Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

‘For me, too.’

‘You don’t remember proposing? And here I thought you had a hard head.’

‘I remember proposing. Her father and I settled it four years ago but I thought common courtesy would require he speak with me before discussing it with gossip columnists. I didn’t appreciate Kate bringing it to my attention.’

Ravenscar winced.

‘I suppose she was peeved?’

‘I was too distracted by being “peeved” myself to notice and it rather ruined the mood, so I didn’t linger to chat...’

They entered the library and Stanton glanced up from the book he had been holding, but didn’t bother rising from the sagging armchair by the fire.

‘You’re late.’

‘May I have something to drink before you begin the catechism?’ Hunter asked politely.

‘Help yourself.’ Stanton waved towards a decanter on the sideboard. ‘What happened? You two having a hard time finding your timepieces amidst the tangle of sheets?’

‘Good God, Stanton, tell me you’ve read the papers these past two days,’ Ravenscar said with disgust.

‘Of course I read the papers. A great deal more closely than you do, Raven. What does that have to do with your mistresses?’

‘Other than the political pages,’ Ravenscar corrected, taking his glass and settling in his usual armchair, his long legs stretched out to the fire that shot his black hair with a jet sheen that made his name singularly apt.

‘In that case, no. Why, has something happened?’ Stanton’s blue eyes narrowed in concern.

‘Hopeless,’ Ravenscar murmured. ‘Shall I tell him, or shall you, Hunter?’

Hunter took his usual seat as well.

‘I wouldn’t deprive you of the pleasure for the world, Raven.’

‘Thank you. It appears we are to wish Hunter happy. He is betrothed.’

‘What? When? To whom?’

‘I think “Why?” might be more to the point,’ Ravenscar replied and Hunter sighed.

‘She’s Sir Henry Tilney’s daughter and heir to the Bascombe estate. Her father and I agreed on the engagement when I went to negotiate the water rights after old Bascombe died.’

‘Wait, I remember now. You bought Petra and Pluck from Tilney. Right after Tim’s funeral.’

Eventually this reflexive stiffening of his muscles at the mention of Tim would fade, Hunter told himself for the umpteenth time.

Stanton continued, his controlled voice far worse than Ravenscar’s jibes.

‘You’ve been engaged for four years and never once mentioned it.’

‘I didn’t mention it because the engagement was...conditional. The girl was just seventeen and Bascombe’s will stipulated she inherit only when she turned twenty-one. If she died before that, married or not, the property went to some cousin. Her father agreed that it would be unreasonable to expect me to commit to a public engagement until the inheritance was legally hers.’

‘And she accepted this cold-blooded arrangement? Well, you definitely have reached the mecca of complaisant and biddable brides, Hunter. I salute you.’

‘Not quite. I presumed her father would discuss it with her, but it appears she didn’t know about it until recently, and when she balked her father decided the best way to force her hand was to make it public.’

‘Just so I understand,’ Stanton said carefully. ‘You entered into this engagement without ever asking the girl to marry you?’

Hunter rubbed his forehead.

‘I couldn’t very well make any announcement at the time anyway because of Tim. So it made sense to wait until the main reason for marrying her became valid. She was only a child, for heaven’s sake, and the last thing she was ready to cope with at that point was someone else imposing their will on her. Her father and I agreed she would be better off remaining in the care of her schoolmistress as a boarder until she inherited. The corollary was that for the past four years we’ve enjoyed the best terms on the Tilney waterways in generations. I thought it was a damn good arrangement at the time.’

Stanton stood up himself and moved with uncharacteristic restlessness around the room.

‘Are you saying you asked her to marry you because you felt sorry for her?’

‘I told you, there were also the water rights. Put like that I know it sounds foolish...’

‘Foolish doesn’t begin to cover... Hunter, didn’t it occur to you that making such a decision just days after Tim’s death wasn’t very wise?’

‘You do have a talent for understatement, Stanton,’ Ravenscar mocked.

Hunter rose as well and went to stand by the fire, watching the flames dance cherry and gold in his brandy.

‘Very well,’ Stanton said carefully. ‘Now that her enterprising father has forced your hand, what do you intend to do?’

