To Win a Lady's Heart (The Landon Sisters)

by Ingrid Hahn

  She has lost everything but her dignity...

  England, 1811. When John Merrick, the Earl of Corbeau, is caught in a locked storeroom with Lady Grace, he has but one choice—marry her. He cannot bear to tarnish any woman’s reputation, least of all Lady Grace’s.

  Lady Grace Landon will do anything to help her mother and sisters, crushed and impoverished by her father’s disgrace. But throwing herself into the arms of her dearest friend’s older brother to trap him in marriage? Never.

  Corbeau needs to prove that he loves her, despite her father’s misdeeds. After years of being an object of scorn, not even falling in love with Corbeau alters Lady Grace’s determination to not bring her disrepute upon another. However, if they don’t realize that the greatest honor is love given freely without regard to society’s censure, they stand to lose far more than they ever imagined.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Ingrid Hahn. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Taria Reed

  Cover art by The Reed Files

  ISBN 978-1-63375-614-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2016

  Table of 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

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Get Scandalous with these historical reads… Enticing Her Unexpected Bridegroom

  The Lady’s Disgrace

  Portrait of a Forbidden Lady

  The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell

  For the two lights of my life, Jonathan and Henry, with all my love.

  Chapter One

  1811

  “You’re not going down there, are you?”

  Lady Grace Landon, eldest daughter of the late and still infamous Earl of Bennington, turned to face her approaching sister, Phoebe. “Why not? The servants have the afternoon off.”

  “Nobody will find you down there.”

  Precisely. The November afternoon was a severe sort of gray, sodden as anything. It stood up as a fine compliment to the old manor house’s smell of damp stone and aged tapestries.

  Unfortunately, the weather left the members of the house party stranded inside with only their own ingenuity for entertainment. And one particular invention more creative than most was already afoot. Their host had instigated a game. Everyone was to hide, and he would seek them out.

  With such a large party of guests, the game seemed impractical. The least Grace could do was to seize the opportunity for some much-needed time to herself.

  “Then I suppose I’ll win, won’t I?”

  Phoebe’s eyes landed on the slender book Grace had tucked under her arm. “I’d wager you don’t want to play, never mind actually win.” Her attention caught on something behind her, making Grace turn, a prickle riding the length of her spine at the sight of the form looming at the other end of the corridor.

  John Merrick, Earl of Corbeau, broad and tall and lean as a mythic figure of old, said nothing. He bowed and continued walking the other way.

  Phoebe gave Grace a discerning glance. “Are you ever going to tell us what it was that happened between the two of you?”

  Grace started, but held her ground, returning her sister’s look with a harder one of her own. The matter had remained private for eight years. She wasn’t about to reveal anything now. “What do you mean?”

  The posturing worked. Phoebe’s face flashed something suspiciously like guilt. “Well, we always thought—that is, we wanted to ask you, but, you know—”

  “Who’s we?”

  Her sister shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then back again.

  “It’s all right, I can surmise perfectly well on my own.” By we Phoebe had meant herself and the rest of their sisters. Their mother, too, in all likelihood. Of course they had conjectured amongst themselves.

  It wasn’t so incredible that they did, or that they had a suspicion of something having passed between Grace and Lord Corbeau. What was incredible was that the question still lingered in their minds almost a decade later.

  Grace went on. “I propose a bargain. You tell me what it is you think you know. I will tell you whether or not you’re correct. And then you can tell me why you were absent for so long after dinner last night.”

  Phoebe’s face flushed a rather remarkable shade of red.

  “Well?” Grace’s brows rose. This ought to be good. With Phoebe it always was.

  “Oh, well, you know. I mean, rather…”

  “Oh, never mind.” Grace took pity on her. It wasn’t as if she would begrudge anyone enjoying their own secrets, least of all any of her sisters. Besides, as to why Phoebe had slipped away last night, Grace already had a fairly keen notion, one she wasn’t sure she wanted confirmed.

  Then again, with Phoebe, the youngest of the four sisters, one never knew. Perhaps Grace shouldn’t be so sanguine.

  “Just know whatever it is you’re thinking about in my past related to that man, you’re wrong. And I haven’t told you anything because there was never anything to report.”

  Her sister gave an indifferent shrug and retreated down the shadowy corridor in the same direction Lord Corbeau had gone.

  Picking up her light muslin skirts and shaking her head, Grace retreated down the steps to the lower part of the house. At the bottom, she stopped to survey the kitchen. It was a large room with glazed tile and a bank of paneled windows on the south wall allowing natural light, such as it was, on this overcast day. The modernity was striking against most of the rest of the crumbling pile.

