The Princess and the Pauper

by Alexandra Benedict

  THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER

  ALEXANDRA BENEDICT

  “You would leave without saying goodbye?”

  Standing under the skylight, the rest of the corridor dark as pitch, she was the only bright spot in his life—and the reason why he could never say goodbye.

  “Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

  “Do you want me to ring the front door or back when I come to visit?”

  “You would be welcomed,” she returned evasively.

  “And who would you tell your husband that I am?”

  “A friend.”

  “I’m not your friend, princess.”

  And she was not his friend—she was everything to him.

  He headed for the stairs again.

  “Promise me you’ll play,” she called after him.

  “I’m not your servant anymore. I don’t have to follow your orders.”

  She snorted. “You never followed them when you were my servant.”

  He stopped. He wanted to laugh. To cry. He wanted to feel her arms around him. He wanted to return the embrace this time. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her away with him and never give her up.

  He wanted to die.

  Grey crossed the hall. She looked at him without fear, her brown eyes knowing and inviting. He stepped into the circle of light, cupped her cheeks and lowered his mouth to hers . . .

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Princess and the Pauper

  Copyright © 2015 Alexandra Benedikt

  ISBN - 13: 978-1311973764

  Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs

  www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

  Edited by Judy Roth

  judy-roth.com

  Excerpt from A Slave to Sin

  Copyright © 2015 Alexandra Benedikt

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  www.AlexandraBenedict.ca

  To my great grandmother,

  Maria.

  Thank you for your wise words:

  That which is fated is never lost.

  ALSO BY ALEXANDRA BENEDICT

  THE FALLEN LADIES SOCIETY

  The Princess and the Pauper

  THE HAWKINS BROTHERS

  Mistress of Paradise

  The Infamous Rogue

  The Notorious Scoundrel

  THE TOO SERIES/WESTMORE BROTHERS

  Too Great a Temptation

  Too Scandalous to Wed

  Too Dangerous to Desire

  OTHER HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  A Forbidden Love

  ALSO BY ALEX BENEDICT

  BROKEN FINS

  So Down I Fall

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  The Fallen Ladies Society

  Excerpt from A Slave to Sin

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Summer

  London, 1878

  “Close your eyes, little princess.”

  Emily Wright placed her dainty fingers over her eyes and rocked back and forth on her heels. Her papa had promised her a wonderful surprise if she gained admittance to Switzerland’s most renowned finishing academy, Chateau Mont-Choisi. Today, the letter of acceptance had arrived.

  Emily suspected her papa’s large donation to the academy had played an important part in the trustees’ decision to admit her, a businessman’s daughter. But she cared not a jot how she entered the institution, only that she achieved her father’s dream of becoming a proper lady and marrying a titled gentleman.

  A hail of footsteps filled the sitting room, and she resisted the very unladylike urge to squeal with excitement. “May I open my eyes now?”

  “Patience. Patience,” came her father’s baritone voice. He clapped his large hands together and it boomed like thunder inside the room. The servants scurried off. “Now. Open your eyes.”

  Emily pulled back her fingers and gasped at the assortment of dresses and bonnets and shoes and ankle boots and redingotes. All befitting a maturing young woman of twelve. “Oh, Papa!”

  She rushed toward the settee where the apparel was spread out, fingering each and every item with unbound curiosity and pleasure.

  “Do you like it, princess?”

  “Like it? I love it!”

  She wrapped her arms around her father’s waist and squeezed him with all her might.

  He scooped her under her arms and hoisted her in the air until she was level with his brown whiskers, twitching with rollicking laughter. “Never let it be said Augustus Wright didn’t know how to make his daughter happy.”

  “Never ever,” she seconded.

  He planted a kiss on her cheek before he returned her to the ground. “I’ve one more gift for you, princess.”

  As he motioned for someone, Emily turned around. A boy, about her age, stepped inside the room. He had short brown hair and gangly limbs. His trousers were clean and pressed but very worn around the knees and ankles, his white shirt and dark green vest much the same. He had soft brown eyes, an intelligent look in them. He seemed uncertain, though, standing there with a polished wood box in his hands.

  “Come, Rees. Present the gift.”

  The boy’s expression changed from uncertain to willful. “It’s Mr. Rees.”

  “I’ll not hear an uppish word from you, boy. Now give your new mistress the present.”

  Though his expression remained mulish, Rees approached her as instructed and stretched out his arms.

  Emily took the box from him. What a strange, rude little boy. Why had her father hired him as a servant?

