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  Cursed

  An Enchanting Tale

  by Felicity Harper

  Legal Bits & Pieces

  Cursed is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The author has asserted her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (United Kingdom) to be recognised and identified as the author of this work.

  Copyright © 2017 Endeavours Partnership.

  All rights reserved.

  Cursed is published by Endeavours Partnership.

  About Felicity Harper

  Felicity Harper is an English author living in leafy Surrey in England, just a stone’s throw from Box Hill (for all you Austen fans!).

  She is a huge fan of Jane Austen and all things Regency - apart from the icky reality of streets running in filth and the lack of indoor plumbing of course.

  Felicity combined her love of sanitised Regency with a fondness for romanticised fairy tales (God bless you, Walt!) and so the Enchanting Tales series was born.

  Please visit my website at felicityharper,com

  Contents

  About Felicity Harper

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lavender – A Free Short Story

  Felicity Harper’s Enchanting Tales

  Masquerade

  Chapter One

  His heavy brow creased as he watched her. She was perched on the stump of a fallen tree, a sad smile playing across her soft lips. What thoughts brought such stillness? He had wondered the same thought many times before.

  Her sadness never lingered long.

  A small hand tucked a russet curl behind her ear. Charcoal marked its passage across her cheek. His dark eyes lingered there. Mesmerised. Was her skin really so soft as it seemed? How would it feel beneath his large, calloused hands?

  As though he would ever know.

  He would never allow himself near such a creature - let alone lay one of his brutal hands upon her flesh.

  A sudden smile transformed her face. She held out her hand as though someone were there with her.

  “A dance?” she asked. “Why! I would be delighted, Sir!”

  She stood and dipped into a curtsy. Unseen, his lip curled in a semblance of a smile as he watched her dance around the little clearing. When first he had witnessed her, he had thought the girl feeble-minded. Now, he understood. She was lonely.

  “Henrietta!” A shrill, distant call broke the spell.

  “It seems I must go,” she said and held out her hand.

  “Henrietta!”

  “Yes! Yes! I’m coming!” she muttered, stooping to gather her things into her basket.

  A cramp squeezed his thigh. He shifted position and, as he did so, a twig snapped beneath him. The girl paused and clutched her basket to her chest. He held his breath and waited.

  “Henrietta! Where are you?” There were two voices now, each as strident in tone as the other.

  “I’m here!” she called back and then, with one last look around, she hurried away.

  He shook his large head. This did him no good. Watching her served only to remind him what he could not have. It was better when he had known only darkness. At least then he had not suffered this gnawing sense of longing. Straightening to his full colossal height, the ogre turned and walked away.

  Chapter Two

  Prudence, Cecilia and Millicent were pacing the garden as Henrietta emerged from the shadow of the trees. She looked at their collective frowns and sighed. The younger girls must have told Prudence that Henrietta wouldn’t be attending the Binkley Autumn Ball that evening.

  “What have you been doing?” Prudence asked, picking leaves out of Henrietta’s tangled curls. “What so attracts you to that forest I’ll never know,” she muttered, bossily taking the basket from her sister and putting it down on the bench.

  Peace and blessed quiet, Henrietta thought, a little guiltily. She adored her sisters but - sometimes - she liked nothing better than going to the forest where they couldn’t find her. Not that she would ever dream of saying so. Despite Prudence’s somewhat overbearing nature, Henrietta missed having her at home with them although - in reality - marriage had done little to keep her younger sibling out of their lives for too long which, to Henrietta’s mind at least, was mostly a blessing.

  Cecilia flounced over. Her blonde hair was beautifully neat beneath her bonnet; its ribbons perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Henrietta tugged at a twig that had caught in one of her own brown curls and wondered how her sister managed it.

  “Henrietta, please inform Prudence that we are going to the ball tonight,” Cecilia complained, “whether you are there or not!”

  Before Henrietta could answer, Prudence turned on her younger sister. “Neither you nor Millicent should be going to any balls or country dances while Henrietta is still unattached.” She wagged a disapproving finger. “I don’t care what Henrietta - or even Father - has to say about it.”

  “That’s not fair!” Millicent stamped her foot. “If we have to wait for Henrietta to become attached, we’ll all die spinsters!”

  “Watch your tone, Milicent!” Prudence glared at her youngest sister. “And stop behaving like a child!’

  “You cannot blame us if Henrietta does nothing to encourage the attentions of any eligible men,” Cecilia cut in. “Look at her!” She waved a hand crossly in the general direction of her oldest sister and continued, “Walking around with soot on her face like a servant!”

  Henrietta quickly stepped in between them. “Thank you, Cecilia,” she said, rubbing ineffectually at her blackened cheek. “I was sketching and hadn’t realised I had charcoal on my face.” She gave her sister a pointed look. “Perhaps, next time, you could just say so?”

