A Lady for the Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Letty swiped the music sheets off their stand, feeling no better as they littered the floor.

  “I chose the longer stick! That was our deal, Netty! We said that if the Earl should arrive, and he is not terribly old, then at least one of us will become a Countess!”

  Her sister stalked towards her, her face twisted into an ugly grin.

  “That was before I saw the Earl! Did you think that I would allow a fat cow to marry such a man? Never!”

  Letty clutched her neck, stricken. She had never heard her sister spew such venomous words.

  “Netty! What has come over you? We are sisters! Nay, more than just sisters, we are twins! What would Mother say?”

  Netty uttered a short scream. “Quiet, you snivelling dung heap! I couldn’t be bothered about what Mother has to say! She would have us married to two stupid boys without a thought in their cotton wool heads, while they arrange a far better betrothal for our cousin! And look – where is our dear cousin? She ran away! Foolish girl! But all the better for me, because I will get that Earl, even if I have to cause a scandal to do so. Mark my words, I will become a Countess!”

  Letty shook her head. Her sister had clearly taken leave of her senses.

  “Are you touched in your upper works? Whatever has possessed you to utter such vile words? If the Earl does not marry one of us, then so be it – we still have David and Lawrence, even though they are slightly dim-witted. If it is of any consolation, not even our cousin will marry the Earl – no man will accept such a slight to his pride. Besides, the Earl appears too ... well, dangerous. We are better off without him.”

  She went to her sister and placed a comforting hand on Netty’s arm, only to have it forcibly pushed away.

  “You are mistaken if you believe that I will give up this easily. Elinor will marry a Viscount, while we will be shackled to mere Barons. You may accept your fate, Letty, but I have no intention of doing so.”

  Elinor, their childhood friend, had made a love match with a Viscount. It would seem that Netty was frightfully jealous of this. She is practically foaming at the mouth! Letty tried to direct her sister to safer waters. She did not like this determined gleam in her eye.

  “Perhaps Mother had a reason for not wanting one of us to be matched to the Earl. You know that she has no warm feelings for our cousin, Netty. Why would Mother find a better match for Madelene and not for us? Perhaps this is for the best. David and Lawrence may not be what we had hoped for, but at least we will have a title.”

  Netty rolled her eyes and walked away, coming to stand before a gilded mirror.

  “When I look in the mirror, I do not see the wife of a Baron, but of an Earl. A Duke would have been better, but this Earl will do nicely.”

  The smile that Letty witnessed chilled her to the bone. It seemed that her sister was as much a social climber as their mother. This cannot end well.

  *****

  Cornelia found her husband clutching an empty bottle of rum to his chest, passed out on their bed. This was typical of her husband. He had a penchant for digging holes for himself and then leaving her with the task of sorting out his mess.

  “Not this time, you fool. You will deal with the Earl yourself!”

  She grabbed a pitcher of water and flung its contents all over the sleeping form. Harry woke up with a start, instantly clutching his head.

  “Oh! You witch! What is the meaning of this? How dare you pour water on me? I am your husband – I deserve respect!”

  Cornelia spat on the floor. “Respect? That is what I think of your respect. You left me alone to deal with the Earl, you fool, while you were drinking yourself into a stupor. Clean yourself up and see to our guest!”

  Harry clutched his head and fell back onto the bed.

  “I cannot, Wife. What will I say to him? That his bride has run away? He may believe that I do not have a niece and that I fabricated the whole story. Would you send me to my death?”

  Cornelia’s hands curled into fists. She was sure that she could still knock a man down if she needed to. There was something about being poor and desperate that never entirely left one, even if fortune’s luck should smile upon them. Did she not have to fight off drunken sailors who threatened to take her against her will? And she had been just a young girl. No more than fourteen and I had to fight my way out of the gutter. When Harry Huntington had come along, she had set her eyes upon him, using all the wiles of a tavern wench to secure a betrothal. Back then, he had not been the drunken fool that he had become, for she abhorred drunkenness. Cornelia looked at her husband’s pitiful state on the bed and sneered.

  “Get up, you weak-chinned fool! Did I not have the Wickhams and Pevenseys leave a day sooner so that they would not watch the shame that you have brought upon this house? I assure you that they were none too pleased for we had promised them several days. What if this has damaged our daughters’ futures?”

  “You are given into hysterics, Wife. Our daughters are in no danger of losing their future husbands. We have arranged the dowry payment, and the wedding dates have been set. There is nothing to fret about.”

