The Fairy Tale Bride
by
Kelly McClymer
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Dedication
This book is lovingly dedicated to Jim, Kristen, A.J. and Brendan, who put up with my distractibility, preoccupation, highs, lows and a few burned dinners while I created it. All thanks belong to the amazing group of women who helped me polish this manuscript to a shine: Yvonne, Kathy, Trudy, Lynn and Jackie. Last, thanks to Marsha Canham for the amazing proofread.
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PROLOGUE
London, 1832
His damned boots were too tight.
Simon Watterly tried, discreetly, to move his tightly-bound toes. Nothing. Tomorrow the boots would have to go back to the boot maker. One more delay he didn't want, didn't need. But a soldier required a well-fitted pair of boots, and as of today, despite the Duke of Kerstone's vehement objections, Simon was an officer in His Majesty's service, bound for India. Too bad there was no good war on presently. He could only hope to find one soon.
He glanced around the crowded ballroom, his teeth clenched with the effort it took to project a bored yet pleasant facade. He had been raised to know his duty to the family name, the family blood, and would not dishonor it by making a scene. He had promised the duke. And Simon Watterly had been bred to make certain he always kept his promises and did his duty. Wouldn't want to tarnish the hallowed blood of the former Dukes and Duchesses of Kerstone. The true blood he did not share.
What a farce. It was truly bitter solace to realize that tonight was the last time he need pretend to be what these people thought him...what he had thought himself, until last night, when he had overheard his mother's words to his dying father—no, to the Duke of Kerstone, no relation to himself—and his life had shattered in an instant.
If the dying man had not extracted a promise from him not to destroy the family reputation ... but that was irre1evant. The duke had been frail and pitiful as he begged, pale blue eyes flowing with tears, his fingers a faint yet bony pressure on Simon's wrist. Simon could not withhold his promise to the man he had called father — but he would find a way to get around it — if a blood-soaked battlefield didn't see to it for him, as it had for the older brother Simon had never known. His legitimate older brother, blown up by a cannon blast in France while Simon was still a babe-in-arms.
An overly friendly blow to his arm made him spit out the bitter truth, "Bastard." He turned to glare at the offender.
"Take it easy there, Cousin, I merely wanted your attention." Giles Grimthorpe discreetly cocked his head in the direction of the crush of dancing figures. "I wondered if you would care to engage in a small wager to add piquancy to this dull evening?"
"What kind of wager?"
"A matter of a successful seduction, Cousin."
Simon grimaced at his cousin's expectant grin. No doubt the cad waited for a lecture. But today he would be surprised. An hour before, Simon had adjusted his cravat in the curved looking-glass in the foyer of his parents' town house and promised himself that he would do everything in his power to destroy the image of fairness and propriety that had given those who knew him cause to call him Saint Simon. And a good start to accomplish this aim would be to wager with his cousin. For Grimthorpe was a worse gossip than any of the bored dowagers seated about the room.
He lifted his shoulders as if mildly intrigued with the idea. "My ring if you succeed."
Grimthorpe's eyes narrowed in shock; then he eyed the large ruby and silver ring on Simon's left little finger. "Good thing you're to be the next Duke of Kerstone — and wealthy, as well, if you are to suddenly take up gambling on that scale."
Nettled, Simon lifted his hand so that the ruby glinted in the lights. He knew how much it irritated Grimthorpe that his branch of the family had fallen in society as Simon's had risen. For a moment he considered confiding the truth, but dismissed the idea. His cousin wouldn't appreciate the irony, but he would indeed cause a scandal. "Perhaps I don't expect to lose it."
A confident sneer appeared on Grimthorpe's foxish face. "The girl is odd — and plain besides. I have been showering her with attention these past weeks and now that she is ripe, I intend for her to fall into my arms."
"Indeed? And who is the lucky young woman, or are you keeping that secret to yourself?" He truly did not care. Any female who let Grimthorpe within two feet of her deserved any trouble that she might receive.
"The young miss who cannot seem to stop spouting fairytales, of course. Miss Miranda Fenster."
For a moment, Simon thought he would not manage to master the rage and pain that twisted inside him. His cousin had no reason to know how his words struck at Simon's heart. In supreme irony, Grimthorpe had chosen to seduce the very woman Simon had planned to offer for – if he had not learned the truth of his birth. Rather than an engagement present, he had purchased a commission.
