Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

by Laura Martin

  ‘Lord Pottersdown,’ Ben said, ‘what a lovely home you have.’

  The Viscount and Francesca both looked around in mild surprise as if they’d never been paid such a compliment before.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. His words weren’t slurred, but there was a soft quality to the consonants that suggested Lord Pottersdown wasn’t on his first drink of the evening.

  ‘Crawford,’ he said, offering his hand. He waited to see if there would be any recognition, but Lord Pottersdown’s eyes remained vacant. Condemning someone to transportation wasn’t enough to make an impression on the Viscount, it would seem.

  ‘Father,’ Francesca said, shooting Ben a concerned look, ‘why don’t you step through to the dining room? I’m sure dinner is just about to be announced.’

  ‘In a moment, Francesca,’ the older man said with a dismissive wave of the hand, ‘She does fuss,’ he said, directing his words at Ben.

  The arrival of another guest, a woman in her early forties who Ben did not know, stole Francesca’s attention for a moment and Ben quickly guided Lord Pottersdown out of earshot before she could protest.

  ‘I hear you are a man who likes a game of cards,’ Ben said, wasting no time. ‘Shall we have a game or two after dinner?’

  He saw the older man hesitate and wondered if at last he had learnt his lesson, but after just a couple of seconds Lord Pottersdown was nodding his head, a gleam in his eye.

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ he said. ‘Once the ladies retire, of course.’

  Ben followed his gaze to where Francesca was deep in conversation with the new guest and he had to hide a smile. He could just imagine Francesca reprimanding her father for his reckless behaviour, even though it was almost unheard of for a daughter to speak to her father in such a manner.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Ben said, clapping the older man on the arm. ‘I do enjoy a game of cards. Never have much luck, but it’s the enjoyment that counts.’

  Walking away, Ben fought hard not to grin. He hadn’t come to England to get his revenge on the Viscount, not like his friend Sam Robertson who had been almost completely consumed by the idea of revenge against the man who had wronged him. Nevertheless, he wasn’t a saint and the opportunity to toy with the man for an hour or two was too good to pass up. Ben had no doubt he would beat the older man in the game of cards and of course there would be wagers, there always were. He planned to make Lord Pottersdown sweat for a while over the amount of money he owed after the card game. In the end he wouldn’t actually make the man pay up—that would only serve to hurt Francesca in the long run—but a worrying couple of weeks was the least the man deserved.

  * * *

  Smiling nervously, Francesca glanced again at Ben. He was up to something—she was sure of it. After she’d invited him to the dinner party she’d realised what a foolish idea it had been—it would mean her father and Ben coming face to face. Never had she expected her father to remember the young boy he’d accused of stealing the family’s valuables, but she did know Ben wouldn’t have forgiven her father for the awful wrong he’d done him all those years ago.

  Still, so far Ben was behaving impeccably. He was suave and confident at the dinner table full of people a good few social classes above him and acted as though he’d been born to live the easy life of a gentleman. Half the ladies in attendance were already looking at him with doe eyes and Francesca suspected he would woo the other half before the night was out.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ her father said, a very subtle slur to his words that probably no one else would pick up on, but Francesca had had years of experience detecting when her father had tipped over into an inebriated state, ‘a glass of port, perhaps?’

  Knowing this was her cue, Francesca reluctantly stood and gestured for the ladies to follow her into the drawing room.

  As she closed the door behind her she lingered for a second and felt her heart sink when her father’s voice drifted through, the suggestion of a card game coming only seconds after she’d left him with the male guests. Hoping Ben would have enough sense to put a stop to any game that left her father risking too much, she stepped away, plastering a cheerful smile on her face and summoning some small talk to distract herself.

  * * *

  ‘I say, that’s rather a lot of money. Surely we should have an upper limit,’ a weak-chinned man called Mr Rose said, eyeing Ben uneasily.