  Instead of smelling of old food, the scent of soap lingered in the air, the strong sort used to scour metal to gleaming. Rows of polished pots and saucepans shone, one special vessel for every imaginable type of preparation. Not surprisingly, everything was in perfect order.

  Coming down here had seemed a fine idea while she’d been upstairs. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a place to make herself comfortable while the game played out in the rest of the house.

  There was a door across the way. No doubt it led either to the laundry or the scullery.

  Perfect.

  Grace lifted the latch and silently eased her way inside the cool space. It was the storeroom. Shelves of food reached from floor
to ceiling. She kept the door ajar so as not to lock herself inside.

  A small casement window allowed in enough of what passed for light on this dark day of late autumn. There was a narrow wax candle, if evening started falling while she hid. A little footstool would do very well as a perch.

  She settled below the rain-spattered window glass and set the spine of the book between the crux of her knees. The pages fell open to the unopened letter she’d hidden among the leaves, the scent of the crisp new book floating upward.

  At last.

  Her insides fluttered with anticipation. Her chest heaved, and the rush of air left her strangely breathless.

  The paper stock was so fine, so creamy. Her name written on the front above the direction had been reduced to Miss Landon. She’d dropped mention of her title. To attain what she pursued, she could not be Lady Grace.

  It’d taken some doing to manage the correspondence in secrecy, but the sale of a silver snuffbox and the resulting coins spread across the correct palms had worked admirably well.

  Her pulse beat in her ears. It had to be the offer. It had to be.

  She flipped the letter over and slid her finger along the fold, stopping at the thick red wax seal. This was it. With one flick, the seal broke. The paper crinkled as she unfolded it.

  At first scan, the marks on the page were nothing but odd symbols, loops and slashes and crosses, not words.

  Squinting, she tried again.

  Her heart flipped. The job was hers for the taking.

  Relief poured through her like a cool drink on a hot day. She, born the daughter of an earl, was going to earn wages.

  Wages!

  It wouldn’t be much—she couldn’t dream of restoring her family to what they’d been before their father had died and left them all penniless—but it would be something. No more relying on the thin-worn charity of others. Namely, the thin-worn charity of their Cousin Bickham and his new wife whose sly remarks reminded them they were less and less welcome with each passing day.

  What Grace’s sisters would lose by being intimately connected to a governess, they would gain by benefiting from what Grace would be able to provide them.

  No more charity.

  Her mother’s great hope was that she would make a good match. That, of course, was now closed forever.

  As it was, the hope had been threadbare enough. Being the daughter of an earl might have counted in her favor against a complete lack of fortune, but given that she was the daughter of the mad old Earl of Bennington—no. No man could overlook the infamy. The family remained dragged down by scandal, even all these years later. Not even a love match could overcome the barrier to a good marriage.

  Besides, there was her age to consider.

  While twenty-seven seemed perfectly adequate and amiable to her, others thought differently. Much differently.

  Any chance she might have had was long lost. She had to think of what the family needed most: somewhere quiet to withdraw from the world. And that required money. Not much. Her governess’s salary wouldn’t afford anything but a modest existence, but it would buy them out of a life relying upon others.

  Besides, Grace liked children. However, after her father’s flaming fall into infamy, the one thing she’d always promised herself was that she’d never have any herself. Now she would have the chance to have that for which she’d always secretly longed. There was absolutely no reason in the world she couldn’t come to love her young charges as much as she might love a child of her own. She wasn’t losing anything. On the contrary, everything about her situation said she stood to gain.

  Only think how she should have followed her instincts and sought employment sooner.

  The door to her hiding place began to open. Grace’s pulse leaped in surprise, and she hastily shoved the letter back inside the book. To be discovered so soon—how disappointing. She’d have to put a placid smile on her face and pretend to enjoy rejoining the others.

  But the man entering kept his back to her and shut the door.

  Oh, bother. Why did it have to be him? That dark hair with a hint of wave. Those shoulders, so perfectly delineated in the crisp cut of his jacket. He was a sight, well enough—a sight best admired at a comfortable distance. Preferably at the opposite end of the largest ballroom in London. Better yet, across the other side of the park.

  It could have been anyone else, anyone—even one of the under-gardeners slipping away for a nip of brandy—she would have remained level and composed and altogether unruffled.

  But no. It had to be Lord Corbeau. His awkwardness always put her on guard, making her heart beat a little harder whenever he was near. There was something about him, something that made her skittish. She was always so—so aware of him.

