A Cinderella for the Viscount

by Liz Tyner

  ‘Of course,’ the servant answered and left to do as Devlin asked.

  He’d just entered a man’s house and convinced a servant to do his bidding, and he wasn’t certain the butler even questioned it after the first momentary falter of surprise. A butler was trained to do as requested. A viscount was trained to request.

  In a few minutes, the man returned, and led Devlin to a sitting room.

  Rachael stood behind the sofa, waiting, almost mouse-like, as if she might skitter to some dark place of solitude. She watched her hand trace the pattern on the upholstery. Except for the intense scrutiny she gave to a fabric she must have seen thousands of times, he would have assumed by her expression that she didn’t know he was in the room.

  Relief overtook him, but his annoyance didn’t evaporate. It seemed almost fuelled by the sight of her and the unfamiliar irritation warred with the relaxed poise imbedded in him. He felt jostled by his own body.

  He absorbed the pale blue of her dress, the tousled hair piled on her head, the slender arm outstretched, and another, stronger surge of exasperation flooded into him. How could that daft Tenney not note how far above him she was and not get down on his knees and beg her to forgive him for even thinking himself worthy of her.

  ‘How did you like the soirée?’ he asked, his voice sounding like someone else’s. Someone he didn’t recognise. Or, perhaps he did. His father.

  ‘You know well that I didn’t go.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stepped to the front of the sofa, at war with himself over the need to be closer to her and yet keep a barrier between them.

  ‘My mother once hired a companion for herself and part of the woman’s job was to teach Father proper speech. I kept remembering it and fearing I’d say the words as he sometimes does.’

  ‘To every newly born babe the world is a trial. Not every new adventure is easy.’

  ‘It’s easier for you. For them.’ Her perfect chin jutted and her eyes sparked anger, and he absorbed it like a plant moving to the sunshine.

  ‘For the others at the dance it is something they have been a part of since they were children.’ The ire in her face softened and her words matched. ‘They know each other and they visit with friends there. I am a newcomer to that part of society.’

  Instantly, her softness pulled him closer and he couldn’t keep the sofa between them, but walked around. She reached out for him, clasping his hand.

  His mind crashed in all different directions at once, remembering how he’d rushed to save her, unaware of his steps or his life or surroundings, only moving for her safety. He’d had no choice to make, or even a decision. It had just happened.

  And now she held him immobile and nowhere else would he have wanted to be.

  ‘Society fits me like a well-made glove,’ he said. ‘But there is no secret handshake. No hidden password to get you into that world. You have to get there on your wits. You fight with a smile, an open heart and a strong backbone. You’re not doing this for today. You’re doing it for ten years from now.’

  ‘It’s much harder for me.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Every time you take a first step there is always someone who it was easier for. Someone it was harder for. Always.’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘Do you want to marry someone like Tenney? Or do you want to regard him with pride years from now and say to him without even speaking when you pass by him, I could have been yours, then give a little twist and walk on?’

  Again, she calculated his expression. ‘I didn’t think you so vindictive.’ Her hand slipped from his. She grasped his arm, lowered her voice and shifted so close he could scent vanilla surrounding her.

  He’d not expected a wholesome fragrance to affect him so.

  ‘I was too scared. I could not do it. I was shaking. I could not stop trembling. I could not force myself.’

  ‘Tell yourself, starting now, that it is nothing but a little group of strangers who do not eat babies for breakfast. They are people. Like yourself. Humans. Humans you aren’t at war with. The snipers only have words and they can be dulled with time and effort.’

  ‘I cannot do it.’

  ‘If you say that, then it’s true.’ He secured her shoulders, but in reality, she held him captive.

  ‘Think of it, Rachael. Women marry. They give birth. All more risk than a simple dance.’

  She turned her head. ‘That doesn’t make it less real. I don’t know why I was so scared. It makes little sense. But I was. Real fear. After my parents left the house, I started shivering.’

  ‘Then we will fight through it. The events aren’t frightening. In fact, they get boring as the night lingers.’

  She touched his arm. ‘If I try again, will you be there with me?’

  It was as if she imbued him with power, just from the light pressure on his sleeve.

  ‘Of course.’ He could have battled armoured dragons on the strength she gave him.

  She melted into his arms and he couldn’t risk hurting her, either by retreating or by pursuing. He brushed a hand up her back, feeling the layers of clothing and slight ridges of her backbone making a trail for him to trace. She was so frail compared to him. No wonder she’d been concerned. Softer than velvet, more lush than any green forest.

  Immediately his mind travelled to a mossy bank and her lying beside him, observing the heavens, alone in the world of nature, primitive and free.

  He shook the images clear. He couldn’t let his imagination go there. All the purity of their encounter faded, replaced by his body’s burning need. He stepped aside.

  Confusion fluttered across her face, but he immediately erased it by taking a wisp of her hair between two fingers and tucking it behind her ear. But he couldn’t free himself of the image of the two of them lying beside each other.

  ‘I don’t fit there,’ she said, the pain in her voice corralling his thoughts. ‘I know it. They know it. I’m an outsider.’

