The Heir's Cinderella Bride
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Donna Alward
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CHAPTER ONE
THERE WAS NOTHING worse for Stephen Pemberton, Earl of Chatsworth, than feeling as if he’d just been handled.
Not like he really stood a chance when his sisters and mother ganged up on him. And it wasn’t as if his brother, William, or cousin, Christophe, had taken his side. They’d been conspicuously silent when Aurora had issued the edict that he was the one who must return to Chatsworth Manor to oversee the construction of the new garden, which was to be a memorial to his father, Cedric Pemberton, the late earl. Two weeks, his mother had said. Time to approve the plans and be there to oversee breaking ground and the initial installations. Oh, and there was the local gooseberry festival in the village. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a member of the family in attendance again?
No, it would not. Be lovely, that is. But he would go, because for years his father had gone and good-naturedly judged the contests for best preserves, pies and puddings made with the abundant fruit. And since Stephen was the current earl, he would carry on the tradition, paste on a smile, and then when the garden was well begun. Then he’d head back to Paris and his office at Aurora, Inc.’s headquarters where he was COO of the family empire of fashion, cosmetics, and jewelry.
The supervision of the memorial garden was nothing but a ruse. This was the family’s way of “suggesting” he take a vacation. At first, he’d balked. But then Aurora had looked at him over the top of her Chanel reading glasses, and he’d reconsidered. Not for her sake, but for his.
Peace was in short supply within his family. For the past few years, he had been managing one crisis after another. Now that everyone was romantically paired up, it seemed all eyes were on him as the sole single sibling. And frankly, it was a relief to leave Paris and the meddling members of his family behind for a bit. Not that he would let them know that. They might think they’d “handled” him, but Stephen didn’t do anything he didn’t want to. He fully intended to spend the next several days in solitude, attending to Chatsworth estate business and avoiding whatever new drama the rest of the family cooked up.
Which was why he was now exiting the car in front of the manor house while the driver retrieved his bags.
Stephen let out a deep breath, and a measure of calm filled his body.
Home. Resentful, reluctant...whatever his feelings, he couldn’t deny that out of all the family properties around the world, this was home to him. It always would be.
He shouldered one of the bags and the driver followed him up the cobbled walk to the massive oak door. Which remained firmly closed, instead of opening at his arrival.
He frowned. His appearance could hardly have gone unnoticed. With a sigh he lifted a hand, reaching for the knocker, then hesitated.
It was his own bloody house. Why did he have to knock?
Instead, he turned the heavy knob and opened it himself, stepping inside the foyer with his garment bag over his arm and tugging his suitcase along behind him as the driver departed.
He was greeted by heavy dark woodwork, polished floors, and unusual silence.
Where was everyone? And what exactly did the staff get up to when the family wasn’t in residence? The last thing he wanted was to have a “conversation” with Mrs. Flanagan, the housekeeper. Something niggled at the edge of his brain. Mrs. Flanagan...she was ill, wasn’t she? Maman had mentioned something about it when she’d given him the details about the festival and the landscape architect. Alarm skittered down his limbs. What if something had happened to Mrs. F? Was that why there was no sign of any staff? Lord, he hoped not. Mrs. F had been the housekeeper at Chatsworth Manor ever since he was a boy. His fondest memories were of her, and of her daughter—
“Stephen?”
Stephen turned toward the sound and his eyebrows immediately lifted in surprise. The woman before him was definitely not the russet-haired housekeeper he’d known since he’d been a child. But she was familiar. She’d barely changed at all. “Esme?”
“Good afternoon, my lord.”
She’d recovered somewhat, and he watched with fascination as she schooled her features into a polite mask and carefully modulated her voice. It annoyed him. There was only one other time she’d ever called him “my lord,” and it was branded on his brain as if it had just happened yesterday, instead of when he was thirteen. It had been their one and only fight, and it had been a big one.
He let go of the handle of his suitcase. “What are you doing here?” Her eyebrows lifted just the tiniest bit, and his cheeks heated as he realized he’d sounded less than polite. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m overseeing the household.”
Stephen stared at Esme. The last time he’d seen her, he’d been barely a teenager and she’d been all of twelve. Her mother, Mrs. Flanagan, had been the housekeeper here since he’d turned four. She’d had a three-year-old daughter who had become his best playmate. Esme, with her dancing green eyes and red hair and sense of adventure.
