Frenchman jumped to his feet the moment the door opened. He had been sitting close by Lady Charlotte on the sofa. Angel fancied he had even been holding the old lady’s hand. He was certainly quick to seize an opportunity. Angel had not been gone from the room above ten minutes.
‘Thank you, my love,’ said Lady Charlotte, reaching up to take the box. ‘This is just what we need.’ She busied herself with the tiny key, talking all the while. ‘I am sure that Pierre is just what he says, but I shall produce the proof in a trice.’
‘Pierre…?’ Angel looked enquiringly towards the Frenchman.
‘My family have always called me Pierre,’ he said quickly. ‘Since my father was Julian, and my sister is Julie, it seemed easier for everyone.’ He smiled at her, as if he knew she would understand. And she found that she did.
‘Here we are!’ said Lady Charlotte.
The box was open. Its deeply cushioned interior contained two miniatures—of a man and a woman, both dressed in the elaborate style of the French court of decades before.
Lady Charlotte offered the man’s portrait to Angel. ‘This is Julian Rosevale, my dear. Your uncle…and Pierre’s father.’
So that explained the locked drawer! Aunt Charlotte must have found a way of keeping in touch with Julian, in spite of the family feud.
The portrait showed a Rosevale, no doubt of it, in spite of the powdered wig. He looked like a younger version of Angel’s dead father. She felt a sudden sadness at the thought of her uncle’s terrible end, and the fact that she had been told almost nothing about him until now. That cursed Rosevale temper!
‘And this—’ Lady Charlotte handed over the second portrait ‘—this is Amalie d’Eury, Julian’s wife. And Pierre’s mother. The likeness is very strong, I think.’
Angel studied the beautiful miniature. It was impossible to tell the colour of the lady’s hair, since it was heavily powdered, but her brows were dark and her eyes were blue. She had the same fine features as Pierre, and the same determined chin. If the portrait was a true likeness, there could be no doubt that Pierre and Amalie d’Eury were related in some way.
And if Pierre was Julian’s legitimate son, he was the rightful Marquis of Penrose, and the Earl of Penrose besides.
Poor Frederick, indeed!
Lady Charlotte was plying Pierre with questions. ‘Tell me of your sister. Julie, you said? Heavens, I never learned that Julian had even one child, far less two. How old is she now?’
Pierre was gazing fondly at the miniature. For a second, he stared into the distance. Then he blinked, and said, ‘Julie is twenty-four, madame, less than a year younger than I. She is—’ he turned to look searchingly at Angel ‘—she has a great look of your niece. Julie’s hair is perhaps not quite so silvery fair… But apart from that, they might almost be twins.’
‘She would not come with you? We would have been delighted to welcome her into the family, would we not, Angel?’
Pierre looked startled. ‘Angel? Surely—?’
‘My name, sir, is Angelina. It became something of a family joke to call me “Angel” when I was small, since I was definitely nothing of the kind. And later, it amused my father to use it still. You were speaking of your sister, however. Pray continue.’ She refused to let herself be beguiled. As head of the family, it was her duty to judge his claim with a cool head. She must not let him change the subject. She needed a great deal more evidence before she would accept his story. He seemed to have charmed Aunt Charlotte in a trice—somehow—but he would soon learn that Angel was made of sterner stuff.
‘The truth is, madame, that we have very little money. There was only enough for a single passage, and it was obviously out of the question for Julie to travel alone. I have promised to send for her, as soon as I am able.’
Angel thought he had begun to look a trifle uncomfortable. Poor man. It must be very difficult to admit to living in such poverty. ‘You will understand, sir,’ she said quickly, before her aunt had time to expose them further to a possible impostor, ‘that I must ask you for proofs of your claims. Forgive me, but you must see that a physical likeness to my uncle’s wife is not sufficient. Your relationship to the d’Eury family could be…er…other than the one you have described.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the beginnings of a flush on her aunt’s neck. Lady Charlotte was outraged, of course, at even the subtlest suggestion that Pierre might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket.
‘That is a trifle difficult at present,’ he said brusquely, looking her directly in the eye. ‘However, I am sure I shall be able to explain matters satisfactorily when I meet your father’s heir. Where is he to be—?’
‘I am my father’s heir,’ said Angel flatly. ‘I am the Baroness Rosevale, and head of the family.’
‘But you are a woman.’ The words came out in a rush, and were followed by a look of acute embarrassment.
‘Just so. No doubt things are managed differently in your country, monsieur, but in England a title as old as my father’s may descend in the female line, in the absence of sons. You were about to explain…?’
He frowned and swallowed hard. ‘Julie and I were born at the time of the Revolution, as you will know, my lady. Everything was in turmoil then. I do have the record of my parents’ marriage, but, for the rest…’ he shrugged eloquently ‘…I have nothing but my word, and the testimony of Gaston and Hannah. Just before he was taken, my father insisted we flee as far as possible from Paris to escape the guillotine. Julie and I…we were mere babes. We remember nothing of those times. It might be possible to find written proof if I went back to Paris to search, but I would not know where to begin. And I have no money to buy information.’
Angel chose to ignore that, for the moment. ‘May I see the record of your parents’ marriage?’
‘It is at home. With Julie. We could not risk—’
‘Yes, I quite see that you would not wish to bring it all the way to England. Tell me, where is your home?’
‘We live in a small fishing village, between Marseilles and Toulon. It is called Cassis.’
‘And Julie is there?’
‘Yes, of course. With Gaston and Hannah. We could afford only one passage, as I told you, and even then by the slowest and cheapest route. We thought that, if I could reach the Marquis, he would help us…for his brother’s sake.’
‘Of course we will help you,’ Lady Charlotte said, reaching out to touch Pierre’s hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. ‘Angel—’
‘We will be happy to help you to search for the proof you need, monsieur. But I must say I am a little surprised that you expected to receive help from my father. You must know, surely, that my father and his brother had had no contact since Uncle Julian left England? Forgiveness was not in my father’s nature. Nor in Uncle Julian’s either, according to my aunt.’
‘I am aware of that. But I could not believe that any man would allow his dead brother’s children to starve. Julie is an innocent. She is the niece of an English marquis and the granddaughter of a French count, yet she is almost destitute and living like a mere peasant. Do you tell me, my lady, that your family would have
