A Cinderella for the Viscount

by Liz Tyner

‘Then you missed getting a bad husband. But...’ His lips formed a straight line and he shook his head. ‘Don’t let it upset you. I’m afraid you will have many more chances for a bad husband.’

  She growled, the same type of grumble he’d heard when she’d entered the library and he’d been discussing her. He wondered if she did that because she was fighting an internal war to keep herself quiet and not entirely winning.

  It wasn’t a fierce or ferocious grumble, but rather like a trapped kitten that attempted to be challenging, yet it made one want to rescue it.

  ‘In that case, I will never marry. If all men are like him then it will be no great hardship to be a spinster. It will be a boon.’

  ‘Do you think I am like Tenney?’

  She stared him up and down. ‘No. I believe you are honest about your inconstancy. Which is a good thing, in a bad form—or vice versa, but still preferable.’

  ‘I believe you insulted me and I instigated it, but I’m not sure I really deserved it.’ He furrowed his brow.

  ‘My father is a good husband to my mother and I expect my marriage to Tenney to be similar.’ She looked to the ceiling, and harrumphed, again reminding him of a small, lovable animal that needed rescuing.

  She still expected to wed Tenney. Devlin’s teeth ground together. Well, it was what it was. He would wish her the best.

  ‘Apparently, a good husband is rare.’ Her eyes fluttered. ‘I ignored what could be deemed boring qualities in Tenney and considered them a sign of his ability to stay constant.’

  Ah, he understood. Tenney had said or done something which ruffled her, but chances were it would blow over soon and result in a rash of forgiveness requests, pleading and after a plethora of promises would result in all things being right again—for a time.

  The image irritated him. Soon she’d forgive Tenney and tumble into her imagined, happy love fog. Tenney had probably flirted with another and she’d discovered it.

  ‘My father is a good husband to my mother also. My father once relocated to a different residence when I was younger which reduced the broken glass here, yet he returned within a few years. Faithful? Hardly.’ One side of his lips rose in a grimace.

  ‘That is a terrible thing to say about your own father.’

  ‘It’s the truth and everyone knows it.’

  ‘Even your mother?’

  ‘I would assume so, as I’ve heard her whisper it at an extremely high volume so the servants wouldn’t hear. And then she’s said a few dozen times that she wished Father’s mistress would make him happy enough to keep him out of the house. She said the woman is abysmal in that regard.’

  ‘Your mother is a gracious woman, but I’m not of that level of graciousness.’ Her lip curled. ‘Not even close.’

  He widened his stance. ‘I’m going to ask you a question and I would like you not to answer it aloud. Consider if you and Tenney married and then, a few years later, you found that those delayed trips he took included a visit to another woman’s residence and you had two children, and he said, on bended knee, that he had erred and begged—begged—with tears in his eyes for you to forgive him...how could you not?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘You would have a family to save by forgiving him. Peace in the household. A life that the two children wanted. So much and for little risk at that point. That horse had already left the stables. The husband is well and truly contrite and means the words, at least when he says them. Why not forgive and pretend to yourself that all is well?’

  ‘So that is how men think?’ She shook her head. ‘That is pathetic.’ She lowered her chin on the last word. ‘Men are hideous creatures if that is true and Tenney...’

  ‘After a while you either just pretend all is well, or just accept that all is not. Those are your only choices. Or you take a lover in return. You both keep the façade of a family and all is happy, but you go along your separate ways. The household is not destroyed. The world goes on. You meet on holidays and special occasions and perhaps you keep each other as friends. Good friends. Friends you can count on to be at funerals and weddings. Friends who are there at your roughest times. A marriage.’

  ‘What a load of manure. Do you usually deliver it by the wagonload, or is this just one of those special occasions?’

  Perhaps he was better off letting her growl.

  ‘This time you are the one being immature and I’m the one with the maturity. You believe in little rainbows and happy magic.’ He fluttered his fingers about as if spreading enchanted dust for all to view. ‘I comprehend the world as it is.’

  ‘I hope you never subject a poor woman to a proposal of marriage. You are assuredly taking my mind off the pain.’ She pointed to her backside. ‘It feels much better to hate someone in front of you, than being irritated at someone from a distance because you know they are hiding something in their letter.’

  ‘I’m sorry that you’re in pain.’ Empathy laced his words. He lifted the wine and held it over her glass, waiting for her to give him the signal to pour.

  She put her hand over the top. ‘No. I want my head clear. I have not been able to form a satisfying written response to Mr Tenney.’ She glared at the liquid.

  He stood there, the container tipped to the side and the stopper in his left hand, and poured himself a drink. ‘A clear head in a betrothal? Is that possible?’ He’d expected his jest to bring lightness to her face, not increase the scowl.

  The gaudy stone she’d worn on her left hand was missing. Ah, this must be a serious disagreement.

  He closed the bottle and stared at the empty finger. ‘That was a sizeable ring you wore. Almost bigger than your hand.’ He spoke lightly, but her bad humour remained.

  ‘It had once belonged to his favourite grandmother.’

  ‘If it did, I’m sure she was glad to get rid of it.’ He lifted the glass. ‘It would have been unfair to have buried it with her.’