But more than twenty years had passed. He’d gone away to school. She’d gone on to...what? He was ashamed to admit he didn’t know. Regardless, she was far more subdued than that precocious child now, standing before him in black trousers and a black shirt, comfortable shoes on her feet. Even though years had passed, though, there was no mistaking her. Her coppery hair was pulled back in a utilitarian twist and her clothing was plain, but she was just as beautiful as he remembered, with soft, mossy green eyes and a dusting of freckles over her nose.
“Are you done staring, sir?”
He frowned. “First of all, don’t call me sir. Or my lord. Or Lord Pemberton.”
“Then what should I call you?” She stepped forward now, that implacable mask still in place. “You are Lord Pemberton. And I am a member of your staff.”
She wasn’t wrong, but the knowledge—and her uptight tone—grated. “I know it’s been a while, but we’ve made mud pies together. Surely we’re beyond that kind of formality.”
She sighed, but her voice warmed slightly. “That was a long time ago.”
His brows pulled together. “Where is everyone else? Why is there no one at the door, or...” He looked around. “It’s like you’re the only one here.”
She sighed again. “That’s because I am the only one here. With no family in residence, nearly all the staff is on holidays.”
“Except you, apparently.”
“And the gardener, and the grooms at the stables. But I’m the only one in the house for the next ten days.”
Which was damned inconvenient, since that was pretty much how long he would be here at Chatsworth. How could Maman have suggested a thing if she’d known? And she must have authorized it. The urge to rub his hand over his eyes was overwhelming. Hopefully it had just slipped Maman’s mind, and she wasn’t having her own crisis. Keeping his brothers and sisters in line was a full-time job, it seemed. Adding worry about Maman gave him a headache.
“Honestly, I feel the need to be more formal than I would normally be in order for the staff to take me seriously. I’m not my mother, you know?” She turned those lovely green eyes up to his and he was speechless for a moment.
The red-haired, impish girl had grown into an incredibly alluring woman.
“Speaking of, where is your mother? I wasn’t aware she’d left. Did she retire?” He hoped his slight recollection about her health was wrong.
Esme shook her head. “No, she’s been ill. Look, why don’t I get you some coffee, and I can give you the details in the library? Marjorie left a Victoria Sponge in the kitchen before she left yesterday.”
It was a favorite, and his stomach growled. “I didn’t have lunch, so a sandwich before sponge would be appreciated as well, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll see to it right away.”
“Thank you, Esme.”
She turned to walk away, and his mind raced back to how many times they’d gotten into mischief together as children, how she’d never cared a bit that he was in line for the title. An ache settled in his chest. It might as well be a century ago. He certainly didn’t resemble that fun-loving boy any longer.
“Esme?”
She turned around with a questioning expression, as if wondering if there was something else he needed. It was so odd, thinking of her waiting on him. That he was essentially her...boss.
“It’s awfully good to see you.”
She smiled then, and it lit up the room. “It’s good to see you, too, Stephen.”
Then she turned to the right and disappeared through a doorway, leading to the downstairs and the kitchens.
He turned left toward the library. Esme as the housekeeper. But how ill was Mrs. Flanagan, and why had Esme been the one to take over for her?
And why hadn’t anyone told him?
Esme put together a full tray for Stephen’s lunch, the weight of it heavy in her hands as she went back up the steps from the kitchens and to the library. She hadn’t known he was coming, and it left her feeling totally off balance. The family always let the staff know when someone was going to be in residence. Now here she was, the interim housekeeper, and all the staff on holidays precisely because no one from the family was supposed to be here.
She’d manage. There was no way she was going to call anyone back from a well-deserved break. Unless, of course, she was ordered to. She was staff, after all. Not like she could forget. Stephen was ensconced in the library while she was the one holding the tray.
The library was her favorite room in the house. Always had been, with its delightfully rich furniture in dark wood and brocade fabrics, a massive fireplace, and walls covered with books from antique and rare titles to recent bestsellers. There was even a smaller bookcase in a corner that housed children’s titles, along with pint-sized chairs for wee ones to curl up in. She’d spent a number of afternoons in that corner after school, either doing the meagre bit of homework she’d brought home or reading one of the titles that the earl had allowed her to borrow whenever she wanted.
Cedric Pemberton had been a good man. Certainly, he had been good to her mother and herself, providing the single mum with a reliable job and allowing Esme to tag along with his other children.
Now they were all grown up, and there was no disputing the evidence of that fact as she entered the library and saw Stephen sitting at the large desk—Cedric’s old desk. Heavens, he was handsome—all dark looks, chiseled jaw, and broad shoulders. He was in the news occasionally, so it wasn’t like his appearance was a shock, necessarily. But seeing him in person...hearing his voice...it set off a flood of happy memories. She doubted he knew how much his friendship had meant to her as a child, or how much she’d missed him when he’d turned thirteen and suddenly wasn’t around anymore. The Pembertons had done the proper thing and sent him off to school.
