* * *
Sutton was desperate. He didn’t want to believe it. But it was hard not to, when empirical, objective truth stared him in the face. He fingered Sofia’s letter, his gaze looking beyond the words. He had them memorised by now.
Sutton,
I regret to tell you that there is no one by the name of Balare among my former acquaintances in the Piedmont Kingdom. I do not believe there is even a principality that goes by the designation of Fossano, although Fossano is certainly a large town—the fourth largest in the area.
If I am not mistaken, Fossano belonged once to the Principality of Achaea.
I am sorry, since I sense that your heart is committed and this information may affect that commitment.
Sincerely,
Viscountess Taunton
Chiara had lied to him. Used him. No, not Chiara. She existed no more than her principality existed. Everything about her was a fiction from her name to her title. Yet, somehow, in some deep, integral part of him, those lies had ceased to matter. What did matter as he stared at Sofia’s letter was why.
Why had she done it? What had she faced that seemed so insurmountable in her own life that masquerading as a princess seemed like a good option? Surely she knew the odds were stacked against her from the start? Apparently, they were not as enormous as whatever she faced. That made him worry. Was she in trouble? Danger? Did she owe money? Maybe it wasn’t even herself who was in danger, but her father? She’d not been alone in this. What had driven them to this level of deception? Of risk?
Sutton crinkled the damning letter in his hand. He would give anything to talk with her one more time, to ask her. To help her. Bax would laugh at him, call him weak, foolish, for wanting to help a woman who’d lied to him, who’d nearly ruined him publicly. Certainly, the scientist in him could find no logic in the desire. But the man in him could. He’d seen those hazel eyes look at him with love. He knew she’d surrendered her body to him and only him. She’d chosen to be with him, intimately, her soul as naked as her body.
There’d been no lies there. Which prompted the second question. There had been lies between them. He could not deny that. But how many lies and regarding what? If her feelings represented the truth, did those other lies matter? Lying about a name, about a title, seemed superficial against larger truths. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know where she came from or where she’d gone. He did know she loved animals, she had a heart full of kindness for the weakest among them. That she loved him. That couldn’t be feigned, no matter what Bax argued. Still, he could make the claim that she’d loved him all day long, but without proof it was just empty words. Claims needed evidence to support them.
The proof was there in his memories, the way she’d acted the night the foals had been born. She’d not hesitated to dirty her dress, to participate in the messy process of birth; he’d seen her face when she’d nursed the foal later when the baby had nearly died. He’d seen her clutch the little gosling to her chest, determined to nurse its bad foot back to health. He’d seen her wade in the water, crash through the woods looking for a croquet ball, he’d seen so much of her in those unguarded moments; the girl who laughed, who spoke her mind and her conscience thoughtfully, tactfully, not like Isabelle Bradley or Imogen Bettancourt.
Then, there were her kisses. She’d been thoughtful with them, too. She’d not kissed him on a whim. She’d warned him against it and against her. He’d not been wrong in believing that she put others before self. His mind stalled on that thought. She put others before herself. Other words came to him, words spoken as they’d walked the ailing mare. That’s who we are. We collect those in need.
He understood it all now. She’d left to protect him, not because she’d failed to win him. Bax was wrong. Chiara had not been trying to trap him into marriage. She was, in fact, the only girl at the party who hadn’t been. But he didn’t want to be protected, not if it caused her pain, because that’s who he was. He took care of those he loved and he loved her. Beyond fortune or misfortune. Beyond the fear engendered by his past failures and hurts. She was not Anabeth Morely. She was his heart and, if he ever wanted to reclaim himself, he had to reclaim her.
The clock on the fireplace mantel chimed. He hadn’t much time left before he’d be expected for dinner. There was action to take. He strode to the door of his study and summoned the waiting footman, purpose making him brisk. ‘Send for the best grooms in my stable. I need fast riders. Then, send for my mother.’ His mind whirled with lists. He needed to retrieve a solicitor from London and find a bride. If London wanted a spectacle, he was about to give them one. He hoped. There was, in fact, a lot riding on hope and luck, two things logic detested. It was not a position he was used to being in.