  He remained poised by the door as if listening for someone to approach. Were he anyone but himself, she might think the man was instigating some childish prank, making himself ready to jump out and give someone a terrible fright.

  He thought he was alone, no doubt.

  The moment to make herself known with any measure of decorum passed.

  Inwardly, Grace sighed. There was no measure of decorum to be had around this man.

  She rose.

  The room would have remained shrouded in perfect silence had the rain not picked up and clattered against the glazing behind her.

  The earl didn’t turn. He hadn’t heard her come to her feet.

  Marvelous.

  There were some lessons her own governess had despaired of having imparted to her. Moving like a lady wasn’t one of them.

  Grace shifted her weight. She opened the book. Before she could close it again, her whole body rebelled, freezing her in place.

  She was going to have to do this. It would be nothing but awkwardness if her thudding heart made itself known to him before she did.

  Snap. She shut the book.

  Lord Corbeau jumped visibly and turned.

  And said nothing. He just looked at her, in that steady way of his, as if he could…as if he could…well, never mind as if he could what precisely, she was not going to allow herself to consider. Not for one single moment.

  “It’s you.” As soon as he spoke, he seemed to recover himself, and bowed. “Lady Grace.”

  Her cheeks flooded with unfortunate warmth. Not her fault. What woman wouldn’t blush when a man like him pronounced her name in the rich intonation of his low voice?

  If only she’d been able to accept him. She’d wanted to. But she hadn’t been able to.

  The refusal had been for his own good. Of all the men in all the world to be tarnished by marrying into a family such as hers, he was the man she would have picked last.

  Her father’s situation had still been hushed when Lord Corbeau had made his interest in her known, but it wasn’t long after that when the family’s secret became known all about town. And that’s when the ramifications began.

  Most men would have been grateful for the narrow escape.

  Not him. Corbeau had hated her ever since she’d turned him away.

  She nodded. “My lord.”

  “It seems my hiding place was less clever than I’d supposed.”

  “Yes.” Yes? Well, wasn’t she the very definition of wit.

  “I’ve disturbed you.” The stern features of his guarded face flashed a hint of emotion. Grace’s heart twisted. The poor man was terribly awkward, wasn’t he? The worst part of it was, he was obviously aware of the fact and seemingly helpless to alter himself.

  “Not at all.”

  He gave her a dubious look.

  “I was going to read.” She held up her book and tried to smile. If the stiffness in her face were any indication, she’d failed abominably.

  “A fine thing for such a day. I myself enjoy the pastime.”

  In the wake of his pronouncement, Grace could almost feel his inner cringe.

  Because of her close friendship with his sister Hetty, she’d spent plenty of time around the man. If he’d said so much to her
in all of their ten years’ acquaintance since that afternoon together she couldn’t recall the instance. Perhaps what was playing out between them now was evidence of why he had stayed so silent.

  “Yes.” She scrambled for something else to say—anything. “It is. Reading.” She hated herself for nodding, but couldn’t stop. Perhaps she should thank him. There was a certain comfort in the knowledge she wasn’t the only lackwit in the room. “It always amuses me. But I rather prefer being beside a fire on days such as this one.”

  Instantly his expression shifted to concern.

  “You’re chilled.” He pulled at the door. Then pushed. “I’ll bring you—” He cleared his throat and tried again.

  Nothing.

  It was locked.

  The ground below her feet seemed to sink. Grace had left the door ajar with good reason.

  If there were ever a time to keep a level head, this would be the prime example. She licked her lips and ventured what she almost didn’t dare hint at, lest she give the fates ideas to make a cruel joke of her.

  The words didn’t come.

  Absurdity. Grace didn’t believe in fates, and she wasn’t about to begin now.

  She took a breath. “You don’t suppose it locks from the outside, do you?”

  Chapter Two

  John Merrick, Earl of Corbeau—Corbeau as he’d been called since childhood by all closest to him—pushed on the door, a faint twinge of desperation flickering in the depths of his chest. The latch held.

  It was one of those days. After burning his tongue on his first sip of morning coffee and in quick succession overturning an entire pot of ink on himself, he should have retired to a dark corner. More than anything, he should have steered clear of his friend Max’s ridiculous game.

  Too late. He’d found himself in about the worst possible place with the last person in the world with whom he could wish to be trapped in a confined space.

  And if he knew his host, the game was a thinly veiled cover for an opportunity for Max to find a quiet place to steal a kiss from one of the ladies.

  Now Corbeau was not only locked in a storeroom but also locked in a storeroom with Lady Grace. He studied her in one of those interminable silences that always reared its ugly head when he was within ten feet of the woman.