. You love it and none of my sons ever cared a hoot about the estate—and as for my half-brother’s grandson…’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘I should turn in my grave if he became master here. He is a pompous idiot!’
Hester laughed softly. ‘Do not upset yourself, dearest. You know that I have no right to inherit. Besides, this American heir may be everything you could wish for, especially if he has a fortune.’
‘Well, Birch will sound him out. He cannot leave for America until a week or so after Christmas, but we must hope that his journey will be successful. I wrote to the heir as soon as your father died, but he has not answered my letters.’
Hester was silent. She knew that the duke was hoping that the heir would come over to take his rightful place as the next in line for the title, but she could not truly see what he could gain from it, particularly if he was already in possession of a fortune.
‘I hope he comes for your sake, dearest,’ she said. ‘But if he doesn’t, we shall manage. We always do…’
‘We manage,’ the duke said and thumped the bed. ‘If I had my legs again, I would sort things out, but as it is I am helpless. If you ever decide to get married, this place will go to the devil.’
‘Well, I have no intention of it,’ Hester reassured him. ‘I shall not leave you, dearest Grandfather. If the heir comes…’ She left the sentence unfinished, because as yet they could not know whether or not the heir would wish to leave his home. ‘We must wait and see what happens.’
‘You—the heir to an English duke?’ Red Clinton threw back his head and laughed deep in his throat. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Jared. You are kidding me, aren’t you?’
Jared looked at his cousin, a lazy smile playing over his sensuous mouth. ‘It sounds crazy, I know, but my mother ran off with my father when her family rejected the marriage. Pa didn’t have much going for him then…’
He glanced round the richly furnished room above the gambling club he owned in New Orleans. It had been his father’s legacy to him when he died, all that remained of the fortune Jack Clinton had amassed when he was younger. Jared’s father had built a home fitting for the daughter of an English duke after making his fortune gambling on the riverboats that plied the Mississippi River, but it had been sold when she died, most of the money lost the way it had come. Jack Clinton’s heart had been buried with his wife, and he had become reckless, neglecting his son, drinking and gambling carelessly until all he had left was a gambling saloon. After his death of a heart attack, Jared had taken what he’d inherited, swearing that he would never end the way his father had, and had since increased his wealth many times over. He was now much richer than his father had ever been, respected and admired by the highest in New Orleans society; he had recently been approached to enter politics by some of the elders of the city.
‘I thought the family refused to have anything to do with her after she ran away with your father,’ Red said. ‘Why have they decided they want you now—after all these years? Isn’t there anyone else?’
‘It seems not. There were three sons and about four grandsons as I recall. A heck of a lot of people must have died for the title to come down to me.’
‘Hell!’ Red swore half a dozen times and pulled a wry face. ‘What are