A Cinderella for the Viscount

by Liz Tyner

  Rachael bit the inside of her lip.

  ‘So that is why you became distressed after you received the post at the Countess’s?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to even be near him again. It was almost a game I was playing...being in love.’ She traced her fingertip over the costly ballgown she would never wear. ‘I missed him when he left. I waited for each letter. I read them time and time again. I would have married him.’

  ‘Are you positive it’s over?’

  ‘I posted a kind letter to him today calling it off. It is in my handwriting and he will have proof I will not consider a breach of promise suit.’

  Mrs Albright threw up her hands. ‘My daughter. She sends the man verification to reassure him after she waits for him for six—six—six and a half years.’

  Rachael felt she was in the lull before the storm, but in this case it was after. Her mother hadn’t reacted with dismay as she’d expected.

  ‘Are you returning the ring?’ her mother asked. ‘Promise me you will do the right thing and return the...object.’

  ‘Of course. I sent it to him with the letter this morning.’ She shut her eyes. ‘It never fitted properly on my finger. I kept studying it, wondering how his relative could have tolerated such an atrocity.’

  ‘Your heart may have been telling you that the two of you weren’t suited.’

  Rachael stared at her mother. ‘Would you want the stone?’

  ‘No. The person who cut that rock could never work for your father. The flaw was sizeable. And the colour?’ She shuddered. ‘It proved your fondness for him that you liked it. Besides, he smelled rather like a bottle of medicine. Not the good medicine, either.’

  ‘That I tolerated the flawed gemstone was the indication I cared for him.’

  ‘Perhaps the first three years. I’d say you tolerated him after that. Love is a jewel in its own right. And in Tenney’s case, a defective one.’

  ‘With inferior metal.’

  Her mother smiled. At that moment, Rachael accepted that her mother hadn’t been fond of Tenney and was pleased to see him go. It had never entered Rachael’s mind that her mother might be happy about a broken betrothal.

  ‘Not to mention he liked the idea of having the shops,’ Mrs Albright said. ‘He did comment on the nice lodgings above it for the Grimsleys and wondered about the rent per annum. We are fortunate that the Grimsleys work for us. They are such dears.’

  Inwardly, Rachael flinched. If Tenney had determined he was getting a thriving business, but then heard it wasn’t...perhaps he had never cared for her at all. Perhaps, for six years, she’d been duped. And perhaps he knew what he was speaking of when he said that her father’s finances were faulty.

  Rachael refused to ask her mother if their finances weren’t doing well. Besides, she wouldn’t know. Only her father would. And Mr Grimsley, but likely he would consider it disloyal to speak with her about such a thing without her father’s blessing.

  ‘Does your father know that you are calling the betrothal off?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell him tonight. Will you tell the cousins?’

  Her mother nodded. ‘And I will inform them that is why you never set a date for the marriage. Deep inside, you knew he wasn’t right for you.’

  ‘That might not be honest.’

  ‘Then I will tell them that we are just extremely fortunate that you did not set a date for the marriage. And I will say that I suspected many times he wasn’t right for you. It will not be a lie.’

  Rachael examined the ring on her forefinger. One of her grandmother’s many gems she and her sister had inherited. It felt good to wear the heirloom. ‘At first, I was disappointed and I’m still hurt, but it is for the best. I will be happy to be a shop owner’s daughter.’

  She remembered Tenney’s words about her father’s business, and how, of late, her father often seemed preoccupied.

  She’d even heard him ask her mother about the cost of the soirée and he’d chewed his lip after she answered, but he’d assured her that no price was too much for his family to be happy.

  An overwhelming loneliness engulfed her. She turned her head so her mother couldn’t perceive the tears in her eyes, but her mother wasn’t fooled.

  Her mother bent to hug Rachael. ‘He’s not worth crying over.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, but she wasn’t sure if the words were true. It wasn’t Mr Tenney she missed. But Devlin.