  But she quickly dismissed the thought from her mind when she opened the box and found a sterling silver vanity set with hand mirror, comb and brush. She’d recently been allowed to wear her hair up in the pompadour fashion, a sure sign she was maturing into a young woman.

  “It’s lovely, Papa.”

  The boy, meanwhile, slinked toward the door.

  “Rees,” came her father’s bass voice. “Have you been dismissed?”

  The boy stopped, turned and rolled his lips. As he waited to be released from duty, he remained fixated on the floor. He needed lessons in manners, Emily thought primly.

  “You may go, Rees,” she said in the same vein as her father.

  His gaze lifted and connected with hers. For a moment, she saw a proud, spirited light in his eyes, but the gleam soon disappeared and his features turned dull, remote even. He left the room.

  She regretted not calling him Mr. Rees as he’d asked. But only for a second. She was mistress of the house and she needn’t feel guilty about anything, especially hurting a servant’s feelings.

  “Why did you hire him, Papa?”

  “I didn’t hire him. He’s an indentured servant.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Her father sat down in a nearby armchair and opened his arms. “Come here, princess.”

  She obediently stepped into his e
mbrace.

  He cupped her upper arms. “I think you’re old enough to know how the world works. Not every child has a rich and doting papa, like you. In truth, young Rees is an orphan. He lived and worked in his grandfather’s shop until his grandfather fell behind on the rent. I seized the property and rented it to new tenants, but old Mr. Rees still owes a debt. And what do I say about debts?”

  “A debt is always to be repaid.”

  “That’s right. And so, old Mr. Rees and I formed a contract—his grandson will work for me until the debt is paid.”

  “How long will he stay here?” she wondered, disliking the idea of the gloomy boy being in the house with her and her father, or even staying on with her father after she left for finishing school.

  “Oh, it will be many years before the debt is paid.”

  “Years!”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “He’s just so . . . so . . .”

  “He’s a good, strong worker, he is.”

  “He’s rude.”

  A sharp, barking laugh. “And you’ll put him in his place, I’m sure.”

  Emily smiled to hear her father’s confidence in her abilities. “I’ve a few weeks before I leave for the Continent. I suppose I can teach him some proper manners.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  ~ * ~

  It was late, but Emily couldn’t sleep, her spirit still soaring high after the jubilant afternoon she had spent with her papa. She slipped from the bed and settled in the window seat overlooking Green Park. She still remembered the day she and her father had moved into the house on Arlington Street. The neighbors had been scandalized by the “vulgar money” that had elbowed its way into their exclusive quarter. Five years later, it was still just her and Papa, for the residents had yet to acquaint themselves with the Wrights.

  Her father had sent out invitations and organized introductions, but the haute ton snubbed his efforts to enter aristocratic circles. It was her papa’s greatest wish that she become an accepted member of fashionable society, and the school in Switzerland would prepare her for the role of well-bred wife and mother. Regretfully, she had to move far away from her father.

  Emily was eager to make his dream come true, to become a proper lady, but she wished with all her heart she didn’t have to travel to a new land to make it happen. Papa was the only parent, friend, person she had in the whole wide world, and as she looked out at the tall trees and stretching grasslands of the park, she imagined just how wide the world really was for one lonely little girl.

  The music was ever so soft. At first, she thought the melody was coming from her own heart: a sad song accompanying her sad reflections. Soon she realized the tune was real. It sounded like the music was coming from inside the house, so she went to the door and stepped into the hallway.

  The music faded away.

  She stepped back inside her room and heard the notes again. Curious, she walked over to the window and opened it. The song grew louder. She peered below and across the street but saw no musician on the pavement. She wondered if perhaps the violin player was in the park, but it was too dark and too far away to see for certain. Instead, she settled back in the window seat and listened to the beautiful, haunting lullaby. Soon her eyes filled with moisture and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  ~ * ~

  “Rees!” Emily slammed the book closed and hopped off the large chair. “You’re supposed to knock before entering a room. Don’t you know that?”

  He dropped the bucket of coal beside the hearth. “You’re not supposed to be in the study. Don’t you know that?”

  She blushed. “I know. I was just . . .”

  “Snooping.”

  “I was not snooping.”

  The boy was impossible. She had tried in vain to teach him manners for the past two weeks, but he refused to obey convention.

  She rounded the tall desk. “I would never snoop.”

  “Then why were you reading your father’s account book?”

  She gasped. How could he have recognized the account book from across the room?

  “I’m mistress of the house,” she said with a huff. “I’ve every right to look at the account book—and make sure the servants aren’t robbing us blind.”

