A Cinderella for the Viscount

by Liz Tyner

  She held up her empty wrist. ‘Once I took a bracelet covered in sapphires from Father’s cases and it was too big for me, but I wore it around the house for the day until he saw it. I feared he would collapse. He said I had more on my wrist than the roof over our heads.’

  ‘I like your wrist without adornment, but this is not about you. It’s business. You can transform yourself with the gentle artillery, the battle plan and reinforcements if needed.’

  ‘You make it sound like a war.’

  ‘That’s marriage. This is tactics.’

  ‘Marriage shouldn’t be a war. I didn’t expect mine to Mr Tenney to be such a thing.’ Sadness choked her words.

  ‘I assure you, only your gracious spirit could have made it a happy home. He would have been the ruler and expected you to stay safely under his thumb.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed you a fortnight ago. But I most likely would have done as he wished and never noticed it. I wanted to be a good wife. I wanted a happy household. I wanted...a marriage like my mother and father have.’

  She wanted a marriage like her parents’? He suspected it was the same as hoping for the lightning strike the coachmen had mentioned.

  Yet, he didn’t have the temperament to tell her that. Nor did he wish to tell her that he’d almost stepped into a marriage similar to what she would have had with Tenney. He supposed that was why it had been so important to help her. Why it was still so vital to him to assist her.

  He resumed his natural persuasiveness. ‘It is a competitive field on the marriage mart. You must be careful not to make enemies there. A jealous woman will not buy your jewellery.’

  ‘I shall be careful,’ she said. ‘I will not dance with any males I believe are searching for a wife. Only the older and happily married would I accept and rarely those. I will have a sprained foot, a broken slipper.’ She paused. ‘Or a pained knee.’ She touched over her behind and patted the air. ‘This part of my knee still pains me, but I can sit now.’

  ‘I’m sorry I did not get there sooner.’

  ‘You saved my life. Don’t apologise.’

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘The marriage would have been called off anyway, even if Tenney had not been so malevolent. I would never have been able to disrobe in front of him.’

  ‘A man worth his salt wouldn’t care about the marks.’

  He didn’t care if the scars were hideous except for the part of them that hurt her. ‘Personally, I have never concerned myself about whether a woman might have a blemish on her...derrière. I don’t know of a man who has.’

  In fact, a man might enjoy spending a night caressing it when it healed. Might think it a treasured part of a woman he cared about.

  ‘Well, my leg is raw as well. Mother says it will heal further, but it is difficult to believe.’

  He held up his bent little finger. ‘How much do you care about this?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sorry you were hurt, but it is nothing.’

  ‘That is the same way I feel about your...wound.’

  ‘Thank you for your kind words.’

  ‘Honest ones.’

  ‘Delivered with kindness.’

  She reached to the lapel of his coat. ‘I must thank you. You are a rake on the outside, but a knight on the inside.’

  ‘I would say there is a lot of night, but not the kind you are thinking of. Do not place too much store in me. If Tenney loved you, he’d just be thankful you are alive.’

  He was.

  The knowledge lodged in him with such strength his breath caught.

  This would not do. She was not a woman for a rake and he had learned his lesson.

  He knew he could make his friends notice her, but he didn’t want them to. She deserved a happier home than his acquaintances could provide for her. They weren’t worthy of this gem.

  But he hated her placing her future at the whims of people selecting wares for their home.

  ‘Hunting one husband might be easier than roping in many of them and their wives to buy trinkets for their houses,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I deluded myself with a betrothal. Thinking back, I didn’t like the feeling anyway. The weakness of my mind that came from being around that person. I don’t want to feel like that ever again.’ She frowned. ‘But I rather like living well. I know the love of money is an evil thing and I don’t wish for a romance with it, but it will keep me comfortable.’

  He put his hand over hers and held it close to his heart. He liked having her near, it reassured him she was safe, secure. ‘A romance is not always a bad thing, should it not go too far,’ he said.

  With that, he took her head in his hand as their foreheads touched. Their breaths mingled, lighting a belief in him that love wasn’t only possible, it was inevitable.

  Her lips parted and she said the only thing that could have dampened his ardour.

  ‘Have you been in love?’

  ‘Yes. It didn’t last.’ Words short. Clipped.

  He gave her the barest wink and the softest smile. ‘I will see that you have invites soon. And tomorrow, I will get my friends to tell the truth of the disagreement between you and the mushroom.’ Then he escorted her to her house’s entrance and returned to his carriage, leaving.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Rachael slipped out of the house with her maid who’d arranged for a hackney to take them to the newspaper office. Tenney had once told her how things could get accomplished. She’d disagreed with him at the time, but now she considered his solution.

  Devlin was going to get his friends to help her spread the truth, but she’d lain awake long into the night thinking of how she could help herself.

  Her mind had kept wandering to Devlin and how she’d felt, standing with him by the carriage. They’d been close in those moments. United. Then she’d asked about love and the fantasy of unity had evaporated, gone into the air as if it had never been.

  * * *

  Once at the building, Rachael went inside. ‘Could I speak to the person who wrote this particular article?’

  The maid held out the paper.

