An Earl For Ellen
Blushing Brides
Book 1
Catherine Bilson
Copyright © 2019 Shenanigans Press
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-6481743-5-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-6481743-5-6
Other Books by Catherine Bilson
The Best Of Relations
Infamous Relations
Mr Bingley’s Bride
A Christmas Miracle At Longbourn
A Marquis For Marianne
A Duke For Diana (forthcoming)
For information on forthcoming works as well as free short reads, visit my website at:
www.catherinebilson.com
Copyright © 2019 by Catherine Bilson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
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
A Note From The Author
Prologue
*
December, 1817
“I’m sorry, Miss Bentley.” The steward twisted his hat between his hands, an expression of genuine distress on his face. “The living’s been awarded, though, and the new vicar will be arriving soon to take up residence. You’ve two weeks to vacate the Vicarage.”
Ellen Bentley clung to the door frame, hoping it would keep her upright as her knees threatened to give way. “My father was laid to rest just this morning, Mr Ellis, and as a female I was not even permitted to stand at his graveside to offer a proper farewell. I’d hoped to seek an audience with the Earl this week.” A distant cousin, the Earl of Havers did not acknowledge their relationship, but she’d planned to ask him only for a letter of recommendation for employment, perhaps assistance to find a post somewhere as a governess or companion. It was evident, however, that the Earl had no intention of allowing her to impose upon their familial connection even that much. Mr Ellis was clearly acting on his employer’s orders.
I am being thrown from the only home I have ever known, was all she could think.
“I’m right sorry, Miss Bentley.” The steward twisted his hat again. In her state of shock, Ellen noticed minute details; the furrow of concern between the man’s beetling brows, the mist hanging in the air from his quick breathing, the way his twisting hands were damaging the hat’s felt brim.
“I understand, Mr Ellis,” she said quietly at last, and watched as he gave her a shallow bow before turning on his heel and retreating down the garden path.
The church bell tolled, clear in the frosty December air, and the tears Ellen had been holding back since her father’s death of influenza three days earlier, not even two weeks after her mother was laid to rest in the cold ground, finally flowed.
She sank to her knees there in the doorway and bawled like a child.
What in the name of God am I going to do now?
Chapter One
*
Eight months later
Ellen was picking tomatoes from the vines in the garden when she heard a horse trotting along the lane, regular hoof beats punctuated by the sound of a man whistling a tune. He sounded jaunty, happy in the bright summer afternoon, and she found herself smiling, thinking that it was nice to hear someone sound so carefree.
The man came into view then, or rather his upper body did, as he rode along the lane that passed by the lodge. Spotting her over the hedge, he reined in his horse.
“Good afternoon, miss! Could you tell me if I am on the right road for Haverford Hall?”
“I’m afraid you just missed the turning, sir,” Ellen said politely. “‘Tis about a quarter mile back that way, on your left.”
“Much obliged to you, miss!” He doffed his hat with another smile and she noticed how handsome he was, though his horse was a broken-down nag and his clothes looked worn. She smiled with a little tip of her head, but said nothing else, and he turned his horse about to ride on.
*
Pretty girl, Thomas thought, but he wasn’t there to look at pretty girls. Riding up the long avenue lined by larch trees that led up to Haverford Hall, he paused for a moment to gaze in wonder at the building. His grandfather had described it to him many times, in loving detail, but Thomas had honestly thought the old man had been exaggerating, his memory not quite what it once was.
Now that he saw the Hall for the first time in person, Thomas realised that he had been doing his grandfather’s memory a disservice, because the house was just as magnificent as he had always been told. Built of the local honey-coloured Cotswold stone, it glowed golden in the afternoon sun, windows all along the face of the building glinting in the light. He tried to count them and gave up at fifty; from his grandfather’s tales he recalled the house had two large wings spreading out to the back as well, so trying to guess at the number of rooms by counting only the windows on the front elevation would grossly underestimate their number.
All this for one family, he thought, shaking his head and laughing quietly. He rattled around like a lone pea in a pod in the handsome house his grandfather had built in New York; Haverford Hall must be ten times the size, and as far as he knew it was home to only two women. And a whole passel of servants, no doubt.
Thomas sighed and pressed his weary horse to move on again; the nag nickered and flicked its ears at him. “Come on, you rotten beast,” he muttered, but didn’t have the heart to kick. The horse was probably nearly as old as he was, but it was the only one he’d been able to come by when the fine stallion he’d purchased in Bristol picked up a stone in his hoof and went lame ten miles from Haverford. Goliath had stumbled badly, startling Thomas who’d been riding along in a daze, and much to his embarrassment he fell off.
Scrambling to his feet covered in dust, he groaned to see Goliath standing with one hoof held high off the ground and his noble head hanging low. “Not your fault, my fine fellow,” he murmured to the stallion, searching his pockets for a tool to remove the stone. Goliath was too lame to ride, so Thomas led him on to the next village, where the blacksmith was happy to take care of him but could only provide this swaybacked old mare to carry Thomas on to his destination.
