The Earl’s Wicked Seduction (Historical Regency Romance) Page 2

  "I'll be the one to tell you, Grace," said Aunt Betsey. "You are the best hope for this family's future. You have no other male relatives, save your Uncle Leonard. Your brothers are too young to earn more than a pittance. They would be better off with some schooling anyway, so they do not grow up to be rough, ignorant men."

  "They are not ignorant!" cried Patience, shocked. "I taught them to read myself. And they can write – a little!"

  Betsey ignored her. "My husband and I agree that Grace must marry and marry well. It will certainly be a better life for her than working until she drops in the dark hallways of some enormous house, which is about all she can look forward to now."

  "I see," Grace whispered, not knowing whether she should feel thrilled or horrified. "Perhaps at the ball I might meet a successful tradesman or farmer . . . even a preacher, or a young soldier."

  But Aunt Betsey sat up very straight on the bench, clutching her large cloth bag. "You still do not understand!" she admonished. "I said that you are to marry well."

  "But – I am a servant – " Grace felt like dissolving into despair. How could she possibly do what her aunt and uncle expected her to do?

  "Listen to me," Aunt Betsey said. "I told you I would not be polite. There is no time for niceties when the bills are coming due and your brothers need new breeches.

  "You have an entire family who needs what a well-to-do husband can provide," she went on. "Surely you can understand that it is your duty to marry such a man – That you must set your sights as high as possible. That you should aim for the young earl himself!"

  Grace looked up. Her mother caught her breath. "Oh!" said Patience. "Will Earl Worthington be there, at the assembly ball? Oh, how exciting!"

  "That is not known," said Uncle Leonard. "The ladies who come to our shop have long said that though he does enjoy the company of pretty young women, he does not find large social gatherings to his taste. But you still must be ready, Miss Miller."

  "I must say that I agree," said Patience, who was nodding beside her. "And even if he is not there and you hit a lower mark, it will still be higher than what you would have had otherwise! Oh, my dear, every eligible man in the county will be there. One of them is sure to be more than suitable for us!"

  "For us?" said Grace, turning to look at her mother.

  "For you, of course!" said Patience, and laughed happily.

  Grace stood up and paced a few steps across the worn green grass of the lawn. "But Aunt Betsey – Uncle Leonard – the fact remains that I am nothing but a servant. I have never been anything else, never will be anything else. None but a simple tradesman would ever consider me, and a man like the earl would not look twice. I would only be wasting my time, and yours."

  "Please, Miss Miller," Uncle Leonard said, shaking his head. "The point of all of this is that you will not be going to the ball as a servant. You will go nowhere ever again as a servant. That girl no longer exists."

  "But – what do you mean?"

  Aunt Betsey actually smiled. "We have a plan," she said. "And once we are done with you, the earl – and every other man at the ball – will look at you far more than twice!"

  Grace sat back, feeling stunned. "I don't know what to say," she whispered. "It feels like the whole world is spinning!"

  "It will stop soon enough," said Aunt Betsey, and passed the bundle in her lap over to Grace.

  "In there, are two slightly worn, but perfectly respectable muslin dresses, along with a bonnet. You have not yet come into town and no one has seen you. Tomorrow, you will come to us in the shop for further planning and you will wear one of these dresses. Do not think of wearing your servant garb ever again."

  "You are no longer a servant. You never were a servant," Uncle Leonard repeated firmly. "You must never forget that. Your future, and that of your family depends on it."

  Chapter Two

  An Earl Schemes To Avoid A Fortune Hunter

  A short time later, Patience walked ahead to the roadway with Aunt Betsey while Grace walked with Uncle Leonard. "Is he safe?" her uncle asked quietly. "And are all of you safe while you are with him?"

  Grace nodded. "We are. He only gets maudlin and sentimental at worst. He is as safe as we can make him. Truly, we do not know what else to do. There seems to be no cure for – for this sort of illness."

  "I don't think there is a cure, either. And even good men can fall into it, as you have seen." Uncle Leonard took her hand as they reached the road. "But all of you will be safe here in the cottage. My wife and I are determined that you will all make a life for yourselves here."

  "That's right," said Aunt Betsey. "We’ll see you tomorrow at the shop. You simply follow this road right here, along the Feathering River. The shop is near the far end of the western side of the street, and is called Fabrics, Feathers & Fineries."

  "Far end, western side," Grace murmured, and then smiled. "My thanks to both of you. I'll see you tomorrow at the shop."

  "Goodbye! Goodbye!" called Patience, as Aunt Betsey and Uncle Leonard walked south on the road towards Birdwell. Grace simply stood beside the fencepost and gazed up at the great estate known as Worthington, sitting high on the distant hill in the soft light of the fine spring day.

  * * *

  "Simon! Simon! Quickly! The bees – they're all around me! Oh, help me, please, take this plate away!"

