A Cinderella for the Viscount

by Liz Tyner

  ‘Never.’ His demeanour changed and his eyes levelled at her. ‘Maturity suits you well. You only need a splash of irresponsibility. Not the whole container.’

  After Tenney’s slashing letter, the sentiment of his compliment reached into the edges of her pain and washed it from her. She studied Devlin and he took in her perusal without a flinch.

  ‘Thank you.’ The words were spoken softly, but weren’t a platitude.

  The silence grew between them, but the distance melted. He was a true friend. And yet, he was different from others. He wouldn’t judge her harshly if she told him her truths because his own were much more jagged than hers.

  ‘There’s nothing I would like better to do than to flop down on a comfortable chair and cry my eyes out,’ Rachael whispered. ‘In truth, I have been jilted, though I am left to do the actual calling off of the betrothal.’

  Devlin rose to his feet. ‘Tenney’s a—You’ll be construed the fickle one.’

  She fought for control. ‘A jilt. Inconstant.’ Her throat throbbed. ‘I’ve never done anything bad in my life and now I’ll be speculated about.’

  He stepped closer, then held out his hand, waiting.

  She took a step, and then another, and his arms folded around her in a loose embrace, surrounding her with the scent of spice and life, and the warmth of compassion.

  She rested her cheek against the wool of his coat and the pain eased, and for a second none of it mattered. Not even Tenney’s treachery.

  ‘I feel guilty. For being in your arms.’

  ‘For being comforted?’ his voice said in her ear. ‘Nonsense. Utter rot. Total drivel for you to feel so. The man showed a false side of himself to you for six years. He should feel guilty, but I assure you he doesn’t.’

  ‘It’s a mistake. Someone copied his handwriting, or something like that.’ She breathed in the secure scent of Devlin.

  ‘Do you really believe it?’

  ‘I don’t believe he could actually write such a letter to me.’

  ‘You’re seeing him through your eyes. All people don’t react as you do.’ He brushed a hand across her back and it was as if he’d erased so much pain.

  ‘Someone else must have written the letter. The reason my mother planned her next event was to give us a chance to announce the date of our wedding.’ She reassured herself Tenney wouldn’t do such a thing, but now she didn’t care as much. ‘It’s a cruel jest. Caused by someone who envied him. He often said people were jealous creatures and didn’t want him to succeed.’

  His nose rested just above her ear. ‘Is that what you truly believe?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re too trusting.’

  ‘I prefer to give people... Not to assume the worst.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be judicious in that. I’m holding you. I’m comforting you. But in some corner of my mind, I’m hoping you and Tenney are finished.’

  ‘You’re only being nice.’

  ‘That’s how it starts. With kindness. Wasn’t Tenney compassionate to you? At least at first? Wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t believe he said all those things to me. Someone told him a lie about me, or someone else wrote the letter.’ Even as she spoke the words, she doubted them.

  ‘Was it his handwriting? Did it sound like him when he was upset with someone?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘He’s changed affections.’

  She raised a hand, steadying it on his chest. His arms fell to his sides. She took a careful step in reverse. ‘That was a cruel thing to say. And Mr Tenney is—was devoted to me.’

  ‘Of course. He still carries you deep within his heart. And he loves your nose.’

  That statement was delivered with such innocence and a smile. Fury filled her limbs and she instinctively balled her fists. ‘Devlin. You could use just a drop of my maturity.’

  All humour flew from his face and lines formed at his eyes. He studied her. ‘You’re taking me seriously.’

  ‘Is that not what I’m supposed to do?’ She puffed another breath through her nostrils.

  ‘Of course.’ Then he added, ‘Are you going to listen to me or to a man who tells you he doesn’t like your nose?’

  ‘Neither.’ She crossed her arms.

  He brushed the top of her shoulder. ‘Wise choice.’ Then he spoke, softening his words to decrease their impact. ‘I still believe it likely that he has changed affections.’

  ‘Are you judging him by your friends?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘It doesn’t matter if I am, because I’m saying the truth. You really need to write him the letter telling him that your mother may reside with you after you’re married. Perhaps a few cousins as well,’ Devlin said. ‘Write to him as if nothing was wrong in his missive. That way you’re safe if he goes along smoothly. Or...’ he shrugged ‘...you can do as few do. Use your head to think. Definitely don’t set the wedding date. You do not want your reputation damaged. It’s important to you.’

  ‘This advice from a rake?’

  His brows furrowed. ‘You’d expect...what? Me to ask you to pray for him at Sunday services? No.’ He crossed an arm across his midsection, rested an elbow on it, and touched his knuckles to his chin. ‘I’d rather watch you take him out at the knees, observe him falling with his face in the mud and have you use his hinder parts to step on as a path to better things.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ But if Devlin encouraged her, perhaps she could. It wasn’t the words he said, it was the way he put her feelings foremost in his discussion of her betrothal.

  He walked to her. ‘Is it because you are too good hearted, or is it because you don’t have the courage?’

  ‘I have the courage. I just know he could not do such a thing. On paper. He could not.’

  A door opened and closed in the distance. He looked towards the sound and lowered his voice.

