Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

by Lara Temple

  ‘I’m sorry. You trod on my vanity and I reacted badly. You surprised me again, that’s all. Forgive me?’

  A weight slipped from her shoulders.

  ‘It was foolish of me,’ she answered quickly. ‘Of course you needn’t...’

  ‘I shall flirt with you with great pleasure.’ He surprised her by smiling and the relief was so strong she couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘If it isn’t young Nell! And, Hunter, good to see you again, man. Welcome, welcome.’

  They both turned towards the stairs as two men approached and Nell stiffened. She would have much preferred her first meeting with Charles to be in one of her new dresses rather than in an outfit dusty from the long drive. She turned instead towards the portly man who approached them, his hand extended in greeting.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lord Welbeck, Mr Welbeck.’ Her voice wavered on the last and she raised her chin.

  Lord Welbeck grasped her hand between his own, shaking it vigorously as he addressed Hunter.

  ‘M’wife received your note about Nell here. Glad to have her. Congratulations all around, eh? Tilney already told us the news when we met him at Tattersall’s last week before he hared off north.’

  ‘Tilney isn’t here?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Heard a tip that Buxted is rolled up and selling off his stables, so off he goes to steal a march on the market. Wouldn’t have minded doing so myself, but the dibs aren’t in tune just at the moment, eh, Charles?’

  ‘You couldn’t very well disappear now just as the fair is set to start, Father.’ Charles smiled at Nell and held out his hand invitingly. After a second’s hesitation Nell held out her hand as well and he grasped it.

  ‘Hello, Miss Tilney. Your father did say he means to join us here when he closes with Buxted, so of course you must stay until he does. Mother is delighted to have another female guest to commiserate with. Congratulations, by the way,’ he added, his eyes sliding momentarily towards Hunter.

  ‘That’s right,’ Lord Welbeck continued. ‘Fine work, eh? We didn’t even know the Bascombe land was to come to you, lass, or I’d have made a push to snabble you for my boy. Your father kept that card mightily close to his chest, didn’t he, eh? Well, I’m particularly glad you’ve come, gel. There’s this new filly I could use some help with and you might be just the one to do the trick. Lovely legs, but won’t let anyone near her. She’s in the far paddock. Have a look at her first thing and let me know if there’s a point in keeping her, will you? Well, I’m off to the stables to see all’s ready for the week. Say your hellos, Charles, and join me when you’re done.’

  He strode away with a buoyancy that was in stark contrast to his weight, leaving them to sort themselves out. Nell detached her hand from Charles’s a little reluctantly. There was a moment of awkward silence and then Charles turned towards the curricle.

  ‘Are these your famous matched chestnuts, Lord Hunter? Beautiful beasts.’

  Nell stood back as the two men turned, glad for a moment to recover. Charles was bending down to inspect one of the horses, his golden hair catching the afternoon sun already scraping the treetops to the west. In a second she was cast back years ago to a moment in the Welbeck stables when she had seen him very much like this, his attention on one of the mares, painfully handsome and wholly oblivious of her.

  She looked away and met Hunter’s eyes. She had no idea what he had seen on her face and how he connected that with her wholly regretted request, but she rather feared he saw right through her. For a moment there was a hard, contemptuous light in his eyes that sobered her, like the burst of cold air after stepping out of a warm house. Then the butler appeared in the doorway and everything moved again. Nell followed the butler up the wide stairway with a strange sense of fatality, like a prisoner being led before a judge and jury. It was fanciful, but she felt the course of her life would be decided between these walls, in this week, and she hoped she had the strength of character to be an author of that future, not just its subject.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Miss Tilney, wait...’

  Nell’s heart hitched and she stopped halfway down the stairs. There was never much light in the low-roofed corridors of Welbeck Manor and as Charles descended the stairs towards her his face was cast in shadows, only his smile glinting brightly.

  ‘Has it really been four whole years since we saw each other last? I am sorry about your grandparents’ passing, by the way.’