Seeing Grimthorpe waiting, Simon fought not to bring up his fists to erase the man's leer. If he were to be a devil, he must learn not to care. "I believe she has too much sense for that. But if not, no doubt her brother Valentine will protect her."
Grimthorpe merely smiled, a repellently salacious glint in his pale blue eyes. "Puppy's wet behind the ears. Why his own twin sister has more sense than he, and you know she has proven herself capable of finding a fairytale to illuminate every facet of Christendom."
"Valentine may be young, but as you say, she is his twin and there is a strong bond between them." Simon himself had noted the way the girl and her twin seemed to finish each other's sentences, read each other's thoughts, and mimic each other's gestures. He had found it disconcerting at first, and then somehow charming.
For a moment he allowed himself to wonder if she would have accepted his proposal because he was destined to be Duke of Kerstone or because she liked him. He did not doubt her acceptance. If anything about this sorry mess could be considered fortunate, it was that he had found out about his bastardy before he had become betrothed. She, of all people in this ballroom, deserved a happy ending.
Grimthorpe wagged his brows. "I'll not attempt anything she doesn't permit."
Simon found himself relaxing as he considered the Miranda Fenster he knew. Grimthorpe had chosen his victim poorly. "Then I suspect you will lose your wager." A sudden flash of doubt nearly caused him to shudder. Who was he to judge what a woman would or would not permit?
Last night came back to Simon so vividly that he could not breathe for a moment. His father weak, blue with the effort to breathe. His mother calm, beautiful, full of poisonous words.
Simon had entered his father's sickroom to give him the news that his only son would soon be settling down to beget an heir and was on the verge of offering for Miss Miranda Fenster, a woman of impoverished status but impeccable lineage and amusing imagination.
Instead, he had overheard his beloved mother speak the bitter words that made his life a lie. "I hope you are satisfied that my bastard son will soon be the Duke of Kerstone."
The words had held a sibilant hiss in the silence of his father's sickroom. Simon, reeling with shock, had stood in the doorway of the darkened room and vowed that he would never carry on a bastard line.
The remembered smell of his father's imminent death pressed upon him, and he pushed the memory of his mother's ashen face and his father's wheezed pleas aside.
"You would be surprised what a female will get up to, Saint Simon." Grimthorpe's jeering words cleared the last fog of memory from Simon's mind. "I expect a miss who believes in fairytales and happy endings will be good for more than a kiss with little protest."
Simon could not allow Grimthorpe's predatory remarks to pass unanswered, although he tempered his rage until his words so
unded almost amused, "She seems well able to speak her mind."
"Indeed." Grimthorpe winced with exaggerated motion. "I have a plan that shall keep her quiet." The music ceased and he moved toward the crowd.
Simon watched Grimthorpe's determined pace and fought his chivalrous impulses. Hadn't he just embarked upon his new career as an unrepentant soldier? He searched the crowd until he found her. Plain, his cousin had called her. He saw why, though he did not agree. She stood out like a peahen among the colorful peacocks. Her gown was modest and soberly-colored, her hair unadorned — not even a feather.
He knew from experience that her jewels were her lively eyes and quick smile. He watched, torn between the old and the new Simon, as she smiled politely at the man intent on seducing her. For a moment he thought she might refuse a dance, but then she lifted her hand to Grimthorpe.
He well remembered the first time he had seen her, walking through the ballroom without the coy shyness of a girl new to the marriage mart. When they had been introduced, she had looked directly at him and surprised him by asking if he had read Mary Wallstonecraft's A Vindication of the Rights of Women. She had seemed more amused than chagrined that he had not, offering him the opportunity to borrow her own copy.
He had, although he had not yet read it. And now he would not. He made a mental note to have Travers return the book to her on the morrow, even as he decided to protect her from Grimthorpe. She was much too fine to be tarnished by his libertine cousin. Some other man would see the potential for a fine wife in her. It was obvious to anyone who cared to take the time to look.
As he watched her smile into his cousin's eyes with painful innocence, he made his way toward them, remembering how he had been struck that first time much more by her attitude than her looks — though her chestnut hair gleamed with copper highlights in the light of the ballroom, and her eyes had the warmth of fine brandy.
