The Earl of Highmott Hall: A Regency Cinderella

by Nina Clare

  ‘Because Mr Neville was pretending to be me. Miss Asher, it has all been a sorry mess, but you have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself for, and I heartily wish you all happiness and success in your inheritance. I know you will be an excellent manager of all you have been given.’

  ‘You do not understand,’ she said, ‘I am offering to give it all back to you. I think it has all been very wrong. I only ask that you honour Lavinia’s marriage settlement, and I will return to Roseleat.’

  ‘Give it all back! Miss Asher, that would be madness.’

  ‘I think you will do far better at running Highmott, for I fear I may have overreached myself. There is so much to think about, I feel so tired suddenly. I do not know if I want so much responsibility. Not on my own.’

  ‘Perhaps I can be of some help. One of the things I came for today was to bring you these.’ He pulled the sheaf of plans from their cover and put them on the table between them. ‘And I have something else of yours,’ he added, taking out something small and red and setting it on the desk.

  ‘My slipper!’ she took up the red, silk slipper. ‘I did not think to see this again.’

  ‘I found it after… Well. Never mind.’ He pushed forward the sheaf of papers.

  ‘What are they?’ She leaned forward to pick the top sheet up. ‘Oh, they are plans for new cottages. They are very good. Better than mine. What a clever idea to move them higher up, and put in drainage to run downhill. Did you draw these yourself?’

  ‘I did. And these are the plans I had for a new dairy farm, and here are my ideas for the woodland, and this marks where new fencing needs to go, and if this stretch of hedgerow were to be removed, it would make better access into the east meadows.’

  ‘But these are wonderful,’ Celia murmured, all her tiredness melting away as she looked with admiration and renewed interest in the estate plans. ‘Oh, Lord Marbury, I wish—’ She did not say what it was she wished. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, banishing the wan, tired look she’d had on his arrival. He had been watching her face, noting every expression, drinking in all the details that he might remember them.

  ‘What else was it you came to tell me?’ she said, putting the papers down and growing serious again, as though she were putting something away in her mind.

  ‘I came to say goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye?’

  ‘I am going abroad. I do not expect to be back in England any time soon.’

  She was silent. The silence grew. He ought to go, but he did not want to leave her. She broke the silence finally. Her voice was horribly polite.

  ‘I wish you all the best, my lord. Thank you for the plans.’

  She stood up, not looking at him, but clearly expecting him to make his farewell bow.

  He put out his hand. She hesitated, and he thought she was going to refuse to shake hands. But slowly she raised her hand and he took it. He held it longer than was necessary. She did not pull back, and so he raised her hand slowly and kissed it.

  It was a mistake. He should not have touched her. He certainly should not have kissed her, not even on her fingers. ‘Celia,’ he said softly, all the old feelings rushing over him. ‘Did you feel anything for me?’

  Her fingers curled more tightly over his own. ‘I felt… everything,’ she whispered.

  Hope is a remarkable agent of change, he thought.

  ‘Would I be too presumptuous if I were to ask you to marry me, Miss Asher?’

  ‘It would be very presumptuous, Lord Marbury.’ She still held fast his hand. ‘But I am not a conventional woman.’

  ‘No. You are not. You are an extraordinary woman. I knew that the very first time I saw you.’

  She met his eyes. They were not startling green as they were when she was angry. They were that shade of soft green that made him think of the sea on a clear day. She looked enquiringly at him, as though waiting for him to say something more.

  ‘Would you do me the honour of being my wife, Miss Asher? Would you break from me the curse of being alone? I fear only you can do it.’

  ‘I will,’ was the simple answer.

  ‘Curses on this table standing between us,’ he said.

  She laughed, and stepped around the desk, not letting go of his hand, but allowing him to draw her towards him.

  ‘You have a bad habit, Lord Marbury, of making me think you are about to kiss me, and then running away at the last moment.’

  ‘I solemnly promise there will be no running away ever again.’ He drew her into his arms, resting his chin on her head, feeling her heartbeat against his own. ‘And I promise to make up for every lost kiss, starting immediately.’

  The End

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  Also by Nina Clare

  The Thirteenth Princess

  Beck

  The Miller’s Girl

  The Reluctant Wife

  The Swan King

  The Jane Austen Fairy Tales

  Magic and Matchmaking

  Midwinter Mischief

  Midsummer Madness