The Cinderella Countess

by Sophia James

  ‘Exactly.’ The word was harsh and sad. ‘I am an earl, Miss Smith, a guardian of history and a minder of time and place, and while my sister’s child would have caused a ruction in the fabric of the Thorntons, I still did not wish it away.’

  ‘Then I am glad for it.’

  ‘Just as I am glad you were here, too.’

  She nodded and breathed out. Perhaps this was all that she had needed, a heartfelt thanks that encompassed his own secrets. A new beginning on an equal footing.

  She was so tired she could barely move and she did not want to. There was something infinitely satisfying about sitting with a man who was strong enough to show his vulnerability after she had shown him hers. He did not seem to be in any hurry either as he leant back and watched her. The gleam in his eyes was brighter now.

  ‘Your reputation is growing by the day, Miss Smith. I have had many enquiries about your services.’

  ‘It is unusual for me to venture past Whitechapel, my lord. Generally, I feel happier there.’

  ‘How long have you lived in White Street?’

  ‘Almost twenty years now. Where does that time go? You look up and next thing years have past.’

  ‘Why were you there? In France?’

  ‘My parents were travellers.’

  ‘They did not return home? Your mother and father?’

  She shook her head. ‘They died.’

  She gave him the words like a truth even though she knew it was not one. But the alternative was too hard to say. I was abandoned there. I was beaten up and left. Sick to death in a church.

  * * *

  Now she was lying and the Miss Annabelle Smith he was more familiar with was back. Prickly. Independent. Unusual.

  He did not want to ask her anything else because more falsehoods would wreck what was left of this one rare night and he liked that he had a memory of her that was honest and that the awkwardness of the other day seemed lessened.

  ‘Will you return to see to my sister?’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow I shall come again, my lord. Sleep is what she needs now as well as good food and kind company.’

  ‘Then I shall make sure that she receives both.’

  She used his title at such random moments. Sometimes he thought she might have almost forgotten the distance in status between them. Sometimes he did, too.

  His formal attire was so different from the clothes Annabelle had pulled on in the middle of the night and the fine bones in her face were drawn over sorrow, the flames of candles highlighting the startling blue in her eyes reddened with fatigue.

  He would have liked to ask after the child that was gone but he didn’t, reasoning that it would have been very small and she probably did not want such a reminder anyway. Her fingers were red, blisters running down the inside length of her forefinger, and when she noticed him looking she hurried in to explain.

  ‘The hotter the water the better the outcome.’

  He smiled at that. Such a concise and abridged medical statement with no pretence in any of it. He wished he could have leant over and taken her hand into his own, soothing pain, finding touch. But she gave no impression of wanting this, unlike all the women who had flirted outrageously with him in the Barrett’s ballroom.

  Two worlds separated distinctly.

  * * *

  Belle felt the connection between them, a sort of shared sorrow and common tie. The Earl was by far the most handsome man she had ever laid her eyes upon and yet it was not his appearance that riveted her. It was the pain in his eyes and the care he held for his sister. It was the sharing of his own fears and his unexpected openness.

  His father’s death had shocked her and yet he had told it to her without amendment. Why? Did he mean to frighten her off? Or was he trying to draw closer?

  She knew nothing more of him other than what she had discovered in the half-dozen times they had met. She knew he was not married, but was there a woman with whom he had an understanding. His mother and sister had spoken of a mistress, but Belle guessed that was par for the course for the very wealthy. They did not give their hearts easily and when they did it was with a proviso. She had heard the stories after all many times around the fireplaces off the Whitechapel Road. The excesses of the very rich made them careless of feelings, it was said, and faithless. This certainly appeared to be the case with the Earl’s father.

  Thornton smelt of perfume and of women. His clothes tonight were nothing like she had seen him in before. They were dark, formal and well cut, the fabrics soft. He looked tired, too, his hair brushed back off his face in a quick sleight of hand, the colour of toffee and cinnamon and mid-brown autumn leaves.

  Lucy had seemed more indifferent to the miscarriage of her child than he was. She had been quiet for nearly all of the doctoring until the very end when she had asked whether it was a boy or a girl.

  ‘It is hard to tell this early.’ Belle had said the words with kindness, but Lucy had simply turned away in her bed towards the wall and refused further conversation.

  Perhaps it was for the best, this miscarriage, Annabelle thought. Perhaps there were things that in the elevated world of the ton were impossible to recover from.

  She thought of all the young women in Whitechapel whose births she had attended. Many of these were products of violence or rape and yet the babies had been taken in and loved.

  More differences. Further disparities.

  With care she stood then, holding her bag before her and watching the Earl of Thornton rise, too.

  ‘I should go for it is late.’

  ‘Or early depending how one looks at it.’ Already the birds were waking outside.

  ‘Someone should stay with your sister at all times for this day at least. It is just a precaution. If she begins to bleed again, call for me immediately.’

  ‘I shall see that is done, Miss Smith, and thank you, for everything.’

