To Heal an Earl

by Aston, Alexa

  She was halfway through her cup when she heard voices shouting. Immediately, she sprang to her feet and raced from the kitchen. As she drew closer, she understood what was being called out.

  “Miss Nott! Miss Nott!”

  Charlotte reached the foyer and saw Harriet and Jane there, looking a little disheveled but no worse for the wear. She ran to them, falling to her knees in front of them, crying and laughing as she brought them close in an embrace. She never wanted to let them go.

  “Miss Nott, you’re here!” Jane said.

  She released them. “And thank the heavens you are, too. Why did you leave?”

  “I had to go with Harriet,” the small girl said solemnly. “I know the right thing was to stay. That’s what I wanted to do. But I worried about Harriet being on her own. Are you mad at me?”

  “No, darling, I’m not mad. You’re Lady Harriet’s sister. You did what you must to protect her and keep her safe.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Nott,” Harriet said, her bottom lip wobbling.

  “Why did you leave, my lady?” Charlotte asked. “I was so worried about you.”

  “I thought you’d lied to us.”

  “What? I would never lie to you, Lady Harriet. Never.” She paused. “What on earth did you think I lied about?”

  “That you liked us,” Harriet said, her voice small. “You’ve been the only one who ever liked us. Liked me. And then you said you were leaving and I just knew you hadn’t told the truth before. That neither you nor Uncle Gray liked us.”

  Charlotte gently took the girl’s shoulders. “I don’t just like you. I love you, Lady Harriet.”

  “I understand that now,” she said, her head hanging in shame.

  “Look at me,” Charlotte commanded.

  The girl did, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “You are a person of great worth, Harriet Grayson. So is Jane. I am proud of you every day.”

  “Are you mad?” Harriet asked.

  “Some,” she admitted. “But I was more worried than anything. You are very young to be out alone like that. No adult with you. No money.”

  “It was cold. And we’re hungry,” Jane said.

  “Are we going to be punished?” Harriet asked.

  “Yes,” Gray said firmly, finally stepping closer. “No toffee pudding for a month.”

  Harriet started to say something and then clamped her mouth shut.

  He knelt so he could look his nieces in the eye. “You will never do anything like this again. You will always have an adult with you at all times. You acted foolishly. Rashly. You’ve caused a great deal of trouble. You will never do this again. Do you both understand?” he asked sternly.

  “Yes, Uncle Gray,” they said in unison.

  He rose and helped Charlotte to her feet.

  “I think we need to see about feeding them,” he said.

  “I am hungry,” Jane agreed. “But we haven’t talked about the best part. That Miss Nott is staying.” The girl beamed.

  “You’re going to marry Uncle Gray!” cried Harriet.

  She looked at him.

  Gray shrugged. “It was the only way I could get them home when I found them.”

  “Where were they?”

  “We went to the museum,” Jane said. “Harriet thought we might live there. Have you been, Miss Nott?”

  “She won’t be Miss Nott anymore,” Harriet pointed out. “She’ll be a lady.”

  “She’s already a lady,” Jane said.

  “Well, yes, Miss Nott is a female—but she’ll be a real lady,” Harriet said.

  “She’s already a lady,” Jane repeated stubbornly. She looked up at Charlotte. “When we were in Wilton. At the shop. The woman called you Lady Charlotte. Remember? That’s when I learned your name. I thought you looked like a Charlotte and you told me I looked like a Jane.”

  “I’m glad you’re marrying Uncle Gray,” Harriet said. “If you married Mr. Linfield, you’d only be Mrs. Linfield. Now you’ll be Lady Crampton.”

  Charlotte was speechless.

  Suddenly, Miss Wight stepped up. “Hello, Lord Crampton. I am Miss Wight, the new governess to your nieces. That is, if you find that agreeable, my lord.”

  Gray appeared baffled by the woman’s sudden appearance and turned to Charlotte, his palms raised.

  She quickly said, “Miss Wight has impeccable references. I have examined them thoroughly and find her to be highly qualified to take on the position.”