  Cecilia turned away, not looking at all humbled. Henrietta put her hand on Prudence’s sleeve. “Do let the girls go with you and Miles this evening,” she said appeasingly. Sometimes, it felt to Henrietta as if she spent half her life trying to pacify one sister or another.

  Ignoring the black smear that now decorated the sleeve of her dove-grey dress, Prudence narrowed her eyes. “And what about you, Hetty?”

  “Oh, you know I am not terribly fond of going to country balls,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “And - don’t forget - poor Father hates to be left alone.”

  “Poppycock!”

  Milicent snorted at her usually prim sister’s choice of word. Prudence gave her a quelling look, which did the job, and turned back to Henrietta. “Father will be perfectly fine on his own for one evening.”

  At just that moment, their father, dogs in tow, crossed the lawn towards them. “Ah, there you all are! Nothing I like more than the sight of my four lovely daughters having a nice chat together,” he called out optimistically.

  “Father! I need to speak with you,” Prudence replied sternly.

  “Papa, please tell Prue we are allowed to go to the ball,” Mil
licent whined.

  “Yes, Papa, why shouldn’t we go just because Henrietta doesn’t want to?” Cecilia complained.

  “My dears!” Lord Pemberly chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, “give your poor old father a chance to catch his breath!”

  “Surely not that old,” Henrietta teased, taking his arm. In fact, their father was quite the dapper gentlemen and had been known to turn the head of many a widow in the local vicinity. Not that he seemed to notice.

  William Pemberly smiled affectionately at his eldest daughter. “My dear Hetty, will you please tell me what all the kerfuffle is about?”

  “Of course, Papa,” Henrietta said, her cheeks dimpling - though she dared not smile for fear of incurring her sisters’ wrath. Quickly, she filled her father in. “Prudence thinks I should be going to the ball this evening instead of festering away at Riverly with my ancient father.” She giggled at Lord Pemberly’s look of feigned outrage. “She also disagrees with you allowing Millicent and Cecilia to go to the ball without me.”

  Frowning in confusion, Lord Pemberly looked from one daughter to another. “Am I missing something?”

  Prudence heaved an irritated sigh. “For goodness’ sake, Father, you cannot allow the two younger girls to gad about when Henrietta remains unattached!”

  Lord Pemberly’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t?”

  “No! If the girls are going then so must Henrietta,” Prudence said, slamming her hands on her hips as though ready to do battle. If it weren’t aimed at her, Henrietta would have admired her sister’s fierce resolve.

  “You want me to force poor Hetty to go to the ball?” Her father sent her an apologetic look, as though already conceding defeat. “But you know she hates dressing up and parading around at these things. She’ll have a miserable time.”

  “She won’t be miserable - she’ll be too busy dancing!” Prudence exclaimed. She began to pace, mercilessly kicking the autumn leaves out of her path. Henrietta’s shoulders slumped in resignation. Once Prudence started pacing, they were doomed to give in.

  “Prue, you know there are never enough men to go round at these balls,” she said, giving it one last try. “And I inevitably end up stuck with the dowagers, drinking warm lemonade and taking their pooches outside to relieve themselves.”

  Milicent laughed. Prudence barely paused in her furious pacing to glare at the girl. When she was satisfied that her youngest sister was suitably chastened, she turned the full force of her irritation on Henrietta.

  “You do know you don’t actually have to walk their dogs?” she said. Then, continuing her tirade without waiting for a response, added, “Nor will you be standing around drinking that revolting lemonade.” She held up her hand, anticipating Henrietta’s objection, “And you will have Miles to dance with.”

  Cecilia gave a delicate shudder. “I cannot imagine anything worse than a pity dance.”

  “At this rate, you won’t be dancing at all,” Prudence snapped. Milicent gave Cecilia a nudge, worried her sister would ruin it for both of them.

  “Really, Prue,” Henrietta pleaded, “I would rather ….” But Prudence cut her off. She was having none of it.

  “Father!” she bellowed, turning the full force of her displeasure on Lord Pemberly, who had been quietly trying to escape, “Please remind your eldest daughter that husbands are not found wandering the forests and looking for maidens to rescue. They are found at balls and other civilised social functions.”

  Caught in the act, Lord Pemberly gave Henrietta an imploring look. “Hetty …?”

  Henrietta sighed, resigned now to going to the ball. “Prue, you worry far more about my unwed state than I do,” she said crossly, “and it’s not like I haven’t already met every available man in the vicinity. They are pretty thin on the ground after all. You know I take no pleasure in going to these functions and standing around in the vain hope of bagging a husband.”

  Prudence’s face softened. She reached out to tuck an unruly curl behind Henrietta’s ear. “I know that’s not how you imagine finding your great love … but, Hetty, you are twenty-two years old. You do not have much time left before - well - spinsterhood.”

  How was Henrietta supposed to explain to her practically-minded sister that, if she couldn’t have true love, she would rather be here, at Riverly, taking care of her father and sisters? Prudence would never understand that; all she had ever wanted was to marry Miles and have a family of her own.

