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“In my anger and my great disappointment, I made a grave error. I moved her to a lesser Arlington property, but I did not tell her the rest of my plan. Instead, I told her that she was ruined. That I would transfer her to a remote location under lock and key and she would rusticate there in shame for the rest of her life. I meant to frighten her, for it was indeed a shameful thing that she had done. I wanted her to reflect long and hard on her conduct, and to be properly grateful for her second chance when she received it.

“But I frightened her too well. She ran away instead, with the child’s father. We were able to trace their path to Southampton. And then they disappeared into the ether. My panic was complete. I swore the governess and the doctor into secrecy, and then I set out to craft the greatest lie of my life.

“We forged her death. In his grief, my husband’s hair turned gray overnight. But I dared not tell him the truth, for fear of his disappointment in me. We held a funeral for her. Our lives went on, sadder and emptier. And I wondered every day what had happened to her, and what I could have done differently.

“And then, one fine summer day, almost seven years after she ran away, a young man came to call at Lyndhurst Hall. My husband was out on the estate. I received him alone. Awkwardly, almost stammeringly, the young man said that his cook had told him that she was the daughter of the ninth Duke of Arlington, and could that possibly be true?

“My panic returned in full force. My only thought at that moment was that my husband must not discover my deception. I showed the young man the grave that contained the body of a stranger that our physician had obtained from somewhere—I never asked where. I showed him a photograph of some other niece of mine. I offered to take him to see the same physician whom I’d sworn into secrecy. By the time my husband returned for luncheon, the young man had been thoroughly convinced that his cook was a liar. He told my husband that he had come to admire our gardens. We partook luncheon together and he left.

“The next day I went to London and hired someone to find out whether the young man’s cook was indeed our lost niece. It was such a relief to know that she was alive and well, as was her baby. But the information my detective brought back also thrust me into a new dilemma.

“I learned that Mr. Bertram Somerset and my niece had been engaged in a liaison more than two years in duration, a liaison that ended abruptly after his visit—which led me to deduce that she had divulged her parentage in order to entice him to marry her, and that my denials had placed her in a most unflattering light and led to a rupture between them.

“I was desperate to bring her back into the family. But should we acknowledge that she was alive, she was still ruined beyond even what the power and prestige of the Arlingtons could repair. For that I needed a suitably situated man who could be prevailed upon to marry her. And yet that idea went against everything I held sacred about marriage: an institution not to be entered into except gladly, reverently, by two people longing to share all they have and all they are for all their days.

“Mr. Bertram Somerset would not marry her without the benefit of an alliance with the Arlingtons. Had she not been ruined, I would have resolutely forbidden such a match. But ruined she was, and he was the best candidate at hand. I agonized for weeks on end. At last I decided that I would swallow my principles, visit Fairleigh Park, and arrange for their marriage—the day after my annual ball.

“And then something unexpected happened on the day of the ball. She made a trip to London. My man, obeying my instruction to keep a close eye on her, followed her. I need not tell you what happened on that trip, Mr. Somerset.”

Verity grew red hot. All these years, her aunt had known about her one night with Stuart—and would have thought of it every time she saw him.

“Why did you never tell me anything?” he said. “I was desperate to find her.”

“With the difficult decision I’d made, I was severely disappointed in her. How could she yet again be so rash and reckless with her person? And with an absolute stranger, no less. For what? To avenge herself upon her former lover? I could think of nothing more stupid that she could have done.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly.

“No, now I imagine not. But back then my opinion on the matter was harsh and unforgiving. I decided that she was quite unworthy of the ancient and illustrious name of Drake and that I would have no more to do with her in this life.

“But I could never bring myself to completely withdraw my detective from Fairleigh Park, and so I still received news of her and her child. Gradually I became impressed with tales of her extraordinary culinary skills and with her very promising child.”

The dowager duchess sighed. “Three years ago, when my husband was on his deathbed, I confessed what I’d done. He was overjoyed—if he hadn’t been so ill he would have gone to see her right then. I promised him that I would take care of her and the child for as long as a breath remained in me—and that Tin would take up that responsibility after my death.

“Which brings me back to the present. It is not true that I’ve never told you, Mr. Somerset. I did give you a hint when you came back to London after your brother’s funeral. You still had no idea who she was, and I did my best so that you would seek a face-to-face meeting with her.

“But as always with Vera, I seem to misstep no matter what I do. From Fairleigh Park I received news that the two of you had been seen together at last. And immediately the next day you canceled your engagement to Miss Bessler. I was suddenly in grave doubt of the wisdom of what I’d done. For as I have related to you, there is much at stake, and I wanted to be certain that should you embark on this dangerous path, it is at least not for the sake of lust alone.”