‘Since I am honour-bound to stand by my offer, my intentions are irrelevant. She, on the other hand, intends to jilt me.’

Ravenscar grinned.

‘This keeps getting better.’

‘I still don’t see anything wrong in principle with marrying in order to ally my land with Bascombe,’ Hunter replied defensively. ‘It’s been done since time immemorial. Now you can take ten minutes to rake me down and then I suggest we get down to the business of finding a property for Hope House in the west country.’

‘More important than my friend making a monumental mistake?’ Both Hunter and Ravenscar straightened at the uncharacteristic bite in Stanton’s voice. He rarely used his last-chance-to-negotiate-surrender voice with them. ‘The only sensible thing about this whole fiasco so far appears to be Miss Tilney’s reaction! I make every allowance for your original decision having been made in rather trying circumstances, but do you really mean to tell me that for four years it didn’t occur to you once to seek out this girl and find out whether your decision was a wise one? I don’t give a damn about what people have done over time immemorial! I know you’ve lived your whole life thinking you can rescue people and depend on no one, but you are not as clever as you want to believe and this, let me tell you, is sheer, abject stupidity. Ravenscar I could understand cold-bloodedly deciding to marry an heiress, but you don’t even need the funds; the Hunter estate is one of the wealthiest in Hampshire...’

‘Yes, but we depend on Bascombe for the water...’ Hunter raised his hands placatingly, trying to stem Stanton’s rising outrage. It was clearly a mistake. Stanton, renowned for the lightest of diplomatic touches on the most sensitive affairs of state, rarely allowed himself to descend into blasphemy but he did so now, with all the thoroughness he applied to his diplomatic concerns. When he was done the silence was of the calibre often experienced in the studies of the better tutors. The moral point having been made, behaviours examined and condemned, silence remained to let remorse and counsel rise to the surface and prevail. Hunter had had to share quite a few of those moments at Eton with both Stanton and Ravenscar by his side. Predictably Ravenscar broke first.

‘What is she like? Ugly as nails? Heiresses usually are. When can we meet her?’

Hunter hesitated. Before this evening he would have known what to answer. After seeing her again he wasn’t so sure. She was certainly no beauty like Kate, but she was...different. Unpredictable. Intriguing. He decided to keep it simple until he knew what he himself thought. Not that it would make any difference. If he could convince her to hold her course and withstand her father’s ire, she would be someone else’s problem.

‘Not that it matters since I am about to be jilted, but she is neither ugly nor a beauty. More...unusual. I’ve never seen a woman with a better seat on a horse. On the other hand, she had a brutal harpy of an aunt living with them who reduced her to the state of a quivering blancmange, which when you’re as tall as a Viking looks just a bit bizarre. Then halfway through one of the most tedious dinners I have yet had to plough my way through she suddenly transformed into an avenging fury, told the aunt to go to the devil with biblical panache and the next day she ran back to her school without a word to anyone but the cook and groom. Then tonight she appeared on my doorstep unchaperoned and determined to consign me to the devil. I’m glad you find this so amusing,’ he concluded a bit sourly as his friends sat with various degrees of grins on their faces.

‘You would too, man, if it wasn’t happening to you,’ Ravenscar replied. ‘And I think you could call it a very auspicious beginning. Since marriage is a fate worse than death, it sounds as though you are getting a very fair preview of your future if you can’t convince her to sheer off.’

‘Thank you, Ravenscar. I can always count on you for perspective. I admit she wasn’t quite what I had bargained for when I was resigning myself to the benefits of a modest, country-bred wife who would be happy to live at the Hall tending to children and horses and leaving me to my concerns in London.’

‘Ah, the sentimental musings of today’s youth...’

‘You can be as caustic as you like, Raven. You’re one of the least sentimental people I have ever met.’

‘I have my moments. Luckily none of them involved an offer of matrimony.’

‘So what are you planning to do?’ Stanton interceded practically. ‘You need to find the girl’s father first thing.’

‘He’s likely at the Wilton breeders’ fair and the girl is raring to go there, which is lucky because the sooner I hand her over to her parent, the less likely we are to turn this fiasco into an outright scandal. If she is serious about jilting me, I will need to manage this carefully.’

