To Heal an Earl

by Aston, Alexa

  The physician’s words were like a knife plunging into Charlotte’s heart. She couldn’t imagine what this sweet boy was going through and to now learn he hadn’t long to live was the worst news of all.

  She looked at Gray and realized he would become the Earl of Crampton upon his nephew’s death. He would need to wed in order to provide an heir. Charlotte couldn’t watch him bring home a bride, much less see the woman’s belly swell with Gray’s child in it. Her determination to leave Gray Manor increased tenfold. She would wait until the current earl passed and then seek employment elsewhere. The thought of leaving her charges brought tears to her eyes. She would see the girls had a competent replacement and then she would leave Kent and never return.

  Dr. Winston said, “When the attacks become more frequent and severe, opium should be used. It will relax his lordship, helping him to breathe, and induce sleep.” Looking directly at Charlotte, he said, “I would like to show you and Mrs. Minter how to use it when she returns tomorrow morning.”

  She nodded. “Anything else?” she asked, her voice tight and strained.

  “No. I wish I had better news to share,” the physician apologized. “Lord Crampton should be made to enjoy what time he has left and when things worsen, be made as comfortable as possible.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Winston,” Gray said, his jaw tight with tension.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Charlotte said, and both men bid her good night.

  She went directly to the earl’s room. Smith was the footman on duty tonight and he gave her a brief nod from where he sat in the corner.

  “Hello, Miss Nott,” the earl said, looking small in his bed. Dark circles were painted under his eyes. “Are you here to read to me?” he asked hopefully.

  She picked up the novel they’d been reading together for the past week. “I am. I was eager to find out what happened next to Robinson Crusoe. The last we read, he was about to escape enslavement from the Moors.”

  “With Xury,” the earl prompted.

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten the boy’s name. You have an excellent memory for details, my lord,” she praised.

  Charlotte moved a chair close to the bed and opened to where the bookmark sat and began reading. She’d only read half a page when she sensed movement and, from the corners of her eyes, saw that Gray had entered the room.

  “What are you reading?” he asked his nephew.

  “It’s about the adventures of Robinson Crusoe.”

  Gray smiled as he took a chair and placed it on the opposite side of the bed and sat. “Ah, I read it when I was a boy. What part are you at?”

  The boy said a few words before being seized by a coughing fit. Charlotte handed him a handkerchief and he spit the foul-looking mucous into it. She gave him a sip of broth that always rested next to the bedside and he fell back against the pillows looking drained.

  “We can read another time,” she said.

  “No,” he whispered. “Please. Go on.”

  Reluctantly, she picked back up where she’d left off. As she continued reading, she saw Gray take the boy’s hand. Though he said he had no feelings left inside him and nothing to give anyone, Charlotte believed that the children might save him. She’d seen the fond looks he’d bestowed upon Harriet and Jane and saw he was just as taken with his nephew. If Gray would only open his heart and allow love into it, she knew he would be a good parent to these children, as well as a good earl when the time came.

  She read until the boy fell asleep and placed the bookmark at their stopping point before setting it on the nearby table. Rising, she bent and brushed a kiss on the child’s brow. It surprised her when Gray did the same.

  They left the room and he walked down the corridor with her, no words between them.

  As she turned to go up the stairs to her room, he took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers and said, “Thank you for not only teaching him—but loving him. I’m afraid he received none from his parents. They were selfish people who should never have had children. You have been a godsend to all three of them, Charlotte.”

  She wished he would hold her hand forever. It felt so right, better than anything she could think of. She saw his eyes drop to her mouth and her lips tingled in anticipation of his kiss. But that would be wrong. Gray would have a life far beyond the one she ever would. He would become titled and wealthy. He belonged to the ton. She had been exiled from it.

  In this moment, Charlotte knew she must guard her heart. She stepped away from him, pulling her fingers from his.

  “Good night, Mr. Grayson.”

  Hurrying away, she prayed he wouldn’t follow. Her heart was already ragged enough, knowing she would lose the young earl soon, and then she’d be parted from those precious two girls. She couldn’t give any more of herself to Gray. She’d already lost enough in her life. Charlotte was strong but she could only take so much.

  She reached her bedchamber and entered quickly, shutting the door and leaning her forehead against it, tears spilling down her cheeks. Blindly, she turned the lock and pressed her palms against the door to hold herself up from collapsing.

  A soft knock sounded. “Charlotte?”

  It was Gray.

  She blinked rapidly and saw the handle turn—but the door remained shut and locked.

  “Charlotte?” he called again and she heard the anguish in his voice.

  It took everything in her power not to open the door and throw herself into his arms. What she wouldn’t give for a brief moment of comfort, his arms encasing her, his lips moving against hers. But it would lead to nothing. It would resolve nothing. She’d only be more broken and alone than she was now.

  After a moment, she heard him sigh and his footsteps carried him away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gray finished writing his last letter and sealed it. He’d first penned a post to the Duke of Gilford, thanking him for recommending Dr. Winston and giving the duke an idea of Rodger’s prognosis. The physician had remained in Kent for three days and had left almost a week ago. Dr. Winston wrote down all of his recommendations, which he’d given to Charlotte.