  ‘Yes. You are.’ But she wasn’t to him. When he’d first taken her in his arms and carried her to the sofa, he’d somehow become her defender. A man who’d let himself be slain rather than let her be hurt.

  ‘It will likely take years for you to become entrenched,’ he added, forcing his mind to consider the facts in front of him. ‘Years. But you still can wear those jewels and show everyone the wares your father sells. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t acknowledged at first. You’ll be accepted in time.’

  He spoke the truth because he intended to become her shield against the world. He just couldn’t become more involved in her life. He couldn’t let the weakness she inspired in him rule him. He couldn’t remember the softness of her skin or the fragile woman who needed him. Or be aware that her life would change for ever and the fear inside him that if he wasn’t in her life, she would face the world alone.

  He paused.

  The women in his past, none had needed him.

  Perhaps they’d needed a dance partner, or someone to ease their loneliness or someone who’d merely listen to their heartbreak.

  But none had needed him.

  He didn’t want to ruin something dear.

  He’d heard men who’d been foxed tell the stories of the one true love of their lives and how they’d spoiled everything by treating her like every other woman they’d ever met.

  He wanted Rachael to be the love of his life.

  The one whose name remained just under the surface while he jested and made light of the world. The reason he was born.

  ‘I want us to be friends,’ he said, hoping he could live up to the word. Hoping he could find it within himself not to mar her trust in him, not to destroy the innocent faith in her eyes. ‘For a long time.’

  ‘We are,’ she said. ‘Friends.’

  He wondered if the path to his own ache had already begun and he glimpsed into the wide eyes and knew that it had, and he didn’t care.
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  He would suffer later, in the long hours of the night when he couldn’t chase her from his memory. He would yearn for her and he would only have her in his dreams, and he would dread sleeping because when he awoke, he would know they were friends. And one put friends first.

  ‘I’ll be there for you,’ he added, giving her a carefree smile. ‘My mother will be having an event to welcome a few of her friends returning to London. You will be assured of an invitation, and, alas...’ he gave her a rakish wink ‘...I am a dutiful son who must attend his mother’s most important events.’

  With that, he allowed himself the softest kiss, suitable for a sleeping babe, and slipped out of the door.

  Standing against the wood he’d just pulled closed behind him, he gathered his resources, yet he lingered, reluctant to put more distance between them.

  He must never touch her again.

  It stirred memories of his past innocence. Something he’d left behind after he’d met a woman who said she loved him beyond all else. A woman he still spoke with on friendly terms, but one who meant absolutely nothing to him.

  Rachael. He breathed the sound of her name.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachael lifted the perfume, putting a drop on her wrists and letting the aroma of springtime waft in the air. Devlin remained in her mind, much like the fragrance, settling softly. Not something she was really aware of, yet, still, in a quiet moment, recollections of him were easily summoned.

  She’d chosen the fragrance that morning because it reminded her of the scent after the shears had been used to cut the grass at the edge of the gardens and always gave her the feeling of new beginnings. Much like Devlin did.

  You did not often get chances to start afresh. She hadn’t planned to get the opportunity, nor had she wanted it at first, but she hoped to make the best of it. She’d taken her favourite dancing dress with her when she’d been to select the jewellery. It had taken her two hours of trying different pieces and listening to her mother’s comments and even seeking her father’s opinion.

  At the door, she returned to the mirror, clenched her teeth, raised both fists in a pugilistic pose and then went down to collect her mother.

  Her hands were shaking when she sat in the coach and her mother must have noticed. ‘Dear, you’re lovelier than ever. I’ve never been prouder of you. You’ve left that man behind and you’re moving on to a new world. I know you’d rather hide in your room, but you aren’t.’

  Her father turned to her mother. ‘What’d you say that for? Rachael’s fine.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ her mother agreed and spoke about the houses they were passing, rattling on as if they were all that could concern any of them.

  For the first time, Rachael recognised the bravado in her mother’s voice. The little quiver at the end of some of the sentences.

  Rachael gathered her resources.

  Her family needed her to be strong. This wasn’t only about her courage.

  * * *

  Devlin stood near the piano, talking with guests when she arrived. He was in command of the group around him. She could tell by the upturned faces and the attention he garnered. He wasn’t standing in the centre, but off to the side, yet he drew the people closer. Payton and the others burst into laughter. Devlin gave a nod, acknowledging the humour in what he said, but on the upsweep of his chin, his eyes caught hers and, at that second, everything else faded when his chin dipped and his eyes showed an awareness of her.

  Then his attention returned to the crowd around him.

  Devlin’s eyes crinkled at the sides and he raised a glass, tilting it to his cousin. She heard Devlin say he was thankful the arrow that Payton shot through a closed window hit no one, but all the glass shards had been a devil to find.

  Rachael knew that the story was about Payton, but every woman in the room heard and saw Devlin.

  He had a way with a grin that somehow said he knew more than he told. His smile invited everyone to the soirée of life.

  Rachael bit the inside of her lip.

  She turned, but then she paused and glimpsed at Devlin. What harm did it do to gaze at art, as long as it was left alone and not touched? He was exactly how she would have designed a sculpture if she could have.

