Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Teaser chapter
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VIRGINIA HENLEY
“Henley’s gift for bringing remarkable women to life in colorful, turbulent times is what turns her romances into keepers. Henley heats up the pages with her love scenes, and her skill at portraying actual historical personages with humanity while maintaining historical accuracy wins our minds. Henley knows what historical romance is all about and always gives the readers what they want.”
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Insatiable
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Copyright © Virginia Henley, 2011 All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Henley, Virginia.
The dark earl/Virginia Henley.
p. cm.
ISBN : 978-1-101-54749-6
1. Aristocracy (Social class)—England—Fiction. 2. England—Social life
and customs—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.E49634D36 2011
813.54—dc22 2011014573
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For my beautiful great-granddaughter
Aireanna Lillian Henley
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted to the following historical and biographical sources, which provided a wealth of information on Victorian England’s society, monarchy, government, and noble families, including the Hamiltons, Ansons, Lambtons, and Montagus.
· Scott Crosier: John Snow: The London Cholera Epidemic of 1854
· Nicholas Culpeper: Culpeper’s Complete Herbal
· Lord Frederick Spencer Hamilton: The Days Before Yesterday
· Lord Holland: Memoirs of the Whig Party, 1854
· John Pearson: Stags and Serpents
· J. Preest: Lord John Russell
· Charles Spencer: The Spencers
· R. Turner Wilcox: The Mode in Costume
· Burke’s Peerage, 107th edition: Charles Mosley, editor
· Britannica online encyclopedia
Prologue
Staffordshire, England
Summer 1842
“It’s the most enchanting house I’ve ever seen in my life!” Lady Harriet Hamilton stood enraptured before the magnificent Georgian mansion known as Shugborough Hall. Eight soaring Doric columns dominated the central portico, and graceful pavilions had been added to either side. “Is Father going to buy it?”
“No, no, Harry. Shugborough Hall isn’t for sale. Only the contents are being auctioned,” Louisa, Duchess of Abercorn, informed her eldest daughter. “Your father intends to buy books and paintings today.”
A wave of deep disappointment swept over the young girl
as she gazed at the hall with longing. I wish you were mine! She spoke to the house as if it were a living thing that could hear her thoughts.
The duchess turned and addressed her daughters’ governess. “Mary, keep a close watch on Lady Beatrix. I suppose I shouldn’t have brought her. A six-year-old will be bored to tears at an auction sale.”
“I shall watch them like a hawk, Your Grace.”
“Oh, you needn’t put a leading string on Harry. She knows how to comport herself. Houses hold a fascination for her. You know she has an inquisitive mind that soaks up everything like a sponge.”
When Mary took hold of Lady Beatrix’s hand, the child stuck out her tongue at her sister. Lady Harriet, however, didn’t even notice. She had eyes only for Shugborough and her curiosity knew no bounds.
Thomas Anson felt a burning humiliation as he watched people begin to arrive for the auction sale. The nobles who would swallow up the entire possessions of his ancestral home had insatiable appetites for the valuable collections that had been acquired by his forebears, and the seventeen-year-old heir was helpless to prevent this desecration.
Every member of the ton knew that the profligate excesses of his father, the Earl of Lichfield, had brought about his financial collapse. His gambling addiction was no secret, and the entire contents of Shugborough Hall needed to be auctioned to meet the earl’s disgraceful debts, which now totaled seven hundred thousand pounds.
Thank God Mother has been spared the shame of being present. The Countess of Lichfield had packed up the exquisite collection of Chinese porcelain and carried it off to their town house in St. James’s Square because she adamantly refused to part with it.
Thomas was relieved his older sisters lived in remote counties. All were married and their husbands’ good names shielded them from this scandal, which was the talk of London.
He resented with every fiber of his being parting with Shugborough’s treasures, and was consumed with a feeling of impotence that he could do nothing to avert the estate’s defilement. Well, almost nothing, he amended. As a token protest, he had removed a few precious horse paintings by John Frederick Herring and George Stubbs and secretly hidden them away in one of the outbuildings. Thomas realized he was holding a small painting by John Wootton, of the racehorse Victorious that had won at Newmarket in the last century. He surreptitiously slipped from the house and hurried across the velvet lawn toward the pale blue and white Chinese pagoda.
When he entered the building, he stopped dead in his tracks. The red lacquered door to the storage room on the back wall of the pagoda stood open, and the slim figure of a female, her back to him, stood inside.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded curtly.
At the sound of his voice, the female swung about to face him, and he realized with relief that she was only a child who could not possibly be more than nine years old.
Lady Harry stared at the dark youth with curiosity. Both her parents were dark, as was she, but this fellow was as swarthy as a Gypsy. Suddenly her green eyes widened.
“I needn’t ask what you’re doing. ’Tis obvious you are stealing!”
Thomas Anson took immediate offense, because that was exactly what he was doing.
“You cheeky little bitch. You have no right to be here poking your nose into every nook and cranny of this estate.”
“I have as much right to be here as you. My father is here to buy paintings—perhaps those very paintings that you are stealing!”
“I happen to be Lord Lichfield’s son. Our family owns these paintings.”
“Piffle! Lichfield’s heir?” She looked pointedly at his black hair and dark complexion. “More likely you’re a stableboy stealing the family blind.”