  She touched the empty spot. ‘It wasn’t my favourite.’

  ‘Are you planning to end the betrothal?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Sometimes I wonder if there is someone better out there waiting for me.’

  He studied her, gently shaking his head. ‘In London?’ He frowned. ‘Sometimes, there isn’t anyone better to pick from. Just other humans and I’m afraid that is the best choice we have.’

  ‘Don’t judge everyone by your standards.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whose standards I use, if it all washes out the same.’

  ‘Devlin, I think you have raised immaturity to a new height—or dropped it to a new low. Or both. You’re filling up a chamber pot with it.’

  He took a wide step, put the glass on the table, and gave her a bow. ‘At your service.’

  ‘You are annoying. I comprehended you a total charmer and full of sweet sentiments of no value whatsoever and now I find that you’re not a charmer and you have no sweet sentiments.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I just left them quiet as I expected you wanted that,’ he said. ‘I envisioned you could accept the truth.’

  ‘You’re twisting the argument around to make me feel bad. Do you not appreciate how rough these past two days have been for me?’

  ‘Do you?’ He stepped closer, moving near her like smoke held to the earth by the winds from above. ‘Do you really? I view one of the most fortunate women in the world in front of me.’

  She chose her words slowly. ‘I suppose the fire...it could have been so much worse.’

  ‘Thin silk, cotton and you packed into a corset so tight that you wouldn’t have easily wriggled out of it. A room full of people, mostly filled to the gills with wine, brandy and powerful punch. All waiting for someone else to do something. No water at hand.’

  She deflated, her shoulders and chin dropping, her voice lowering. ‘It still hurts. All of it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He touched her
chin, raising it until her eyes met his. His voice softened. His gaze was full of empathy. ‘What did that boor Tenney do to you that is so bad that it will take him crawling to you on bended knees and begging? Has he added another year to the length of the betrothal? Or sent you a letter intended for another?’

  ‘Neither,’ she said. ‘I have no reason to discuss it. There has been a mistake and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Are you sure? Six years of your life is a long time to toss out, but to ruin the rest of it to make those six years seem like a good decision could be much worse.’

  She tensed her muscles. ‘I don’t know what to do. What to think. I don’t know if I should be searching him out for an apology or vengeance.’

  ‘If you decide on vengeance, marriage would be the perfect vehicle for that.’

  ‘I would not throw myself under someone’s carriage in order to cause it to turn over on them.’ She put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Ah.’ He picked up his glass and took a sip, then gave her the smile that usually melted anger. ‘You are mature.’

  Instead of an answering lilt to her lips, she grumbled again.

  He studied her. Whatever had happened must have been devastating, or he would have been able to coax her into better humour.

  Or, she didn’t perceive him the same way others did.

  It became vital to soothe her.

  He would.

  Chapter Four

  She stood in the centre of the room, staring at nothing. ‘Four years. Four years.’ She shook her head. ‘And two years making sure beforehand. I should have questioned that if it took us that long, something was wrong.’ She pressed her fingers against her forehead.

  Devlin briefly touched her lowered arm. ‘What did he say to you, Rachael? Did the sap tell you he has another sweetheart?’

  ‘No. He said he still wishes for us to marry.’ Which she couldn’t fathom as he obviously found her reprehensible.

  ‘And just what about this has convinced you it is a bad idea?’

  Instantly, she felt soothed by his voice and his presence. ‘He said it in the vilest way possible. The most hideously vile way.’

  She turned to Devlin and he clasped her hand, the grip reassuring. She looked at their intertwined fingers and felt his strength. The letter she’d received didn’t seem so bad now. It was almost as if it were sent to another woman. Another Rachael, but she didn’t want to be that person.

  ‘In the first line he says he still plans to marry me, and in the last line as well. It is all the tender endearments in the middle that I have trouble with.’ The expression in his eyes made her able to continue.

  ‘What endearments?’

  She shook her head, thinking more objectively about the words. ‘Not ones I had heard before. How he finds me hideously awkward. How he detests my family.’ Her voice caught on the word family. He’d always said he liked her parents. ‘The shape of my nose.’ She put a shaking finger to the tip.

  ‘I find nothing wrong with it.’ Devlin’s eyes narrowed and he studied her face, turning to give it a better perusal.

  ‘He always said I had a beautiful profile and that was one of the first things he’d complimented me on. I do have a good nose,’ she said. ‘It’s my mother’s. Not my father’s.’

  Once, Tenney had spoken on and on about how fortunate she was to have a well-shaped nose and that he had hated his own. In fact, the words he’d used to describe himself when he spoke with her were the ones he’d written about her in the letter.

  ‘I have had no complaints on my appearance in the past and I feel confident my straightforward sister or my cousins, who were generous with their opinions when we were children, would have informed me if it is peculiar. My cousins commented on everything from how I said apostrophe to how I held my spoon.’

  He stepped closer. ‘It is not too big. Not too small. Just the right size for sniffing flowers.’

  ‘And then Mr Tenney went on to tell me detestable things about me, but then he was reassuring that he would marry me. He called me a not-endearing country miss and said he expected to get a tutor for me as the social graces I have are sadly non-existent.’