  He’d written separately to Burke and Reid, bringing both men up to date on the situation at Gray Manor. His friends knew how passionately he’d hated Seymour and yet Gray wanted to make things right with his brother’s children. He vacillated between wanting to give more of himself to the children and yet showing that kind of vulnerability frightened him beyond measure.

  It made him think once again of how he only wanted to be left alone to his bitterness. Retreating to London would solve some of his problems. The irony was that while Gray felt unlovable, at the same time, he yearned for love and tenderness.

  With Charlotte Nott.

  He didn’t know how to get past his pain, though. It had proven easier to withdraw from others, where no one could hurt him. It was one thing to recognize he possessed a wounded spirit and another to learn how to forgive himself and move past the darkness that ate away at him. As long as he remained so conflicted, he had to push Charlotte from his thoughts. She deserved a much better man than Gray could ever be. Catching glimpses of her every day brought more suffering than he could cope with. He looked forward to every conversation with her and then hated that he relived every word of it when he was alone. After accompanying her and his nieces on a riding lesson, he’d chosen to stop participating. It was too hard seeing Charlotte’s cheeks bloom with roses and hear her laughter as she urged the girls on.

  At least he’d come to the decision to leave in the morning. He’d already informed Masters and Mrs. Cassidy of his plans and had spoken at length with Jeremy Linfield regarding estate matters. Sable was readying the coach and Parker was spending the day packing. Gray knew he must tell the children, as well, though he dreaded their reaction. And Charlotte’s.

  Rising, he took the letters to the foyer for Masters to post. He was thirsty and thought he’d stop by the kitchen for a cup of tea. As he started down the hall, he paused, hearing music
. And then the most angelic voice that must be this side of heaven. It drew him up the stairs.

  Gray paused in front of the open drawing room doors and then slipped into the room. At the far end, he saw Charlotte sitting at the pianoforte, playing and singing. Rodger sat in the bath chair that Gray had sent to Canterbury for, a smile on his face.

  He slipped into a chair near the door, not wishing to interrupt. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the music and Charlotte’s rich contralto. She moved effortlessly from one piece to the next. Her voice evoked emotions in Gray that he hadn’t known still existed and when she finished her last song, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped tears from his cheeks.

  She turned and smiled at the boy, who grinned from ear to ear.

  “I hope you enjoyed that, Lord Crampton.”

  “It was better . . . than going . . . outside,” he managed.

  Gray stood and walked toward them. “I was passing and heard music. I hope you don’t mind that I joined you.”

  Her eyes grew wary but she nodded politely. “Of course not, Mr. Grayson. This is your home. You should go wherever you wish.”

  “Isn’t Miss Nott . . . wonderful?” Rodger asked.

  “She is, indeed,” he agreed.

  “I thought that Lord Crampton might enjoy hearing some music. His sisters are just beginning their lessons and aren’t quite ready for an audience yet.”

  Parker entered the drawing room. “How did you like Miss Nott’s singing, my lord?” the valet asked.

  “I did.” Rodger yawned. “I’m . . . tired, though.”

  “Not a problem, my lord. I can take you back upstairs. It’s time you had a nap after sitting outside this morning and receiving your own personal concert this afternoon.”

  “Will you play for me again, Miss Nott? Soon?” the boy pleaded.

  “I’d be honored to, my lord,” she replied.

  Parker rolled the bath chair from the room. Charlotte stood and Gray didn’t want her to leave.

  “Would you play a song for me?” he asked. “A favorite of my father’s. Well, actually, my mother’s, but I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. Father told me it was one she loved.”

  “I lost my mother when I was very young,” she revealed.

  He told her the title. “Do you know the tune?”

  She nodded. “I’d be happy to play it for you, Mr. Grayson.”

  Seating herself at the pianoforte again, her fingers hovered over the keys a moment and then she began. Gray let himself be swept up in the music, thinking of how his mother enjoyed this song above all others. A miniature of her sat in his chambers now. He looked at it every night, the same as his father had, feeling guilty that his birth had caused her death.

  Charlotte concluded the piece and rose.

  Gray stood. “Thank you. I only wish my father could have heard you sing and play. Actually, your voice is remarkable, Charlotte. I fear you’re wasting your time as a governess. You should be singing for audiences in cities far and wide. Your rich tone only adds to the emotion of your performance.”

  Her lips trembled and tears glistened in her eyes. Gray didn’t know why his words upset her so.

  “I’m sorry. Have I said something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” she said softly. “My mother. She was a singer. I suppose I have inherited what little talent I have from her.”

  “It’s a considerable talent. And I am serious. You should consider going on stage. You could make a hundredfold what you do as a governess. Audiences would clamor to attend your performances.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Yes, the life of a singer,” she said, bitterness thick in her voice. “The crowds pay to hear and then look down upon you when you are no longer on the stage.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what you speak of, Mr. Grayson. Polite Society thinks a singer or actress no better than a harlot. Forgive me if I prefer respectability over denigration.”

  Charlotte swept past him, spots of color on her cheeks. Gray reached out and snagged her elbow, halting her forward progress.

