Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella Read online

  The Society lady

  And the return of her first love...

  Part of Scandalous Australian Bachelors. When widow Lady Francesca attends a masquerade ball, she’s shocked to meet Ben Crawford again. She’d loved him once, before her awful marriage, before he’d been transported to Australia as a convict. Ben is now a wealthy landowner, and his contempt of her burns almost as strong as their attraction. She knows he believes she betrayed him—so she must put the past right, before it’s too late...

  Scandalous Australian Bachelors

  They made their fortunes abroad...now they’re back to win a bride!

  Three friends—Sam, Ben and George—bonded under the burning sun of the new world in Australia, but as these three bronzed bachelors return to the ton in England, scandal will follow!

  Will they find love among society’s eligible ladies?

  Find out what happens in Sam’s story

  Courting the Forbidden Debutante

  Ben’s story

  Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

  And look out for George’s story coming soon!

  Author Note

  When I first started writing Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella I had a very definite idea of the sort of man Ben Crawford would be. Wrenched from his family at a very young age, convicted for a crime he did not commit and sent to a country on the other side of the world, Ben would have to be a survivor to make it through all of that and come out fighting on the other side.

  One of the things I found most interesting when researching for this book was the human element of crime and punishment in the late Regency period. Transportation was the sentence given for a wide-ranging number of offenses, and the effect was devastating to those sent to a penal colony. What surprised me most was the relatively minor crimes that could bring about being transported to Australia as a convict worker. Stealing livestock or food could be enough!

  The ages of the convicts transported was also fascinating, with many young people among those sent on the ships to Australia to serve out their sentence. There are even records of children as young as nine being sentenced to transportation.

  Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella is set in Regency London, but I hope Ben brings the flavor of Australia to the prim and proper ballrooms and dinner parties. His journey, and his character, is inspired by all those who were wrenched from their families at a young age and sent to a strange new world.

  Laura Martin

  Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

  Laura Martin writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, UK, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.

  Books by Laura Martin

  Harlequin Historical

  The Pirate Hunter

  Secrets Behind Locked Doors

  Under a Desert Moon

  A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante

  An Unlikely Debutante

  An Earl to Save Her Reputation

  The Viscount’s Runaway Wife

  Scandalous Australian Bachelors

  Courting the Forbidden Debutante

  Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

  The Governess Tales

  Governess to the Sheikh

  The Eastway Cousins

  An Earl in Want of a Wife

  Heiress on the Run

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  For Sophie.

  Your friendship is one of the greatest gifts.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Marriage Rescue by Joanna Johnson

  Chapter One

  Surveying the ballroom, Ben found himself unable to believe he was actually there. Dressed in the finest evening wear, cravat tight around his neck and jacket tailored to precision across his broad shoulders, the son of a land steward was attending one of the most exclusive balls in London.

  ‘I’m not sure these masks conceal our identities,’ George Fitzgerald said from his position beside him.

  Ben shrugged. ‘I’m not sure they’re meant to.’

  They were standing at the perimeter of the Scotsworths’ ballroom for what Ben had been informed was an annual masquerade ball. The women were dressed in flamboyant outfits and their masks were nearly all elaborately decorated. Many of the men had gone for a more subtle and less time-consuming approach of wearing their normal evening jackets and adding simple black or single-coloured masks that covered their eyes. Ben’s was black, but did have a rather annoying feather protruding from one edge that every so often would flop in his face and tickle his forehead.

  ‘Why are we here?’ Fitzgerald asked shrewdly.

  Since arriving in London three weeks ago they’d attended a number of balls and soirées, even once braving the unknown world of the opera, but tonight was the first night Ben had actually insisted they accept an invitation.

  ‘To enjoy the magic of a masquerade ball,’ Ben said with a straight face.

  Fitzgerald laughed, clapped his friend on the shoulders and shook his head. ‘Keep your secrets for now, Crawford—one day I’ll find out what you’ve been up to these last few weeks.’

  Ben grinned, but it was almost entirely forced. He hoped no one would find out quite how pathetic he’d been in the weeks since their arrival in London. When Sam Robertson, the third member of their little group, had suggested the trip back to their homeland from Australia, Ben had quickly agreed. He had told his friends that he wanted to see his family again, at least what was left of it. Eighteen years ago, he’d left his father and younger brother behind in a sleepy Essex village. For four years he hadn’t heard a word from them—the post never arrived for prisoners held on the hulk ships on the Thames or during the eight-month voyage to Australia. Only once he was working as a convict worker for the late Mr Fitzgerald the elder did he receive a tattered and torn envelope.