Thomas drew himself up to his full height and summoned an air of authority. “You need your arse tanned. Get the hell out of this pagoda before I take you across my knee.”
Harriet stiffened. “My father is the Duke of Abercorn. If you lay a finger on me, he will have you thrashed within an inch of your miserable life.”
Miserable, indeed. His mouth quirked with amusement. “Since your father is the Duke of Abercorn, and my father is the Earl of Lichfield, we are at an impasse.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled with secret enjoyment. “A duke’s daughter trumps an earl’s son any day of the year.” She glanced back at the horse paintings she had discovered hidden behind the door. “They are so lovely, you cannot bear to part with them.”
He was amazed that such a young girl could be so perceptive. “If I can bear being Lichfield’s son, I suppose I can bear anything.”
She heard the mocking bitterness in his voice. “I won’t say a word,” she promised.
He nodded his head in thanks, far more grateful than he dared put into words.
“Thank you so much, James, for buying the first editions of Rousseau. I know they were expensive, but the thought that I own Émile fills me with joie de vivre.” Louisa, Duchess of Abercorn, stood on tiptoe and kissed her husband’s cheek.
“I bought the entire library. The books on architecture and art are for you, Harry. You’ll appreciate them when you are older,” her father declared.
“I shall appreciate them now if they have pictures of houses and explain how they are designed.” Her eyebrows drew together as she thought of Lichfield’s son. “We didn’t bring the books back with us to London. You don’t think they’ll get stolen, do you, Father?”
“Whatever has put such an absurd notion into your head? They are bought and paid for. The auction will go on for at least another week. When it’s over, we’ll send the wagons to transport everything we have acquired.”
“They are auctioning the furniture day after tomorrow.” Louisa fanned herself with the Shugborough auction catalogue. “I saw a pair of brass-mounted Regency armchairs I wouldn’t mind for the library.”
Harry’s face lit up. “If you’re going again, promise you will take me with you?”
Her mother smiled her assent. “Shugborough made quite an impression on you. I think on Thursday we’ll leave Beatrix at home with Louisa Jane and baby James.”
The assembled crowd filled the elegant reception rooms and spilled into the long gallery. The bidding on Shugborough Hall’s furnishings was fast and furious, and Harry slipped away unnoticed through the vast kitchens, then made her way outside. She skipped across the velvet lawns, and stopped before each white marble statue. She recognized Venus, but it was the male statue close by that held her attention the longest. The name carved on the pedestal of the young god was Adonis. He is superb! As her eyes admired his naked limbs, she wondered if all males looked like this without their clothes. Silly, only gods are this perfect.
Harry passed the Chinese pagoda and entered a structure that was called the Tower of Winds. As she gazed at the magnificent sculpted black marble centaurs, Harry thought she could hear music. She cocked her head to listen, and then broke into a smile of delight—it was the summer wind wafting through the diamond-shaped holes that had been specially designed into the tower walls.
Harry heard the thunder of hooves and ran outside to watch a rider gallop like a fiend toward the river. It was the dark devil she had encountered before, astride a black hunter. It was obvious that he was still angry and she surmised he could be dangerous, but this didn’t stop her from admiring him. He looks exactly like a centaur!
She wandered over to a high wall that had an arched wooden door at its center. She turned the iron ring on the door and allowed it to swing open. She found herself in a walled garden complete with a cascading fountain and a profusion of scented flowers. Enchanted, she sat down on a rustic bench to watch the birds splash in the water. The fragrant jasmine and honeysuckle attracted myriad bees and butterflies.
All at once, a sparrow hawk swooped down. Fearing for the little birds, she flapped her arms to scare it off. It flew a short distance away and spied a little green snake. It took the snake in its hooked beak and was about to carry it off. Har
ry screamed and ran toward the hawk. It promptly dropped the snake and flew off with a screech of protest.
With relief, Harry watched the little green snake slither to safety, and her heart filled with joy. “I love this place,” she murmured. “Shugborough is—” She searched for the right words, then smiled. “Absolute perfection!”
Thomas Anson didn’t return to the hall until the afternoon light faded and dusk had begun to fall. He hoped that all the vultures who had descended earlier would have taken wing by now. He dismounted and led his horse into the pasture behind the stables. He slipped off the saddle, hoisted it to his shoulder, and headed toward the tack room. When he heard his father’s voice coming from the stables, he stopped and waited, hoping he would leave. The contempt he felt was like bitter gall in his mouth.
His ears pricked up when he heard the name Ranton. This was his father’s nearby sporting estate, complete with racing stables, where the nobility, including the prime minister and certain lesser members of the royal family, came to indulge their bloodlust by shooting game and gambling away their fortunes.
His father’s voice ordered, “Wait until close to midnight. Make absolutely sure nobody sees you. The paraffin is stored in the stone outbuilding next to the stables.”
Paraffin? Christ Almighty, he’s arranging to burn the place down. Thomas’s gut knotted. Curse the swine! He has Ranton insured for a half million.
He quietly retraced his steps back to the pasture, resaddled his horse, and headed toward Ranton. He covered the miles swiftly and by the time dusk turned into full darkness, he had reached the estate. He entered the stables, where a dozen Thoroughbreds were housed in box stalls. He slipped a bridle onto the first horse and led it outside.
The Dark Earl Page 1