  “My organized Miss Nott, leaving no stone unturned,” he said, amusement in his eyes. He turned back to the governess. “Miss Wight, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. If Miss Nott says you are a suitable replacement for her, then who am I to argue with her infinite wisdom?”

  The older women smiled graciously. “Thank you, my lord. I look forward to working with Lady Harriet and Lady Jane.” She glanced at the bedraggled twosome. “Why don’t I see that they are fed?”

  She turned to the girls. “I am Miss Wight. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Both girls curtseyed and introduced themselves.

  “You have lovely manners. Miss Nott has done an excellent job teaching you. After you eat, we’ll go to the schoolroom and you may show me what you’re working on.” She turned to Charlotte. “And perhaps we can meet later this afternoon, Miss Nott, and you can share with me an assessment of your former pupils.”

  Looking back to the children, she said, “Come along, girls. And remember—no toffee pudding.”

  The two willing took Miss Wight’s hands and headed toward the kitchen.

  Gray turned inquiring eyes on her. “So, Lady Charlotte. Shall we go to the library? You can tell me all about yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gray took Charlotte’s arm since she looked as if she might collapse at any moment. He realized how hard this day had been on her. She was the kind to blame herself for any kind of trouble, even that not of her own making.

  They reached the library and she broke away from him, immediately going to the fire. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms and he came and stood behind her, wrapping his own about her. She was so cold. He swept her up and took her to the nearest chair next to the fire. Gray cradled her in his lap. He wouldn’t force her to speak of her past. He wanted her to reveal it willingly and only then what she felt comfortable telling him.

  But he’d known in his heart she was a lady. From the way she moved to the way she spoke. She had an innate grace and presence that couldn’t be taught. It had been with her from birth, the result of generations of good breeding.

  So why was she a shabbily-dressed governess?

  Patience, he told himself.

  Gradually, he sensed her warming. Her cheek nestled against his chest and he could tell from the way she relaxed against him that she felt safe. Probably safer than she had for a long time.

  Charlotte fiddled with a button on his waistcoat and then she finally spoke.

  “I was trying to tell you, Gray. Before Betsy came in and told us the girls were missing. We were teasing one another. Flirting.”

  “I remember.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “I called you my lord and you called me my lady. And then . . .” Her voice trailed off. He sensed her stiffen with resolve and she said, “I am Lady Charlotte Nott. I used to be a part of Polite Society.”

  She fell silent again. Gray had no idea how one un-became a member of the ton. He knew of countless scandals but none of them had removed people from society, though a portion might give those involved the cut direct. A few times, when duels were fought and someone was killed, the victor fled to France or Spain—but he was still a member of society. Then a thought occurred to him.

  “Was your father a gambler, Charlotte? Did he lose his fortune and estates?”

  “Papa? A gambler?” She chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that made him want to take her straight up the stairs to bed. “No, Papa was wonderful.” She raised her head. “You met him.”

&nbs
p; “I did?”

  “Yes. He was Lord Rumford. I was raised at Rumford Park.”

  His jaw dropped as he stared into her remarkable green eyes. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before. You came with him—to Gray Manor—many years ago. You couldn’t have been any older than Jane. Or Harriet.”

  “I did visit Gray Manor. You were very nice to me. Most boys your age tease girls unmercifully and won’t have anything to do with them.” Her voice softened. “You were different.”

  Gray tried to reach into the recesses of his mind but the memory of their meeting was only a shadow.

  “That’s why you know how to run a household. An estate.”

  “Yes. Mama died when I was very young. I grew up managing the household. I went everywhere with Papa. He taught me all he knew. It was a very good life.”

  He searched her face. “What happened, Charlotte?”

  Her head dropped to his chest again and she began toying with another button. He put his hand over hers to still it.

  “Papa died.”

  In those two words, he heard that event had caused Charlotte’s world to crumble. But why? How?