  ‘Then give him the benefit of the doubt. Put that sapphire on your finger. Keep the contents of the letter quiet and give yourself some time to set the deck to your advantage. Everyone who knows you sees you as almost married and it can damage you to be seen as inconstant. There will be talk. You do not want to be hiding your head in shame or embarrassment. And you will have to be the one to call the wedding off eventually as he has no courage to do it. He is thinking of himself, which is no crime. You must think of yourself.’

  One thing she hated was deceit. Hated it. ‘I will not practise duplicity. I did nothing wrong.’

  ‘No harm in that. Sometimes.’

  The words hit her with a swifter jolt than the letter and his jaw hardened, but he didn’t beg her forgiveness.

  She anticipated an apology.

  But he said nothing. She couldn’t read anything in his face. Except perhaps pity, which incensed her. She firmed her lips and he reached for his glass and raised it to her, a silent challenge, but she wouldn’t answer. Not to defend Tenney or criticise him.

  Then, with a brief bow that somehow irked her more, he left the room.

  Emptiness washed over her and suddenly she was angrier at Devlin than anyone else. How dare he try to tell her why Tenney responded as he did. He didn’t even know him. She steadied herself by grasping the chair.

  Blast it. She wished he’d stayed. That upset her even more. She wanted to fight with him. Which just proved how much Tenney was suited for her. They’d never fought. Never, ever. Not once had they disagreed. Not a single time.

  She stood, winced, and bit the inside of her lip. They could all rot. Tenney and Devlin both.

  But then she considered that, after six years of her life with Tenney, she’d never experienced the loneliness she felt when Devlin left the room.

  She must be mistaken. She’d got her sentiments with Tenney confused and her weary brain had made her think she missed Devlin.

  She tou
ched her forehead. Why did it hurt as much when Devlin spoke harshly to her than when Tenney’s words had tried to destroy her on paper?

  Suddenly, she remembered Tenney telling her once that he would never be touched in a breach of promise action and she’d not really paid attention.

  Now she wondered if Devlin had grasped what was going on much better than she did. She wanted to dart after him and ask him to explain, but she feared he already had. And, if she followed him, she would end up in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  ‘How is your burn?’ her mother asked, after entering Rachael’s room.

  Rachael leaned against the wall, holding the letter from Mr Tenney in her hand. She turned the paper so that the writing wasn’t visible.

  ‘It’s much better.’

  ‘Well enough to manage the carriage?’ she asked.

  ‘I would rather walk home instead,’ Rachael said, patting above the burn. ‘I tried sitting and it was uncomfortable.’

  ‘I admit, I’m enjoying the hospitality of the Earl and the Countess seems content to have us here. She says the servants are competent at handling much more than two agreeable guests. She is making some calls now and we are to ask for anything we wish. She is also going out to a dinner this evening, but suggests we make ourselves at home in her library, and she can also provide us with more stitching supplies, watercolours, or pianoforte.’ Her mother chuckled. ‘She also suggests it is unlikely that Devlin will be here, but advises if he is that we do not ask him to provide music as he is forbidden to touch the piano.’

  ‘He is not proficient?’

  ‘She said his music tutor suggested fencing and he was a natural at it.’

  Her mother stepped sideways and peered at Rachael’s hand. ‘And what was in the letter my future son-in-law sent? I’m so pleased to be welcoming him into our family soon. It will be as if we finally have a son.’

  Rachael straightened a crease on the paper. ‘He’s busy with work, apparently, and it is wearing on him.’

  ‘But he still had time to write to you.’

  Rachael nodded. ‘I am thinking about answering his letter now.’

  ‘Be sure to remind him how much I appreciate his missing a few hours of toil to attend our family soirée. It will be wonderful to have my sisters and your grandmothers here. It will be a lovely event and the perfect time to announce the date of your wedding.’

  Rachael couldn’t speak. She had been so anticipating Tenney’s next visit, but now she had no wish to be near him. None at all. She turned to her mother. ‘Mr Tenney and I are—’ Then she took in a breath. ‘Mr Tenney is—’

  ‘Yes?’ Her mother leaned towards her. ‘Are the two of you going to announce the date at the party as you’d planned?’

  She saw the question in her mother’s eyes and knew how devoted her mother was to Tenney. She could not break the news to her right before the soirée. The questions her mother would be asked would override the family joy.

  ‘I just must speak with him soon,’ Rachael said, flipping the letter between two fingers.

  Her mother moved a half-step forward. ‘What date have you decided on?’

  ‘I think that will be taken care of, but...’ She could not bear the hope in her mother’s eyes. ‘The brush with death has caused me to spend a considerable quantity of time thinking about...my future.’

  ‘I would not say it was a brush with death.’ Her mother’s eyes widened.

  Relieved that her mother had not pursued the subject of marriage, Rachael didn’t want her mother to mention Tenney again. ‘I could have died, if not for Devlin. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do.’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘It was so fast. The fire just tumbled on to you and instantly the flames had taken most of your skirt. But Devlin—it seemed he knew what was going to happen before it did—and he’d grabbed you and pushed you against the wall and covered you to smother the flames. We all just stood watching, unbelieving.’

