Lady of a Recluse Earl
Of Unexpected Love series
Mirella Tinley
Shella & Panella Publishing
First published 2018 by Shella & Panella Publishing
Copyright © Mirella Tinley 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events 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.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
This edition published 2018 by Shella & Panella Publishing
United States of America
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Sofia and Elliot
“Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea” ~ Henry Fielding – Love in Several Masques (1728)
Contents
About the Author
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter 1
Chapter Two
Chapter 2
Chapter Three
Chapter 3
Chapter Four
Chapter 4
Chapter Five
Chapter 5
Chapter Six
Chapter 6
Chapter Seven
Chapter 7
Chapter Eight
Chapter 8
Chapter Nine
Chapter 9
Chapter Ten
Chapter 10
Chapter Eleven
Chapter 11
Chapter Twelve
Chapter 12
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter 13
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter 14
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter 15
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter 16
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter 17
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter 18
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter 19
Chapter Twenty
Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Epilogue
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Also by Mirella Tinley
About the Author
The Regency era is a brief but colorful period in history - one that deeply captures my interest. I am a voracious reader of Regency literature, to the point that I felt I wanted to write my own literature. The joy for me is not just on writing, but to also share my work with you - my readers. Let’s enjoy this journey together!
Come say hello on my Facebook page! I would love to hear from my readers!
[email protected]
About the Author
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CHECK OUT MY GROWING LIST OF HISTORICAL ROMANCE BOOK SERIES
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Amazon US
Acknowledgments
I would like to express my gratitude to Joel Chester for the advise and insights.
Chapter One
The wedding
Chapter 1
Cheshire, England, June 1815
Emmeline Nightingale had never seen a more beautiful bride.
It was her eldest sister’s wedding day, and whilst Honora was getting ready, Emmeline was sitting in the window-seat, trying to keep out of the way of the busying lady’s maids, forced to simply watch the morning’s preparations intently. Behind her, warm sunlight glanced in through the window, making the white and cream of the bride’s dress glow with an almost ethereal radiance.
Everything seemed so feminine and wonderful. Even the sweet aroma of roses had somehow drifted up into the room from the beautiful, elegant gardens that sprawled across the lands of Davenham Park.
“Dearest Nora, you look exquisite!” Emmeline shrieked delightedly as one of the lady’s maids placed a gauzy veil upon a simple silver tiara that sat amongst Nora’s beautiful, dark curls.
Nora flushed, bringing a bloom to her alabaster cheeks. “Nonsense, Emmy! I look fair, perhaps, but no more,” she replied, a small smile pulling at the corners of her cherry-red lips.
“You shall be the envy of every woman in all of Cheshire,” Emmy announced. “Those who do not already envy you, that is,” she added, with a slight wink.
Suddenly, a sadness passed across the beautiful face of Honora Nightingale, who would only be Miss Nightingale for a few hours more. “I do not feel so lucky, Emmy,” she said softly, prompting Emmy to rush to her side. The lady’s maids dutifully stepped away. Under the ruse of fetching an alternative shade of silk gloves, they departed, leaving the two sisters alone.
Tears glinted in Nora’s dark eyes, though they were hastily brushed aside with the corner of her silk handkerchief.
“What is it, sister? It is not right for a bride to be sad on her wedding day,” whispered Emmy, though she had a feeling she knew why her sister was so sad. It was all she could do to keep the spirit of encouragement in her voice as she spoke.
“I fear what is to come,” Nora replied simply, all the while staring at her reflection in the looking glass.
Emmy looked through the mirror, too. “It is not too late,” she said, taking her sister’s hand in hers.
With a panicked expression, Nora glanced toward the window, as if it offered the freedom she desired. “How I wish that were true, dear Emmy. And yet, I feel it is much too late now.” She sighed miserably, her fingers toying distractedly with one of the curls that framed her face.
“Surely, Mama and Papa would understand if you were to change your mind? Lord Hodge was so persistent, after all—he barely gave you a moment to collect your thoughts. Perhaps you could explain… perhaps you could make them see that you were coerced, and you have now seen that you simply cannot go through with this marriage,” Emmy encouraged, though she felt her own heart begin to break a little as she witnessed the flicker of sorrow on her elder sister’s face.