  “I’d just turned eighteen. Papa and I were going to London for me to make my come-out. I was excited about having a new wardrobe. Going to parties. Dancing. Meeting new people.”

  When she didn’t speak, he prodded her gently. “And then Lord Rumford passed away?”

  “Yes. It was sudden. I remember how cold that day was. It rained as I walked back to Rumford Park. I remember shivering so in my wet clothes.”

  Anger filled Gray. What was she doing walking back from her own father’s funeral in a cold rain? But asking questions might upset her. Keep some of her story buried. And more than anything, he wanted to know it. To know all of her.

  Continuing, she said, “When I got home, my half-brother, the new earl, and his wife awaited me. When he told me there was to be no Season for me, I readily agreed. I knew I would be in mourning for Papa and it was only right to delay my come-out.

  “I was wrong. There was never going to be a come-out. I’d always known Barclay didn’t like me. I’d never understood why, though. He was a dozen years older and I rarely saw him. He spent a majority of his time in London, saying he abhorred the country. Once Papa was buried, though, Barclay let me know in no uncertain terms how deep his hatred for me ran.”

  She went back to playing with the button and Gray let her, knowing the story would unfold only when she wished it to. After another long silence, Charlotte shifted and looked him in the eyes, her mouth trembling.

  “When I tell you this, I’ll understand if you no longer wish to marry me. I’m sure you’ll think of me as Lord and Lady Rumford do. And others in Polite Society.”

  He cradled her cheek. “Let me do my own thinking, Charlotte. And as far as not wanting to wed you, you’re wrong. Nothing you could do or say would change my mind.”

  “Not even if I’m the mongrel of a whore?” she asked, her voice flat.

  Shock filled him. “What?”

  “That’s what the new Lord Rumford told me I was. My mother was an opera singer. Papa said Mama was the most renowned singer of her day. I can no longer remember what she looked like but I have vague memories of her singing to me.”

  “That’s where you get your voice from. Your mother.”

  “Rumford told me that all singers and actresses are whores. He didn’t want his children to be tainted by any association with me. That the ton would judge me and find me lacking in every way imaginable. I was ordered to leave on the mail coach the next day. He never wanted to see me again. In fact, he said I was dead to him.”

  Tears had begun streaming down her face. Gray wiped them away with his thumbs, not trusting himself to speak yet.

  “The servants were quite kind. They took up a collection for me. And Rumford did pay for my ticket to London. It took a while but I found work through The Plummer Employment Agency.”

  He thought of her—young, naïve, and alone. Practically penniless. How hard the years had been.

  His lips touched hers gently, not in a kiss of passion, but one of sympathy. And reassurance.

  “I look just like my mother. Rumford must have seen her every time he looked at me.”

  He stroked her hair. “When I look at you, I see a woman of great conviction. One of courage. A woman who places others above herself. You are no mongrel, Charlotte. That’s what the loathsome Earl of Rumford is. And I will see that he pays for what he did to you.”

  Gray wanted to kill the idiot. Instead, he would find a way to ruin him.

  “No. You will do nothing of the kind, Gray.”

  “Charlotte, I cannot let what he—”

  “No. Revenge is something that will stain your soul, Gray. I won’t let Rumford touch your life—our life—in that manner. Don’t you see? What happened is in my past. If you truly accept me for who I am, then you will let it go.”

  “How can I? You suffered for years. Alone. Destitute. No family or friends.”

  Her hands cupped his face. “Don’t you see, Gray? It was fate. I had to be turned out from my home. Disowned by my family. Taking post after post.” She smiled and it was as if the darkness left his soul. “All that of brought me to you.”

  Charlotte’s thumbs stroked his cheeks. “If Rumford hadn’t done what he did, I would have gone to London for my Season.” She chuckled. “Even if I hadn’t married after that first year, I don’t think I would still be there, eight years later, unwed and on the shelf. No. By now, I would have a husband. Children. I would never have come to Gray Manor to act as governess to Harriet and Jane.