  She’d not anticipated that removing Ambrose from her life would take out Devlin as well.

  * * *

  Devlin sat at his breakfast table, sipped his tea and half-listened to the Baron go on about his latest love. He pretended to read the paper and only spoke at the longest pauses Bomford delivered. The ones after he recounted something particularly lovely about Priscilla. Devlin wished the Baron would sometimes think before he fell in love. If only for half an hour. Less even. The time it took to turn the page on a newspaper.

  Bomford was deeply in love with Priscilla and recounting her qualities, both of them, ad infinitum.

  ‘Do you think you are falling in love with her excess of bosom?’ Devlin glanced over the top of the paper and asked. Just asked, then he noted, ‘It’s hard to miss her. She tends to flutter about and reminds me of a loud bird.’

  A true statement. Terribly unkind and he felt a cad for saying the most offensive thing he could think of. A test of his ability not to anger. He wanted to be certain he was not deluding himself in believing he could soothe almost any statement. Yet, it was important for him to know if he did have a skill he’d not grasped and which he’d taken for granted.

  But, by the equanimity on Bomford’s face, Devlin could see no offence was taken. He wondered if he had a calming voice, an inflection of tone, or a skill of making an observation at the right moment that took the sting out of whatever words he might utter.

  ‘She cannot alter her bosom.’ Bomford smiled. ‘And she is a swan in a pool of lesser birds. If few men with substance have been fascinated by her, then it is time one did. I am pleased you understand that. Poor woman. I must be more cautious with her, to have been troubled with so many ill-guided attentions.’

  Devlin shrugged. He could speak the truth and no one even held him at fault. He’d heard the phrase silver-tongued before and it hadn’t entered his mind that it could possibly apply to him, or that he had a rare ability to speak without offending.

  He turned the page of the newspaper, then looked over the top again. ‘Do you think you have been quick to fall in love? Perhaps not really thinking?’

  The Baron gazed into the distance. ‘Good on you to watch out for your old friend, Devlin. Yes. I have. Now I can reflect on it. I will discuss it with Priscilla and find out what she thinks. Perhaps she and I will be able to find solace in each other’s arms. I may propose.’

  Devlin returned to reading the paper. ‘You’re being rash.’

  The Baron nodded. ‘I suppose so. Both Priscilla and I have been alone for so long. It is time we both found happiness.’

  The paper rustled as Devlin again turned the page. Well, perhaps Bomford and Priscilla were well suited for each other. Yes, he decided, they were.

  Payton walked in. He had a folded newspaper and he used it to tap Devlin on the shoulder.

  ‘Oh. You’ve got a copy,’ Payton noted. ‘Surprised you’re not angry. Just anticipated you might be.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The newsprint.’ Then he noticed the paper Devlin read. ‘Oh. Wrong one. You’re reading The Times.’ He shrugged. ‘A wasted life, yours. This auspicious one has all the latest scandals.’

  Devlin cleared his throat and glared at his cousin. ‘You are an idler.’

  Payton laughed. ‘You’re correct. I’m right there with you.’

  Damn. Perhaps no one took him seriously.

 
Payton opened his paper. ‘The night that Miss Albright danced with Tenney, it’s said that a lot more was happening. It’s said she only had eyes for a particular viscount,’ Payton continued. ‘Tenney was deeply distraught. I am not even mentioned and she spoke some time with me. Guess one’s not important if one doesn’t have a title.’

  Devlin held out a hand for the paper and Payton released it.

  He spoke to the Baron. ‘It seems Miss Albright has spurned Mr Tenney’s devoted attentions after a friend alerted him she is becoming loose with said affections. He discovered it to be true, according to this friend who is not named.’ He touched his chest and his voice took on overblown innocence. ‘Who suspected she could be...attached to anyone but this Tenney?’

  Each word Devlin read seized him, strangling his voice. He had to crumple the paper before he could speak. ‘It is not true and you know it. It is a malicious lie.’