  He stopped on the step above her, giving him some extra inches and making her feel, for a change, almost normal. Except for her thudding pulse and the heat in her cheeks which she hoped the gloomy light masked.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Welbeck. But since I never met them I hardly mourn them.’

  She moaned inwardly. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt. He blinked and his smile wavered, but returned.

  ‘Well, whatever the case, I am glad you came this year. That is quite a piece of news, your engagement. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you. We are very happy.’

  Oh, help, what an inane thing to say. She didn’t know whether to revel in the fact that Charles was actually talking to her like an adult or to wish someone would come and relieve her of her embarrassment. No, it was now or never if she meant to impress upon him that she was indeed an adult. And a woman.

  ‘Lord Hunter can be very...persuasive.’ She smiled, trying to invest the word with all manner of meaning, and Charles’s affable smile stiffened.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that about him.’

  There was no mistaking the undercurrent in those words. What would an experienced woman do? Nell thought. Anna would probably turn up her nose and march off, but that didn’t suit Nell. Besides, any reaction other than amused condescension was good, wasn’t it? She wasn’t fool enough to believe Charles might be jealous, but perhaps he wasn’t indifferent to her engagement. Or perhaps he just didn’t like Hunter. That, too, was highly possible. She imagined Hunter rubbed many people the wrong way. Before she could think of an answer he smiled.

  ‘Now, that was uncalled for, wasn’t it? If you like him I’m sure he’s a capital fellow. Forgive me?’

  ‘Of course, Charles... I mean, Mr Welbeck.’

  ‘If memory serves me right, we called each other Charles and Nell since before you put up your hair. I think we can dispense with such foolish proprieties, don’t you?’

  She smiled, warming from the inside out.

  ‘Of course. Charles.’

  ‘Oh. Good evening, Mr Welbeck.’

  They both turned as a husky voice slid down the stairs.

  Nell wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman’s appearance was accompanied by trumpets and the strewing of petals—even in the gloom her beauty glowed. In colouring she was Charles’s twin, with golden hair and sky-blue eyes, as if she had been created to stand by his side in the illustration for a fairy tale. She descended with leisurely grace, her eyes smiling into Charles’s. She came to stop just a step above them and her tongue briefly caressed her lower lip in a gesture Nell had never seen before, but which must be universal because if ever there was an invitation, this woman was extending one to Charles.

  The woman finally descended the last step, increasing Nell’s agony. She was beautiful and perfectly rounded, her bodice cut as low as decency allowed, and worst of all, she was tiny, accentuating how awkward Nell’s inches made her. Charles’s mild gallantry towards her just a moment ago, which had filled her with such hope, just deepened her despair. As long as a woman like this wanted Charles, what chance had she?

  ‘Won’t you introduce me to your friend, Mr Welbeck?’ the vision said and the prompt just made it worse. Charles introduced her as Lady Melkinson and somehow Nell answered, aware she was being as gauche as a child, and they moved towards the drawing room. Inside she scanned the room for Hunter, but he was nowhere to be seen
and so she mutely moved towards the corner where Lord and Lady Welbeck stood speaking with Lord Meecham, feeling lost and hopeless.

  * * *

  Hunter entered the drawing room, stifling a resigned sigh. In past years he had avoided most evening events at Welbeck, preferring the conviviality of the horse breeders at the local inns to the stuffiness of the Welbeck drawing rooms. His reputation as one of the Wild Hunt Club always made respectable hostesses somewhat wary of his presence in their drawing rooms anyway. But with Tilney absent he couldn’t disappear and leave Nell to cope alone, though judging by her strange request and by her blush when they had arrived, she might be glad to have the opportunity to spend this time with young Welbeck.