  His father had written every month and must have paid considerable sums of money to ensure his communications were loaded on to the ships heading for Australia. Ben had no doubt most of these letters had never left England and could be found disintegrating at the bottom of the Thames. But one had got through—one conscientious and kind pensioner guard had taken Ben’s father’s money and promised to do his best to place the letter in Ben’s
hand and, nearly a year later, he did just that.

  Ever since Ben had kept in contact with his father from the other side of the world. Of course, he was keen to return to Essex and see the old man again and would do so as soon as his father returned from his poorly timed trip to Yorkshire. His father was an estate manager and as such at the whim of the Earl he worked for, but soon he would be back home in Essex and Ben would see him for the first time since the age of twelve. However, the other reason for his agreeing to the trip to England he wasn’t even sure would appear tonight. For three weeks, he’d haunted the ballrooms of London, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl he’d left behind all those years ago.

  Francesca. She was a woman now, of course. A woman who’d probably hadn’t thought of him much at all these last eighteen years. When he’d landed in England he’d made some discreet enquiries and found she’d been married and recently widowed. He was beginning to understand those in mourning didn’t socialise as much as the rest of the lords and ladies and had started to despair of ever setting eyes on her, but tonight he’d heard a rumour Francesca would be in attendance to chaperon her younger sister.

  So here he was, waiting eagerly for a glimpse of the woman who probably didn’t even remember him.

  He surveyed the ballroom again and for an instant it felt as though his heart stopped in his chest. There she was, unmistakable despite the mask and the eighteen years since he’d last seen her. Dressed in muted greys and violets, colours he was informed signalled the period of half-mourning, Lady Francesca Somersham still cut a striking figure. She was older than most of the debutantes, but having been married and widowed in the years since Ben had last seen her that was hardly surprising. Despite being almost thirty she still turned heads and Ben saw two gentlemen start in her direction as soon as they noticed her entrance into the ballroom.

  This was what he’d been waiting for the past three weeks, but now she was here in the same room as him he was unsure of what he wanted next.

  ‘Enough,’ he murmured to himself. He wasn’t the lowly son of a steward any more. Over the years since he’d finished his sentence Ben had worked hard and taken risks, most of which had paid off, meaning he was now a very successful Australian landowner. There was no need to skulk about watching from a distance. Today he would talk to the woman he had been dreaming about for the past eighteen years despite his best efforts to forget her.

  Quickly, he weaved through the crowds, ignoring the appraising looks from the masked debutantes. Fitzgerald was correct, these flimsy masks didn’t do much to conceal the face, but he was largely unknown and as such was a man of interest.

  ‘Mr Crawford,’ a pretty young woman murmured in his ear as he moved past her. ‘We really must find some time to spend together.’

  Ben grimaced, but quickly turned it into a smile. Since arriving in London he had made the acquaintance of a number of women, mostly widows or those with husbands happy to turn a blind eye. He’d danced with them, talked to them, but never anything more despite their sometimes quite obvious offering of themselves. Ben might have a reputation as a man the ladies could not resist, but nothing was going to jeopardise his getting close to Lady Somersham, especially not a meaningless fling.

  ‘I await that moment with anticipation,’ he said, planting a fleeting kiss on the young lady’s hand, but moving on quickly, using the press of people to his advantage and weaving a path away from Mrs Templeton’s inviting eyes.

  Suddenly she was in front of him and for a moment Ben felt the breath being sucked out of his lungs. She was beautiful. Gone was the gangly-legged, freckle-nosed girl he’d played with throughout his childhood and in her place was a woman of poise and grace. Ben took a moment to study her hair, sleek and tamed into a complicated bun at the back of her head. When they were children Francesca’s hair had always been an uncontrollable mess, frizzy and wild and more often than not flying behind her as she did something dangerous at great speed. He felt a sharp stab of desire deep inside him and fought to keep himself under control.

  ‘Lady Somersham,’ Ben said, pausing a couple of feet in front of her and bowing formally. He might have been brought up the son of a steward, but he was a great imitator and just a couple of days in London society had led to him being able to replicate the gestures and customs perfectly.

  Francesca turned to him and, even though nearly every other part of her had changed, she fixed the same mischievous blue eyes on him that he remembered from childhood.

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ she said after studying him for a few seconds.

  ‘Isn’t that the point of masquerade balls?’ Ben asked. ‘To conjure an atmosphere of mystery and allow you to creep into dark corners with an unknown admirer.’

  ‘Perhaps to conjure an atmosphere of mystery...’ Lady Somersham conceded. ‘But I’m sure my mother always told me to keep away from strange men and dark corners.’

  ‘And do you always take your mother’s advice?’