  “I am in no hurry to marry, Prue,” she said quietly. “Especially if the only thing that interests my husband is my inheritance.”

  Prudence tutted in a motherly fashion. “Goodness, Henrietta: not every man is so Machiavellian as to court purely for money!” She nudged Henrietta playfully. “Who knows? If you made an effort, one or two might even find you attractive.”

  “And, who knows?” Henrietta said, wrinkling her nose, “If I look really hard, I might even find a compliment somewhere in that statement.” Prudence chuckled.

  “For heaven’s sake, Henrietta,” Millicent whined, “just say you’ll come to the ball!”

  Lord Pemberly whistled the dogs who had wandered off.

  “Girls, you are giving your poor Father a headache.” He patted Henrietta’s shoulder. “Sorry, little hen, but it looks like you’re going to the ball after all.”

  Henrietta took a sip of her warm lemonade. Well, she thought, this is exactly as dull as I imagined it would be. She supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t been obliged to escort any pampered pooches outside. Her sisters were dancing and laughing gaily, having a wonderful time, while Henrietta could feel her steadfast smile beginning to set uncomfortably in place. She had, of course, danced: once with her brother-in-law, Miles, and once with the elderly and exceedingly deaf Lord Meldew. Neither was likely to make too big an impact on her diary entry that night.

  Before Henrietta had a chance to take evasive action, Lady Corbyn bustled up to her. “Ah, there you are, Henrietta! Would you be so kind - Hyacinth needs to relieve her bladder,” she said, plonking her fat pug into Henrietta’s arms before turning for the refreshment table. How perfectly lovely, Henrietta thought as she pushed her way through the crush of - mainly female - bodies. She wouldn’t put it past Hyacinth to eschew the cold night air in favour of doing her business down the front of her, Henrietta’s, silk dress. As it was, they only just made it outside before the dog started to widdle.

  ‘That was terribly good of you to wait, Hyacinth. Another second and my hands would have been nowhere near you,” Henrietta muttered, removing a handkerchief from her reticule. She scrubbed at her - thankfully - dry hands … just in case.

  “Is it normal for the women of these parts to speak to their dogs?”

  Henrietta quickly straightened as she heard the honeyed tones and hastily hid her handkerchief behind her back. She found herself staring up at a blonde giant of a man who was smiling down at her with one eyebrow quirked questioningly.

  “Oh! This isn’t my dog .…”

  He tipped back his head and roared with laughter and Henrietta felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Really, Henrietta, she berated herself - that’s the best you could come up with? Unfortunately, before she could correct the impression she was a simpleton, the man, along with his two companions, had moved inside.

  How bloody typical, she thought crossly. The first handsome man she had seen all evening, or any evening for that matter, and he had caught her talking to a dog.

  “Come, Hyacinth,” she grumbled, “I think we’ve done enough this evening to ensure I remain unwed.”

  Once she’d managed to reunite Hyacinth with Lady Corbyn, she went in search of her sisters, in the futile hope that they would soon be ready to leave. Henrietta’s hair was doing its best to escape the top-knot into which her maid had wrangled it and her wretched corset was pinching at her soft flesh. She spotted Prudence’s crown of golden hair and made towards her.

  “Oh good. I was ab
out to send Miles to find you,” Prudence said. She leaned in to speak quietly from behind her fan. “Have you seen our new arrivals?” Henrietta had a feeling she already knew of whom her sister spoke but followed her gaze anyway and saw that that it was, indeed, the blonde giant and his companions. She had no intention of telling her sister this particular handsome stranger already thought she was a nincompoop. Instead, she nodded towards their two younger siblings. “I see Cecilia and Millicent have already been introduced,” she said, as they openly jostled for his attention, discreet elbows connecting with corseted waists.

  Prudence gave an unladylike growl under her breath. “Must those two make a bee-line for every eligible man present?”

  Henrietta smiled. “Be fair to them, Prue. It’s not like this place is teeming with marriageable men.”

  “Perhaps not,” Prudence said, wafting her fan furiously, “but they already have the attention of any that are. It would behove them to remember they have an older sister who was out long before they were.”

  “They’re just having a little fun,” Henrietta said indulgently. “They are young yet and concern themselves wholly with the fine art of flirting.”

  “Then perhaps you ought to do the same,” Prudence said, nudging her in their direction.

  The blonde giant threw back his head, laughing at something Millicent had said, and, even from this distance, Henrietta could see Cecilia’s eyes narrow with fury.

  “You credit me with more bravery than I possess,” she laughed, “if you think I would dare come between our younger sisters and their latest prey.”

  “They are utterly shameless!” Prudence hissed, watching their antics. “Father gives them far too much leeway - as do you.”

  “I do not … well, not all the time.” Henrietta smiled at Mr Belvrey, the chaplain. She waited for him to pass before continuing, “Perhaps if Mother were still alive .…”