  It was hardly surprising such a sheltered girl would fancy herself in love with a young man who looked like a storybook hero, and though he doubted Welbeck would fulfil any of the criteria she had championed so hotly, that wasn’t his concern. What was his concern was that from his experience of the extravagancies of the Welbeck stables they would be only too happy to grab Nell’s inheritance and were unlikely to honour her generous offer regarding the water rights. In fact, he didn’t particularly want the Welbecks laying waste to Bascombe simply to feed the bottomless pit of their stables. She wanted to flirt? He had no problem with that. He might even enjoy it and Nell might come to realise she had better things to do with her life than moon over a fundamentally weak vessel like Charles Welbeck.

  He scanned the room in search of her and his gaze paused on the woman standing in the centre of the room. It had been quite a few years since Lady Melkinson had tried to add him to her impressive list of wealthy lovers, but she hadn’t changed much and was still doing her best to command male attention. Almost every man in the room was at least partly focused on her décolletage as she leaned to inspect a flower arrangement, holding the pose just long enough for conversation around her to sink and fade.

  ‘Oh, aren’t they lovely?’ she asked no one in particular. There was a rumble of shared assent among the men, though no one was looking at the flowers, and Hunter had a hard time holding back a laugh. Then she held out her hand to her husband, but her eyes briefly caught and held Charles Welbeck’s and Hunter’s mood brightened. Well, well, apparently Nell’s shining prince was otherwise engaged. What a pity Nell hadn’t seen that telling meeting of eyes.

  Hunter scanned the room again, wondering why Nell hadn’t appeared yet, when he noticed her, half-obscured by Lord and Lady Welbeck and watching Lady Melkinson with an expression as telling as the act put on by the lady herself, though less intentional. She was pressed against the wall, using her hosts’ impressive bulk as a shield. Someone smaller might get away with the wallflower manoeuvre, but in her case it was a futile effort. Against the dark old wood and in her long silvery dress she looked as dramatic as Lady Melkinson, but from a very different kind of play. Not a rococo farce with frills and tossed-up skirts in the rose garden, but a Saxon princess about to be bartered to an enemy tribe. Someone predatory like Lady Melkinson could have made mincemeat of a rival’s petite plumpness if she had possessed Nell’s attributes, but it was becoming clear Nell was completely unaware of her charms. He was tempted to show her she had no reason whatsoever to be envious of someone like Phyllida Melkinson, but that lesson wasn’t his to give.

  Hunter moved towards her and when she saw him her face relaxed into a smile. Clearly she already regarded him as a safe haven, which was a good sign. He never flirted with marriageable misses, but in this case there was no harm in fulfilling his part of the bargain—since her affections were firmly focused on Welbeck she wasn’t at risk of taking his attentions seriously and she could probably use a boost of confidence. When he reached her he took her hand as he let his gaze move over her, taking his time.

  ‘It’s quite lucky you taught in a girls’ school. I can’t imagine any boys being able to concentrate on their declensions with you by the blackboard.’

  She flushed a little at his examination, but her eyes lit with amusement, dispelling the tragic Saxon. She twitched her skirt, setting off a silvery wave on the gauzy overskirt.

  ‘It’s not me—it’s the dress. It was shockingly expensive, but Mrs Sturges insisted. She has very strong ideas about fashion.’

  ‘And about gossip, if I remember correctly. But it is unfair to blame the dress; the culprit is most definitely you, sweetheart. Do you mean to tell me there are no mirrors in a girls’ school?’

  ‘Not many, but Mrs Sturges has two full-length mirrors in her room set so you can see yourself fore and aft, as she says. She made me exhibit all the dresses as soon as they were delivered. It was excruciatingly embarrassing, but she was so excited I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘And to think I missed it. I might have to request a private viewing.’ He dropped his voice, watching her closely. She hadn’t even appeared to notice he still held her gloved hand and was gently caressing her palm with his thumb. Standing this close to her also made it clear there were distinct advantages to tall women. She would fit against him so easily and all it would take was a gentle lift of her very determined chin... He gave in to the urge to just touch it lightly and finally an edge of awareness entered her silvery eyes.

  ‘There is a perfectly serviceable full-length mirror in my room,’ he observed softly.

