Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(3)

“Miss Hadley.”

At her incomprehensible blink, he elaborated, “You are the daughter of Jack Hadley.” He nodded at her, clearly encouraging this bit of information to sink in.

“I’m his illegitimate daughter,” she clarified with emphasis. “And since he never saw fit to acknowledge me, I’ve never borne his name.”

For a moment, the gentleman looked prepared to argue, but instead he inclined his head in seeming acquiescence. “Mr. Hadley,” he announced in a conciliatory tone, “wishes me to fetch you home—”

“Home,” she bit out, glaring at her father’s errand man. “I don’t have a home with Jack Hadley. I never have.” He saw to that.

“Cleopatra,” Mama swiftly intervened. There was actual color in her cheeks now. “You must go. Your father is a very wealthy man. He can do wonderful things for you.” In a fervent whisper, she added, “He wants you.” As though that was everything. The only thing that mattered. To be wanted.

She stared, aghast, at her mother. “You wish me to go?”

“For a chance at a better life? Yes.” Her mother nodded, and Cleo realized yes, of course, her mother would wish her to leave. To seize the future she’d always wanted for herself. At least Cleo would have what she never could possess.

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “I can’t leave you.”

Her mother’s clammy hands gripped hers tightly. “You must.”

She shook her head. “I won’t go—”

“You haven’t a choice,” her stepfather intoned, and for the first time she noticed the small bag of coins clutched tightly in his hand. “It’s already been agreed.”

She pointed to the money. “What’s that?”

He waved at her father’s man as if that were explanation enough. And it was.

“You sold me?” she demanded.

Her mother gasped. “It’s not like that. He’s your father!”

“Stop saying that. I’ve never even met the man.”

Roger jostled the bag of coins. “Call it whatever you like, but this will keep us for nigh on a year.”

She stared, unable to form speech as his words sunk in. Her mother, her brothers and sisters . . . none would go without. None would suffer a hungry belly for a year.

Her gaze slid over the room, colliding with several pairs of eyes peering out from beneath blankets. Apparently their voices had woken them. Their pallets were only feet away, but usually they slept through all manner of noise: their mother giving birth, Roger crashing around in one of his drunken binges.

It seemed almost fate that Bess would choose that moment to wake and peer at Cleo with her soulful, too-old eyes. Her mop of brown curls fell into her eyes. She shook the hair back to better see Cleo. Cleo knew that it would be a bear to untangle in the morning. The lump in her throat thickened. She didn’t want to lose Bess to the churchyard. Or any of them.

“I’ll go,” she said numbly, staring at Bess as she spoke. Without blinking, she motioned to the sack of coins Roger clutched and added, “For twice that amount.”

If she was doing this, she would make it count.

Her mother gasped as if she had just asked for the moon, but Cleo didn’t care. If her father wanted her, he would have to pay. It was only a token of what he owed her mother for abandoning her all those years ago.

Their guest stared at her with a steady, unflinching gaze.

Cleo lifted her chin, feeling very much like a businessman negotiating the agreement of a lifetime. She held his stare, determined that he see not the slightest chink in her armor.

With a nod, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew another pouch. He’d come prepared. “Very well.”

Her stepfather made a hissing sound between his teeth and extended his grasping hand. “Gor, Cleo! Aren’t you the cunning minx?”

Her mother beamed, clapping her hands together with happiness. Cleo bent down and hugged her, surprised at the strength in which her mother hugged her back.

“Take care of yourself. Find happiness,” Mama whispered against her hair.

And Cleo heard what she wasn’t saying. Don’t make my mistakes.

She nodded tightly, confident that she’d never let a man drag her through the misery her mother endured.

“Go fetch your things,” Mama instructed.

She scanned the room, her gaze settling on the small faces peering at her from their pallets. She’d miss them, but she was doing this for them. For all of them.

Perhaps if she played her cards right, she could provide for them well into the future. She could land them into proper schools away from this village. Away from their father. Perhaps she could secure a future for them.

“I’m ready,” she announced, not imagining she would have a need for her only other dress. It already bore too many patches to count. There was nothing she needed to bring with her. Again, the forlorn faces of her siblings drew her eye. Not yet at least. “Let us go.”

With a final farewell to her mother, she turned and left the cottage, determined never to set foot inside again.





Chapter Two

Eleven months later . . .

Logan McKinney stormed down the corridor and burst through the drawing-room doors.

His sister blinked up at him from the letter she penned at the dainty rosewood desk. “Feel better?”