His Cinderella Bride

by Annie Burrows

  He’d fooled himself with all that talk of rescuing her from drudgery and making her mistress of her own house. From the moment she’d erupted from that ditch, eyes flashing fire, she’d occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else. She was the woman he wanted. With every fibre of his being.

  But not only could he not have her, he would have to marry someone else. One of her cousins, God help him. Which meant their paths would always be crossing. At every family gathering.

  At his own wedding.

  He groaned and rolled off the bed. He would have to walk down the aisle with his bride while she glowered at him from the congregation. How could he bear it?

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. It was his duty to marry. Duty was all he had left now that happiness had been denied him. That, and pride. The Challinor pride would not permit him to reveal the depth of his feelings. Pride had held him together when Bertram had died, and it would carry him through this. He would never let anyone suspect that he’d had his heart captured, and broken, by a fallen woman.

  He leant his forehead on the cool glass of the window and gazed out into the darkness. Which sister would he condemn to a lifetime of his resentment for not being Hester?

  On the whole, he preferred Phoebe to her sister. As his mother had pointed out, she was so young he would be able to train her to suit his tastes. But was that fair, when he would never be able to love her? Wouldn’t he only end by making her as miserable as he felt right now? He liked her too well to wish to do that.

  Julia, though, would be content to spend his money whether he liked her or not. His face contorted with bitterness. They would deserve each other.

  But how could he bear proposing to Julia while Hester was under the same roof?

  He clenched his fists. He would go back to Stanthorne. From there, he would write a suitably formal letter to her father. In fact, he would keep the whole thing on an impersonal, businesslike footing from now on. The lawyers would deal with the settlements. His mother could take the girl to London and give her all the town bronze she pleased. All he would have to do was turn up for the ceremony.

  * * *

  He didn’t realise how long he had been agonising over his choice until he saw that the sun was creeping over the horizon. Throwing on some clothes, he marched into Stephen’s room and shook his shoulder roughly.

  ‘What?’ Stephen sat bolt upright. He might affect the clothing of a dandy, but the years spent as a serving soldier in Captain Fawley’s regiment had left him with the ability to come awake in an instant.

  ‘I’m leaving this cursed house,’ Lensborough explained. ‘I’m going back to Stanthorne. Do you come with me?’

  ‘This is a bit sudden.’

  ‘We’ve been here a week. That’s all I ever agreed to.’

  ‘But—’ Stephen frowned ‘—you haven’t proposed to any of the contenders for the title yet.’

  ‘I have decided to write to Sir Thomas from Stanthorne on that subject. So, do you come with me?’

  ‘At this ungodly hour? Couldn’t we wait till after breakfast?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’ve got to get out of here right now. I will break my fast on the road.’

  ‘Forgive me if I go straight back to sleep, Lensborough.’ Stephen lay down and pulled the quilt up to his chin. ‘I’m not in the army now and I feel entitled to an unbroken night’s sleep, and meals at regular hours in comfortable surroundings.’

  ‘As you wish. I will look for you at Stanthorne later today.’

  ‘You may look.’ A muffled voice came from under the quilt. ‘I may very well stay here for a while. Or I may return to London. I am not one of your minions, to follow tamely at your heels. I only decided to watch your unorthodox courtship because I thought it would be a lark. And to be quite frank, over the last day or so, I have begun to find your antics no longer amuse me.’

  Chapter Ten

  Hester was the last person down for breakfast the following morning. The last of the household to learn that Lord Lensborough had left.

  The previous day’s events had left her wound as tight as a bowstring. For hours, it had been impossible to sit still, let alone lie down and go to sleep. She had finally fallen into a fitful doze just before dawn, and now felt wearier than before she had gone to bed.

  Fortunately everyone else was too preoccupied with his lordship’s sudden decision to return to Stanthorne to pay her late arrival much attention. She slipped into her customary seat largely ignored, while her aunt and cousins continued to bombard a somewhat harassed Mr Farrar with a barrage of questions.