  Thomas, better known as the Earl Worthington, sat on the hillside just below the enormous, castle-like house where he and his family lived. It was a beautiful spring day and he was surrounded by his trusted male friends and by several of the prettiest young ladies in the county, enjoying a picnic atop blankets spread over the grass.

  Or rather – he would have been enjoying it, if not for the behavior of one of the young married women at the picnic.

  Almost from the moment the party had arrived at the hillside, Beatrice Clarke had complained loudly about practically everything: the sun, the ants, the honeybees, the wind, the leaves that fell onto her plate – everything. And to make things worse, Beatrice was the newly married wife of Thomas's close and loyal friend, Simon Clarke.

  Thomas watched as Simon hurried over to his wife's side. "What can I do, dear? Do you want to change your place again? Is the sun bothering you in this spot?"

  "No! Didn't you hear me? It's these bees! They're everywhere! Get this plate away!"

  The entire gathering watched, fascinated, as Simon awkwardly took her plate full of cakes in one hand and tried to help her up with the other. "Oh! You've trod on my skirts! Why do you have to be so clumsy? Get off, get off!"

  No one said a word. Finally, Simon managed to get his young wife to her feet and brush away the honeybees who had been drawn by the sugary cakes. "I want to go inside!" she demanded.

  "Oh, but – my dear, please," Simon said, in a small voice that was not much more than a whisper. "We've only just arrived. The earl is here to join us. We cannot leave now."

  "You stay then, if you cannot leave your dearest earl," retorted Beatrice. She obviously did not care if everyone heard her berating her husband. "Just leave your poor wife to the ravages of the sun and the ants and the bees, with no chance to eat properly!"

  With a deep sigh, Simon gave up and took Beatrice's arm. "Come in, then," he said, walking her along towards the house as quickly as he could.

  The rest of the group seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and then went back to their pleasant conversation and laughter. Yet Thomas could not help but wonder what had happened to his good friend's sweet and lovely young bride. In just the three months since the wedding, she had become selfish and demanding to the point of being rude and dismissive of her husband in public . . . and actually seemed proud of treating him that way.

  Thomas lay back on the blanket and gazed up at the blue sky, watching the soft grey-white clouds drifting through it. He was well aware that his mother was becoming very concerned about his being married and wanted him to find a suitable bride as soon as possible. Lady Worthington had actually succeeded in
restarting a series of subscription balls down in the village of Birdwell, and of course, she would expect him to attend.

  Finding young and pretty feminine companions was no trouble for him. He was surrounded by them at this small picnic, mostly invited by his mother. But a wife? However did one know for sure whether he was getting a sweet-tempered companion or a selfish shrew who was only after the man with the biggest purse and the largest house?

  It actually made him feel helpless, in a way. There was no hiding his great wealth as the proprietor of Worthington. Scattered on these grassy hills were the best herds of prime Teeswater cattle, good for both beef and milk and quite attractive with their splashy, red roan coloring and short, curving horns.

  Thomas had found that he quite enjoyed the scientific side of farming. He loved trying to improve the animals, their pastures, and their corn, and found it very rewarding to see the local farmers make use of the excellent meat, milk, and feed, all of which had been created right here on his own estate.

  Raising good herds and feed crops was not just a satisfying pastime. It was also very profitable. It allowed Thomas to both improve the estate and maintain a small herd of broodmares of various types, whose offspring added even more money to his coffers.

  Never had it seemed possible that his fortune would cause him trouble. Most everyone saw wealth as the answer to all of life's problems. But Thomas knew that these delightful young women enjoying the picnic with him were not here simply for his company. They were well aware that that he was a successful man from a wealthy and titled family. His wife – whoever she turned out to be – would always have the very best that life had to offer.

  Thomas closed his eyes. Sometimes, he almost wished he was poor . . . at least, just long enough to find a wife who might actually want him for himself alone. Someone who would not turn out to be a fortune hunter like the ever-nagging and complaining Beatrice Clarke.

  * * *

  Later that evening, as the sunlight began to fade, Grace carried a dripping tallow candle in a tin holder into the smaller sleeping room. Quickly, she closed the door behind her and peered into the dimness – yes, he was there as usual, sitting at his small table and looking out of the window. On the table were his pipe and a little bag of tobacco, along with a bottle of gin.

  The full glass was in his hand. It rarely ever left.

  "Hello, Father," she said quietly, setting the candle down on a rough bench near the foot of the bed. "Supper will be ready soon. Will you come out to the hearth and sit with us?"

  Cecil Miller blinked, and slowly turned to look at her. "Grace! Good evening to you. Did you know there are red squirrels out there, in the hazel trees? Pretty little things, with those pointed ears. And such fine fur."

  She smiled patiently. "Will you come out and join us for supper?"

  "Oh . . . oh . . . supper?" He frowned a bit. "I think I'll do well to stay right here. I can light my pipe and have a smoke after supper. Your mother'll bring me a plate, now, won't she?"