Verity was standing on her chair again. She saw her aunt raise a handkerchief to her still-red eyes. “But never did I imagine that you would be steadfast and determined enough to marry her. Now at long last, she can be restored to us, and we can be a family again.”

The Dowager Duchess of Arlington rose. Stuart rose too. She embraced him tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Somerset. Thank you.”

The dowager duchess pulled away and raised the handkerchief to her eyes yet again. “Now, Mr. Somerset, I am going to leave this room for a quarter of an hour. You will use it for your formal proposal of marriage. After this time you will not be allowed alone with my niece again until you are married. And, Vera, do not dawdle. We have much to do and little time. The family must meet. We must get you a proper wardrobe. You have yet to be presented at court. And there is the wedding to be held before the opening of Parliament. There is not a minute to lose.”

Stuart stood stupefied in the middle of the room.

And that was when Verity came out of nowhere and nearly mowed him down. She covered his face with kisses.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” said his beloved, between kisses. “I cannot believe what you just did for me. I cannot believe you would give up everything so we could be together. And you gave my family back to me. Now I can be there when Tin gets married. Now I can finally meet my cousins’ children.”

“I cannot believe you are who you are,” he said, still flabbergasted. “I know she’s admitted it and everything adds up. But I cannot believe it. I cannot believe I was right and your family really does go back to the Battle of Hastings.”

“Wrong.” She was laughing and crying at once. “And I’m shocked that you don’t know better—we are older than that; we were already earls under Edward the Confessor.”

Then she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him behind a screen at the corner of the room farthest from the entrances.

He took her face between his hands. “My God, how did you survive all these years?”

“Later, later, I’ll tell you later.” She wrapped her arms about him. “Now, shush and kiss me again.”

“But I haven’t proposed yet,” he protested.

“Oh, forget the proposal. Hurry. Did you not hear what she said? Ridiculous old woman—chaperones at our age. And knowing her, she won’t hold the wedding until the day before Parliament opens, just so the whole world can attend.”

She reached for his trousers. He slapped a hand over hers, shocked.

“Here?!”

“You’ve a better idea?”

He stared at her a moment. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. God, those will be some long nights ahead.”

He pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard. And it was a swift, furious joining that sent her over the edge directly, and him only a few seconds later.

They spent the remainder of the quarter hour trying to make themselves presentable again.

“You are giggling.” She poked him in the arm. “I’ve never seen you giggle.”

“I can’t help it.” He dissolved into another fit. “I shagged the Lady Vera Drake in broad daylight in the middle of the Dowager Duchess of Arlington’s drawing room. My reputation will never survive it.”

“Your reputation was headed for ruin the moment you met me,” she reminded him.

He brushed a finger on her cheek. “No, that was my heart.”

She cupped his face. “And what a mighty heart it is.” There were tears in her eyes again. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but you are an extraordinary man.”

“I but know what is important to me. And I should have known it much sooner.” He linked their hands together. “Will you marry me, Verity, and make me the happiest man alive?”

“Yes. It will be my honor and my privilege and my heart’s desire,” she said.

He kissed her on each cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips. Then he looked into her eyes and smiled. “At long last, Cinderella.”

Epilogue

In retrospect, people said it was a Cinderella story.

The wedding of Stuart Ralston Somerset and the Lady Vera Drake, daughter of the ninth Duke of Arlington, was certainly a fairy tale wedding. The radiant bride wore a gorgeous confection of satin and tulle the exact blue of her eyes. The bridegroom, for overcoming her dragon of an aunt in the name of True Love, had been elevated by popular imagination into a latter-day Prince Charming.

The happy couple chuckled over it on their wedding night—after they first spent half of it making delicious love, of course, as they’d hardly had a chance to see each other in the whirlwind weeks before. They were on a decidedly un-fairy-tale-like bed at a decidedly nondescript inn on Balham Hill, in Clapham, because of the groom’s troubled conscience over a little lie he’d told more than a decade ago to the innkeepers: that he was the husband of the lovely lady staying with them, and that he’d done her wrong and must see her immediately, before it was too late, before she boarded the steamer that was leaving for Australia first thing in the morning.

“Are fairy tale princes allowed to grow bald and rotund?” asked the bridegroom. “Bertie was going bald. I could very well too, in a few years.”

“What about me? The public would be aghast to see Cinderella with a sagging bosom and a wrinkly face,” said the bride, “which, I warn you, might not be that far off.”

“This happily-ever-after concept is somewhat problematic,” mused the bridegroom. “Will we have to be deliriously happy every day? Are we allowed to have lackluster days, or, God forbid, days when we look daggers at each other?”

Verity laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Yes, we are, we are. And this is not an end, but a beginning—the first day of the rest of our lives together.”