  Her breath caught and a gentle flush warmed her full lips to a soft peach colour. He watched it, fascinated by this quite unique and very appealing transformation; then he looked up and met her eyes and was surprised to see that they were brimming with laughter.

  ‘I think I might actually enjoy this,’ she half-whispered.

  ‘What?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘Flirting. I think I’m starting to understand how it works.’

  A slap might have been more painful, but no more sobering. For a moment he had actually forgotten what he was doing this for.

  ‘That’s good. Feel free to experiment. Despite my name, I don’t mind being hunted.’

  ‘I’m not sure how. I don’t think I could ever do what Lady Melkinson does.’

  He caught the hopelessness in her voice.

  ‘You won’t know until you try,’ he said lightly and this time her eyes were assessing. Then she half-lowered her long lashes so that the silver irises glimmered through them.

  ‘Like this?’ she asked huskily, leaning towards him, the tips of her fingers just making contact with the sleeve of his coat. Then her lips parted and the tip of her tongue touched her lower lip, drawing it in gently and letting it go. As far as seductions went it was very mild, as hesitant as a girl dressing in her mother’s finery. There was no reason it should have felt like the blood was reversing course in his veins.

  ‘A very good start,’ he managed and was rewarded with another smile.

  ‘I’m not the only one working on my flirting. Betsy, the maid, is already quite sweet on Hidgins. You should warn him he is a marked man.’

  ‘She told you that?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘Well, they used to assign her to me when I came as a child, so she and I know each other quite well and she tells me things. I was even thinking of asking Lord Welbeck if I might take her to Bascombe when I leave. I will need a personal maid.’

  ‘You’re still determined to live there on your own?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve already written to ask Mrs Calvert to come to Bascombe. She is lovely, rather like your aunts.’

  ‘There is no one quite like my aunts. I don’t know how comfortable someone like Sephy would be for a young woman living on her own. Every time I come to dine she remembers she is a parson’s daughter. Serving up the late Reverend Calthorpe’s views on my unlikely prospects for redemption with the syllabub tends to wreak havoc with the digestion. I suggest that if you must employ a companion, find someone who teaches progressive topics such as geology or biology, perhaps with a particular interest in crustac
eans.’

  ‘I hate syllabub anyway, but sermons will definitely be banned from the supper table. As would be any discourse on crustaceans. Mrs Calvert taught music.’

  ‘Will I still be welcome to visit you once you are settled at Bascombe? Or are we to play this along tragic lines of jilted lovers, smiting brows and scowling darkly when chance meetings occur.’

  Her laugh, tumbling but quickly checked, made him want to shake it free, just as he wouldn’t mind seeing her silky hair shake free again as it had four years ago.

  ‘Of course you will be welcome! You must come and give me advice on my stables and of course you will come when you bring me Pluck.’

  ‘Ah, I see you won’t forget that offer.’

  ‘Are you reneging?’ she challenged, raising one brow at him in an impressive golden-brown arc.

  ‘I never break my word. If I can help it. Giving you Pluck will give me even more reason to visit because Petra is certain to miss her.’

  Her expression shifted so rapidly it was almost comical.

  ‘I hadn’t thought... Perhaps it isn’t a good idea after all.’

  He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze, touched by her concern. Mother–daughter relations were obviously a sensitive point for her.

  ‘Nonsense. They will both be fine. We can do it gradually if you like.’

  She nodded in relief.

  ‘Yes, that will be best.’

  ‘You know, it just might be that Pluck will miss me more than she will Petra. I have a way with mares,’ he mused and she laughed. He caught her hand as it rose to block the laugh.

  ‘Why do you do that? You have a beautiful laugh.’

  She shook her head, her eyes catching on his with a flash of fear. Then she shook her head again and her eyes cleared.

  ‘It is silly, isn’t it? Anna makes fun of me for doing that. Not in a bad way, I mean. My aunt always said laughing aloud was ill bred, and so if I ever found myself laughing when she was about, which wasn’t often, I would hide it. I still do it when I’m nervous.’