  ‘What did he say about your ears?’

  She gasped and covered her ears. ‘Nothing. What? Are you going to tell me they are longish, or wide even for a baby elephant?’

  He didn’t answer immediately and she lowered her hands and perched on the chair.

  Devlin shrugged. ‘They’re perfect ears. Perfect like your nose. He is obviously losing his senses. Or something.’

  ‘He always told me I had been fortunate concerning the size of my ears and nose.’

  ‘You are. And he is a perfect arse.’ Devlin loosened the buttons on his coat and sat on the matching chair. ‘Forgive my bad language and manners, Rachael. But I do believe you’ve been exposed to so much already and I hardly think you’ll lose sleep over mine on your behalf.’

  She shook her head, her knot of hair wobbling. ‘I have already started a letter breaking off the engagement, but I could not finish it... Well...six letters. Maybe seven.’ She frowned. ‘I cannot compose just the right words. And then I read his letter again, and I’m not confident he wrote it. The other ones he’s sent are all at home and my eyes blurred as I tried to remember exactly how he writes.’

  Devlin put his elbow on the arm of the chair. ‘A man should not treat his beloved so.’ He rested his chin in his hand. ‘Perhaps he wants you to call off the wedding.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you call the wedding off, he achieves the break without a care. If he calls it off, you are likely to be awarded some compensation if you want to seek it. Breach of promise. That sort of thing. Women can do that. Men are seen as cads who engaged a woman’s affections, affections that she could have given elsewhere. Men are seen as abusing a woman’s trust and hurting her chance for a future.’

  ‘I could never marry him if this is how he tries to achieve his goals.’ She held out a palm. ‘If that is what he wanted, he could have asked me. Nicely. In person preferably, but if not, by letter. I would have agreed and let the matter drop. I would think he would know me that well.’

  ‘He doesn’t have the spine.’

  She jerked her head his direction, surprised at the anger sizzling in her. She was almost more infuriated at Devlin than Tenney. She took Devlin’s comment as a criticism of her choice.

  She met his eyes and could tell he’d read her thoughts. But he didn’t flinch or soften his words. Instead he smiled, as if that would make everything better.

  ‘If he had said in the letter that he wished to discard you, would that not appear beyond the pale to a court should you decide to pursue it?’ Devlin asked. ‘They would empathise with a sniffling miss, with one lone tear running down her face, while her father reads the letter that destroyed his little innocent’s life.’

  ‘I could never...’ she said, then paused. ‘Unless it is because of the way he told me.’

  ‘He judged the letter the swiftest, surest, cleanest break. For himself.’

  ‘He is a barrister.’

  ‘Then by all means, you should respond in a manner he’s familiar with,’ Devlin said.

  ‘I want only to be honest.’

  He lowered his chin and blinked away her words. ‘Please write to him and tell him that you were at first astonished that he was feeling so low, but you understand that this is caused by the pressures he is under in order to provide a wonderful life for you and the children you hope to have. You anticipate the happy day when you’re married. Your love is as strong as ever—no—stronger now you’re aware of the worry seeping through in his words. A tutor is a grand idea and perhaps your family may stay with you after the marriage and take advantage of the tutor. Send him your love and tell him you have been knitting baby socks for the many little ones that will r
eside in the house you will share with him. You’re hoping to take in many stray cats and dogs also.’

  She tensed her neck. ‘I wouldn’t share a table with him. I wouldn’t share a cup of tea with him, or a few words.’ Rachael fidgeted. It just hurt too much to sit and when she rose, she waved him to remain seated.

  ‘You know that. I know that. But, please, don’t let him know that. You must play the cards you’ve been dealt and use them to your best advantage.’ His words calmed her.

  Devlin sprawled, staring at the ceiling overhead. ‘Just this once, put yourself first. Take the cards and put a few in your reticule if you must. You can return to maturity later. But how many chances do you have to gamble on a losing hand and emerge the victor?’

  ‘That is not the honest way to do things. One must be straightforward and sincere.’

  ‘I agree, mostly. And sometimes you have to push back because if you say yes nine times and the tenth you say no, then you are seen as an unbearable ogre...because by the tenth time the spoiled, selfish person is convinced it is their right that you always say yes to them.’

  ‘I didn’t think he was like that. I wanted to spend my life with him.’

  ‘But you don’t want to spend your life with this as the most eventful memory. And one that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You want to stand proud, stand tough and return it on a silver platter. You have no choice. Your memories of this must fade easily...and it may take longer than a physical scar to heal if you do not stand up for yourself. Graciously.’

  She lightly touched the area across her bottom. ‘Standing is about all I can do. It hurts. On the inside and out.’

  ‘Maturity. It’ll do that to you.’ He shook his shoulders. ‘Ghastly affliction.’

  ‘Have you managed to escape all the growing pains?’

  His eyes never left hers and his nod was slight. ‘Enough of them. Perhaps you were born old in the maturity of your decisions. But I was born old in the ability to deflect pain with meaningless diversions.’

  He wasn’t jesting.

  ‘Right now, I would trade you.’ She said the first words that entered her mind.