Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

by Lara Temple

  ‘Who is this?’ she asked Amelia, who had come to stand behind her. For a moment the sisters were silent. Then it was Seraphina who spoke.

  ‘That is Timothy, Gabriel’s younger brother. He was never strong, but he was the sweetest boy you could imagine, full of light. He adored Gabriel most of all, perhaps because Anne, their mother, never fully recovered her health after the birth and because their father was so rarely there.’

  ‘Thankfully!’ Amelia added with a dismissive snort.

  ‘He was not a good man,’ Seraphina conceded. ‘It was always a worry Gabriel might take after him, but though he was so very self-sufficient and has a tendency to be...well... It was quite clear he did not take after his father in any way that mattered.’

  ‘Most certainly not,’ Amelia interceded. ‘Gabriel had that household in order before he was off leading strings. When we came to stay after Timothy’s birth he made it very clear we were welcome but not needed.’

  ‘He was always a trifle high handed,’ Sephy conceded. ‘But he took such good care of poor Anne and Tim. We would, of course, have preferred that his protective nature towards Tim not manifest itself in terms of violence towards offenders, but he was, after all, a very physical little boy. In others that might have lent itself to disdain of a brother who clearly did not share any of his outdoor interests, but it was quite the opposite. He had more patience for Tim than anyone. Especially those last two years.’

  Her voice thickened and she raised a handkerchief to her eyes in a gesture that might have looked theatrical, but just squeezed at Nell’s heart.

  ‘Timothy died almost exactly four years ago,’ Amelia added and Nell’s mind shot back to a memory she hadn’t even realised had lingered, of Lord Hunter, his face worn and serious beyond his age as he inspected Petra.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said uselessly, but her mind struggled to understand. Four years ago the war had already been over.

  ‘Timothy was taken prisoner and badly wounded in the war,’ Amelia replied to the unspoken question. Then she nodded at the wall. ‘This is the memory room. Those that come here or work here can bring mementoes of those they lost to war, or even just for themselves. You might think it ghoulish, but I find it is a beautiful room. It is better to share pain than hug it to yourself. It binds us as surely as love.’

  They stood for a moment in silence, absorbing the weight of those present in the room. The immensity of it sank in very slowly and Nell looked around the room again, her own words to Hunter the previous day coming back to her. There was so much about love she had yet to learn. At least she was open to it. She must not give up on that.

  ‘You are right. It is beautiful.’

  Amelia smiled and took her arm and as they left Nell glanced back at the small portrait in the corner.

  Chapter Five

  ‘My dear, you look lovely, quite like one of La Belle Assemblée’s prints,’ Sephy chirped as Nell entered the parlour the following morning. ‘That shade of fawn is particularly becoming with that ivory trim and those blue ribbons.’

  Amelia inspected Nell from head to toe and gave a brisk nod.

  ‘Most becoming. I have a weakness for bonnets myself, and the trimming, I see, is particularly fine.’

  ‘It was shockingly expensive,’ Nell admitted.

  ‘Quality usually is,’ Amelia concurred approvingly and Nell smiled, wondering how she already felt so comfortable with the two vastly different ladies after such a brief stay. Sometimes bonds like that were immediate and inexplicable and it was best not to dissect the whys and wherefores.

  ‘Thank you so much for allowing me to stay with you, especially under such irregular circumstances.’

  ‘My dear, it truly was our pleasure, but please remember not to tell Gabriel about joining us on our rounds. He might be upset that we exposed you to such sights...’

  Nell straightened.

  ‘Lord Hunter does not decide what I can or cannot do.’ As she saw the worry on Miss Sephy’s face she relented. ‘I shan’t tell him if you don’t wish it. But I do hope you will allow me to visit again.’

  ‘Ah, that is no doubt Gabriel now,’ Amelia said at the sound of the knocker. ‘Do come in, Gabriel. You have arrived just in time to stop our goodbyes from turning maudlin.’

  ‘I am very glad to hear that. The thought of conveying a watering pot to Wilton does not appeal.’

  He spoke lightly, the faint smile curving his lips taking the bite out of his words, and she smiled back before she even realised she was doing so. She looked down to the gloves she was pulling on, suddenly shy. She had managed to convince herself over the past day that the unsettling sensations she had experienced in his presence were the result of nerves and weariness rather than anything intrinsic to Lord Hunter. This conviction received a much-needed boost by the excitement that rose in her at the thought that she would soon finally, finally see Charles again, a thought which bubbled as happily as water on the boil throughout the day. Therefore it made little sense that her anticipation should stutter and turn as flat as a tarn in midsummer when Lord Hunter entered the parlour.

  It wasn’t that he was too large and out of place in the frilly room with its embroidered cushions and baskets of darning and wool, but that he actually wasn’t. He was completely at his ease as he went to kiss each aunt on the cheek, stepping back to inspect Miss Calthorpe, his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Aunt Sephy, surely that fetching cap is new? Is that for my benefit or is some gentleman about to be very lucky?’