  An unshaven man walked to the servant, lids drooping over his reddened eyes, and a wearied set to his mouth. He coughed, studying the words. ‘I did. ’Cause I write every word in that paper. Even the ones I don’t like.’

  ‘It’s about my life,’ she said. She couldn’t see compassion behind those tired eyelids. ‘And it’s speculations. Untrue ones.’

  He grabbed the paper, lids dropping further, taking his time while he read, then tossed the print aside when he finished. ‘Show me the proof that it’s lies. You can’t. I print observations and suggest they could be true, or not.’

  ‘If you could be so kind as to print an announcement that it has been a mutual decision, and Tenney and I have agreed to go our separate ways, I would much appreciate it.’ She did her impression of a most prim and proper miss. The person she really was.

  ‘That does not sell papers. No one cares. Give me something that does sell papers. Even if I did print a piece written exactly as you wished, it’s not going to matter to anyone now. People like to read the worst whether they believe it or not. And, of course, they do.’

  ‘You would be doing the right thing.’

  ‘I don’t print prayer books.’

  She had to keep her goal in mind.

  ‘It would mean so much to me.’ She motioned to the maid. The servant wedged herself around Rachael and held open a box so the man could see inside.

  Guilt trickled into her, but she pushed it away. She wasn’t asking him to tell lies. But to be more honest.

  ‘If you would print something to ease this for me—and it truly was an error in print, a malicious tale—then I will send my maid by with this gift for the lady in your life. You win in two ways, by doing the rig
ht thing and having a trinket for your wife.’

  She lowered her jaw. ‘Bread and butter tastes wonderful, but jewels last longer.’

  Then she turned to leave.

  Either it would work, or it wouldn’t, and no sense in belabouring it.

  ‘Don’t be in such a hurry to leave,’ the man called, stopping her. ‘Sometimes I like doing the right thing. Let me have a peep at that charm again.’

  She stopped. ‘When I read the new story.’

  ‘What story?’ He chewed his lip.

  She fanned her face with her glove. ‘My scars concerned me. I didn’t know how bad they’d be. And I didn’t want to inflict them on Mr Tenney.’

  ‘Scars?’ His demeanour brightened. ‘Scars, on a lovely person such as yourself, might sell papers.’ He examined her, face pinched. ‘But ain’t nobody going to be convinced you’ve a blemish.’

  ‘My leg.’ She closed her eyes hard, then opened them, gathering strength. ‘I was burned. Everyone knows. And truly now, it would be no lie to say I never wanted Ambrose to observe the injury. At the time, it all happened so fast I didn’t think of it. But...’ she shook her head ‘...now that I do reflect—no.’

  ‘That should sell papers. True love...’ He crossed his eyes for a half-beat on the word ‘love’, then his voice faded to a breathy drama. ‘Blighted by a noble sacrifice. A damsel saving her intended, as she martyrs herself for her sweeting.’

  ‘More or less.’ Then she strolled to her hackney, her heart pounding in her chest. The maid gave a low whistle of approval.

  ‘Don’t forget my trinket,’ he called out.

  ‘My maid will deliver it when I see the newsprint.’

  * * *

  Rachael waited inside the front door. Her maid had taken a sealed letter to Devlin’s house and delivered it directly to him.

  Her house was dark except for the lamps Rachael used for light to read.

  Three taps. Pause. Four taps. Pause. Then five taps.

  She half held her breath when she opened the door. The lamplight reflected off his smile. He was little more than shadows, but she could fill in each facet as if he stood in sunlight.

  Her heart thudded. He reminded her of an oasis, something to dream about in the wee hours of the night and every memory of him to be recalled before she slept. She added this sight to her images of him.

  Internally, she shook herself. She could not be on that path. She’d not even fully escaped the last disastrous attachment.

  ‘I can’t believe you went to the newspaper office,’ he said.

  ‘I was being practical.’ She raised her chin, even though she could hardly believe she had done it either. ‘And I’m not always good with conversing in crowds, but I gathered my courage and found someone who might speak for me.’

  ‘I told three of my friends the truth of the matter regarding the first story.’ He clasped her hand. ‘They were sworn to secrecy. Lord Bart was there, a fourth—I neglected to get a promise from him. It wasn’t an accident. He’s most likely to tell tales.’

  His eyes dropped to her hand in his, as if he’d only just realised he was holding it, but he continued speaking. ‘I told them I didn’t know the true details of the scars, but I did remind them that I had summoned the physician. And that I had been involved when the accident occurred. My mother feels partially responsible and hopes to launch you in society. And that is true. She does.’

  He lifted their clasped hands, and briefly brushed his knuckles against her cheek. A shaft of feelings moved through her body to her feet, immobilising her.

  Heartbeats passed before she could speak again. ‘That is kind of her to do so.’

  ‘It is nothing but the truth. Mother has a weakness for broken betrothals. My parents were having a spirited conversation one evening and it appeared that my father had been attached to another woman and neglected to tell Mother that he had a second sweetheart when he asked Mother to wed. Old news, but still fresh enough in Mother’s mind to bring out the protective spirit. She suggested that you get invited to more events in town. She thinks it was her idea and I never argue with her. Between her and my father, we are acquainted with most of London. Do not be surprised if she calls on you tomorrow.’