  There was that smile, just a hint of the impish grin he remembered from childhood.

  ‘She likes to think I do.’

  ‘Lady Somersham,’ a deep voice boomed, causing heads to turn in their direction even half a ballroom away. This was the overweight, red-faced man who was destined to be Francesca’s next husband if rumours were to be believed.

  ‘You’re not meant to tell anyone who I am, Lord Huntley,’ Francesca said, turning to face the man. She smiled at him, too, but Ben could tell this was forced, a mere upturning of the corners of her mouth with no glimmer of pleasure in her eyes.

  ‘Nonsense. Everyone knows who everyone else is. Damn ridiculous idea if you ask me, all this prancing around in masks.’

  Ben noted Lord Huntley had not deigned to don a mask of his own, leaving his red-rimmed and wrinkled eyes unadorned. Surely a mask would be of benefit to this man, even if it were purely to draw one’s eyes away from his generous jowls.

  ‘I think it is rather fun,’ Lady Somersham said and Ben had to wonder if she was just saying it to be perverse. Lord Huntley made him want to run in the opposite direction and he never had the awful prospect of having to one day be intimate with the man hanging over him.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ Lord Huntley barked, looking around as if Lord Pottersdown might be hiding behind a pot plant or marble statue.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Francesca said, her eyes involuntarily flicking towards the doors that led into the ballroom. The gaming tables, no doubt. These past few weeks Ben had learned a lot about Francesca’s life just by listening to gossip. The ballrooms and dinner parties were rife with it and, although there was a lot of exaggeration and a few things that were clearly completely fabricated, you could glean some very interesting things if you filtered the dross out.

  ‘Losing more of the family fortune,’ Lord Huntley snorted derisively. He’d come to the same conclusion, it would seem.

  Ben saw Francesca’s cheeks redden under the delicate rim of the mask and for an instant got the urge to manhandle Lord Huntley outside and send him on his way for embarrassing her. Then he remembered that he wasn’t her protector, he wasn’t anything to her, just a man who had once been a boy she’d known. A man she might not even remember.

  ‘Wait here,’ Lord Huntley commanded. ‘I’ll go fetch him. We need to pin down the agreement for this marriage.’

  ‘I’m still in mourning...’ Francesca said, but Lord Huntley had already departed, heading through the ballroom with his rotund belly leading the way. Not once had he even acknowledged Ben’s presence.

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Francesca said, trying to fight the tears that were building in her eyes. ‘That was incredibly rude, you shouldn’t have had to see that.’

  Really she was apologising for Lord Huntley, the oaf of a man who would one day soon be her husband. The thought made her feel peculiarly queasy.

  Trying to focus on the
man in front of her, she couldn’t help but notice how he was the opposite of Lord Huntley, being tall and broad shouldered. She could tell there wasn’t a single ounce of fat on him even through the thick material of his jacket. His skin didn’t have that sickly grey tone to it, instead there was an unusual but healthy tan on his cheeks as if he spent a large portion of his day outdoors.

  ‘The best way to avoid discussing your marriage to him tonight is to not be here when he returns with your father,’ the masked stranger said nonchalantly. Feeling her eyes widen, Francesca tried not to splutter. Most people would politely ignore the exchange they had just witnessed, but it seemed the man in front of her wasn’t about to do that. ‘Come on,’ he said, a gleam in his eye that Francesca found vaguely familiar.

  Offering her his arm, he flashed her a rather seductive smile as she hesitated. What she should do was wait here for her father and the man who was angling to become her future husband and listen while they discussed her like a horse for sale. Not that she had any illusions that her presence would make any difference to the outcome. She had absolutely no say in whom she married or when, both her father and Lord Huntley had made that perfectly clear.

  Feeling rebellious, she took the man’s arm and allowed him to lead her through the ballroom away from the direction Lord Huntley had disappeared in.

  ‘You must tell me your name,’ she said, peeking up at him from under a carefully curled ringlet that framed her face. Her hair was difficult to tame, but her current maid was an expert at fighting the curly locks into submission and making her look presentable. As long as she didn’t go out in the rain.

  ‘Ben,’ he offered.

  ‘I can’t call you Ben.’

  He shrugged, smiled at her and said, ‘That’s all you’re getting. This is a night of mystery after all.’

  ‘Well, Ben,’ she said, leaning in so no one would overhear her being quite so familiar with a stranger, ‘now you’ve removed me from having to discuss my future with Lord Huntley, what do you propose?’ She felt reckless, giddy. Francesca knew it was because she was near to hysteria, her emotions running high at the thought of having her whole future decided for her and a marriage to another man she did not like.