‘Do you really want to nip this affair in the bud?’

Hunter shrugged. It was probably the wisest course of action. He had worn out his chivalric fantasies trying, and failing, to save Tim and his mother. Even before Tim’s death he, Ravenscar and Stanton had acquired a reputation for wild living and for accepting any and all sporting dares. After a particularly difficult midnight race down to Brighton, society had delighted in dubbing them the Wild Hunt Club. Since Tim’s death he had more than earned his membership rights in that club. He often spent his nights wearing himself down to the point where sleep captured him like the prey of the mythical wild hunts he and his friends were styled after. Whatever still remained of his chivalric impulses he channelled into his work at Hope House and he didn’t need anyone outside his friends, his work and the uncommitted physical companionship of women like Kate. The thought of being saddled with a frightened, easily bullied near-schoolgirl was so distasteful he wondered why he hadn’t just gone down on his knees and thanked his lucky stars the moment she had sent him to the devil. He had certainly been dreading the moment Tilney would come demanding his due.

It was just that he had been surprised. He had done a very effective job of putting her out of mind since that day at Tilney and coming face-to-face with her had disoriented him. She certainly didn’t act like a frightened girl, despite a few moments when he had seen alarm in her silvery eyes. As for near-schoolgirl...those lips and that body were anything but schoolgirlish.

He sighed. None of this mattered. The key was to grasp this reprieve with both hands. He would take her to her father and see if he could extract himself from this fiasco without too much damage.

‘Well, whatever you decide, I have faith in your ability to talk her into your way of thinking,’ Ravenscar said. ‘I’ve yet to see anyone get by you when you bend your mind to it.’

‘Tim did.’

The words were out before Hunter could stop them. They would have been completely out of place, except that these two men had also risked their lives to rescue Tim from France during the war and they knew what caring for Tim until his death had done to Hunter. Ravenscar’s cynical smile disappeared.

‘Tim was lost the moment that French devil of an inquisitor got his brutal hands on him. We might have managed to salvage his body, or what was left of it, but five months in that prison was five months too long. It was damn bad luck the French were convinced he knew something of value simply because he was on Wellington’s staff. They should have realised a boy of nineteen was unlikely to be privy to staff secrets.’

Hunter’s stomach clenched as his younger brother’s tortured, scarred hands appeared before him as they did in his nightmares, and his face—staring, shaking, wet with tears, begging for the release from mental and bodily pain that the opiates gave him and which Hunter had been forced to ration as Tim’s dependency grew.

‘That bastard would have continued torturing him anyway. But it was my fault allowing him to join up in the first place.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ Stanton said curtly. ‘You took better care of Tim than your parents ever did since the day he was born and he wouldn’t have lasted a day after we rescued him if you hadn’t nursed him. If there is anyone in this world who should feel no guilt over Tim, it’s you. I’m damned if I know why you do.’

Hunter’s shoulders tensed as the memories flooded back. For two years he had tried everything he could to help his brother heal, but nothing but laudanum had succeeded in dimming the daily agony of his pain and his attacks of terror. Hunter would never be certain if that final dose was intentional, but he was as certain as he could bear to be. He remembered Tim’s words that night before climbing the stairs to his childhood room for the last time.

‘You’ve always been so good to me, Gabe. If there is any way to stop anyone else from going through this, you’ll do it, won’t you? You promise?’

He would have promised Tim anything at that point, if only he had made an effort to... It was pointless. After the initial shock of finding Tim dead the next morning he had spent a year full of guilt and self-contempt that he had failed his younger brother, or worse, that he had somehow willed Tim to finish it because his agony was too much to bear, and yet worse—because he could only look ahead to years of servitude to a broken boy. Eventually he had dragged himself out of that pit with the help of Ravenscar and Stanton and their work at Hope House. But his grief and guilt and sense of failure clung. He had enough distance now to know that his pact with Tilney had been formed from the ashes of his failure with Tim. Bascombe, water rights and a young woman who was clearly in need of salvation and therefore likely to be grateful for what she could receive had been presented to him on a silver platter and he had taken them, platter and all, more fool he.

