Reluctant Heir Read online

  Reluctant Heir

  Barbara Miller

  When Gerard Cochran loses his father at Waterloo he is alone, wounded and without direction. Yet when two English cousins show up to rescue him, one of whom is the beautiful and sympathetic Juliet Chandler, he is reluctant to go with them into yet another plan someone else has made for his life.

  So they kidnap him—and the temptation of Juliet’s lips is too much for any man to resist.

  Reluctant Heir

  Barbara Miller

  Dedication

  For my teen writing students, who help me go back in time.

  Chapter One

  Paris, February 1815

  Gerard Cochran blotted his bloody nose with his handkerchief as he sprinted down the boulevard toward his father’s lodgings, his booted feet sliding on the cobbles when he turned into their street. He stole a glance over one shoulder then hesitated at the outside door. He had outrun his pursuers but saw a crippled old Frenchman and his servant sitting across the street at a table outside the café. Gerard did not know why he hesitated to show them where he lived. Just because he had seen them all over the northwest quarter of Paris did not mean they were following him or had any interest at all in him, the son of a British major posted to Paris after the war in the Peninsula. He ran up the stairs and flung open the door into the midsection of Tully, his father’s wiry batman. The old fellow grabbed him by the arm and scrutinized his face.

  “You’ve been fighting again.”

  “When attacked I have to defend myself.”

  “I told you not to tour the city with those drummer boys. They go out looking for trouble.”

  “But I have no other friends.” Gerard went to the small chamber he occupied next to his father’s bedroom. There was clean water in the pitcher so he poured a basin full and took soap to his face and hands. One knuckle was split which would be hard to hide from his father. But it wasn’t in him to back down from a fight. And these young French street thugs were no match for him and Crispin, the drummer from his father’s brigade, unless they tackled them ten to one like today. Why they bothered to attack them he could not fathom. The English had won in the Peninsula. The war was over and the French had lost. Why couldn’t they accept that?

  While waiting for his father Gerard convinced Tully to play chess with him on his father’s folding chess board. The batman was an indifferent player and he fell into every trap Gerard set for him. Winning so easily was not as satisfying as losing to his father who was an excellent player, guarding every piece as jealously as Gerard did. Their matches of late often ended in stalemate.

  When his father came in the door an hour later Gerard slid his right hand onto his lap and picked up a pawn with his left. He had decided to risk another of his precious pawns to lure Tully into a trap but the old man was being crafty today and hesitated. Gerard tried to ignore the critical blue gaze that swept over the board and then up and down his clothes.

  Major John Cochran of the Horse Artillery cleared his throat. “Gerard, I’ve spoken to you about your reprehensible sense of humor before.”

  “What?”

  “I see no less than two unsprung traps. You have two ways to win and yet you lure Tully out again.”

  “I knew it. ‘Tis the last time I play with you.” The old man whisked the pieces off the board and put them away.

  “But I like the game to continue.”

  “Been fighting again, have you?” his father asked as he tossed his whip and gloves on a chair.

  Gerard felt his jaw drop and heard Tully guffaw.

  “How did you know?”

  “You are far too clean and tidy for this time of day.” His father was stripping off his neckcloth and walked into his bedchamber to get out a fresh one. “I dine with Captain Scott this evening,” he called from the other room. “Do you want to accompany me?”

  It sounded more like an order than a request to Gerard. “Yes but why? You never ask me to dinner with the officers.”

  His father came back in tying his fresh neckcloth. “His brother teaches at a school in England. He might persuade him to put in a good word for you if you don’t turn up looking like a grub worm.”

  Major Cochran carried a cane now though he had no need of one since his leg had healed. Gerard knew it was a sword stick and that a weapon of some sort was part of his father’s identity even though, like most British officers, he favored civilian clothes when not in battle.

  “What use is school unless they teach about artillery or strategy and tactics?”

  “I’m sure they teach nothing of the sort. You will learn Latin and Greek and a great deal of law. Now, are you coming?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gerard failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He followed his father down the stairs and walked beside him along the crowded streets toward the Seine.

  “Why do I have to go to school?”

  “The war is over. It’s time we gave some thought to your future.”

  “I thought to become a soldier like you.”

  His father glanced at him. “It’s a profession without much of a future in wartime. Certainly none at all now that there is peace.”

  “You have done all right.”

  “But now that peace is made I’ll go on half pay. The grateful country won’t show much appreciation once all the soldiers arrive back home with no jobs. The civilian population ever fears a standing army.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “Nothing is. That’s why I want you to go into law.”

  “I meant about the way soldiers are treated in their own country. Do you mean to go to England?”

  His father shook his head. “I have a chance at a diplomatic post. If I get it I will sell out. No more killing to make a living.”

  “But I could go with you.” He still had to look up to his father who was a few inches taller. At nearly eighteen Gerard held out no hope of catching up to him in height.

  “If I don’t get it I will have to go where I am posted.”

  “I would never care.”

  “No, you regard it as a high treat to be cold, wet and hungry the better part of the time.”