  ‘Anyone can withdraw at any time,’ Ben said, giving the other players his easy smile. ‘There’s no pressure to play if you can’t meet the wager.’

  Four of them sat around the table, with another of the gentlemen already having excused himself, stating he was terrible at cards and withdrawing to join the ladies.

  ‘You know, I think I might just do that,’ Mr Rose said after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘And I, these stakes are too high for my meagre income,’ a cheerful man by the name of Mr Wisern agreed, standing and executing a little bow before following Mr Rose from the room.

  ‘How about you, Lord Pottersdown?’ Ben asked mildly. ‘Would you like to retreat, too?’

  The Viscount licked his lips nervously and glanced at the cards in his hand. Ben already knew the answer. For the older man betting seemed to be a compulsion, just as drink was. He didn’t know his limits, didn’t know when to stop and admit defeat. It was no doubt the character flaw that had plunged Francesca’s family into so much trouble and Lord Pottersdown wasn’t about to change now.

  ‘Perhaps just one or two more hands,’ he said.

  ‘Marvellous.’ Ben raised the glass of port to his lips, taking the smallest sip. He could handle his alcohol, had drunk many a hardened criminal under the table back home in his youth, but now he was much more cautious. No matter how often you drank alcohol it still muddied your senses, dulling your thoughts and affecting your ability to make sensible decisions. Still, the act of lifting his glass to his lips had the desired effect. Lord Pottersdown unconsciously mirrored him, but instead of a tiny sip he took a few large gulps of the tawny port.

  Quickly Ben got into the swing of the card game, letting Lord Pottersdown win a couple of hands to boost his confidence and make him sloppy. After a few minor losses Ben waited for a decent hand of cards. By this point he could read Lord Pottersdown’s face and mannerisms easily and knew when the man was confident and when he had a poor hand and was bluffing.

  Now there were only two of them they were playing piquet, a game Ben had grown up playing with his father and honed his instincts to perfection over the years in Australia.

  ‘Shall we increase the wager?’ Lord Pottersdown asked after winning a moderate sum.

  ‘Why not?’ Ben said, trying not to grin. He’d been waiting for the older man to ask, not wanting to push through his wins until there was a substantial amount on the table. ‘Shall we say five hundred pounds?’

  He could tell it was more than Lord Pottersdown was expecting, but the Viscount clearly didn’t want to lose face, and as with all reckless gamblers wherever they were in the world he thought his winning streak would continue and he’d have the chance to make some real money.

  ‘Perhaps just for a game or two,’ Lord Pottersdown said, licking his lips and glancing at the door as if expecting some disgruntled creditor to burst in and nab all his winnings from the table.

  ‘Excellent.’

  Ben dealt, watching Lord Pottersdown as he studied his cards, deciding which to discard and which to play.

  Just as Lord Pottersdown laid down his first cards Francesca burst into the room. Ben didn’t look up, knowing she would look either aghast or disapproving. Later he would explain, if she would let him, that he wasn’t actually going to collect whatever debt her father ended up owing him, just make the old man sweat. It was the very least he deserved.

  ‘Father,’ she said, her tone clipped, and even without looking up Ben could hear the high level of stress in her
voice.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Francesca,’ her father said. ‘Go and rejoin the ladies. Mr Crawford and I will be through shortly.’

  ‘You promised,’ she said so quietly Ben could barely hear her. What he did note was the sound of complete desperation in her voice. ‘Mr Crawford,’ she said, turning to him, ‘my father regrets that he will have to withdr—’ She was cut off by an angry Lord Pottersdown.

  ‘Quiet,’ he ordered. ‘Remember your place.’

  Ben had known this moment would come and resolutely ignored the small voice telling him to stand and comfort the woman who he’d held so tenderly in his arms only a day and a half ago. Later he would explain, later he would kiss the small furrow between her perfectly shaped brows until it disappeared and she forgot all her worries, at least for a short time. But right now he had a card game to win and a viscount to destroy, at least for a few hours.