“Your lunch,” she said, approaching the desk, biting off the “sir” that threatened to escape her lips.
“Oh, thank you.” He looked up from his laptop and offered a small smile, which was so tight it actually seemed to pain him. He looked at the assortment, then up at her. “You should have brought a cup for yourself.”
“This isn’t the old days,” she chided gently. “I’m staff.”
“I meant so we could talk about what will be happening this week.”
That was her put in her place, then.
“Besides,” he added, “having a conversation with you hovering above me feels weird.”
Esme sighed. “I’m fine.” She pulled up a nearby chair, so she was closer to the desk. “I suppose this does provide an opportunity for us to talk about what your needs are for the next few weeks while you are home. Do you expect anyone from the rest of the family to be joining you?”
He added sugar to his coffee—no cream, she noted for future reference—and stirred it. “Doubtful. Charlotte is in Richmond while Jacob is working an assignment in Turkey. Bella and Burke are just back from their honeymoon, and Sophie is still apparently trying to catch up on sleep since the baby was born.” He shuddered. “Everyone is getting married and having babies. Next I expect Will and Gabi will be adding to the grandchild list.”
Stephen reached for his napkin and sandwich.
“I take it you’re not into marriage and babies.”
“Not exactly.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“That must be interesting, considering you’re the heir.”
His dark eyes hardened, almost imperceptibly, but Esme caught the coolness and wondered what was behind it.
“With my siblings procreating, it does take some of the pressure off.” He dabbed his lips with his napkin and sent her a look that she could only describe as cynical. “After being burned twice, I’m content with my life as it is.”
Ah, yes. The broken engagements. Once, three years ago, maybe four, if her memory served correctly, he’d been set to marry Bridget Enys but the engagement had been broken off only a few months before the wedding, though no one seemed to know why. The more recent event, and far more scandalous, was Gabriella Baresi leaving him at the altar...and then marrying his brother, William. It certainly looked like there were no hard feelings now, but her mum had told her that Stephen had been livid when Gabi had disappeared on the day of the wedding, and a bear to live with for months, storming around, barking orders. Looking at his imperious expression now, she didn’t find it a stretch to imagine. It might be best to leave that topic alone.
“So,” Stephen said, breaking into her thoughts, “what’s going on with your mum? Is she very ill?”
Esme nodded, worry churning in her stomach. Sometimes she nearly forgot as she went about her work, but the anxiety was always there, waiting for her when she took a moment to pause. “Ill enough. She has breast cancer. She had surgery and then radiation, but now she’s starting chemotherapy. She’s found her recovery from surgery more difficult than she expected, as she developed a post-op chest infection.” Esme swallowed around the lump that seemed to form in her throat every time she thought of her mother in hospital, hooked to IVs and drainage tubes, so pale and tired. “She was so worried about her job—”
“She shouldn’t be.” He frowned and tilted his head a little. “My mother must know all of this. Odd she didn’t tell me.” He put down his sandwich and met her gaze directly. “Please tell me we are giving Mrs. Flanagan paid sick leave.”
She smiled, relaxing a little. “Oh, yes. Lady Pemberton has been wonderful that way. She offered to pay Mum’s wages while she’s sick so she won’t have financial struggles.”
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod and took another bite of the sandwich. She softened just a little, too. In many ways, the man before her now was a cold stranger, but he’d immediately shifted into making sure her mother was cared for. It made her glad to see there was a good man beneath the cool exterior.
“What I meant before was...well, Mum was worried about who would look after the house.” She grinned before she could stop herself. “I think Chatsworth Manor is her other child.”
He smiled back. “And that’s where you came in.”
Heavens, when he smiled his whole face changed, morphing into something familiar that sent a pang through her chest. She nodded, pushing the feeling away. “I cleared it with my boss and took a leave of absence from my job at the inn. Goodness knows I’ve spent enough time here, working odd jobs, helping Mum out from time to time. With the family not in residence, it’s a small staff to oversee.” A smile flirted with her lips. “And now they’re on holiday for a week. Cushiest job I’ve ever had.”
It wasn’t a lie. She’d worked as a housemaid, as hotel housekeeping, as a waitress, a bartender, front desk...there wasn’t much in the service industry she hadn’t done. It wasn’t the tasks at Chatsworth Manor that she found difficult, not at all. It was feeling like she was “Mary’s daughter” rather than simple Esme Flanagan. Not everyone took her seriously.
“But your mum...she’s going to be okay?”