Chapter Twenty-Two
At last, a little luck! Sutton swung off his horse and tossed the reins to a boy waiting in the inn yard at Wicken. He glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon and evening was coming fast, but with a little more luck, she would be there and he would take her home. If he was unlucky, well that didn’t bear thinking about. This was the first decent lead he’d had.
When the ticket seller at the All Saints station recalled no one by her description on an outbound train, Sutton had his grooms spread out, combing the villages of Suffolk for her. Chippenham, Barrow, Dalham, Icklingham, Kirtling, Lidgate, Burwell and more, all of them within an eight-mile radius, and all his riders came back empty. There’d been no sign of her, her father, or her maid. Until early this afternoon.
His last rider had come in from Fordham with a report of a blonde girl and her father who’d performed a ‘theatrical’ in the pub the previous evening. They’d left in the late morning. Sutton had saddled up immediately, Fordham was five miles from Newmarket and Wicken, the village beyond that, was another four. He’d made good time. It was evening, but it was summer and daylight was his friend. It was possible they could even make it home before full dark. If he was lucky. He had to be. The ball was tomorrow night.
Sutton stepped into the taproom. It was crowded and warm, full of men and women. He saw the reason for it; a grey flannel curtain was hung up behind a makeshift platform acting as a stage and his hopes soared. ‘Are we expecting entertainment tonight?’ He approached the innkeeper, who surveyed him with a sharp eye, no doubt assessing his quality and his coin.
‘Yes, we are. A travelling troupe has stopped for the evening and have offered to perform. They’ll be starting any minute. Perhaps you’d like to eat and enjoy the show? We have chicken pie and peas and a very good ale, unless you’d prefer wine?’
A travelling troupe? Sutton thought the innkeeper’s claim was a bit exaggerated. If it was Chiara and her father and the maid, three people did not a troupe make. His stomach growled and Sutton took the innkeeper’s suggestion. He had to determine it was her before he could do anything else. Would it really be her? Was his Princess Chiara an actress? Something about that sat oddly with him, trying to poke holes in arguments he’d carefully constructed: that she loved him, that she hadn’t been acting about that at least. Doubt began to niggle. Had he been swindled entirely? Had he come all this way for nothing, even if it was her? It wouldn’t be the first time his tenacity in romance had served him poorly.
A serving girl came with a tin plate of chicken pie and a mug of ale. He pushed his doubt away. He couldn’t live in the past for ever. He had to move beyond the damage done by Anabeth Morely. He took a bite of the chicken pie and the flannel curtain moved. The man he knew as Prince Lorenzo stepped out, bowed low to the crowd’s applause and Sutton’s appetite was forgotten. They were here! She was here. Prince Lorenzo made a little speech Sutton didn’t hear, his mind was too busy processing the reality and the relief. He’d found her.
Prince Lorenzo made a flourishing gesture towards the curtain and Chiara emerged, dressed in a blue evening gown, her hair done up, her cosmetics subtle, looking as if she were about to grace the drawing room
at Hartswood. The crowd whistled and hooted. Not Sutton. He just stared. She looked as she’d always looked, beautifully put together. But he saw the artifice now, the cheapness of the jewels at her neck, here where there wasn’t any luxury to hide among and there were no assumptions to protect her.
Well, she’d certainly had the last laugh. People really did see what they wanted to see. Moving among the wealthy debutantes, flaunting a title of her own, no one had expected to see her as anything other than what she claimed. As such, no one had questioned her jewels, her gowns. Still, this woman was lovely, but it was not the woman he wanted. He wanted the woman who’d been with him in the barn, who’d bathed naked with him in the hot springs. That woman didn’t need jewels or hairstyles or cosmetics. On stage, she began a speech he recognised from Romeo and Juliet, one of Juliet’s monologues—the balcony scene, he thought. Sutton found himself leaning forward with the rest of the audience, hanging on each of her words, as if they were spoken just for him. A little stab of jealousy jabbed at him. Was that same thought running through the minds of every other man in the room?