  He scoffed. “You were looking to see if your papa had bought you another gift. Admit it, princess.”

  She hated it when he called her princess. He didn’t say the word with endearment, like Papa. She hated it even more that he could read her like a book and guess her intention. She would never admit the truth, though.

  “How do you know it was the account book? Have you been snooping?”

  He shoveled coal into the stove. “I have eyes.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t care what’s in your father’s account book so why would I spy?”

  “Maybe you want to see how much your grandfather owes Papa? Maybe you want to change the amount and cheat us?”

  He released the small shovel; it clattered to the floor. “I’m no cheat. If I didn’t want to pay the debt, I’d run away. But I’m here, aren’t I? Now say you’re sorry.”

  “How dare you talk to me that way.”

  “Apologize,” he demanded, his eyes flashing.

  “No. I said nothing wrong.”

  “You called me a cheat!”

  “Maybe you are,” she countered.

  He shook his head. “No wonder you have no mates.”

  “I—I have plenty of friends.”

  “Where are they? Why don’t they ever come to the house? You’re a liar, princess.”

  Her bottom lip quivered, but she’d sooner choke than cry. “You’re just a poor shop boy. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know it’s better to live and work in my grandfather’s shop than here in this ugly house with a spoiled, rotten girl like you!”

  He stormed from the room, leaving her swallowing bitter tears.

  ~ * ~

  Emily sat in the window seat, sniffing and wiping her nose with a kerchief. She had pulled out all her fancy clothes and toys, for the possessions had brought her happiness in the past, but tonight the pretty things failed to make her smile.

  “Wicked boy,” she mumbled.

  He deserved a whipping for treating her in such contemptible fashion. Papa should bruise his backside good and proper, then he’d learn his place in the household.

  She half-smiled at the wishful thought.

  The music started.

  Forgetting the loathsome boy, Emily quickly opened the window and sighed. She had come to depend on the magical melodies for comfort and consistently missed her bedtime, waiting instead for ten o’clock to come around and for the music to begin.

  She imagined the musician played solely for her pleasure, that she alone heard the sweet notes, and not even her papa knew about the secret songs coming into her window late at night.

  The music suddenly stopped and a scraping sounded from above. She glanced upward just as a pebble rolled off the roof and dropped to the ground.

  She gasped. The musician was on her roof!

  Without another thought, she bounded from the bedroom in her bare feet, making nary a noise as she hastened through the dimly lit hallway and climbed the second storey stairs, leading to the third level. There, in the center of the servant apartments, was a skylight and ladder.

  She tiptoed toward the ladder and looked up at the smoky, starless atmosphere. The music was playing again, and her heart beat faster at the thought that she would finally meet her secret violinist.

  She mounted the rungs, careful not to step on the hem of her long white nightdress, and ascended the steps. It took some effort to push open the thick pane of glass. A hinged prop snapped into place, holding the glass at an angle. There was plenty of room for her to wriggle through the space and crawl onto the roof.

  Her nightdress was ruined, covered in soot, but she cared not a whit. She was on top of the world, the city so vast
before her, and she turned on her hands and knees in search of the mysterious musician she had so longed to meet.

  A shadow soon captured her notice, seated on the south side of the roof. The figure seemed small in the moonlight, like a pan from the fairy world, and she imagined the sprite had come from his enchanted land just to play for her, just to make her happy.

  She crawled around the wide brick chimney. He grew bigger as she approached him. His hands quickened as he unleashed his passionate song, and in her eagerness to reach him, she slipped over a metal tile and landed flat on her face.

  The melody ended abruptly.

  “Who’s there?” he whispered.

  She sniffed and pinched her bruised nose, regaining her balance before she looked up at . . . “Rees!”

  She reared back and lost her footing again—this time sliding down the roof.

  “Help! Help!”

  He was on his belly in a second and snatched her wrist. For a moment, she doubted he had the strength to hoist her up, his hand slipping over her wrist, but he soon growled with determination and pulled her back from the roof’s edge.

  Her knees and shins were raw with scratches. She was shaking so hard, her teeth rattled. Breathing shallow and fast, she shimmied closer to the chimney and pressed against its sturdy surface. Tears filled her eyes as she realized she had almost fallen three storeys to her death.

  “You stupid girl! What are you doing here?”

  He was also out of breath—and angry as a riled bee. She turned away from him, so he wouldn’t see her cry, but she couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping her throat: the ugly, hiccupping sobs.

  “Stop it,” he hissed. “You’re going to wake the dead with your wails.”