They both knew that, in the end, it was much too late. Everything had been decided. If Nora did not go through with the wedding, there would be scandal. Emmy knew that Nora would likely lose her standing in good society and be ruined before she had even had a chance to make an excellent name for herself.
Nora smiled. “You know Mama and Papa would never permit me to halt proceedings. Mama has spent so long in preparation for this day—there have been people coming to and from the house for the better part of a month. I do not believe I could face her wrath if I went against her wishes,” she said quietly, taking a deep breath in. Emmy could see that she was visibly steeling herself for what was to come.
The clock on the mantelpiece read half-past-nine; they were due at the chapel in an hour’s time. There was no time for cold feet.
“You say that, sister, but I am certain nobody would blame you for running from that troll of a man,” Emmy teased, squeezing her sister’s hand tightly.
“He is not so bad as all that, Emmy. You simply have not seen him in the correct light,” Nora chuckled softly, a bright humour returning to her dark eyes.
Emmy flashed her sister a mischievous look. “True, I have not seen him in the pitch black,” she cackled, prompting the sisters’ raucous laughter to echo down the hall.
Nora quickly lifted her fi
nger to her lips, though it was clear she was struggling to stifle her own laughter; such a sound would bring their mother running. It was the last thing Emmy wanted, with her sister already teetering on the edge—one misjudged comment and she feared her sister might fall to pieces.
At least for now, there was some semblance of joy in her, which she could carry through the trials of the day.
“Anyway, let us not speak of unpleasant things. Instead, let us speak of joyful things! Before long, it will be you sitting in this chair, preparing for your wedding day,” said Nora, her laughter subsiding. She was clearly eager to switch the subject and Emmy was only too happy to oblige. Whatever would keep her sister from thinking too deeply about her upcoming nuptials, she would do, even if it was something she wasn’t too keen on dwelling upon.
Emmy gave a light shrug. “Perhaps, though the wars are showing little sign of ending.”
“They will be over soon enough, and your betrothed will return victorious,” Nora assured, her kind eyes glancing at Emmy through the reflection of the looking glass.
“Now, he will make a handsome groom. You shall be the envy of all of Cheshire,” she added with a smile.
It was true enough, though her engagement had been so extensive that she had almost forgotten there would be a wedding at the end of it.
She had been engaged for over a year to Albion Wyndham, the eldest son of the neighbouring family. They had made their betrothal official shortly before he left to fight in the war against Napoleon, though it had been planned out by their mothers—Lady Nightingale and Lady Wyndham.
As neighbours of good standing, it seemed only right that one of the Nightingale daughters should marry a Wyndham son, but Lady Nightingale had her sights set higher for Nora, and so, the engagement to Albion had fallen to Emmy. Not that she minded; he was as good an option as any, if not better.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured him, though his image faded the longer he stayed away.
He was tall and handsome, with tousled auburn hair and eyes of the most unique green shade that always twinkled with some unspoken irreverence. Forever the most intelligent and amusing man in the room, it was difficult not to feel affection for him, though Emmy still needed convincing that such a feeling could one day develop into something akin to true love.
Nora often promised her that it would grow and evolve, once they were man and wife, and it was a hope that Emmy clung to as she awaited his return. Every fortnight, she loitered by the main staircase at Davenham Park, listening for the sound of the post arriving. His letters were all she had to fan the flames of a fledgling romance.
“I worry for him, Nora,” Emmy admitted quietly, her eyes turning toward the window. Up on the horizon, at the top of the hill opposite, she could see the quaint sandstone structure of the Wyndham property, Whitecroft Abbey.
The Wyndhams had appeared one day in 1800, though their acquisition of the house had been steeped in mystery. The locals said Sir Herbert Wyndham, the man of the house, had been gifted it by King George III himself after preventing the King’s assassination at Drury Lane that same year. However, nobody could get Sir Herbert to confirm or deny the rumours. Still, Emmy liked to think they were true—it made the stuffy old man seem so much more exciting.
Nora nodded. “I know you do, but he will return to you, safe and sound, just as he left us,” she said softly. “He adores you, Emmy—he will not risk abandoning you to the wolves of our nation’s eligible bachelors!” She smiled and Emmy suddenly felt better.