  Nell watched with amusement as Miss Calthorpe giggled and tapped Lord Hunter playfully on the arm with her knitting needles.

  ‘It is indeed new and you are shameless, Gabriel. What your sainted grandpapa the vicar would say about you I do not know. Off with you now. I know you don’t want to keep your precious horses standing.’

  ‘My precious groom is walking them, love. But we should be off so Miss Tilney can arrive there in time to rest before supper. Shall we go, Nell?’

  Her friends called her Nell, but somehow in Hunter’s deep voice it sound different, gliding down at the end and giving it a foreign ring, something more connected to myth and dusk than to her. She turned to the mirror to make certain her bonnet was straight and for a moment she had a peculiar sensation of seeing a stranger and expected her to move out of the way to reveal the real Nell. She raised her chin and the feeling dissipated.

  As they exited the alleyway her attention was caught not by the elegant carriage, but by a perfectly matched team of chestnuts harnessed to a sleek curricle. She moved towards them instinctively, running her hand down the leader’s neck.

  ‘Oh, they’re beautiful! Where did you acquire them?’ she asked in awe, completely forgetting her constraint.

  Lord Hunter came to stand behind her. ‘They’re Irish bred. I bought them from a friend of mine who went to India. Do you like them?’

  ‘They’re absolutely perfect. Can I drive them?’

  The groom standing at the horse’s heads choked and tried to mask it with a cough. He didn’t look much like a groom. He was too large, for one thing, and he looked as though he had been in one too many stable brawls, with his broken nose and rough-knuckled bare hands.

  ‘What is your name?’ she asked him and the groom’s eyes flew to hers with alarm and then darted past her shoulder to Lord Hunter.

  ‘Tell Miss Tilney your name,’ Hunter said, his voice low and amused.

  ‘Hidgins, miss.’

  ‘You don’t think I can drive this team, Mr Hidgins?’

  ‘It’s just Hidgins, miss. And I wouldn’t be so bold as to think anything, miss. Would I, sir?’

  ‘I’m not sure you should apply to me to back your word, Hidgins. Miss Tilney is convinced I’m a sadly frippery fellow. Sorry, I believe the term profligate was employed.’

&nbs
p; ‘And overly sensitive,’ Nell added. Somehow everything was always easier around horses. ‘Obviously I was right if you remember my comments so faithfully. So how would you like a wager, Hidgins?’

  The look he sent Lord Hunter went beyond alarm to entreaty. But she had clearly hit a sensitive nerve and she could see the groom’s interest awaken.

  ‘A wager, miss?’

  ‘Yes. I will engage to drive this team on the first stage towards Wilton without any aid either from you or Lord Hunter. If I fail I engage to pay you ten guineas...within one month,’ she added, conscious of her need to spread out her funds until she met with the Bascombe banker in Basingstoke.

  ‘Ten guineas, miss? A bit steep, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not at all, because I shan’t lose. Done?’

  Lord Hunter cleared his throat.

  ‘I hate to point out the obvious, but these are my horses and neither of you has the right to make any wagers regarding them. So if you don’t mind, we should be going.’

  ‘But ten guineas, my lord!’ Hidgins practically wailed.

  ‘Surely you’re not frightened of being driven by a woman, are you, Lord Hunter?’ Nell asked, trying not to show how very, very much she wanted to drive these beautiful animals. ‘I presume you could always come to my aid if you see I can’t hold them. Or are you worried you might not be able to bring them under control if they bolt with me?’

  ‘Now that was shamelessly transparent, young woman. You must think I am very easy to manipulate. Into the carriage with you.’

  Nell sighed and let him lead her towards the carriage. It had been worth a try, but she wasn’t surprised. Most men did not like anyone else driving their cattle and certainly not women. It was the one area where she had always appreciated her father’s open-mindedness. As long as he judged she was physically strong enough to control a particular horse or team, he had never stopped her from riding or driving anything, and though these chestnuts looked very powerful indeed, she could tell by their stance they were so well trained their power could be directed and checked with skill, not brute strength. Mostly. All she needed was to feel them.

  Halfway to the carriage Lord Hunter stopped.

  ‘You can come with me in the curricle as far as Potters Bar.’

  She glanced at him in gratitude as he led her back to the curricle. ‘And drive your team?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck. Up you go.’

  She settled in and sighed again as Lord Hunter took the reins and Hidgins jumped onto the perch behind with something very close to a huff.

  ‘Are you both going to sulk all the way to Wilton?’ Lord Hunter asked politely as he set the curricle in motion. ‘If so, I won’t bother trying to make conversation.’

  ‘I am not sulking. I am disappointed,’ Nell said with dignity.

  ‘And you don’t pay me to sulk, sir,’ Hidgins added with equal dignity.

  ‘Very true, Hidgins. Are you comfortable, Miss Tilney? Would you care for a rug?’

  ‘Yes. No. Is this a custom-built curricle? It feels very light on the road even with the two of you in it.’

  ‘Do you hear that, Hidgins? Miss Tilney thinks we are fat.’