  ‘I don’t believe Miss Albright is the fickle shrew she is painted in the story, but the paper reports it is to Tenney’s great relief that she has called off the betrothal. It seems she dragged it along only planning to keep him until he was well established and so her settlement in a breach of promise would be more. It’s said she acted outrageously at an earlier night and her flagrant behaviour may have resulted in an altercation between two men, causing a fire.’

  ‘Tripe.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Bomford’s eyes narrowed. ‘And who was she dallying with that caused the fire?’

  Devlin leapt to his feet, scraping the chair over the floor. ‘I was there that night. So were you. You blasted set her on fire.’

  ‘Oh, that fire. No lasting harm done. Priscilla said I was heroic moving everyone aside and putting out the edges of the inferno. Appreciated your support, Dev.’

  Devlin pointed to the paper. ‘Read what is said about her. That cad wanted to break off. She is doing the noble thing. Making it easy for him. This is what she gets. Painted like a strumpet for the world to peruse, and faithless as well. He wants to destroy her.’

  ‘How do you know Mr Tenney wanted to break off with her?’ Payton asked.

  ‘Because she told me,’ Devlin said, whirling to frown at his cousin.

  Bomford and Payton shared a quick glance and a grin.

  ‘Ah,’ the Baron said. ‘The sparks are between Miss Albright and Dev. I did detect they couldn’t take their eyes off each other.’

  Damn. He could grab them both by the neck and bounce their heads together and they would not be angry with him or see what was in front of them. Rachael was being destroyed and only he could see the tragedy.

  ‘Unusual for you to get so upset over a woman,’ Payton said. ‘And you never did make it to the lodge when she was recovering at your house.’

  ‘He didn’t, did he? Devlin is our mystery viscount.’ The Baron chuckled. ‘I will have to tell Priscilla.’

  Devlin glared at them for a second. ‘You’re both wrong. But even if you were both right, it doesn’t matter. The mushroom of a man is not worthy of her.’

  Devlin stalked out of the room. He intended to go straight to Tenney and demand that he set the record straight.

  Outside the door, he stopped.

  He didn’t know where Tenney lived.

  But he did know where Rachael lived. He would have to find her and get the stinkhorn’s address.

  * * *

  Devlin strode through the doorway, and passed the servant who’d led him to the sitting room where she and her mother sat.

  ‘May I speak with your daughter alone?’ Devlin asked, holding up the crumpled newsprint. He noticed that some of the ink had stained his hands. Fitting.

  Her mother gave Rachael a questioning glance. ‘But—I don’t know if her father would approve.’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,’ Devlin said. ‘I want to discuss Mr Tenney with her. She needs to know what a...questionable mushroom he is. The poisonous kind.’

  ‘Tenney? A mushroom?’ Her mother rose, but remained in place, studying the situation. ‘I would think him more a snail.’

  ‘I would like to speak with Rachael. Alone, if you will approve?’ He’d not meant to call her by her first name, but the word was already out of his mouth.

  He expected her mother to argue, but instead, she beamed. ‘Well, in that case, I will leave you two. Do take care.’

  She bustled out.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ Rachael asked. ‘Now Mother likely thinks you are the reason for the betrothal to end.’

  ‘You can tell her the truth later.’ He paced across the room and then returned to his original position.

  ‘Tenney is—he is unconscionable. He has spoken about you to the newspaper.’

  Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. ‘And I sent him the nicest letter after Mother’s soirée calling off the betrothal.’

  He paced three steps. ‘That was blasted considerate of you. I’d like to send him to an undertaker. Better yet, a body snatcher.’ He held the paper out. ‘Read this.’

  She hesitated, then took the paper. She braced herself before she straightened it. She didn’t even want his name mentioned in her presence and, from Devlin’s manner, she wasn’t going to like what she read.

  She held the print and at first it was as incomprehensible as the letter from Tenney. She read through twice, the second time studying each sentence before she accepted the words in front of her.

