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The Earl’s Envy:
Scandalous Nobility II
By: Madeline St. James
Table of Contents
The Earl’s Envy
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The Earl’s Envy
Prologue
The Port of London
September 1814
Lights danced across the late night London skyline. Ghostly illuminations flickered through open windows. The air was cooler, and the city lights looked like a thousand stars in the sky. The dark, ethereal feeling that surrounded her after the sun was finally out of sight always calmed Beatrice Haddington. She was a lady of many peculiarities.
A light mist of water prickled against her skin as the Lady’s Rake, her father’s ship, dropped anchor. She looked down self-consciously at the tattered ends of her gown and the noticed how much her skin smelled of the sea.
As a child, the aroma acted as a comforting reminder that her father had arrived home after many months at sea. But now that she was old enough to understand the importance of decorum, it upset her.
Beatrice was not ashamed of her father or her modest upbringing; she simply wanted to be more than a fisherman’s daughter. Her dream was to be a mother and a wife to a kind and patient gentleman. As long as she was capable of maintaining a safe, financially stable household, Beatrice did not mind what profession her future husband held. She wanted a loving and progressive family.
Money meant very little to her, she was never impressed by the extravagant lifestyle of aristocracy that beguiled most of England. She stepped off of the platform and onto the street where her father waited. Her chestnut hair fluttered around her as the wind picked up. Her green eyes blinked rapidly as her vision adjusted to the darkness.
Beatrice’s hand lowered to the letter in her pocket from her friend and mentor, Marina Clarke, who was now known as Lady Marina Knight, the Viscountess of Greenwood. Beatrice kept an ongoing correspondence with Marina while she accompanied her father on a fishing expedition, offering whatever insight or friendly advice she could. Beatrice was stunned to hear about the controversial engagement, but despite her misgivings, she was thrilled for Marina.
Beatrice knew how rare it was to marry for love rather than convenience or as a means to heighten one’s rank. Marina explained that most of the members of higher society preferred to partake in what they referred to as a “game”. No one answered questions directly. They evaded them with great skill, and battled with wit and humorous banter to hide distaste or subtle jabs. The stakes were high; one could lose their reputations, titles, or incomes.
In her letters, Marina mentioned the great fall of Lady Charity Balfour, who had attempted to publicly shame Marina and the Viscount of Greenwood. Her actions, however, were an affront to the game, and had resulted in her own loss. Charity was subsequently disowned by her family because of her behavior. Now, no one was sure where she had disappeared.
Cruel intentions are often disguised by a dignified façade, Beatrice thought to herself. She had no interest in joining that world, no matter how quickly Marina had taken an interest.
Beatrice was comfortable finding work as a servant or caretaker for the middle to upper echelons of society, but nothing more. The soles of her handmade ankle boots clicked against the cobblestone streets as she made her way back home. She knew her father would be handing over credentials, licenses, and other forms of legal documents required of him in his practice, so she would not expect him home anytime soon.
Her familiarity with the boroughs of London did not stop her from walking cautiously; she was a lady walking alone after nightfall, after all. The change in scenery as she traveled from the west end to the east end of the borough was striking. There was no gradual fade into poverty. It was a harsh contrast between the well-lit, clean part of London to the darkened, putrid side of the city.
The house she and her father chartered was nicer than some of the others, but only from the outside. Inside, the barren walls and furniture-less floors made many of the criminals who sought to pilfer their home very disappointed. The home was cold and lifeless, deprived of all evidence that her mother had ever existed.
After years of caring for her mother, Beatrice was completely distraught at her passing. Her mother’s death still haunted her as she walked through the single-story home they had once shared. The dark memories of her father’s drinking and her mother’s illness were only brightened by the memories of freshly baked cookies and fleeting smiles.
There had been a time when Norman Haddington was a mean, awful drunkard that wasted his days sleeping on the floors of taverns or raising a hand to discipline her. Beatrice shut her eyes as she removed her coat and laid it across the back of the only chair in her chamber.
She struggled to wade through all of the painful memories and see the changed man her father had become. Not even Marina was aware of the darkness that had eclipsed her childhood. The secrets in her heart and the light scars on her back would be forever locked away from the prying eyes of the world.
Now that she was back to London and the autumn season had begun, Beatrice knew she had a very short while to find work before the pangs of starvation set in. The sea had always helped her forget her family’s struggle. Deep oceans and the exotic, warm shorelines of Africa were where her heart truly felt at home.
But like everything in her world, it was temporary.
The foggy, rain-slickened city beyond the walls of her bedchamber had never felt like home. She had always been fonder of the privacy of the countryside in comparison. But change had come to Beatrice’s life not too long after Marina’s fated marriage to the Viscount.
Chapter One
Ruteledge Estate
Winchester, England
Beatrice rode in the carriage beside Marina as they neared the Earl’s estate on the outskirts of the city of Winchester in Hampshire, England. The historical architecture of the structures as they rode through town was breathtaking. She could barely restrain her blathering admiration of the grand cathedrals and the beautiful Gothic appearance of the Winchester Palace.