  “I never complained.”

  His father stopped to look at him and Gerard saw something different about his eyes, not just tiredness and resignation. That was always there. But pain, beyond what a wound would cause. “Isn’t it enough that your mother died on campaign? Let me try to make a place for you in the world. I don’t want you to turn out like me.”

  “But you’re a hero and I admire you. Everyone does.”

  “When I was your age I took a wrong turn. I won’t let you do the same.”

  Gerard said nothing but followed when his father walked on, trying to savor these minutes since he suspected there would be precious few of them left.

  “It isn’t that I don’t want you with me. But being in Paris makes me realize how much time has passed, how much I have lost.”

  “Mother came from Paris.”

  “Yes, so it is not a place I relish.”

  They had just come down the Rue Royale when Gerard saw the old lame Frenchman and his giant of a servant near the middle of the Place de la Concorde. His father stiffened and stopped, regarding the man with an intense expression. The gentleman hobbled up to them, leaning on a real cane of ebony wood and grasping the sleeve of his servant with the other hand for support.

  “Major Cochran, I thought you might remember me.” His voice was commanding and formal in spite of his infirmities. Gerard was startled by the man speaking English so fluently though his accent was heavy. Not Parisian but some other district.

  “As well as you remember me,” his father replied.

  “So this is Gerard?”

  “Yes, Ge
rard, this is General Soutine and his man Conde.”

  Gerard bowed formally and greeted the man in French which caused raised eyebrows from both the Frenchmen.

  Soutine smiled. “I see he has not forgotten everything his mother taught him. Major, I must speak with you privately. A moment only.”

  “Very well. Gerard, have Conde show you the obelisk. I need to talk with the general.”

  Gerard obediently went to the obelisk at the intersecting pathways and leaned against the base. He looked at the monument for his father’s benefit but questioned the servant about where Soutine had fought and got a catalogue of battles that ended with Moscow which had meant the end of many a career and very many lives. But it was a different theater of the war from the one where Gerard’s father had fought. That plus the age difference convinced Gerard that his father and Soutine had never faced each other in battle. How then were they acquainted?

  Conde was a giant of a man with a speech impediment which caused him to lose the fronts of words. Gerard suspected it had to do with hearing loss but once he had caught on to the problem he could understand him easily enough. Since Conde was a man of few words Gerard spent his attention trying to catch what his father was saying to General Soutine. He picked up a garbled phrase here and there but nothing that made sense. Soutine wanted something from his father and he refused adamantly. It was not uncommon for officers on opposite sides to know each other and even develop a grudging respect. If Soutine’s request could be granted why not?

  When his father broke off conversation with Soutine he bowed curtly, hardly more than a nod and strode toward Gerard, commanding him to follow him.

  “Conde says Soutine fought at Wagram. Isn’t that where your father fought?”

  “One of many places. What else did he tell you?”

  “Nothing.” Gerard picked up his pace to keep up with his father’s long stride. “How do you know General Soutine?”

  “It does not matter. He is an enemy of your grandfather.”

  “Being on the other side that goes without saying but it must have been decades ago. And since you are not on terms with your father does it matter?”

  “Let it rest, Gerard. Some wounds never heal.”

  “What did Soutine want?”

  “Nothing he can have.” His father paused and rested his hand on his cane head. “Are you done with questions for today?”

  Gerard resumed his customary silence. There were so many things he was never permitted to ask about, especially his father’s people in England. Gerard had the feeling his father had been disinherited for marrying a Frenchwoman but he would have cut his tongue out rather than broach that subject.

  Before they got to the café his father threw his arm around Gerard’s shoulder. “Forgive me for being so curt. You mean everything to me. It’s just Paris that drags me down.”

  “General Soutine seems sad as well.”

  “He should stand as a lesson to both of us. That’s what soldiering gets you if you’re lucky, a limping existence in a city where no one cares about you. I wish I was done with the army.”

  “You only say that because the war is over. If there was another and you heard the call to arms I think you would go.”

  His father stopped and looked down at him, shook his head, then smiled sadly. His lips curled up at the corners and his chiseled chin stood out sharply defined against his white stock. “I fear you are right.”

  Everyone told Gerard he looked like his father but he wasn’t as tall or as handsome. And he was nowhere near as self-assured. But it appeared that some of that command stance was an act. Still, his father was a hero no matter what he said and Gerard would trade all the comforts in the world to stay with him. How to convince him of this was the problem.

  * * * * *

  Northamptonshire, England, March 1815

  Juliet Chandler hesitated outside her great-uncle’s oaken study door before she knocked. She didn’t like to eavesdrop but it never hurt to assess the climate before entering a room where you were likely to be blasted by the frosty bite of the old man’s tongue. The voices of her brother Charles reasoning with their great-uncle, retired General Alfred Cochran, told her nothing today as she smoothed the creases from her green morning dress and finger-combed her long blonde hair before she rapped.

  “What is it?” the general’s harsh voice demanded.