What had caught his interest about her was the way she didn't melt away from him like the other young women. She had presence. He had been surprised to speechlessness the first time he had heard her offer an opinion. She spoke as if she thought her words were worth being heard. He had decided his duchess should behave so, although some of the things she said were foolish – women managing their own properties? Absurd. Almost as absurd as the realization that the next ruler of England was likely to be Princess Victoria.
As Grimthorpe led her into a waltz, Simon battled his rising anger. He could not break into the dance without causing embarrassment to them all. Watching her gracefully navigate the crowded ballroom with her partner, he was struck by the singular notion that she would not be one to shun him if he stood now and publicly announced his bastardy, renouncing all titles and lands to be given him at his father's – at the Duke's death.
The sense of loss was acute. But despite his vow to become the devil himself and obliterate his saintly image, he could not abandon her. Exasperated with himself, he determined to warn Valentine of the threat to his sister's reputation. Puppy or not, it was a brother's duty to protect his sister.
Unfortunately, the lad was nowhere about. And worse, when he scanned the dancers, he saw that his cousin and Miss Fenster were no longer among them.
As he entered a fortunately empty hallway, wondering if they had passed this way, he heard the shriek and the blow from behind one of the closed doors ahead. With a sigh, he hurried toward the sound, reaching the doorway just in time to prevent scandal from erupting around the woman he might have married.
Miranda Fenster flung herself through the doorway, her hair a-tumble, her mouth swollen from a crude kiss. The lace of her bodice trailed in the air. But her eyes burned with pride and anger – and sudden shame as she ran into Simon himself.
"My lord, please excuse me," she said distractedly as she attempted to push past him. But Simon stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. The shocking warmth of her flesh under his gloves almost made him remove his hand, but the sure knowledge of the scandal that would be caused were he to let her escape made him hold firm. He steered her back into the room and closed the door.
She raised her chin a notch. "I don't believe this is any of your business, sir."
He wasted no time on her feelings, though. Instead he caught his cousin's gaze. "I think we both see Miss Fenster is no willing miss. Matters would best be served if you left and spoke of this to no one. Do you argue?"
His dashed cousin merely cast him an unrepentant grin. "And if I do?"
"Then you will wed her."
Simon heard a gasp behind him, followed quickly by a sharp protest, but he ignored her. He could not very well reassure her that Grimthorpe would sooner wed a cabbage than a meagerly dowered young miss.
His cousin's eyes widened, but he quickly conceded. "As you see fit, Cousin." With a sour glance toward the ring he had lost, he bowed and left the room.
Turning to the shocked-silent Miss Fenster, Simon said curtly, "Wait here. I will fetch your mother." Within scant minutes Simon found Valentine and sent him to collect his mother from the ballroom with a minimum of fuss. Returning to Miranda, he saw that she had made herself as presentable as possible without the help of a lady's maid. She was much calmer than she should have been as she bowed her head to him and said, "Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your assistance, although I little doubt I could have handled the matter on my own."
"Indeed?" Her lack of gratitude stung him somewhat. "Have you any idea what disarray you are in, Miss Fenster? Have you any idea of the scandal your appearance would have created?"
She blushed and put up a hand to tuck back a stray curl. "I would have retired to the lady's dressing room, naturally."
"And no one there would have remarked upon your state, I suppose?"
There was a dawning horror in her dark eyes, but still a defiant set to her shoulders as she opened her mouth to reply. He was never to know her answer, however, because her mother arrived at that moment. With the bustle of a desperate woman, Miranda's mother threw her own lace shawl over her daughter's exposed bosom, clucking softly in dismay.
When her eyes found him, he could see the fear in them. She thought her daughter ruined. Without having consciously made a decision, he stepped in front of Miranda's scandalized mother, halting her flight from the room. The older woman looked up at him, her face nearly the same lavender as her gown. He heard Miranda's swift intake of breath as he said calmly, "I certainly hope that Miss Fenster's headache is gone on the morrow. May I see you to your carriage, ladies?"
He watched as realization dawned that he had no intention of noising the scandal about, and the frantic mother's face regained its normal color and expression. With dignity, she released her tight grasp on her daughter's cloaked shoulders and nodded. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."
"It is nothing." They drew no comment from the few people they met on their way, and Simon relinquished the ladies into Valentine's care once they reached the hastily called carriage.
Waiting for his own conveyance, he could not help giving one rueful laugh. He still had a long way to go to get this devil thing down.
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