He debated dismounting and leading the horse; he was arriving in a poor enough state. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t turned away at the front door as an impostor. Walking his horse wasn’t likely to make much difference at this stage. He had to leave her at the bottom of the imposing steps leading up to the front door, but he was quite sure she didn’t have the energy to run away anyway as he mounted the steps to knock on the huge double doors.
The door was opened by a very austere-looking and formidable butler, who looked down a nose Thomas thought a great deal more aristocratic than his own and said;
“Good afternoon, my lord. We have been expecting you.”
Thomas opened his mouth to identify himself and shut it again with a snap, blinking. “I… beg your pardon?”
“You are Lord Havers, are you not?”
“Uhhh… yes?” He couldn’t quite understand how they should be expecting him today. He had left the ship immediately upo
n docking, and it wasn’t as though they could have known he would be aboard that particular ship anyway.
The butler inclined his head regally. “Welcome home, my lord. I am Allsopp.” He had his hands firmly held behind his back, and Thomas had the distinct suspicion that shaking hands with servants was not at all the done thing, so he just nodded.
“Could you have someone attend to my horse, please, Allsopp… oh,” he glanced around to see the mare already being led away by a groom. “She’s not mine, actually, I had to leave my horse at the smithy in Alvescot when he went lame.”
“I shall let Jenkins at the stables know, my lord,” Allsopp intoned, standing back away from the door in an obvious signal for Thomas to enter.
“I can see my memory will be hard pressed to recall all your names,” Thomas murmured, stepping inside the house and trying not to gawk at the huge hall, panelled in dark oak, tapestries taller than a man’s height hanging from the walls.
“The Countess and Lady Louisa are in the blue withdrawing-room, sir. May I conduct you there?”
Glancing down at his dusty clothes, Thomas said “I think it might be best if I just freshen up first, don’t you, Allsopp?”
The man didn’t crack a smile, just inclined his head slightly and said “As you wish, sir. This way, please.”
“Please tell me that you’re not taking me to the chambers the last Earl occupied,” it occurred to Thomas to say as they proceeded up the massive staircase that led up one side of the hall.
“But of course, sir,” Allsopp said placidly.
“I’d… prefer not to. Not just yet.” He already felt as though he was stepping into a dead man’s shoes, not that it seemed he had much choice in the matter. He’d grown up listening to Gramps’ tales of the earldom, indoctrinated in the beliefs that the Earl was responsible for his people just as much as he would have been if he’d attended Eton with the sons of other aristocrats.
“As you wish, my lord,” Allsopp said after a brief silence. “Several guest suites are always kept in a state of readiness, of course. Perhaps one of those will suffice?”
“Perfect,” Thomas said gratefully, and Allsopp resumed ascending the stairs.
“The Cromwell Suite, I think, my lord. We will pass through the Long Gallery on the way.”
He was going to need a full guided tour, Thomas could see, or he would be constantly lost. Allsopp led him into a room that seemed very nearly as large as the great hall below, and Thomas’ jaw dropped.
“Now I see why you were so certain of my identity.”
Portraits lined the walls, and a goodly number of the gentlemen in the paintings were very obviously related to him. Dark brown hair, a strong chin and eyes of a shade somewhere between blue and grey were apparently Havers traits that held strong through generations.
Allsopp tilted his head again. “Indeed, sir.” He seemed to hesitate before gesturing to one of the paintings. “That is your grandfather Lord Matthew, I believe. The younger child, on his mother’s lap.”
Startled, Thomas walked closer to inspect the painting. There were three children depicted with their mother; a boy of about ten who would be Michael, Matthew’s older brother, and a girl of about seven, which would make Matthew four in the painting.
“Is that Lady Eleanor?” Matthew had often talked of his sister. She had married beneath her station, to a local clergyman, but both her brothers had been too fond of her to try and deny her when she wished to follow her heart.
“The little girl? I believe so, my lord. The Countess or Lady Louisa would be able to tell you more about them.”
With that it seemed he would have to be content, at least for now. Allsopp resumed his stately pace and Thomas followed along.
The Cromwell Suite was rather more luxurious than the name implied, and Thomas looked about in approval as Allsopp showed him in. “Very suitable, thank you.”
“I will have someone bring hot water directly, sir. Your luggage…?”
“My trunks should arrive from Bristol tomorrow.” He smiled a little guiltily. “I’m afraid I was over-eager to see Haverford Hall and to meet my family. I do have a clean shirt and breeches in my saddlebags.”
“Very good, my lord,” and Allsopp withdrew, leaving him alone.
Going to the window to look out, Thomas found that he was at the rear of the house, or at least on the opposite side to where he had entered. He was looking down onto a sheltered courtyard, between the two rear wings of the house, immaculately manicured gardens separated by gravel walks. A gardener was carefully pruning roses.