  Juliet opened the door and leaned against it as she closed it. “You asked for me?” She refused to concede that he had sent for her and she had come at his bidding. She made every bow to one of his demands seem voluntary. It did not give her much power but it was a fiction that made life here at Old Stand bearable.

  “Sit down then, girl.”

  As she slid into one of the wooden armchairs her great-uncle turned toward Charles who was leaning against the edge of the large desk.

  “Well, is he coming home?” the general demanded of her brother who was reading a letter with a look of dread. Charles was her hero. He was tall, blond and handsome like their father had been and he had the same skill at smoothing the rumpled feelings of General Cochran.

  He leaned sideways to get better light from the window and looked up finally. “No, your son is part of the occupation force. In other words he is not at liberty to return.”

  The old man glared at him under craggy gray brows. “And when he is at liberty?”

  “I think I should go to Paris to talk to him.” Charles began folding the letter. “Surely when he fulfills his duty I can convince him to come home.”

  “Give me that.”

  Charles sighed and passed the missive to the general who carried it to the light and then held it at arm’s length as he squinted at the page.

  “How colorful. ‘Over his dead body.’ If he stays much longer in the artillery that is exactly how he will return.” The old man tossed the sheet onto his broad desk.

  “But, sir, was it not you who sent him away? Perhaps a conciliatory note in your own hand would be more convincing than the pleading of a second cousin.”

  “That was decades ago. If he has a particle of sense he will sell out now as you instructed him.”

  “Perhaps if you wrote to him yourself he would truly believe you want him back.”

  “Grovel to that whelp? It would be too much like surrendering. Juliet will just have to marry Claude.”

  “No!” she said before she could weigh the consequences. She stood up but was still a head shorter than the general who rounded on her with a glare.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  She resisted the urge to back away. “I dislike Claude. I could never marry him.”

  “You’ll marry whom you’re told to or no one.”

  She weighed her answer as she looked the old man in the face. “No one seems a much better choice. Claude has always been mean and spiteful. Besides, if I were fool enough to marry your grandson he would get his hands on my money and run through it within a year.”

  “Cousin Nash won’t marry Juliet. He says her tongue bites like a whip.” Charles winked at her but her great-uncle only stared.

  “Nash is old enough to be my father,” she protested. “He has no interest in me.”

  The general nodded, not the reaction she was expecting. Was he agreeing with her?

  Charles stood and faced their great-uncle. “Even if your son John returns there is no assurance that he would marry a cousin to please you and he is two years older than Nash, more than twice Juliet’s age. Neither John, Nash nor Claude are right for her.”

  Their uncle blew out a disgusted breath. “There is one other option.”

  “What?” Charles asked.

  “John’s son.”

  Juliet stared at him. “He has a son?”

  “Yes, he would be of an age with you. After John he is the next in line. We’ll bring the son here and polish him up. Maybe he’ll be more malleable than his father.”

  “But where is he?” Charles demanded.

  “With the army I
suppose. Check the enlistments for John’s regiment. Find out if a brat named Gerald—no, not Gerald. What the devil was his name?”

  He selected a key from the ring he carried and opened a small drawer in his desk. A worn letter caused him to frown and walk toward the window then squint as he held it out in front of him. “Gerard—damn French name. Find Gerard Cochran and bring him here.”

  “But will he come either?” Charles asked.

  “If he does and agrees to marry Juliet then you can marry your cousin Melanthe with my goodwill but no one marries from this house until a succession is established. Now get busy with your letter writing and get out both of you.”

  The siblings exited the room and closed the door to lean backward on the oak barricade and blow out a mutual breath of relief.

  “Why can’t we just escape this place?” Juliet demanded as she strode beside her brother down the hall toward the library which Charles used as his office.

  “I told you. By the terms of Father’s will I don’t inherit until I’m of age. We could leave but we’d have no money.”

  “Having a fortune is just a bother. It’s never done either one of us any good.”

  “But he treats us a sight better than any of his other relations. I’d hate to have to live here with no expectations. Come and help me compose the letter.” Charles threw the library doors open and took a seat at the large table in the center, pulling a blotter and inkstand toward him.

  Juliet pulled a chair up beside him. “Charles, if we don’t get either one of them to come home I’d be willing to marry Claude if it would make you happy.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “That you shall not. Sacrifice your future to buy my happiness? That would be stupid. If all else fails we hold out ’til I come into my money. Then I shall be your guardian and you may do as you wish.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Unfortunately not ’til I am five and twenty, another four years.”

  Chapter Two

  Brussels, June 18, 1815

  Gerard realized that he had been right. Three months after he had predicted his father would march off to war again he watched him ride out of the square in Brussels where their regiment had formed up. Napoleon had escaped Elba and in a daring march across France had, against all reason, drawn the remnants of his old armies about him. The British, Dutch and Prussian armies had gathered to fight him. In many ways it had been a race against time. The English had to try to get back troops they had shipped to America to fight in that war. Wellington was in charge, of course but so many brave fighters from Peninsular days would not be here to help. And Gerard was still not one of them, not really.