  And while she could only feel relieved that she would not now have to face confiding the facts surrounding Lena’s birth to him, she did deplore the manner of his departure. In his typically high-handed, self-centred, cold-hearted fashion, he had left no word of explanation, abandoning her poor cousins to a welter of speculation.

  A letter lay beside her plate. She did not recognise the handwriting, so the first thing she did after breaking the wafer was to glance at the signature.

  Lionel.

  Before she even began to scan the bulk of the letter her fingers were trembling. Whatever he had written to her was going to be unpalatable. She had refused to marry him, and he had already given her a taste of the vindictive side to his nature. If he could make further trouble for her, she was quite sure he would.

  Dear Hester, it read. I know you must still be angry with me for my little attempt at revenging myself on you, by revealing the existence of your illegitimate niece. But I could not help myself. It hurt me very deeply to find that although my feelings for you have remained constant, you do not reciprocate them. I lashed out without thinking. I admit it. But now I hope you will believe me when I tell you that whatever you may think of me, you will always be very important to me. And for that reason, I felt I must write and urge you to come to me at the vicarage to discuss a matter pertaining to Lena’s welfare. I know she means a great deal to you, and I am begging you to put aside any animosity you may harbour towards me, for her sake. I will be ready to receive you any time after eleven. Lionel.

  ‘Is it bad news, dear?’ her aunt asked.

  Hester looked up to find that other conversation had ceased and everyone was looking at her.

  ‘You have gone quite pale.’

  ‘I…’ She thrust the letter into her pocket and forced a tremulous smile to her lips. ‘It is nothing…really…just…I will have to go to see Em this morning.’

  ‘Would you care for my escort, my lady?’ Stephen rose to his feet. ‘I should be only too happy to lend you and Miss Dean my assistance, should you require it.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Farrar, you cannot abandon us too,’ Julia chided. ‘After promising you would teach me to play billiards this morning.’

  ‘How stupid of me to forget.’ His smile was tight-lipped. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Hester.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, Mr Farrar.’ Hester sighed with relief that Julia had freed her from the necessity of fobbing him off herself. ‘Besides, I need to leave almost at once, and you are hardly dressed to go—’ She pulled herself up short. She suspected she might have to go back to the tan in spite of her uncle’s request she not do so. ‘Pray excuse me. I must go and change my own clothes at once.’

  ‘The poor…’ her aunt grimaced as she left the room ‘…always wanting something.’

  She hurried back up to her rooms to don the serviceable outfit she kept for just such outings. Glancing out of the window on the way up she’d seen that the massing clouds were brownish with the weight of unshed snow. Remembering the unfortunate mishap of the week before, she secured her battered bonnet to her hair firmly with a steel hat pin before wrapping her thickest woollen shawl round her head and shoulders. As soon as she stepped out of the back door, she was glad she’d put on an extra petticoat, and thick woollen stockings. Nevertheless, by the time she’d reached the lodge gates, her legs felt thoroughly chilled by the wind that whipped through her skirts, and her han
ds and face were stinging with cold.

  She was somewhat surprised to see a plain carriage standing in the lane. Even more surprised when the door of it swung open, and Lionel jumped out.

  ‘You’ve come,’ he said. ‘Good. Get in, out of the cold, so we can talk.’

  ‘I thought we were to talk at the vicarage, with Em present,’ Hester countered, drawing back.

  ‘Good God, woman, you don’t think I’d have gone to all the expense of hiring a carriage if it wasn’t an emergency, do you?’

  ‘An emergency?’ Hester took a step closer. ‘Is Lena hurt?’

  ‘Just get in, and I’ll explain on the way.’ Hester only hesitated for a fraction of a second more before complying. Lionel was shifting from one foot to the other, rubbing occasionally at his upper arms. His coat was not as thick as hers. It seemed harsh of her to keep him standing in this bitterly cold wind when the carriage would offer some shelter.