  ‘I could have died,’ Rachael murmured.

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I almost went up in flames like a brandy-soaked plum pudding.’

  ‘Let’s not think about that.’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’

  Tenney’s letter had already been composed most likely. And if she had died, her mother would likely have received it and opened it. Or perhaps Rachael would have been recovering from an even more serious burn and her mother would have read Tenney’s letter to her. That would have been a grand topping for the burnt pudding.

  Tenney almost got out of the betrothal much easier than he expected.

  Rachael blinked, the paper in her hand crumpling. ‘Life is so short.’

  ‘Yes. I’m pleased you’re going to marry soon. I want you to have all of life’s happiness and, once you’re married, I’m inviting the grandchildren to spend more time with me so I will not feel so alone.’ She stopped speaking long enough to give Rachael a hug and kiss her cheek. ‘I don’t hold my two grandchildren nearly often enough. I’m so relieved you’ll be living in London once you’re married.’

  Rachael saw her mother’s happiness bursting out. She could not tell her mother that the betrothal was likely to be over.

  ‘Mother, I would not want to make a mistake and...’ she couldn’t very well say marry in haste ‘...do something I might regret.’

  ‘I would not worry about that at this point. You are a sensible woman. You’ve always been mature beyond your years and used your head, as is evidenced by your choice of someone like Mr Tenney. Now you can follow your dreams. I feel you have been too serious your whole life. It’s time for you to enjoy the results. It’s time for you to become a wife. That is what you wish, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not entirely convinced.’ She lowered her gaze, breathing out.

  ‘You have been waiting six years? And you’re not confident?’

  She answered her mother, ‘I shall dance at the soirée. With Tenney. And I am confident that I will make the right decision where he’s concerned.’

  And as she said those words, she knew deep in her heart that the betrothal was over. She’d read the letter one last time when she’d returned to her room after speaking with Devlin and no longer believed the missive had been a mistake. When she viewed it with the memory of Tenney saying he never worried about a breach of promise and imagined him penning it with that in his mind, it made sense.

  She dreaded the thought of dancing with him.

  Earlier that afternoon, when Devlin had held her in his arms and consoled her, her body had melted against him. Feelings she’d never experienced before had awoken, shocking her.

  For six years Tenney had done little more than brush a fleeting kiss on her lips. She’d consigned it to his deep respect at the time and never questioned the lack of affection.

  Her betrothal had been a sham and she’d believed in it.

  She would never be so foolish again.

  * * *

  Rachael left her room and went in search of a maid. She clasped the paper in her hand.

  Devlin stood at the door of the library. Her room was directly above the library. He could most probably hear her moving about.

  ‘Is that a letter you’ve written in your grasp?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  He bent so that he could read the name on the paper. ‘“Mr Ambrose Tenney”.’ Devlin’s eyes took on a wicked, humorous glint. ‘And how will Ambrose take this message?’

  ‘I’m not concerned about it at this point, but I have reconsidered everything twice at least.’ She lowered her hand and frowned. ‘I think he and I have both been wrong. A misunderstanding could have caused this. Yet, that doesn’t mean we are to be married. I don’t even want to be friends with him.’

  ‘It pleases me, Rachael, to hear you are investigating this.’ He reached out and took
her fingertips, barely grasping them. ‘But you must be suspicious of anything he says if he is so unkind to you.’

  ‘I’ll take your words into consideration.’

  ‘Just be aware it is easy for most males to be rakish. So, if I were to agree I speak flattery, but you truly do have a most adorable nose, if for no other reason than it is in the middle of your face and beneath two expressive eyes, and lips that would make a grown man swoon, then how could you doubt it? Even if it is total nonsense—which it isn’t—I have taken the time to praise you. Obviously, I feel you are worthy of a compliment as I have proven it. My actions speak to you, even if my words are lightly given.’

  ‘I am much impressed. You have this business of being a rake down to a science.’

  He put his other hand beside his first, and rested it at her wrist, then, he raised her fingertips, stopping just short of a kiss against them. His breath warmed her. ‘Rachael. Being a rake is a twenty-four-hours-a-day endeavour. One becomes accomplished at anything if one practises that much.’ Then he brushed his cheek against her hand before releasing her. She suppressed any pleasant feelings caused by his touch. ‘You are treacherous.’

  He released her. ‘No. That boor is treacherous. I am accomplished.’

  ‘And that was rude.’

  ‘But not to you. I can’t be rude to you.’

  ‘Do you ever extinguish the rake part of you and just be truthful?’

  He shook his head. ‘If you are born with big feet, do you cut off your toes to make them the size of everyone else’s? If you have flower seeds, do you lock them in a box or do you plant them? If you are born with a chance to put happiness on faces, do you hide yourself into a room and be silent?’

  He stepped back, stopping at the door. ‘I must get on about my day. There are smile bouquets to deliver around town.’

  Still at the threshold, he continued. ‘And, if you will beg my sincerest pardon, then I must let you know that you are the one being unmannerly. Everything I have said about you is of the deepest truth. It may be delivered flippantly, but it is true. Whether you believe it or not is entirely up to you. You are exquisite and I don’t say that lightly.’