  Harry sat up, keeping a secure hand on his forehead. He attempted to stand up but staggered and fell back on the bed.

  “It would appear that I cannot climb out of bed at this moment in time. However, it is not good to keep our esteemed guest waiting. You will need to explain our situation to him.”

  The headache that she had awakened with intensified, forcing her to shut her eyes for a moment. She simply could not deal with any more of her husband’s failures. Cornelia took a deep breath in, willing herself to calm down.

  “And what do you propose I say to him? You are the man of this house, are you not? It would not do for me to speak to him of this matter.”

  He waved his hand about. “You will tell Lord Scarborough that I have fallen ill and cannot see him.”

  “And what of Madelene?”

  Harry shrugged his shoulders. “You are a smart woman – deal with it.”

  Cornelia massaged her temples. She just needed her life back to the way it was before Madelene appeared at her doorstep, standing wide-eyed behind her husband. She remembered looking into the young woman’s penetrating eyes, instantly knowing that she would bring nothing but trouble. One as beautiful as she was always carried trouble with her. Why else would her father bring her here? The chit had probably been caught in a compromising situation with a sailor, and her father decided to send her here to preserve her honour. If there is anything left to preserve. Thank the good Lord that she had not passed her wilful ways onto her innocent daughters. Cornelia’s mind started working, coming up with an excuse that would not invoke the Earl’s wrath upon her husband, and have it spill onto herself and her daughters. They did not deserve what was happening to them.

  “Very well, Husband. I will deal with the Earl. You remain here and pull yourself together.”

  She left the room and locked it for good measure. I cannot have that fool suddenly stepping out and making the situation far worse than it is. As it were, she needed to return to the music room; she was not entirely comfortable about leaving the Earl with her darling daughters. What if he should compromise one of them? The thought had her descending the stairs in a hurry, fearing the worst. She had heard stories about the Earl, and judging by the angry-looking gash on his face, they had to be true. No, her daughters did not need a brute such as the Earl; they needed men who would bend to their wills so that she could control them. For Cornelia had plans yet. She was not content to stay in the countryside and live out her days surrounded by acres of land without a neighbour for miles. No, she wanted to enter into elite society, the haut ton, and her daughters’ marriages would get her a foot in the door. But first, she needed to deal with the Earl, and then next, London.

  *****

  Harry would leave, if not for social niceties dictating that he must stay and speak with the Master of the house. But where is Huntington? At first, he had believed him to be fetching his n
iece, a moment that Harry was dreading. However, when that moment did not arrive, he was both relieved and confused.

  “Could the man have returned to his drinking?”

  If that was the case, the man was dafter than he had previously believed. Why would the man be drinking so early in the day? The midday sun was still high in the sky, and yet the man was ready to topple over.

  “Perhaps he is drinking his guilt away. What fool of a man would wager his own niece during a game of cards?”

  It was unheard of and demeaning for the woman, but what sort of person did it make him as he had accepted the wager and given the fool money to play with. The man had lost, which, from what he had heard, was a fairly common occurrence. Harry was a merchant, a successful one at that, but he seemed to lose his money as soon as it touched his palms. Hugh genuinely felt sorry for his wife and daughters, but not enough to listen to any more piano playing or singing. Which was why he found himself in their garden, admiring the rose bushes. He picked one, taking care not to poke himself on its thorns. Hugh brought it up to his nose, enjoying the aroma that filled his nose. His wife had loved roses. The sudden thought of Almeria shot an arrow of pain into his heart. He had worked hard to forget her, but one simple rose had brought that forbidden past to his mind. Hugh closed his eyes, choosing to remember the horrors of war rather than his unfaithful wife, but for some unknown reason, this tactic refused to work for him this time.

  “Why, Almeria? Why did you have to betray me?”

  He looked at his hand, realising that he had crushed the rose, its thorns bringing forth little beads of blood where they had pierced his palm. The night she had died, she had been surrounded by pools of blood. Her blood. Hugh remembered that night vividly. She had died, taking their baby with her, only it wasn’t his baby.

  “Edward’s baby. My own brother’s baby.”

  That is what she had said with her last dying breath. Almeria had asked for forgiveness, but he had not been able to give it to her. He threw the crushed rose to the ground and wiped his palm on his pants, ignoring the sting. Unable to take the smell of the roses any longer, he hurried away, intent on finding the stables. He was ready to go, social niceties be damned. He met his steward on the way, who seemed ready to burst with news, which was saying something for his otherwise dignified steward.