  He made his way around the room, greeting most of the people and seeming to talk with everyone.

  But the moment he stopped beside her and her mother, Rachael’s heart warmed. This was no casual greeting, but more of a gentle commander’s presence to bolster his troops.

  Devlin and her mother chatted. Rachael observed the older woman relaxing into Devlin’s words.

  He only gave the briefest of glances to Rachael, but in that second their eyes met, a smile flashed from within him and the pleasant jolt of it lodged in her midsection. He didn’t even need to speak specifically to her, but he’d reassured her.

  Then he mentioned how glad he was that they both were enjoying themselves and excused himself to greet a friend. The temporary halt in his progress before he stepped away, little more than a flicker of extra recognition, fluttered over Rachael and nestled inside her, a warming hug with nothing more than eyes meeting.

  Even after he left, the confidence he gave her remained. She wanted to challenge herself and stand alone in the room.

  She turned to her mother and excused herself to visit the refreshment table. A tiny woman with white hair, and a feather almost as long as her cane, stood waving an oversized fan.

  She’d heard of the Duchess of Highwood. A truly evil woman, if the comments were to be believed. Rachael shored up her confidence, ignoring the rising sound of conversation in the room, covered only by scattered bouts of laughter.

  She challenged herself to speak to the woman.

  ‘Isn’t the pineapple lovely?’ Rachael indicated the centre of the table.

  ‘What?’ The lady’s brow furrowed and she stared at Rachael’s lips.

  ‘Pineapple. Isn’t it grand?’

  Wrinkles formed deeper around the lady’s lips and she spoke loudly enough that the people at the end of the room could hear. ‘I’ve not tried the apple wine. Would you fetch me a glass?’

  Rachael nodded, unsure of what to do next. But then she saw a footman with a decanter of undetermined flavour and motioned to him. In seconds, he’d poured the Duchess a glass.

  The woman sipped, then took another and another. ‘I can’t taste the apple,’ the woman near shouted. ‘But I like it.’

  Rachael walked to the nearest wallflowers. They greeted her as if poison had just dripped into their midst.

  Her mouth became dry. She stood with them for a cold moment, but left before her teeth started chattering. She retrieved a refreshment, thankful for something to hold.

  She perused the room. Devlin was in the midst of another group where everyone was at ease.

  Every cluster appeared so caught up in their own conversation that she didn’t dare progress closer to them and appear nothing more than a hanger-on.

  Her mother was at the edge of another group of women. She returned to her mother’s side, thankful she had a place to find some respite from attempts to be accepted.

  Happiness wreathed her mother’s face and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that few more than the Countess spoke with them.

  They were going to starve.

  Where was a burning candle when you needed it? That event had been a rousing success compared to this evening.

  Again, she felt the ache from the burn. And a softer twinge of loss, one from Devlin not being nearer.

  Her mother left after saying she wanted to speak with Rachael’s father, then Rachael saw the Duchess of Highwood moving her way.

  Rachael refused to retreat to the ladies’ retiring room.

  ‘Are you not the young woman who was scarred so terribly?’ The Duchess raised a brow. ‘With the flames reachin
g the ceiling and everyone screaming? They’ve done a wonderful job of repainting the walls. And so quickly.’

  ‘I don’t remember it that way,’ Rachael said. ‘But everything happened so fast I was only aware of what was right in front of me.’

  ‘Terrible that you had such a calamity so near the wedding and that you wouldn’t be able to consummate the vows, but then one must think to the future. How bad are the scars?’ The woman spoke loud enough that the group beside her had stopped chatting and listened.

  The Duchess examined Rachael’s skin. ‘You can hardly detect the ones on your face.’

  ‘Yes. It’s fortuitous.’ She pursed her lips. Her ability to consummate the marriage had come into question. She’d not meant the tales to go that far.

  ‘Your Grace.’ Devlin appeared at Rachael’s side. ‘I would so relish a dance with you. Is this one taken?’

  ‘It is now,’ the Duchess said, stepping forward to drape an arm around Devlin and to pull herself so close that her breast squashed into him. Hopefully she would not be bruised the next day, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

  He smiled down at her. ‘I’m honoured.’

  ‘As you should be,’ the Duchess answered, a robust cackle at the end of her words.

  Devlin led the Duchess to the floor so they would be in place when the dance commenced.

  ‘They don’t make them like that any more,’ one of the other ladies murmured. They all chuckled. Rachael didn’t know for sure if they spoke of the Duchess or Devlin and she was fairly certain it was true on both counts.

  The ground didn’t open up and swallow her, and she seemed to have become invisible, so she retreated to a corner and sipped her second glass of wine, occasionally holding it with both hands when she noticed them shaking.

  Even her stomach trembled, but when she watched Devlin’s ease, and ability to speak to the Duchess, she calmed.

  That was how it was done, she realised. This war wasn’t to be fought with a sword, but with a smile. A smile for everyone.

  Today, she only had to focus on baby steps, or, in the case of the wine in her hand, baby sips.