  “Stop touching me,” she hissed. “Stop looking at me as if you wished to kiss me.” They stared at one another for a long moment. Her anger cooled, leaving only sadness in her brilliant green eyes. “Please, Gray. Just leave me alone.”

  He released her and she fled from the room. Gray had no idea what had just happened. He’d only wished to compliment her on her beautiful voice, the best he’d ever heard. Then he remembered that she’d said that her mother was a singer. Had Charlotte heard her mother praised—and then lambasted? No, it couldn’t be, especially if she’d lost her mother at such a young age. She would have no memory of such cruel remarks.

  How and where did Charlotte grow up? She’d mentioned her father when they’d spoken of gardening and it had seemed to him that she remembered the man fondly. More and more, Gray realized Charlotte Nott was an enigma that he would never solve.

  *

  Charlotte went to her room, keeping her head down so no one would see her tears. She entered the bedchamber and shut the door, allowing her hurt to manifest itself as she cried softly.

  Her father had encouraged her to sing to him every night, praising her voice and telling her how much she reminded him of her mother and his beloved wife. She’d enjoyed entertaining him as he would sit enraptured by her songs each evening after dinner. She’d grown up cocooned in his love, happy she closely resembled her mother and that she could bring joy to her father with her voice.

  Those days of happiness had changed when Papa passed. Charlotte could still vividly recall her final encounter with Barclay, calling her the daughter of a third-rate opera singer, telling her that her mother was a whore. If her brother thought that of her and singers in general, she supposed all of Polite Society did, as well. When Gray praised her voice just now and encouraged her to take the stage, it was like a slap in the face. Though she loved the mother she couldn’t remember, Charlotte could never follow in her footsteps and sing professionally. She’d rather no one know her name and remain buried in the country, working with children and the elderly.

  Knowing it was time for the girls’ afternoon riding lesson, she quickly changed into her riding habit and rinsed her face with cool water before going to the schoolroom. Betsy’s smile greeted Charlotte and then faltered.

  “Have you been crying, Miss Nott?” Harriett asked, concern in the young girl’s voice.

  “I have,” Charlotte admitted, thinking of a quick lie. “I had something in my eye. It hurt dreadfully and as I cried, it must have come out.”

  Jane took her hand. “I’m sorry about your eye, Miss Nott.”

  She smiled gently at the shy child. “Well, I’m all better now. It’s time we go to the stables.”

  Both girls grinned and rushed from the room, Charlotte following on their heels. They reached the stables and a groom had Daffodil and Dandy waiting, while Sable held Moonbeam for her. He helped her into the saddle as the other groom handed up the girls.

  They left the area and Charlotte had them walk their horses to the nearby meadow.

  “We’re going to canter now,” she told them. “Remember what we’ve talked about. Hold the reins firmly. Don’t tense your body for the horse will sense if you’re fearful.”

  “We’re not afraid, Miss Nott,” Harriet informed her. “Jane and I love to ride.”

  “All right. Follow me.”

  She nudged Moonbeam and settled into a trot, frequently looking over her shoulder. Both girls kept up well as they went up and down the meadow numerous times. Charlotte finally brought Moonbeam to a halt and turned to watch her charges arrive. They both pulled up on the reins, their faces flushed with happiness.

  “That was fun,” Jane said. “May we do it again?”

  “We’ve ridden enough for one day,” she replied. “Would you like to canter back to Gray Manor?”

  “Yes!” both girls cried gleefully.

  “Harriet, you may lead. Jane, follow
behind but not too closely. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  They rode back to the manor and the stables. Sable and another groom greeted them. Once taken from the saddle, Sable handed each girl an apple.

  “No giving it to them until they’re back in their stalls,” he warned.

  “Yes, Mr. Sable,” Jane said and she and Harriet followed the two ponies being led into the stables.

  “Let me give ye a hand,” Sable said and helped her dismount.

  “Thank you.”

  The groom sighed. “I’ll sure miss ye and the girls, Miss Nott.”

  “Have you taken another position, Mr. Sable?”

  He grinned. “I have. With Mr. Grayson in London. We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ll be head groom there and get to hire the others.”

  Charlotte managed a weak smile though it felt as if she’d been dealt a blow to her belly. “So, you’ll remain in London?”

  “Yes, Miss. Mr. Grayson says he’s already hired a butler, who’ll take care of hiring the rest of the staff. We’ll be there most of the year.”

  “I see.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I thought ye might bring Lady Harriet and Lady Jane to London to visit Mr. Grayson but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

  “No. Keeping children to a regular schedule is important,” she said, though her words sounded far away.

  Gray was leaving.

  And he wasn’t coming back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gray breakfasted early and knew he couldn’t put off talking to the children any longer. He went first to his nephew’s room, almost hoping the boy was still asleep. Instead, he found him awake and eating a soup filled with chunks of chicken and onions.

  “Uncle Gray.” Rodger sighed, the words seeming to take all the strength from him.

  “I’ve brought you a book,” he said, handing over a leather-bound copy of Gulliver’s Travels. “I read this when I was a little older than you are. It’s got quite a bit of satire in it. Are you familiar with that term?”