“It almost sounds as if you envy me, sister,” Emmy murmured sadly.
She did not think it possible that anyone could envy her. Standing beside her sister, she was not the beauty, nor was she the most accomplished of the pair. Even so, Nora always made her feel as though she was the rare bird. That was her talent, to make others feel wonderful about themselves, though Emmy knew she did not always feel so wonderful about herself.
“In many ways, I do,” Nora replied, though there was no hint of resentment in her voice. “You are one of the lucky ones, Emmy. Your fiancé is young and dashing—and goodness me, how handsome he will look in his uniform on your wedding day! He adores you, and you adore him, in your own way. Your life can only be a happy one, and for that, I am grateful. I would see you the happiest wife in all the world. I can only hope my circumstances end with a similar euphoria.”
“I wish it for you, too,” Emmy cried, clutching her sister’s hands. “You deserve only beauty and wonderment in your life, and if that troll doesn’t give that to you, he shall have me to answer to!”
Nora laughed. “I shall be sure to let him know!”
Their girlish merriment was disturbed a moment later by the sound of carriage-wheels crunching on the gravel. Emmy got up and hurried to the window, peering out with anxious interest.
A phaeton and four had pulled up in the driveway. Emmy watched as a valet hurried to the door, opening it up whilst a man stepped out into the warm sunlight. He was dressed elegantly, though his waistcoat was straining somewhat, the buttons threatening to pop. His mousy hair was swept to one side in an apparent attempt to cover the baldness that was rapidly appearing. His dark-brown eyes, which Emmy thought looked like two wrinkled currants, gazed up toward the windows with a casual air of disinterest.
Emmy quickly ducked back behind the window-frame, not wanting the pug-faced man to see her.
“Lord Hodge has arrived,” she said solemnly, turning back to her sister.
Nora physically shuddered at the sound of her husband-to-be’s name and Emmy felt her heart grip in her chest. Before long, her beautiful big sister would become Lady Honora Hodge—an exquisite peacock of a woman, married to the dullest chicken of a man. It seemed to her like such a waste. There had to be a handsome, eligible young man out there who would be a thousand times more suitable. But Emmy had a feeling her mother had already looked, and none of them had had the same calibre of land and the baron title that Hugh Hodge possessed.
“Is he heading for the chapel?” Nora asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
Emmy dared to peer out of the window once more, just in time to see the back of Hugh as he disappeared around the side of the house, walking in the direction of the chapel.
She nodded. “I believe he is.”
“Very well, then,” said Nora. “I must be on my way, too. I would not wish to keep my future husband waiting,” she added, smoothing down the front of her beautiful dress as she stood.
Emmy let out a quiet gasp of awe, seeing her sister in all her marital glory. The dress was made of the finest white lace and muslin, with a silk under-dress. The fabric draped from her slender form as if it were made of liquid. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and her skin was the colour of cream, making her look as pure and innocent as it was possible to look. Indeed, thought Emmy, she made the most exquisite bride. It was just a shame that such perfection had to be wasted on as grim a specimen as Hugh Hodge.
The lady’s maids returned, helping Nora to pull on her silk gloves and making the final touches to her outfit and hair. Then, they helped her down the hallway, toward the main staircase. Emmy hurried after, smoothing out the creases in the pale pink gown she wore.
The rest of the family were waiting in the entrance hall, their faces turning up in wonder as they saw the ethereal figure of Nora emerge.
Emmy’s brothers were there, Francis and Jasper, as well as Viscount Thomas Nightingale and Viscountess Isabella Nightingale. The remainder of the serving staff—those who had to stay behind to prepare the wedding breakfast—were lined up outside the open doors, waiting to see their mistress off. Those who didn’t have to stay behind were already at the chapel, awaiting the bride.
The cook, Mrs Harbour, was weeping loudly into a handkerchief, and it looked like a few of the others were close to tears. Happy ones, Emmy hoped, though her own feelings were muddled inside her.
Three carriages were waiting outside, though the journey to the chapel was only a short one. The smal
l, pale-stoned building was tucked away at the back of Davenham Park’s extensive lands, hiding in the shade of a cluster of oak trees. Every Nightingale was buried there and every Nightingale had been wed there, filling the place with an equal sense of dread and comfort.
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