  Glancing up, he saw the mixture of hurt and anger in her eyes. The hurt was aimed at him, the anger at her father, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to sway it the other way.

  She sat, folding her arms across her chest in a most unladylike gesture, and watched them, her eyes flitting from one side of the table to the other.

  ‘Shall we continue?’ Ben asked.

  Lord Pottersdown nodded and the game proceeded. What happened next was like a carefully executed dance. Ben lulled the man into a false sense of security, quickly upped the wager and then proceeded to destroy him. After all of five minutes Lord Pottersdown was sitting with his head in his hands, one thousand pounds worse off, his normally ruddy face completely drained of any colour.

  Francesca spared a disgusted glance for her father and stood. She crossed behind where Ben was standing and leaned in. ‘Was that your plan all along?’ she asked, her voice tight with pain and humiliation, ‘Get close to me so you could destroy Father?’ The words were said so quietly Lord Pottersdown couldn’t hear, not that Ben thought he would take in a stampeding herd of elephants at this point.

  He caught her wrist, holding firmly so she couldn’t pull away, but ensuring he caused her no discomfort. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you, Frannie,’ he said.

  Her eyes flared with anger, ‘You suppose this doesn’t hurt me?’ she asked.

  ‘Trust me,’ he murmured. Quickly she pulled away and strode from the room, her head held high, but Ben knew as soon as she was alone she would let her calm façade crack and the tears would start to flow.

  He felt a stab of remorse, but reminded himself that he wasn’t actually going to call in the debt. Apart from the worry Francesca would be no worse off and, if things went to plan, his little game with the Viscount would hopefully scare the man to stop gambling at least for a few months.

  ‘Mr Crawford,’ Lord Pottersdown said, ‘I...er... I am a little low on funds at the moment. All to be resolved soon, of course...’

  It would never be resolved.

  ‘A debt is a debt,’ Ben said, ensuring his voice was clipped and his manner abrupt.

  ‘Of course, and I never renege on a debt,’ Lord Pottersdown said quickly.

  That was definitely a lie. A big one. The Viscount owed money all over town and had a reputation for trying to weasel his way out of any small debt he could.

  ‘One thousand pounds, Lord Pottersdown, is not an insignificant amount.’

  ‘No, no, no, no,’ the Viscount said, seemingly unable to utter any other sounds.

  ‘And I am not a patient man.’

  ‘If you could just give me a few weeks.’

  They both knew Lord Pottersdown would only be further in debt in a few weeks.

  ‘Perhaps there is another solution,’ Ben said, tapping his fingers on the table and conjuring up a pensive expression.

  ‘Yes, anything,’ the Viscount said eagerly.

  ‘This house must be worth a fair few hundred pounds,’ Ben said, looking up theatrically at the ceiling and around the walls.

  ‘It’s the family home,’ Lord Pottersdown said.

  Ben shrugged and fixed a hard stare on the Viscount. ‘You have a debt to be settled and so far I haven’t heard how you mean to pay it.’

  ‘Surely as a gentleman...’ Lord Pottersdown said.

  ‘I suggest in future you find out a little more about whom you’re playing against before you commit to such big wagers...’ He paused and looked Lord Pottersdown directly in the eye. ‘I am no gentleman.’

  With his whole body sagging the Viscount began shaking his head, a pleading look in his eyes. ‘It was only a game of cards.’

  ‘A wager is a wager,’ Ben said firmly. ‘Of course I could let it be known about town that you have reneged outright on a debt. I doubt it would take long for the rest of your creditors to become nervous and come calling.’

  ‘No,’ Lord Pottersdown said quickly. Ben wondered just how extensive the man’s borrowing was. The rumours had Lord Pottersdown barely surviving, but Ben thought the situation might be even more dire.

  ‘The house then,’ Ben said firmly.

  ‘Where will my family live? My wife, my daughters?’