Lord Knight, who insisted she call him by his given name, had also promised to give her a tour of the city after he found out that she had never traveled beyond the London city limits and the places she visited with her father. The Viscount of Greenwood was a kind gentleman who had allowed her to stay at his home with Marina in preparation for the dinner party with the Earl. Beatrice was uncomfortable with their overwhelming hospitality, to say the least.
Her hands fidgeted with the embroidery of her new pelisse and she cursed lightly under her breath in a manner that would have made a deckhand proud. She should have known that things would change after Marina married a nobleman, but she had not considered what it would have meant for her. Would she now be expected to join the happily married couple to all of their socials? The thought made her feel ill as nerves began to flutter painfully in her belly. Marina’s hand reached over to where Beatrice’s hands were tangled in her clothing tightly and gripped her hand comfortingly. “Easy,” Marina whispered.
The carriage halted and Lord Knight sent Beatrice a reassuring smi
le before he exited. Marina sat with her for a moment while she gathered her courage. “I know exactly how you are feeling, Beatrice. All of the gowns, the secrets, the mannerisms –it is all very intimidating, isn’t it?”
“Yes…” Beatrice squeaked.
“Do not worry. No one here will trouble you. You are not even required to address anyone unless you wish to. Just signal to Percival or I and we will direct attention elsewhere.”
“Thank you, Marina.” With that, they were ushered into the Earl’s home. The entrance was much more tasteful and refined than what Beatrice had imagined. She had pictured something more garish and excessive, but she was left in awe of the muted colors and natural warm woods.
While the home’s interior was inviting, the Earl was anything but. James Ruteledge, Earl of Winchester, had golden-blonde hair much like Marina’s. His strong features made his weary brown eyes seem almost cruel and detached from the warmth of his home and the rest of the world. Heavy circles lay beneath his eyes, an indication that he may not have slept well in weeks.
His uptight frown seemed almost permanently placed on his handsome features. Handsome? Oh, dear. Do not think of the Earl as handsome! Beatrice shook herself and realized that she had been introduced to the Earl as a courtesy of Lord Knight. He nodded in her direction, but kept his expression devoid of all emotion.
“Lord Ruteledge, it is a pleasure,” she managed to say through barely parted lips. “Thank you for welcoming us as guests in your lovely home.” Lord Ruteledge did not speak nor did he accept her greeting.
The arrogance of- her thoughts were interrupted by Lord Knight, who had noticed her bewilderment. “Allow me to introduce Miss Beatrice Haddington, My Lord. She is a dear friend of my wife’s, and a very brilliant young woman.”
Marina smiled at her husband in a way that made Beatrice feel a pinch of envy at their happiness. “Beatrice just returned after months at sea,” she added.
Although her friend sounded as though she were boasting about something Beatrice had done, there was no mistaking the look of disgust in Lord Ruteledge’s face as he considered how inappropriate it was for a lady to be at sea. Beatrice felt her cheeks grow warm and swallowed the need to defend herself. Marina once again spoke in her stead. “She joined her father on his trip toward the coast of Africa. I understand that you also enjoy a lengthy sea voyage, My Lord.”
Beatrice did not like the cunning note that slithered around Marina’s words. To anyone who did not know her, she sounded as though she was starting a pleasant conversation, as though nothing out of the ordinary. However, Beatrice and Lord Knight, who knew her best, were quite aware of how devious the new Viscountess of Greenwood could truly be.
Lord Ruteledge shocked them all by responding. Even a servant down the hall had released a startled gasp. “Indeed, Lady Knight.” His words were clipped, proper, and hollow, but a response nonetheless. His satin, baritone voice stole the air from Beatrice’s lungs. She looked away and peered down at the floor, unable to meet the gaze of those brown eyes that were no darker in color than warm honey. Beatrice felt Marina grab her hand and tug her toward the staircase, but she still refused to look up.
Marina and the housekeeper led Beatrice to her assigned bedchamber. The elderly woman used the handle, motioned them in politely, and turned to leave. “What is your name?” Beatrice asked the woman.
The housekeeper appeared surprised, but not offended by her words. “Mrs. Buxton. Mrs. Edith Buxton.”
“Pleasure, Mrs. Buxton. I am Beatrice Haddington. Thank you for your graciousness.” Beatrice smiled at the older woman, who no doubt noticed how little she had packed for the weekend. There was a flash of pity in her wise gaze as she beheld the sorry state of Beatrice’s bag and the clothing inside. Marina had offered to make or purchase new gowns, but Beatrice did not wish to be involved in the events taking place over the course of her stay.
“Miss Haddington, do you not wish to participate in the pleasantries and festivities on your holiday?” Mrs. Buxton asked, practically reading Beatrice’s mind.
“Not at all. It was my intentions to assist in the kitchens or in the scullery house to earn my keep.”