  He looked as if he might lean forward and take her hand. Indeed, she got the distinct impression that he started to before checking himself. The clock in the corner struck five thirty, a hollow sound in the oncoming dawn.

  Chapter Seven

  Her aunt was up when she arrived home.

  ‘You stayed awake, Tante, and it is so very late?’

  ‘I could not sleep. There is a difference. Who is the Earl of Thornton to you, Belle?’

  ‘He is the brother of my patient. He is the one who has been paying the bills.’

  ‘I think he is dangerous. I think you should stay well away from him, with his fine house and expensive clothes and eyes that look you over from top to bottom.’

  For a second Annabelle was dumbfounded. ‘You have it wrong, Tante Alicia. I doubt he even sees me for who I am. It’s the way of those folk, don’t you see?’

  ‘No. He is a man who is used to getting exactly what he wants and right now that is you. And as soon as it is difficult, which it would be given the differences between you, he will throw you over for the woman he should have been courting, the Countess he ought to have married, the one his family likes and who society welcomes.’

  ‘My God.’ Belle suddenly understood exactly what her aunt was saying. ‘It happened to you, didn’t it? In France when you were young? Someone just like the Earl?’

  The fury in those dark eyes told her the truth even as Alicia tried to shake it away.

  ‘It’s why you did not marry? Why you had no children? Did you love him?’

  But Alicia had gone back to her room, the door shutting hard. Death, betrayal and love. The day was full of pain and Belle knew there would be no simple remedy. With a sigh she dropped her bag on the floor before lying down fully dressed on the bed. The last thing she remembered before sleep came was the Earl of Thornton on the steps of his town house, watching her leave. Large and still and alone.

  * * *

  Dromorne arrived again
the following afternoon at Portman Square and this time he was not to be fobbed off so easily for Catherine accompanied him.

  ‘You have given the impression that you were more than interested in my daughter, Thornton, and because of it other suitors have held back on asking for permission to get to know her better. She is almost twenty-two now and three Seasons in your company have meant she is dangerously near to being left on the shelf. I need an agreement, Thornton, and I need it soon.’

  Part of him just wanted to turf Lord Dromorne out on his ear, but the man was old and had been a family friend for many years. Besides that, he did not look particularly well, his face flushed red and bloated and his pulse racing. Catherine, next to Dromorne, looked so miserable she could barely meet his eyes.

  ‘Say what you need to, Daughter, and do not hold back.’

  Her brown eyes were full of embarrassment. ‘I thought... I thought that we were...promised, my lord. I have not looked at another and I am old now.’

  ‘Twenty-two is hardly old.’ God, compared to his years it seemed damn young. The trap of it all blurred his future even as fire sprang into her words.

  ‘It is when you are a female. It is as old as you can possibly be until you can no longer expect to find a suitable marriage. Everyone says so.’

  This was far worse than he had thought. He had imagined Catherine being as rebellious as he was when he knew she was coming with her father to see him. He thought this whole mess would be sorted without fuss in a few moments, but he had miscalculated badly. His own words from a few months back were also a part of this mix up. He had intimated to his friends he would marry the next passably good-looking woman who could bear children. Well, here was one before him who was more than beautiful and who now professed to be ruined in making a fine marriage and all because of him. If he did not offer something Lord Dromorne would be sure to spread the gossip of the reckless Thorntons and all the memories of his father’s stupidity would be back as the main topic of scandal yet again. None of this would be helpful to his newly expanding but fledgling businesses.

  Annabelle Smith’s face came to mind, but he knew deep down that anything between them would be hopeless. They would both ruin each other. Still, he could not quite let it go.

  ‘Give me twelve weeks, Catherine. If by then you have not found another whom you feel you might make a life with, then I will court you. I promise it. We have always been friends, but I had not imagined anything more. I am sorry.’

  The frown on her forehead deepened, but her father looked happier. ‘I will take your word as the unbreakable troth of a gentleman, Thornton.’

  ‘You do that.’ His words were angry and harsh and had Catherine not been standing there with her head bent and her hands working the material around and around in her fetching pink skirt he would have said more.

  At best he could try to talk with her alone and reason with her. At worst he would be attached in twelve weeks to a woman of good birth whom his family liked and who would make an admirable countess.

  The tangle of it all stuck in his throat.

  * * *

  Lytton visited Shay an hour later, pleased to see his friend at home and alone. In the library a few moments later and with a drink in hand he felt able to confess the exact reason as to why he had come. ‘Dromorne came to see me today.’ The words came quietly and Shay looked up.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘He thinks I have misled his daughter into an expectation of marriage for these past three years. He has now come with the express intention of collecting his debt.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘What could I say?’

  ‘Surely you did not consent?’

  ‘I hedged. I told him that in twelve weeks if Catherine still had not found a man she loved, then I would court her properly. She was there so I could hardly say different.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you? I am thirty-five years old. I need an heir. I need a countess who can cope with all that the position entails. I need stability for my family, for Lucy and Prudence and David. And for Mama. I am the head of a family that is fragile and the only way to save it might be to sacrifice myself.’