  "Of course, she will. And I'm sure she’ll sit with you for a time while you eat. I'll ask her to do that."

  "That's my fine girl! Oh – and a bit later, ask Noah to get the cards or the dice and have a game with me. He's getting good at those, you know. Better than John, who only likes his books. But Noah, now, he already loves the games of chance!"

  "All right, Father. He'll be in soon. And it will be cold tonight, so I'll get you the extra blanket."

  He seemed not to have heard her, for he was already pouring himself another glass and gazing into the twilight at things that no one else seemed to see.

  Grace had long since given up on expecting anything to change. When men gave themselves over to drink, as he had done, they never came back from it.

  The entire family, including Uncle Leonard and Aunt Betsey, had an unspoken agreement to simply care for and protect him, and try to keep him out of sight. They did not want him to come to any harm, or possibly run afoul of someone and end up in gaol.

  At the same time, they couldn’t risk his behavior further harming the family reputation. He had damaged it severely enough at Northcliff and they had all been forced to leave. Even the two boys could have trouble finding work if it was known that their father was a hopeless drunkard – to say nothing of Grace now hoping to make an advantageous marriage.

  They all knew that keeping the family clear of any hint of scandal was of paramount importance. So, their father enjoyed a nice enough life, simply staying in his sleeping room or out in the pleasant, walled garden. As long as he had food, his pipe, and his bottle of gin, he was quite content, and never asked for anything more except the occasional game of dice or cards.

  It was all that anyone could do for him.

  * * *

  Just as the twilight faded and true night fell, Thomas sat out on the expansive covered front portico of the great house and gazed out into the darkness. To the north, he could easily see, perhaps a mile away, the torches and lamps of the town of Birdwell, as well as the many scattered lights from the farmhouses all around it.

  His friend, Simon Clarke, sat in the other chair. The small table between them held a lantern with a beeswax candle, a couple of glasses, and a fine brandy.

  Inside the house, some of his friends from the picnic that afternoon were all enjoying some wine and a few card games. Thomas noted that Beatrice was especially good at cards and seemed very fond of a little gambling.

  "Where did your wife learn to play?" asked Thomas. "She seems to enjoy it very much."

  He heard Simon take a deep breath. "Apparently, her mother whiles away many hours at cards. Beatrice learned the rudiments of a few games there, and . . . and begged me to show her more."

  "So you did."

  He sighed. "I don't like having my wife gamble and waste her time on such pursuits. But – "

  "But you will pay hell if you don’t allow it." Thomas stood up and refilled both his own glass and Simon's from the brandy decanter. "I'm sure I shouldn't be so blunt, but I'm sorry for you."

  Simon merely shrugged and took another sip of his brandy. "I did it to myself. My parents adored her. She was so beautiful . . . so sweet, so thoughtful, so demure . . . I was swept away by her, by all that she offered me. In a fit of passion, I asked her to marry me. And now . . . "

  "Yes, now." Thomas cleared his throat. "Simon. Did you know that my own parents tried their best to have me marry Beatrice? They, too, thought she would be an ideal wife."

  "Yes, I do know," Simon said, after a moment. "Beatrice told me about it the very first time we quarreled – which was the morning after our wedding night. And she has brought it up to me many times since, seeming to delight in holding it over my head that the earl himself wanted her for his wife."

  Thomas couldn't help but smile a little. "My friend, if I had truly wished to marry her, I would have."

  "Then I have to ask why you did not."

  "I’m not sure," he admitted, and walked a few slow steps towards the edge of the portico. The lights down below still glowed steadily. "I certainly found her just as pretty as you did, and just as sweet and accommodating. And yet . . . "

  "Yet?"

  "I cannot name it. Maybe it’s just that I tend to be drawn towards dark-haired women and not the golden-hairs."

  Both of them laughed. "That is as good a reason as any," said Simon. "But don't feel too sorry for me. I still have hope that she will turn back to the person she was during our courtship. I still have hope that I can find a way to make her happy and that there will be peace and conviviality in our home."

  "Hope is not a plan, my friend," said Thomas. "You cannot build your life on it. It will not feed you, or protect you, or keep you warm at night."

  "But it's all I have." Simon reached for the brandy bottle again. "It’s all that keeps me going, much of the time." He sighed. "I am twenty-four years old. And already I find myself living in the same way as so many of the old men that I see. They lead entirely separate lives from the
ir selfish and ill-tempered wives, who care nothing about a husband's happiness as long as they have their own."

  "And his fortune."

  "And his fortune."

  "You must mind that fortune very closely, Simon. When women gamble, they often lose everything. Do not let her do that to you. She has taken enough already. Do not allow her to ruin you with wild spending and profligate gambling in an effort to impress everyone in England except you. You really could lose all you have."

  "I know. I know all too well." Simon drank the entire glass of brandy in one long draught. "It's just that I do not understand how anyone, man or woman, could change so much from meeting to marriage."