Everything seemed very orderly, Thomas found himself thinking. He’d heard stories of Americans in similar situations to himself returning to England to find their ancestral estates in ruins, having to put their entrepreneurial skills to use to rescue the family fortunes, but Haverford Hall was a far cry from ruined. What would he even do, here? Presumably the estate business was all handled by a steward, and a very efficient one from what Thomas could see.
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, and smiled when a young man entered and stood with his hands at his sides to offer a bow. “Hello.”
“My lord. I’m Allsopp, my lord, I was your cousin Oliver’s valet.”
“Another Allsopp? Your father…?”
“My uncle.” This Allsopp was capable of smiling, it seemed, anyway, a small grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
“It’s going to confuse the dickens out of me; what’s your first name?”
“Er, Kenneth, my lord, but really…”
“No buts. I shall call you Kenneth and you shall call me Thomas, because I’m already sick of being called my lord and I’ve only been on English soil since this morning.”
Kenneth gaped at him. “That would be more than my job is worth, my lord!”
“Since I’m now your employer, I beg to differ.” Thomas smiled at him. “Come now, it’s a nice easy name. Thomas.”
“… Sir?” Kenneth offered a compromise with a slightly panicked expression.
“I guess that’ll do for now.”
Another knock on the door announced the arrival of two burly footmen with cans of steaming water, and another came in behind them bearing his saddlebags. Idly wondering just how many servants Haverford Hall actually maintained, Thomas shrugged out of his dusty coat and allowed Kenneth to take it from him. There was a mirror hanging above the dresser on the wall; one glance in it had Thomas wincing and relieved he had made the decision to wash up before meeting the countess and her daughter. He looked even worse than he had thought after his tumble from his horse. It was a good thing that the Havers blood apparently ran strong in his veins, or Allsopp would undoubtedly have turned him away at the door like the vagrant he resembled.
Half an hour later, freshly washed, with polished boots and almost all the dust brushed from his coat, Thomas asked Kenneth to show him to the blue withdrawing-room, and received his first lesson in what jobs belonged to who in the Haverford hierarchy. Kenneth was positively shocked.
“My uncle would have my hide, sir. If you would like to go somewhere in the house, you can ask one of the footmen to conduct you until you find your way around, but to be presented to the Countess and Lady Louisa, that is my uncle’s prerogative.” He sent one of the footmen who had returned to collect the used wash water hurrying off with instructions to collect Allsopp at once.
“I’m going to make a lot of mistakes of this sort,” Thomas said dismally as he waited. “Do you think everybody will just put it down to me being an uncouth American?”
“I’m sure they won’t use the word uncouth, sir,” Kenneth said, lips twitching very slightly, and Thomas decided that his valet did have a sense of humour, however well he might try to hide it.
“Not to my face, anyway.”
“One hopes that they will not say anything so rude behind your back either, my lord,” Allsopp said behind him, and Thomas almost jumped out of his skin.
“Good
Lord, make a noise, man!”
“I shall endeavour to remember to do so in future, my lord.”
“Does he ever smile?” Thomas mouthed to Kenneth as he left the room in Allsopp’s imperious wake, sighing as the valet shook his head in response.
Allsopp led him back through the Long Gallery again, but turned in the opposite direction when they reached the top of the stairs, leading him into what Thomas was fairly sure was the eastern wing of the house. They proceeded past several closed doors before Allsopp came to a halt and knocked upon a door. Thomas admired the painting of a handsome bay horse hanging on the wall opposite the door, making a mental note of it as a landmark.
He didn’t hear anything behind the door, but apparently Allsopp did, because he opened the door and stepped inside, intoning formally;
“The Earl of Havers.”
That’s me, Thomas thought with a sense of unreality coming over him. Entering the room, he stopped dead, his jaw falling open, as he came face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Lady Havers, the Countess of Havers, and Lady Louisa Havers,” Allsopp declared, startling Thomas and making him snap his jaw shut. He could barely drag his eyes from the vision of loveliness that had to be Lady Louisa long enough to give the countess a bow.
“It is lovely to meet you at last, my lord,” the countess said formally, and Lady Louisa echoed her in a soft, musical voice.
It was an effort to keep his eyes on the older woman as Thomas said “Please, my lady, though we have never met, you are the only family I have and I am proud to claim you as such. I would be honoured if you would call me Thomas.”
The countess was a handsome woman in late middle age; Thomas thought that she had once been a beauty to rival her daughter, though age had blurred the show-stopping nature of her good looks. Wearing an expensive gown in pearl-grey silk trimmed with lavender ribbons, her fair hair drawn back beneath a lace cap, she curtsied to him, the gesture somehow regal and not deferential at all.
An Earl For Ellen (Blushing Brides Book 1) Page 1