‘Are you still having nightmares?’ Stanton asked, dragging Hunter’s thoughts back with unwelcome sharpness. He could feel the sweat break out on the back of his neck and he rubbed at it, but nothing could erase the sick feeling of helplessness. He knew Stanton meant well, but he wished he hadn’t asked.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Since this piece of gossip showed up?’

‘Yes.’

Both nights. The dreams were one reason he never stayed the night with his mistresses and another reason, if he needed any, why the thought of marriage was so distasteful. It was one thing keeping this secret from the women he chose to visit on his terms. He couldn’t imagine the strain of keeping his fatal flaw a secret from a woman living in his own home. The realisation that he would have to go through with this marriage was probably bringing the worst of it to the surface. It was bad enough having his friends know about them, but he could trust Stanton and Ravenscar with his weaknesses. The thought of that girl...of anyone seeing him while he was in the throes of those moments that left him soaked in sweat... It was unthinkable.

‘All the more reason to extract myself from this mess. I don’t think my bride would appreciate finding out about my less-than-peaceful nights. She’d probably run for the hills.’

‘If you found someone you cared about, you wouldn’t have to hide this from them,’ Stanton replied.

‘That will never happen.’

‘What? Loving someone or sharing your weakness?’

‘Either. What the devil are you talking about anyway? Love is just another name for dependency or lust and I’ve had enough of the former in my life and I’m quite content with what I have of the latter. I have no intention of aping my mother or brother by letting myself depend on anyone as they did on me. It didn’t do them any good, did it? Or me either.’

‘It doesn’t have to be such an unequal equation. I liked Tim and your mother, too, but they drained you dry, man. I don’t call that love.’

‘You go too far, Stanton!’ Hunter said and Stanton raised his hands in surrender.

‘Fine. I’ve no right to preach anyway. Aside from my parents I’ve never seen evidence of the fabled beast myself.’

‘You’re too cold-blooded to fancy yourself in love, anyway, Stanton,’ Ravenscar stated, swirling his brandy as he watched them. ‘And I’m too hot-blooded. So let’s put that topic to rest and leave Hunter’s Viking bride for the morrow and focus on our business. You’ll be pleased to hear I have found a reasonable location for a new house near Bristol. It belongs to a relation of mine who has seen the light and wants to go succour the poor in warmer climes than Gloucestershire. The only problem is that it is distressingly close to Old Dame Jezebel’s lair.’

Hunter gratefully accepted the reprieve.

‘Your grandmother? Good Lord, she would never countenance a charitable institution within a hundred miles of her domain. She’ll never include you in her will if you do this.’

‘Since I am already permanently excluded from that honour, her outrage will be well worth it.’ Ravenscar winked.

Chapter Four

‘You are early, Lord Hunter,’ Bassett said as he took Hunter’s hat and cane.

‘Is that an observation or a hint, Bassett?’

‘An observation, my lord. Miss Seraphina is having her cocoa in bed, and Miss Amelia is not yet awake, having read late as usual. Miss Tilney, however, is awake and Sue has gone to tell her breakfast is served. Is there anything I can bring you?’

‘Just coffee, thank you, Bassett.’

‘Right away. Oh, the newspapers are on the table, my lord.’ He nodded at the pile on the breakfast table.

Hunter glanced up in suspicion at something in Bassett’s tone, but the butler was already on his way out, so he turned to the dreaded society pages in the rag Aunt Sephy adored. He found his name quite readily and sighed again as he read through the latest creation of the columnists who were clearly having a great deal of fun at his expense.

‘Bad news?’ a voice said next to him and he whirled around. Nell was standing just beside him, frowning at the paper. She had entered so quietly he had not even realised she was there. He held back on a childish urge to tuck the paper behind his back. Very casually he turned the page.

‘Good morning, Miss Tilney.’

‘Good morning, Lord Hunter. May I see that?’

Hell.

‘It’s just the usual nonsense. I ignore it. So should you.’

Nell didn’t look up from the paper, even though it now merely showed an advertisement for a cream to counter the ravages of the outdoors.

‘Lady F. That’s Lady Katherine Felton, isn’t it?’