  She collapsed into the chair, clenching the paper. She didn’t want to believe it. Just like she hadn’t wanted the letter to be true.

  ‘You’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve this. Nothing. You did exactly as he wanted. You dissolved the betrothal. Yet he painted you as a conniving woman who used him to further yourself.’

  ‘How did—? Even if he hated me, I can’t believe he would do this. I presumed he cared for my parents. They welcomed him into our home. This will be so painful for them.’ She held the paper in front of her. ‘They’ll be so upset. And he had to have initiated this. He had to have.’

  ‘This is a bigger blow than just a slap to the face. It can hurt your father’s business if people connect you to the ventures and question your integrity.’

  ‘No one can doubt the value of the items we sell. The silver goods are marked carefully and the tariffs paid.’

  ‘Oh, they can. Even if they merely question your honesty, it cannot benefit and can only damage your family.’

  Her body deflated. It felt as if her future had been pulled from her, leaving nothing behind but an empty woman who must always pretend everything was glorious.

  Devlin seized the paper from her hands and tossed it to the floor. He lifted her to her feet, with all the care of lifting the most prized artwork in the world. ‘I will not challenge him to a duel. I will grab him by the scruff of the neck and take him to the newspaper offices and demand that he tell the truth. He cannot do this to you.’

  She took Devlin’s sleeves. ‘It will do no good. It will only make the matter worse.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, think of our mothers. Yours and mine. Anything you do will only make the scandal bigger and will embarrass them.’

  ‘I want his words to blow up in his face.’

  ‘You can’t fight with Tenney. It will not help my reputation. Imagine the tongues wagging. Well, we know the paper was right about why she broke things off.’

  ‘The letter you have,’ Devlin said. ‘It’s in his handwriting. It shows the truth of him. No man worth his spit would do something like that. Let me have it. I will show it around at the club and before long all the wives and sweethearts will know. A version of it will likely end up being in the newspaper.’

  She put her cupped fingers over her nose. ‘No. I cannot. Don’t defend me. It could go so wrong. I will be the centre of attention. All eyes will be on me—and on my face.’

  ‘Then let me handle
it quietly. I will pound him small enough to fit into a snuffbox if he doesn’t tell the truth.’

  ‘It’s my fault as well.’ She turned, eyes hidden. ‘He changed. I’ve examined his letters, particularly the last ones, and I can see it now.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘You were rereading letters from him?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been on my mind. Why he did that. Why he could not discuss it with me first. But now I can accept what I missed. Because I did not yearn for him and miss him when we weren’t together, it didn’t seem odd to me that he was the same. Perhaps he felt he could not broach the subject with me.’

  ‘You are making excuses for him. I want to throttle him and you want to ignore his disloyalty.’ He shook his head, as if slinging poison from his mind. ‘You have to tell your side. Or let me tell it for you. If anyone can smooth this over and make you come out smelling like flowers in springtime, I can.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t let you solve this for me. It’s too new. Too painful. I’m humiliated.’

  * * *

  Devlin couldn’t understand her logic. How could she feel humiliated? How? She had done nothing wrong.

  She had to let him take care of this.

  He had a weapon—his easy-going smile—and it would work wonders for her. His experience with being a rake would stand her in good stead. He could stir up so much support for her with a soft word dropped here, a question there.

  Damn. With just a smile and a raised eyebrow at the right places, he could probably drag Tenney through more mud than the man had ever seen.

  Rachael didn’t grasp the situation. She had the proof in black and white of Tenney’s perfidy, yet she didn’t accept it. She was too gentle-hearted.

  A statuette caught his eye, a butterfly, suspended glass baubles reflecting the sunlight of the window.

  ‘You do not understand that you’re supposed to be a butterfly,’ he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Butterfly?’

  ‘Yes. You’re the beauty of the world. To be protected. Cherished. Adored. To nurture in return.’