  ‘Your mother is a dear woman and you inherited her caring.’

  He examined her, his devil-may-care appeal rising to the surface. ‘You might be a natural at this charm if you practise it a little more. It works on me. And with that said, if I might offer a suggestion...’ He squeezed her hand.

  ‘As you have offered several in the past, no harm in one more.’

  ‘Walk head high. Act as if you were born in every room you are in. Carry yourself as a princess. Pick a woman who you admire and pretend you are her,’ he said. ‘No one can observe inside you to your doubts. No one can peer beyond the façade you present. When you forget and make a faux pas...’ He shrugged. ‘Do as she would do. Let it flutter into nothingness. Don’t dwell on it. It never happened. Just imagine how someone you admire would act.’

  ‘The Duchess of Pendleton. She is perfection itself.’

  ‘The Duchess?’ He seemed startled by her remark.

  ‘Yes. My mother and I have seen her when she is out and about. She carries herself so well.’

  She touched her hair. ‘I understand what you mean, but that is not so simple. I’m not confident travelling in such esteemed circles. They’ve all been friends since the cradle and I barely know them. I’m lost when they all talk about an event that I know nothing of and I feel adrift. It has to be obvious.’

  ‘My mother’s maid can create the illusion of sophistication for you.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘The maid knows a few tricks with smudging things. I’ve seen it.’

  ‘Smudging?’

  ‘Yes. Around the eyes. Mother will be moping around like she has lost her best friend, then she’ll get ready for an event and you would never guess how morose she had been only hours earlier.’

  ‘You aren’t serious?’

  ‘It’s not that you need any artifice to be beautiful. But you wish to glide into society with the most prominent people in town and you want to stand out, not only as if you were invited, but as if it is a birthright that won’t be denied.’

  ‘That is a frightening idea. That my future is determined by my confidence. My outward appearance.’ She steeled herself.

  ‘With people talking about the broken betrothal and it so soon after the injury, interest could be concentrated on you. This is a perfect time for you to shine.’

  She touched her throat.

  ‘Carry yourself proudly.’ He took her shoulders.

  ‘I do not want to pretend to be anyone. Mr Tenney’s speech always speeded up when he spoke of the Duchess of Pendleton, although it took him twice as long to say her name as it should have.’ It would have been a lie to say he drooled. At least a visible drool and he’d only seen her from a distance.

  ‘She has the art of being the Duchess perfected to a science,’ Devlin said. ‘Perfect the skill of being a new Rachael Albright.’

  Being a new Rachael didn’t sound so bad. She wasn’t happy with the old one.

  ‘Have confidence in yourself.’

  Everyone could tell she lacked self-assurance? Oh, that didn’t make her feel better.

  ‘Remember, you have two parts. An inside and an outside. Men tend to forget anything but the outside of a person,’ he said. ‘I suspect you tend to only think of the inside. This is not the time to even consider that part of you. Don’t wear your doubts openly. No one can see past the façade.’

  She touched a hand over her stomach. A façade? She wasn’t a puppet.

  He took her fingers and removed them from her midsection. ‘Don’t be so dismayed.’

  ‘How can I not?’ Nothing seemed right wi
th her.

  ‘You will do fine.’

  She let out a breath. ‘At my last event, my betrothal ended and at the one before that, I could have lost my life.’

  ‘When you put it like that...’ He gently put his hands on her wrists and pulled her closer. ‘Please do not be offended if I keep my distance from you.’

  She freed her hands and jabbed a teasing nudge at his chest. ‘Perhaps that would be best for both of us.’

  As he stumbled into the wall, he caught her waist and took her with him. Then their eyes caught, stilling her with intensity. ‘In truth, there is nothing wrong with the real Rachael.’ The whisper of his voice caressed her. ‘Everything about her feels right, sounds right and is right.’

  He kept her close and she never ever wanted to separate from the clasp. Her skirts pressed against him and the power in his legs kept her upright, and his arms merely framed her, holding her in place, suspending her by the awareness in his gaze.

  ‘But that is my impression.’ His words caressed her skin. ‘You must feel the same way and you don’t. If you pretend you are someone else, you will believe in the things you do and not criticise yourself that your choices aren’t right. They’ll be her choices and you’ll feel they’re correct.’

  ‘Are you this confident, or is it a ruse you play as well?’

  His assuredness shone through. ‘I’m happy with the dance of life, the game, the partners and all the rest, and I want you to be the same. I want you to have the self-assurance that will sweep you into a room and you’ll be at home there...in whatever room you enter.’

  She wanted to tell him she wasn’t that person, but in his arms she felt a strength she didn’t know existed in her.

  She rested against him, feeling the energy of life combining them. Their bodies aligned and she’d never felt closer to anyone.

  * * *

  His mind tensed because his body was beginning to separate from his brain and only have an awareness of the femininity against him.

  He should step away. Instead he savoured the soft scent of her and the pleasures she created. The way his blood surged more swiftly through his limbs and how nowhere else would be better than being where he was.