He knew the moment she found him in the crowd. Her gaze lingered on him, her line faltered just a little from surprise. She’d not expected to see him. He saw her eyes go wide with emotion before fear, perhaps that he was here in anger. He saw the tremble of her lip and knew it wasn’t artifice. Before she’d remembered to be scared, she’d been moved. She’d wanted him and he knew his journey hadn’t been in vain. His instincts had been right. She’d not left because she hadn’t loved him, but because she had. He was right to have come. For the first time in the days since she’d left, Sutton felt the darkness begin to lift.
The moment the performance was finished and they took their bows, Sutton made his way forward, only to be met with a wall of her admirers with the same intentions. If this had been London, he would have roses ready and money to bribe the guard to her dressing room. He would have had her all to himself. As it was, he came to her empty-handed and he had to wait, sharing her with a taproom full of people. He had come this far; he would be patient. He might not be able to bring roses, but there was something she might like more. He gestured to the innkeeper and slipped coins into his hand. ‘A private parlour and dinner, please, and your finest wine. Tell the young lady and her father they are my guests when they’re finished with their admirers.’
* * *
Sutton was here. It was the only thought that ran through her mind as Elidh stood at the entrance to the private parlour. But not the only emotion. Elation warred with fear. He was facing the window in a strong stance, legs spread shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and broad. Was he here out of anger? Was he here to punish them? Or was something else possible? In the crowd, he’d not looked like an angry man, but a desperate one, a hurt one.
Her heart began to pound with ridiculous hope. Was he here for a different reason, a better reason? Was he here because he loved her and had found some impossible way to forgive her for what she’d done? ‘Sutton, I am so sorry.’ She stepped forward, the fabric of her blue skirts rustling. ‘I didn’t mean for...’
He turned and her words faltered. He was so handsome, so compelling when he looked at her, she couldn’t go on. Speech failed her. It had only been a few days, but it was as if she hadn’t seen him for ages. She stood and simply let him happen to her—his blue eyes, his smile, the tenor of his voice as he said, ‘Hello, Chiara.’
‘Elidh,’ she breathed. ‘My name is Elidh.’
His smile broadened. ‘Elidh. That’s a beautiful name. I was wondering what it was. Elidh what?’
‘Easton.’ She worried her lip, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘You’re angry, of course. You have every right to be,’ she rushed on—perhaps it would be best to clear the air.
He crossed the room to her and seized her hands. ‘Elidh, I am not angry. I am hurt. I am confused. I know only a partial truth. I am in need of understanding. I am all those things, but I am not angry.’
Not yet. He still might be before this was done. She searched his face, looking for the contradiction. That he was here at all was too good to be true. ‘You should be. I lied to you, I pretended to be something I wasn’t. But not to trap you. Never to trap you, to win you. I didn’t lie about that. I never meant to have you choose me.’ The words tumbled out.
‘Shh. There is time for it all to be discussed. Come, sit and eat. Tell me, why? When I discovered you were gone that was all I could wonder. Why did you do it, the masquerade, I mean? Why did you think it was your best option? What did you hope to gain?’ He led her to the table. He poured her a glass of wine and took the seat across from her. ‘Tell me everything, Elidh.’
There in the candlelight, the story poured out: how her father had seen the announcement, how they’d remade her mother’s dresses, how they’d boarded the train and headed to Newmarket in hopes of finding a patron, knowing full well they didn’t have enough money to come back. She told him of her father’s hopes she’d win his hand and of her own misgivings, her vow to avoid him, to not participate in that game.
‘There I was, in the gallery that first night, practically forcing my attentions on you.’ Sutton gave a self-deprecating chuckle. ‘You must have hated me for that.’