  ‘I’m not a cruel man, Lord Pottersdown. They may remain living here until alternative accommodation is found.’

  ‘Alternative accommodation?’

  ‘I believe there are some cheaper rooms south of the river.’

  ‘South of the river?’ Lord Pottersdown spluttered, some of the colour returning to his face. ‘I’m a viscount, a man from a long and noble line. I can’t live south of the river.’

  ‘You’re a man so in debt you’re selling your own daughter off to a scoundrel who has a reputation for beating his wives,’ Ben said quietly. He stood. ‘I shall return in a week’s time with my solicitor. I suggest you have yours ready and waiting. Otherwise I shall ensure the rest of your debts are called in.’

  Before Lord Pottersdown could say another word Ben left the room. Of course he wouldn’t call again—instead he’d let the man stew thinking he’d just lost the family home. No matter what the old scoundrel had done to him he wouldn’t see Francesca and her sister homeless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘How could you?’ Francesca said as she caught up with him, grasping at his arm and pulling him to face her. She was livid, angry beyond anything she’d ever felt before, and all because of this man. Over the last few weeks Ben had got under her skin, burrowed deep and found a way into her heart. She cared for him, thought about him every moment of every day, and now she was confronted with the truth: he’d only ever been using her to get close to her father. To destroy him. To destroy their whole family.

  ‘Hush,’ Ben said, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her softly on the lips.

  Francesca pulled away, aware that they were in the middle of a well-populated street and also that she shouldn’t be kissing the enemy.

  ‘Don’t hush me. I trusted you. I...’ she lowered her voice ‘...I gave myself to you.’

  He smiled at her and she thought there was affection in his eyes, but knew that couldn’t be true. You didn’t destroy the life of someone you cared about.

  ‘Frannie...’ he said, but she pushed on.

  ‘Was that your plan all along? To get your revenge on my father?’ She felt the tears spill out on to her cheeks. ‘I know he wronged you, Ben, I wished it could be different every day of the last eighteen years, but I thought you cared at least a little about me.’

  ‘Stop this, Frannie,’ he said, still remarkably calm amid all the accusations she was throwing his way.

  ‘Was it all an act?’ she asked, horrified at the pleading tone in her voice. When he’d kissed her and touched her it had felt so real, so wonderful. It would hurt so much to know that for him it had been nothing more than a step on his plan to get close to her.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t an act.’

  She searched his fa
ce and thought he was telling the truth, but didn’t trust her judgement much.

  ‘But you planned this all along? Got close to me to get to my father? Always knew you would make us homeless?’

  ‘My beautiful girl,’ Ben said, cupping her face and shaking his head. ‘Is that what you really think?’

  She didn’t know what to think. Seeing him standing here so calmly, so innocently, it was hard to believe he’d just condemned her family to losing their home and admitting to the world they were actually paupers.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking her gently by the arm and leading her down the street. They were close to St James’s Park, the gates just a little further down the street, and Francesca could see Ben was leading her that way. Despite what had happened earlier that evening she realised she trusted him enough to go into the park with him, even though it wasn’t what young ladies did this late at night.

  Once inside the park he sat her on a bench, took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She hadn’t even noticed she was shivering after coming out without a coat.

  ‘I hate your father, Frannie. The man ruined my life, condemned me to an eight-year sentence of transportation and hard labour for a crime I didn’t commit and tore me from my family. I haven’t seen my father for eighteen years.’

  Still shaking with anger, she was surprised when Ben caught her chin and tilted her head so she looked up at him.

  ‘What your father did to me deserves punishment.’

  ‘I know.’ Deep down she knew Ben had every right to seek revenge on her father, but she’d been so convinced he cared for her, even just a little. So convinced that what they’d shared was real.

  ‘You didn’t have to pretend to like me to get close to my father,’ she said, feeling more morose than angry now. ‘He would have played cards with anyone.’