There was a questioning brow that arched in her direction. “Forgive me, but are you capable of such taxing duties? It is not everyday that a lady of your-”
Beatrice waved her hand to cut off Mrs. Buxton. She found no shame in admitting that she was not a lady of nobility. “I have no status, if that is what you mean. This apparel was a gift from Lady Knight. And to address your inquiry, yes. There has not been a time when I was not a caretaker or a maid of some sort. But if you wish to examine my abilities…” Beatrice allowed Mrs. Buxton to step further into the room and sat with the housekeeper at the small table beside one of the larger windows. “...Then I would be happy to demonstrate.”
Another look passed over Mrs. Buxton’s face. It was one of great sadness. “You seem very young, Miss Haddington. How is it that you were introduced to caretaking?”
“My mother,” she started. “She was very ill when I was a girl. I took care of her for most of my life until she died three years ago. My father is a fisherman, so he is often at sea. When I am unable to accompany him, I have no choice but to find work. In the past it was often within a household as a lady’s maid, a chambermaid, a kitchen maid, a scullery maid, or a nursemaid.”
“And now?”
Pink bloomed on her cheeks as she looked down at the fine cloth upon the table and wondered if it had cost more than the taxes on her home. “I am without employment after my recent return to London.”
“After you have finished settling in, meet me in the library before supper. There is something I wish to discuss with you in private, if you would please….”
Chapter Two
Ruteledge Estate
Winchester, England
Later that afternoon, the house grew quiet as most of the guests were resting in their designated chambers. James Ruteledge paced across the floor of his private study. He did not consider himself a nobleman to be admired from afar, nor did he desire to be a symbolic figure of patriotism for his countrymen. He had done his duty. He had led the armies of the king during times of war. James did not wish to be known as the Earl of Winchester. He wanted to be a man, not an icon.
But with the health of his mother dwindling with each breath, the responsibilities of his title were all that kept him from succumbing to his darkest urges. Drink barely soothed his nerves in the daylight, but it never failed to lull him to sleep at night like the mollifying resonances of a ballad. In fact, it was all that helped him sleep.
James feared nothing more than returning to battle. He was aware that, should his sovereign call him to arms, he would have no choice. The apprehension and sheer terror that engulfed him at the thought of war caused his hands to shake and the glass of brandy to fall to the floor. He looked around with a pale face and deadened eyes to see if anyone had noticed his moment of weakness. The sound of shattering glass matched the echoes within his soul.
James often felt disgusted with himself as of late. A soldier should not fear what he had been trained to do, he thought to himself. But he had seen too much and felt more pain than most would ever experience in their lifetime.
Nightmares and memories from his time in combat never failed to wake him each night. His short bouts of sleep ended with him covered in a cold sweat and a shout of horror dying bitterly on his tongue. James knelt down and plucked the shards of glass from the floor, pulling his cravat from around his neck and using the fine fabric to mop up the liquid on the beautiful wood.
Most members of his peerage would drop dead at the sight of such a misuse of wealth, but James did not hesitate. Someone knocked at the door to his study as he stood. “You may enter,” he called.
James discarded the glass and ruined bolt of silk in his hand before he turned to Mrs. Buxton. Her smile was filled with confused happiness, but none of the usual sadness that had overwhelmed most of the house
hold. “My Lord, I believe we have finally found a caretaker to tend to the needs of Lady Ruteledge. The young woman, Miss Haddington, has proven herself quite resourceful and she possesses the skills necessary for the task.”
James thought of the quiet, almost fearful young lady he had been introduced to upon the arrival of Lord and Lady Knight. Marina mentioned that her colleague’s name was Beatrice. She looked anything but capable when they met. Her green eyes had been wide with intimidation.
Beatrice’s slightly upturned nose and rounded face were endearing. For a moment, James had been unable to respond to her quietly spoken introduction because her tentative, yet compassionate smile had rendered him speechless. Never had he witnessed a smile so genuine, particularly one that was aimed in his direction.
James thought that her hair was the same color of the exotic chocolates his mother often enjoyed in the summers. But the seemingly peaceful, innocuous air that surrounded Miss Haddington was potent, even to a callous man such as he.
“If you approve of her capabilities and believe she can handle a situation this sensitive, then proceed,” he said, keeping his tone cool and unattached.
“You will not regret this, My Lord.”
“Please, see that I do not. Arrange for her assigned bedchamber to be her permanent quarters-”
Mrs. Buxton interjected. “Forgive me, My Lord, but Miss Haddington declared that she would prefer to stay in the servant quarters if you had agreed.”
“She is the beloved friend of the Viscountess…why would she not wish to stay in the guest wing?”
“Perhaps she is more similar to us than we presumed. It was my immediate impression that she was not accustomed to the amenities of the household, nor was she interested in them. I believe if you were to offer her anything more than the rest of your staff, she would reject said offer.” It was the steadfast certainty in the depths of Mrs. Buxton’s gaze that had halted the arguments that hovered just below the surface.
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