  As soon as Lionel slammed the door closed behind her, the carriage started up with a lurch, flinging her back on to the squabs with a little shriek.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, Hetty.’ Lionel smiled. ‘The sooner we get started, the sooner we will get there.’

  He moved to the seat beside her and draped a blanket around her shoulders. Then he gave up the hot brick for her feet, shaking his head ruefully when her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  ‘Get where? Are you taking me to Lena?’

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ he admitted, tucking another rug about her knees. ‘Here, take a nip of something to warm you, while I explain.’

  This was not like Lionel. He didn’t really care about making her comfortable. He was up to something.

  She looked at the flask he was offering her, saw the expectant gleam in his eyes, and she knew.

  He wanted her to drink whatever it was he had in that flask. A chill slid down her spine. If he wanted her to drink it badly enough, he would have no scruples about holding her down and pouring the contents down her throat. After all, he’d done exactly that once before, when she’d been hardly more than a child. The brandy he’d forced on her then had made her sick, fuddled her wits, and left her totally unable to defend herself.

  It would be far better to pretend to go along with him than force a fight that she had no hope of winning. So she accepted the flask, held it to her lips and tipped it up, stoppering it with her tongue so that hardly any of the contents went into her mouth. She grimaced involuntarily at the taste. It was definitely brandy, but there was an underlying bitterness that must come from some other ingredient that left the tip of her tongue tingling.

  She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth as she handed the flask back to Lionel. Her pretence at taking a drink must have been convincing, because he slapped the stopper back home and tossed the flask on to the opposite seat with a triumphant smile that sent her heart beating a warning tattoo against her ribs.

  To hide her mounting suspicion that he was attempting to get her drunk, or worse, Hester reverted to the questions she had been asking.

  ‘Well?’ she snapped. ‘Where are we going? What has happened to Lena?’

  Lionel leaned back, propping one booted foot against the facing seat. ‘I shall answer the second of your questions first. Nothing has happened to Lena.’

  ‘But in your letter, you said—’

  ‘I said I had something to tell you that affects her welfare, I believe. And I do. Hester, you are going to marry me.’

  The chill in her spine spread icy fingers round her heart.

  ‘No, I am not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ He grinned. ‘And that does affect Lena’s welfare, does it not? For I shall certainly never allow you to see her again. My wife will not mingle with gypsies, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Stop the coach, Lionel.’ Hester’s voice was breathy with panic. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘No, I am not going to stop the coach. And you are not going home until you agree to marry me.’

  ‘I will never agree to marry you.’

  ‘That is just what I thought.’ Lionel flicked a glance at the flask before returning his full attention to her face. ‘That is why I decided it was useless to apply to Sir Thomas in the regular way. I would have done, you know. I was quite prepared to court you. But when I realised how much you dislike me, I saw that the doting Sir Thomas would never give his consent. I doubted your doors would even be open to me after the stupid way I gave in to the impulse to hurt you yesterday. Even dear old Reverend Dean implied my presence in his house was no longer welcome. I had to act swiftly to secure you. I am completely rolled up, you see, and some of my creditors are…well…let us say that desperate cases require desperate measures. You are very wealthy. At least, I happen to know that upon your marriage you will be.’

  Hester looked out of the window. The coach was bowling along at quite a rate now, but she was beginning to fear staying inside it with Lionel far more than the prospect of sustaining an injury by leaping out. She made a lunge for the door handle, but the blankets Lionel had wrapped round her hampered her movements.

  He grasped her round the waist, and, with a wicked laugh, yanked her backwards on to his lap.

  ‘Your wits are getting fuddled already—don’t you know you would break your neck if you fell onto the road at the pace we are going?’

  With a few deft twists the blanket that he’d draped round her shoulders pinioned her arms to her sides. He flipped her over backwards, arching her spine painfully across his thighs.