  “I would never have met you.”

  He knew what she said was true. He still would have come back to England upon Seymour’s death and been guardian to his nieces and nephew. His soul still would be buried in hate and despondency. He was a different person today because of Charlotte. She had healed him. Taken a broken, flawed man and made him whole again.

  “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

  Again, that beautiful smile acted as a balm to his soul. “I believe I do—but I would enjoy hearing the words again.”

  “I love you, Miss Nott. Beyond how any man has loved any woman. You give me purpose. Strength. You saved me. I’m sorry you endured all that you have but you are right. It brought you to my doorstep. I love you, Charlotte. So very, very much.”

  Gray kissed her deeply then, as desire fanned through him.

  He finally broke the kiss and said, “If it weren’t broad daylight, I’d carry you up the stairs now and lock the door. Make love to you the rest of the afternoon. But I won’t do that until after we are wed. Speaking of that, we need to make plans.”

  “I’ll marry you tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “Or the day after. I’ll marry you every day if that’s what you want.”

  He laughed. “I would marry you tomorrow but it’s impossible.”

  She frowned. “I thought you’d obtained a special license.”

  “I did. And it’s good for ninety days.” He grinned. “But sweetheart, I simply cannot marry you in any of the rags you own. I want you to look like the countess you will be. We’ll call on the best modiste in all of London tomorrow. She’ll be charged with creating a new wardrobe for you, one suitable for your position. I don’t care how long it takes to sew but I do ask that one dress be made up as quickly as possible. Preferably in green so it will bring out the depth of color in your eyes. The day it’s delivered is the day we will wed.”

  “I didn’t know I was marrying such a shallow man,” she teased.

  “I want to give you everything, Charlotte. Even the moon and stars. But we’ll start with a gown that shows off your many fine attributes.” He touched her breast and squeezed it lightly. “It took me getting you out of your shapeless dress before I discovered just how luscious your body truly is. I want my bride to look her best on our wedding day. That means an appropriate gown. And jewels.”
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  “Jewels?” she repeated, acting as if the word was from a foreign tongue.

  “Yes, love. Jewels. There’s a lovely pair of emerald earrings and a matching necklace that belonged to my mother. It would mean a great deal to me if you would wear them for our wedding.”

  Charlotte beamed with joy. “I would be happy to do so, Gray.” She hesitated and then said, “Might it be possible to go see this modiste now?”

  He stood, his laugh echoing through the room as he twirled her in his arms.

  “For you, my love, I will make anything happen.”

  “I love you, Gray. So much it hurts.”

  He gazed at her. “I love you even more, Charlotte. Even more.”

  Epilogue

  Gray Manor—Three years later

  Charlotte looked out from where she sat on a blanket with Gray, her hands behind her and her legs stretched out in front of her. Harriet sat by the water, sketchbook in her lap, her hand flying across the page as she captured an image. She’d begun painting with oils two years ago and now several of her landscapes hung throughout Gray Manor and their London townhome. Charlotte hoped Harriet would continue to pursue art and was ready to suggest clay to her as the next art form to conquer.

  Laughter caught her attention and she turned, spying her two-year-old son and Jane chasing after a butterfly. Charlotte had fretted that the boy would be spoiled from all of the attention his cousins gave him. Gray had calmed her fears, telling her neither love nor attention would spoil any child. They’d given ample amounts to both Harriet and Jane and the girls thrived because of it.

  She closed her eyes, lifting her chin and basking in the sun of the warm summer day. Life was good these days, with a husband who worshipped her and their three children.

  Suddenly, she felt something trace her lips and caught the whiff of strawberry under her nose. Charlotte opened her eyes and took a bite of the fruit Gray offered her. A bit of juice dribbled down her chin so he quickly leaned over and licked it before kissing her. She’d worried that he kissed her too much in front of the children but he said it was good that they saw affection between their parents. It was a battle she never would have won and, besides, she was the true winner. With each kiss from her husband, she fell more deeply in love with him.