  Nell glanced over her shoulder at Hidgins with a complicit smile.

  ‘No, no. Large boned. There are benefits to that, like the difference between an Arabian and a cob. Keeps you more firmly on the ground. But I’m not sure I’d like to race with you in the curricle.’

  ‘As the saying goes, no one asked you; and annoying me is not likely to convince me to let you drive my horses.’

  ‘Are you saying there is something I could do that might?’ she said hopefully and he glanced at her. There was always a mix of rather cynical amusement and calculation in his honey-brown eyes. As if he knew something that explained the game they were engaged in and was toying with the possibility of letting her in on the secret. It should have intimidated her, but it had precisely the opposite effect. He was like one of Mrs Petheridge’s little puzzle boxes. Nell had always been quickest at solving them and now she felt the same as when facing one of those wooden conundrums—confused but tantalised and very much on her mettle. Right now trying to make sense of all the disparate pieces of what she knew of Lord Hunter was stretching her intellect, which only made the pursuit all the more fascinating.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied lightly, giving nothing away. ‘I might ask you to forgo these charming insults for half an hour, but I doubt you could comply.’

  ‘I’ll try—really I will.’

  He laughed and the heat touched her cheeks again. She was acting like an over-eager child. She should really try to be a little more refined.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘Once we clear the worst of town traffic I will let you try. Hidgins, be prepared to abandon ship.’

  ‘Not without my ten guineas, sir.’

  ‘Who’s being insulting now? How far is Piccadilly?’ she asked.

  ‘Just coming up. I hope you will be more patient with my horses than you are with me, Miss Tilney.’

  ‘I’m always patient with horses. Is this Piccadilly? What chaos.’

  ‘It is and I hope it makes you appreciate my decision to wait until we are out of this chaos to let you drive.’

  She nearly responded to this provocation when she remembered her pledge.

  ‘It is very gallant of you, my lord.’

  He guided his horses around a top-heavy wagon.

  ‘I think I prefer your insults. They are more sincere.’

  She glanced at him, unsure of his tone, but at Hidgins’s snicker behind them she relaxed. She was always so much more comfortable with people when around horses. Perhaps because they didn’t judge or condemn. They just were and so she could also just be.

  ‘Very well. Hidgins, remind me that I knowingly took my life in my hands if we end up overturned in a ditch. Mademoiselle, your reins and whip.’

  She didn’t bother answering. Horses with mouths this fine would sense the change in driver immediately and their reaction could be unpredictable. She had been watching Lord Hunter’s driving carefully and appreciatively and she could tell she would have her work cut out for her. It wasn’t just her anticipation of driving a wonderful team of horses, but the need to prove herself to these two men.

  The horses were well behaved in the city, but were clearly used to fast driving, and the moment they had cleared the worst of the traffic they lengthened their stride, eager to pick up pace. It would take both skill and strength to convince them to respect their new driver. She could tell the wheeler would be difficult and almost immediately he proved her right, his stride becoming uneven. She gave him a very light flick of the whip and caught it again about the base and with a shake of his mane he fell back into pace. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen Lord Hunter reach forward, but he sat back and she kept her attention on the horses. After a few miles she had their measure and they had hers and she started enjoying herself. The roads were good and not too crowded and she even had the opportunity to execute a very nice pass by a lumbering coach that tested her passengers’ nerves, looping a rein and letting it slide free. Once past she grinned at Lord Hunter and he shook his head ruefully.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road. You can gloat later. Thankfully we’ve almost reached Potters Bar.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘I thought you promised no more insults.’

  ‘That was an apology, Lord Hunter.’

  ‘We clearly have different understandings of the term. Here, take the right side of that fork.’

  As they approached Potters Bar she reluctantly handed the reins over, still full of the pleasure of driving such beautiful cattle. Then she sat back with a sigh and turned to Hidgins.

  ‘I won’t say I’m sorry about winning, Hidgins.�
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  ‘I won’t say so neither, miss. It was a right pleasure to be driven by someone with such light hands.’

  ‘Et tu, Hidgins?’ Lord Hunter demanded. ‘Is there prize money out there for taking me down a peg?’

  ‘Eh, sir? I weren’t talking about you.’

  ‘That’s even worse, man!’

  Nell laughed, amused by the unusual camaraderie between the two men, but then there was something about Lord Hunter that invited informality. He didn’t appear to take himself—or anyone else, for that matter—too seriously. Perhaps that was why she had been comfortable with him all those years ago. And now. Up to a point. Because there was also that watchfulness that stood back from the world and the distant memory of his eyes sunken with strain until he had smiled. She shouldn’t presume to know this man because he was choosing to be kind for the moment. She knew better than to relax her guard, especially not when so much was at stake.

  He turned into the cobbled courtyard of the White Hart posting inn and two ostlers in smocks immediately ran forward.

  ‘Here we are, and thank goodness. I don’t think my vanity could take much more abuse. That is not an invitation, Miss Tilney,’ he added quickly as she opened her mouth. She laughed again.