  ‘I cannot permit you to injure yourself,’ he panted as she kicked and squirmed. ‘It would ruin our wedding night.’

  He reached across her and groped for the bottle, which was rolling around on the cushions. ‘You have clearly not had enough of this to make you docile.’

  As Lionel pulled the stopper out with his teeth, Hester’s brain whirled. If he succeeded in getting the drugged brandy inside her, she would be completely at his mercy. Frantically she jerked her head from side to side as he brought the flask to her lips. Sticky liquid ran across her cheeks, into her ears, soaking her hair.

  ‘Now, now,’ Lionel said as she continued to thrash wildly within the confining blankets. ‘We mustn’t waste this stuff. It cost me a pretty penny. The first lesson I must teach you as my bride, it seems, is the habit of thrift.’

  He grasped her jaws in fingers that felt like steel pincers, using his finger and thumb to pinch her nose closed. She held her lips firmly compressed for as long as she could, but all too soon the inevitable happened. Lack of air sent her senses swimming, and her jaw slackened. Lionel’s eyes were almost black with excitement as he forced the bottle between her teeth. Though she choked and spat, a good deal of Lionel’s poison slid down her throat as she dragged in a rasping breath. Even when he withdrew the bottle from her mouth, Lionel gave her no quarter. Clamping her jaw tight with a ruthlessly strong grip, he tilted her head back at such a severe angle she feared her neck might snap under the pressure.

  The panic that she’d fought to suppress took over. She could do nothing to save herself. He was too strong. Her heart was fluttering like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars and she was panting as if she had been running hard. The carriage seemed to be spinning around her. Darkness pressed in from its corners, dragging her down, down…

  Uttering one final whimper of despair, Hester went limp.

  She did not know how much time passed before she began to come out of her swoon, but when she managed to drag her eyes half-open, it was to find Lionel’s face suspended above hers at a very odd angle. It looked so funny she couldn’t repress a giggle. Lionel smiled and then his face disappeared from her field of view.…

  Funny, she could have sworn she had been very, very frightened not a minute before, but now all she felt was a dreamy languor. And she was so much more comfortable now that Lionel’s knees were not pressing into her spine. She wriggled experimentally, stretching her legs and rolling on to her side, discovering in the process that her
arms were no longer bound to her sides by the carriage rug. Sighing peacefully, she pillowed her cheek on her hands.

  She wished Lionel would stop talking so she could think. There was something of vital importance she had to work out. She let her heavy eyelids droop. If Lionel thought she was asleep, maybe he would be quiet.…

  A sudden jolt rocked her body so violently she would have rolled on to the floor if she’d still been lying on her side. Her eyes flew open as a blast of freezing air doused her legs, shocking her fully awake.

  Lionel had pulled the window down and was leaning out. They must have arrived then. He had said that he planned to get her inside an inn, and upstairs to a bedroom. She giggled. He thought he was so clever, but he had not managed to force enough of that foul concoction into her to render her completely unconscious. She had only been sliding in and out of dreamy wakefulness and had heard exactly what Lionel planned to do to her. He had been trying to frighten her with all that talk, testing her to see if she was really asleep. No woman could have listened to that graphic catalogue of what the coming night would bring and not try to cover her ears. But she had not had the willpower to bestir her leaden limbs.

  She had, however, worked out exactly what she must do to escape him.

  It was now or never. While he had his back to her, Hester reached up and yanked out the steel hat pin, then pulled one of the discarded blankets over herself, hiding her hands from view.

  She closed her eyes, letting herself go limp while somebody tidied her skirts and lifted her out of the carriage. She was deposited none too gently into what she recognised, by the familiar smell of unwashed linen and stale brandy fumes, was Lionel’s arms.

  She opened her eyes just a fraction, confirming that they had entered the coach yard of an inn. Snow swirled thickly round them as Lionel battled his way, hampered by the dead weight of her body, towards the golden rectangle of the tavern door.