  “My lordship,” he said. “I have good news for you.”

  Good news? He couldn’t imagine what news Prescott could have obtained at Grosvenor House.

  “I could use good news right now, Prescott.”

  “The girl – the one that you were to marry – she has fled, taking her servants with her.”

  This was good news, but it seemed too good to be true.

  Hugh frowned. “Are you quite sure? Huntington’s niece has run away?”

  Prescott nodded. “Yes, My Lord. I overheard the servants speaking on it. It seems that she left in the dead of night with her abigail and a male servant.”

  Hugh’s mind travelled to the people that he had rescued on the road. But it cannot be them. There was no young woman with them, just a mother, father, and son. No, it cannot be them. But there remained a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

  “Well, that is good news indeed. That explains Huntington’s inebriated state. The man must be terrified of what I might do to him – I am the ruthless Earl, after all.”

  Hugh had earned that description through no fault of his own, but he found that it had served him well.

  “What will you do now, My Lord?” Prescott asked.

  Hugh thought about it for a moment. The girl had done him a favour by running away, but he still had to deal with Huntington and his debt. He would lief forget about it all and get back to the lodging house. That is where his interest lay, and he was currently wasting his time at Grosvenor House.

  “I will not inform them of this newly acquired knowledge, but I will tell them that I cannot accept her hand due to my rank as Earl.”

  Prescott frowned. “Forgive me if I overstep myself, My Lord, but rank and title have not been of great importance to you.”

  “Yes, but they do not know that. I will come to an agreement concerning payment, and then we will be on our way.”

  “Excellent, sir. Shall I have Gavin bring the carriage around?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I am ready to leave this house. I will speak with Huntington, although I do not think that I will let on that I know of his –” he paused. “Interesting circumstances. I am interested to see if he will speak of it.”

  Prescott left him, and he turned towards the house, hoping that he would not run into the twins again. The shorter one he may have been able to handle, but there was something about the taller twin that unsettled him. There had been a look in her eyes that reminded him of his father’s hunting dogs, just before they went in for a kill. Hugh had never enjoyed the sport of killing, but his father had often forced him to attend, to ‘toughen him up’. Edward had enjoyed it, perhaps too much. His brother was the favourite, the one who could do no wrong. Hugh had been jealous of his brother, but not enough to kill him.

  “Lord Scarborough! I was afraid that you had left us.”

  Mrs Huntington made her way down the steps of the garden and walked towards him, holding her dress as she did so. What happened next was something that Hugh would think upon as he left Grosvenor House, as it did not seem natural. The woman uttered a cry as she lost her footing and began to fall forward. Hugh was there in time to catch the woman, sitting her down on a garden chair to catch her breath.

  “Are you alright, Mrs Huntington?”

  “O-oh my,” she stammered. “How clumsy of me.”

  To his dismay, the woman burst into tears. Hugh stood awkwardly by, at a loss at what to do. He pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to the woman, who dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes.

  “Thank you, Lord Scarborough. I am a little embarrassed by my actions.”

  “No need to be embarrassed, Mrs Huntington, it was simply an accident.”

  She sniffed and looked up at him, no longer crying. Hugh could have sworn that he saw a look of satisfaction pass over the woman’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it materialised.

  “Please, call me Cornelia,” she insisted. “I am quite distraught. My nerves can no longer take any more surprises.”

  The woman was about to tell him a story, he just knew it.

  “If you are quite alright, Mrs Hunt – uh, I mean, Cornelia, then perhaps we can make our way back to the house? I need to speak with your husband.”

  The woman uttered a loud howl, making him take a step back in alarm. What am I to do now?

  “May I call someone for you?”

  He took a step towards the stone steps, but a hand shot out and held his arm. He looked at the now standing woman, frowning.

  “Please, forgive me, Lord Scarborough for my brazen manner. I wish to speak with you about an important matter.”

  She released his arm, her eyes watching him with a sharpness that caused him discomfort.

  “Surely your husband should be the one to speak of important matters to me?”

  Cornelia hung her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Please, Lord Scarborough. My husband would speak with you himself, but I am afraid that he is currently ... indisposed. You see, our niece has run away, and we are beside ourselves with worry. She is his brother’s child, and he loves her as one of his own.”

  Hugh did not believe that. If Harry had had any true affection for his niece, he would not have wagered her hand as a commodity to be sold.