  ‘The speech of a martyr. “Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.” God. Leave England if you must on the pretence of business, but do not marry a woman whom you could never truly love.’

  ‘It is not so black and white, Shay. I have a friendship with Catherine and I do respect her, but honour is all I have left at the end of the day and I can’t just abandon that. My father did and I have hated him for it every day, ever since.’

  ‘Your father was an ass, but you were always a good man, Thorn, under the wildness, so here’s to you and happiness and a heartfelt warning that a whole life is a long time to live in the shadow of regret.’

  Shay brought up his glass and Lytton smiled. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  Whitechapel Road was a long one and today a group of sheep and cattle were being driven through to the slaughterhouse a few streets away. Caught behind people and animals, Belle gazed around at the noise and the movement, a canvas of commerce and poverty and just plain hard living. Sometimes she loved this place, even despite its obvious problems. It was vital and busy and ever changing, the sedate and beautiful square of the Earl of Thornton’s a far cry from here.

  Here anything was possible, if not probable, and the folk who inhabited the lodgings were as diverse as the houses themselves. The milkmaids with their balance of buckets and their beautiful skin, the fish vendors, the children with their dirty faces and bare feet, the loose women, the clergy, the constabulary, the drunks. It was a tapestry of colour, form and shape, against a backdrop of violence and community.

  Belle had walked these streets since she was twelve and newly come from France. She knew the alleyways to avoid and the taverns that harboured the worst of the thieves and felons. She understood the safety of daytime and the dangers of the night. There were so many faces here that were familiar now.

  It was not often a stranger could traverse these streets without notice, but she was sure one had for she’d the uncanny feeling that someone had been following her for a few days now. Someone who did not belong here, someone who was an outsider. Someone who was watching her.

  She had turned often and quickly, but had never caught the perpetrator save for once on the very end of Whitechapel Road near Aldgate when a man at a distance dressed in the clothes of a gentleman had observed her and made to follow.

  She had lost him easily, turning into Goulstone Street and then Wentworth, her increasingly fast flight putting an end to any continued surveillance. She had said nothing to Tante Alicia nor to Rose, not wanting to worry them with accusations that could be pointless, after all.

  Who would follow her? Most people here were pleased for her expertise in medicines and ailments and would knock at her door if they had need of help. Everybody knew that she was as poor as they were. She did not pick or choose patients, but treated each one crossing the threshold of her lodging with the same courtesy as she had the one before. A fair and equal doctoring. She was therefore left alone to do as she willed in the parish and there had never once in all the years since arriving been an incident that had made her question the safety of walking here.

  Until now.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Rosemary crossing the street towards her.

  ‘I heard you went back to the Earl of Thornton’s house the day before yesterday in Portman Square, Belle?’

  ‘I did. I was there briefly this morning, too. Miss Staines had sickened and needed medicines.’

  Annabelle hated lying to her friend, but she could understand the Earl’s point in respecting confidentiality. He had not been there this morning, but his sister had looked a lot brighter and was talking of going to the family estate in the country to recuperate. Perhaps she was relieved to have lo
st the child and to have a future that was largely untarnished before her once again. Belle had not mentioned the baby at all for the girl did not seem to encourage it, merely checking her stomach and pulse and temperature.

  There was an awkwardness between them now, though. The end of one relationship and the beginning of another. Perhaps if she had been in Lady Lucy’s shoes she might have felt the same, a reminder of an episode so terrible she wanted no more to recall it.

  Belle had left quickly, knowing that she might not be back again and knowing, too, that the young woman was on the road to a good recovery.

  ‘Was the Earl present?’ Rose looked more than interested as she asked this.

  ‘He was not.’

  ‘I liked him. I thought he was beautiful.’

  Belle laughed. ‘You barely met him.’

  ‘But I can always tell if people’s souls are good ones. It’s my strength. His was pure.’

  ‘I doubt if even he would tell you that was so, had you asked.’

  ‘He’s spoken of his character? With you? My goodness, tell me all about it.’

  ‘Rose, stop. I will probably never see him again and that is just as it should be. People pass in and out of my life all the time, their need great until it is not.’

  They were coming to the main road now on the edge of Whitechapel, the thoroughfare widening out. Belle had promised Tante Alicia that she would visit the markets for herbs as their supplies were running low and Rose was going the same way. She was glad for the company as they stood on the side of the road, ready to cross together.

  The carriage came from nowhere, skidding in the wet towards them and throwing them both to the ground. Belle felt her head whack against stone and knew a sharp pain in her right wrist where she had tried to shield her fall. Rosemary beneath her was lying very still.

  Panic banished a lethargy that was becoming more appealing.

  ‘Rose. Rose. Are you all right?’

  Her friend’s eyes fluttered. ‘I think so. What happened?’