Esme smiled, though it felt wobbly. There was real concern in Stephen’s voice, which she appreciated. She liked to think her mum was more than just a housekeeper to him. Esme and Stephen had scampered into the kitchen often enough after school, looking for snacks. Her mum had always been around, and while it hadn’t been her place to discipline Stephen, exactly, the two of them had known without question that any bad behavior would result in Esme being in trouble with her mum and Stephen would have to pay the piper with Aurora.
“I hope she will be,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “There are no guarantees, of course. The survival rate for her type of cancer is good, though, over eighty percent. There was some lymph node involvement.”
Stephen reached for the plate of cake, then frowned. He took the unused knife on the tray and cut the generous slice down the middle. “Let’s share,” he said. “Marjorie’s sponge is perfection.”
She was tempted because he was right. No one did a Victoria Sponge like the cook. But it wouldn’t be right. She couldn’t sit in the library and share cake off a plate with the Earl of Chatsworth, no matter how long they’d known each other. Her mother would have a fit if she knew they were even chatting in such a casual way. As much as Mary Flanagan adored the Pemberton family, the line between staff and employer was one that she simply did not cross. It had been fine when they’d been kids, but Esme and Stephen were not children any longer. She watched his long fingers as he replaced the knife on the tray. No, indeed. They were not children.
“I should get back to work. While the rest of the family is out of residence, we’ve been turning out the bedrooms. I’ve been carrying on while the maids are off.”
“It’s just cake, Esme.”
“And you’re the earl, Stephen. We’re not eight years old any longer and climbing apple trees after school.”
His relaxed expression turned to one of annoyance, as if he wasn’t used to being contradicted or turned down for anything. “You were always better at climbing than I was,” he admitted.
She half laughed, half snorted, then straightened her face. “I was nimble. But you were always faster on your bicycle.”
“Longer legs,” he replied, cutting into the cake with the side of his fork.
Not that she’d ever breathe a word of it, but she found his height quite attractive. There was something about a tall man that was so alluring. At five-eight, she appreciated a man who would still be a little taller than her, even if she were in heels.
Which was altogether silly as she wore very practical black shoes at work, and they would not be seeing each other anywhere other than in the house. And the conversation had taken a turn into a trip down memory lane, which was even more inappropriate. She stood, knowing she needed to go. Get back to her job...the one he was paying her to do.
“Mmm. I have missed this.” He closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed the first bite of cake. He speared a piece on his fork and held it out. “Come on, Esme. One bite won’t kill you.”
One bite, from the fork that had just been in his mouth. Something delicious swirled in her stomach at the thought. He was acting as if it was nothing at all, but to her it felt intimate. She absolutely shouldn’t. But he gave the fork a small wiggle and she gave in, leaned forward, and closed her lips around the tines.
The soft sponge and sweet jam mingled in her mouth, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t eat cake anymore. Didn’t eat a lot of things, and for a lot of reasons. But the single bite was heaven, and she let herself enjoy it and the moment, as neither could happen again.
“See? Delicious. You should have brought two forks.”
She swallowed and forced a smile. “It is delicious. And now I really do need to get back to work. First of all, I need to ensure your room is ready for you, since you weren’t expected.”
His smile faded and was replaced by a look she interpreted as annoyed. Well, one of them had to be sensible. One bite of cake off his fork and her heart was hammering. He was the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome man, and he had a title. That would have been enough to make her a little awestruck. But having history with him? That just made things worse. And she would absolutely not be foolish during the next two weeks.
“Of course.” He took his cue from her and the officious-looking mask fell over his face again, almost as if the little moment of familiarity had never happened. “I will be working in here for the remainder of the afternoon. I’ll expect dinner at seven and tomorrow morning I’ll have breakfast at eight. The garden designer will be here at nine to go over the plans.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure to have everything on time. Will you be wanting a coffee service for the meeting?”
“That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”
“It’s my job,” she said simply. Only right now she was looking at being housekeeper, housemaid, and cook all in one.
It took all she had not to affect a little curtsy before leaving as she knew he’d hate it. Actually, knowing that tempted her a little more, but she showed restraint. “I’ll come back for your tray shortly. Enjoy your cake. And just ring if you need more coffee.”
She turned to leave the room and made herself drop her shoulders and try to relax. What was it about Stephen Pemberton that both put her on edge but also made her feel so at home?
As she pulled the door shut behind her with a solid click, she sighed. Her role here at the manor had always been a bit of a paradox. Daughter of staff, but friend of the eldest child. And right now, that made her feel as if she really didn’t belong anywhere.