Double hell. How would she know that?

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers. Not that this is a newspaper, just a glorified gossip column. Aunt Seraphina lives on a diet of gossip and cocoa.’

The silvery eyes rose and he felt an uncharacteristic heat prickle in his cheeks, throwing him back to the experience of standing before Nurse and a broken window, desperately trying to hide a cricket bat behind his back. He drew himself up. This was ridiculous.

‘Shall we...?’

‘You needn’t be embarrassed you have a mistress. Mrs Sturges assures me most dandies in London have mistresses.’

‘I’m not a dandy!’

‘Aren’t you? Oh, right, she said you were a Corinthian, not a dandy. Though there doesn’t appear to be a great difference between them and I suppose they have mistresses, too.’

‘There is quite a gulf between a dandy and a Corinthian,’ he replied, annoyed at her dismissive tones and momentarily distracted from the fact that the last thing he should be discussing with his betrothed was mistresses.

‘I suppose so, but they both are rather profligate and slavishly obsessed with things that matter to no one but themselves. There isn’t anything in that column I didn’t already know. Mrs Sturges told me all about you and your exploits.’

‘My exploits!’

‘That’s what Mrs Sturges called them. She is very Gothic and talks in capital letters. I rather thought she had exaggerated, but the columnist obviously shares her opinion. She told me all about midnight races and something called the Wild Hunt Club, if I remember correctly. Strange—you don’t seem like a dissolute rake. You certainly didn’t take advantage of me yesterday, though I suppose that is not quite a criterion since I can’t imagine anyone, even if he was a rake, making advances to every woman he comes across, especially if she isn’t in the least pretty. It would be quite wearying, wouldn’t it? Particularly if he already has a mistress and Mrs Sturges said that Lady Felton is an accredited beauty. In fact, by that logic rakes would be less likely to make advances to all and sundry, wouldn’t they?’

Hunter struggled to find a reasonable response to this barrage, or even to manage his own response to her. Out of all the improper and thoroughly damning statements she had let loose with such insouciance, the one that caught his attention was her condemnation of her own looks. It was said with such matter-of-factness and with just a touch of wistfulness that he almost protested. But the need to contradict her statement was submerged by the same confusion he had experienced when facing her last night. In the light of day the difference between this woman and the girl he had thought he was engaged to was even more pronounced. The sun-kissed face looking at him in uncritical interest, though not beautiful, was remarkable in its way. Her wide grey eyes were slightly slanted and framed by the most amazing eyelashes he had ever seen, long and silky and definite and, like her brows, several shades darker than her hair. Her mouth, too, was remarkable—generous and lush and there was a faint white scar just below its right corner. Without thinking, he reached out and touched his finger to the line.

‘I don’t remember this when I saw you in Leicestershire. What happened?’

Her lips closed tightly and she stepped away from him and he could have kicked himself not only for his insensitivity but for his irrational reaction to that imperfection, a surge of concern and protectiveness that only arose with regard to the very few people he considered under his care. But if his intention had been to deflect her from her inquisition, it worked.

‘I was thrown from a horse. It was my fault. But Juniper—the horse—is fine. I know it’s ugly.’

‘What? No, it’s just—’ He broke off. There was nothing he could say to explain, to her or to himself, why he had reacted that way. Why he had wanted to touch it and the line of her lip as it curved in. He looked down at the newspaper, trying to find his footing. Then he turned back to her resolutely.

‘Why don’t we sit down, have something to eat and then talk this over sensibly?’

Her eyes glinted at him.

‘There is a pattern forming here. You appear to think I will be more amenable once fed.’

‘I certainly will be. I’m useless without my morning coffee.’

Her smile widened, but she nodded and went to the sideboard. He kept the conversation light as they ate, telling her about Petra’s and Pluck’s successes at the racing meets, a topic which she clearly was happy to explore until she had finished her last finger of toast.

‘I’m so happy they are content with you. I still miss Pluck, but I knew Father would never let me keep her, so I’m glad she is with Petra. Well, now that we’ve eaten I admit to being impatient to hear what you are planning.’

‘What makes you think I am planning anything?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m quite certain you are. You have a look.’