‘No, I think I was charmed from the first. Early on, I convinced myself there was no harm in it. I never thought there was a chance you would fall in love with me. There were so many other girls who were prettier and offered more. But somehow you did and now everything’s a mess.’ She lowered her gaze to her plate, desperate to hide her tears.
She felt his hand at her cheek, turning her head up to meet his gaze. ‘Why are you smiling, Sutton? I’ve hurt you even though I’ve tried to protect you. Now you know and it changes nothing. We can’t be together, especially now.’
‘I’m smiling because you’re wrong. The things I love about you, Elidh, were not lies. The life you and I want together can still happen. I am here for you because I mean to marry you. I mean to announce to everyone tomorrow night at the ball that I will marry Elidh Easton.’
Elidh swallowed, watching the reflection of the candles flicker in his eyes. ‘What about the fortune? I am not noble. I have no title.’
‘I do not care. I have spent too much time thinking about what everyone else needs and not what I need. I need you.’ He took her hand between his. ‘I am asking you again, Elidh—if I call your name in the ballroom, will you say yes?’
‘Sutton, too much has gone wrong. Everyone will hate you, the fortune will go to Baxter, everyone will know I lied.’
‘The last we can overlook. I am not claiming to marry Princess Chiara. There is no lie in that.’ He took her hand. ‘Fairy tales are full of innocuous deceptions—Cinderella, The Princess and the Pea, The Princess and the Frog. Surely this little deception simply adds to the romance of our own fairy tale if told right, and we can rely on my mother to see it done. As for the other two objections, I simply choose not to care about them, not if they cost me you. I’ve been miserable wondering where you were, if you were safe, wondering why you’d done it.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I will find other ways to stop Baxter.’
Elidh interrupted. There was so much more to save him from besides herself. There were consequences beyond her, too. ‘No, you can’t simply say that. When I first met you and I asked you if you’d considered giving the fortune up, you were adamant that it was not something you could contemplate. You, a man who did not want to be forced to marry, was willing to consider such a marriage in order to stand in the breach and prevent your cousin from accessing that money. Marriage is no small thing and neither was your understanding of the sacrifice being asked of you. That was barely two weeks ago. So, no, Sutton. You cannot stand here tonight and blithely say you’ll figure something else out. If there had ever been another way, you would have taken it from the start. Has that changed?’
‘Every
thing has changed, Elidh.’ He met her argument with swift confidence, proof of how thoroughly he’d thought this out. If she’d thought to take him unaware, or if she thought he’d forgotten this piece of the puzzle, she was disappointed. But in the tiny part of her that still hoped for the impossible, a flame began to stir, flickering slowly to life. ‘Two weeks ago, I hadn’t met you. I didn’t know love. Elidh, love changes everything and it’s worth more than anything, more than money, more than a fortune. I had no idea what I was sacrificing. When I began this quest, it was about money. It’s not about that any more. It’s a whole new equation. It’s about love now, it’s about you now and I will not trade you for Bax. My cousin isn’t worth the cost of you, that’s what it comes down to. That’s what has changed.’
Sutton was magnificent in his defence, his confidence contagious, his eyes burning blue. ‘So, that leaves us only your answer, Elidh?’
‘You want to marry a woman whose name you didn’t know until tonight?’ she cajoled. As beautifully done as his defence was it was still an impossibility. She was so far beneath him socially. He was risking so much on so little acquaintance.
‘If that woman is you.’ Sutton’s voice was low and private, for her alone.
‘You will come to hate me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sutton murmured, but his eyes had lost their glimmer. ‘Elidh, will you come back?’
She rose. She had to be strong one last time and put herself beyond him for good. ‘No, Sutton. I cannot do that to you.’ She would lose him for good this time. This time, he would not come after her. They would have settled their accounts, explained their positions. She would go forward, knowing that he’d forgiven her. He could go forward, knowing that she’d genuinely loved him. That would be enough.
Tempted By His Secret Cinderella (Allied At The Altar Book 3) Page 20
