The Lady and the Earl: A Seabrook Family Saga, #2

THE LADY AND THE EARL

A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Two

BY

CHRISTINE DONOVAN

http://www.christinedonovan.org

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Twitter: Christine Donovan @cmdonovan

Lady Amelia Seabrook spends her days at her brother’s country estate, far removed from London Society. Ever since the tragic death of her betrothed, Captain Rycroft, she can’t bear the London Social Scene. Most days she can be found sitting on the banks of a small stream daydreaming about happier times with her captain. One day a stranger appears and spoils everything, or does he?

Living in self-imposed exile the past twelve years, William Spencer, the Earl of Bridgeton loves the solitude of the countryside. Some days it bothers him to read the daily papers from London and still see his name being mentioned. After twelve years one would think the gossip mongers would have someone else to gossip about. Someone else to blame for the murders he did not commit. William wanders his property one afternoon and glimpses a young lady relaxing on the edge of a stream. For the first time in years something awakens from deep inside him and maybe, just maybe, he has something to live for after all.

Copyright  2013 by Christine Donovan

ISBN 978-0-615-82742-1

THE LADY AND THE EARL

Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to except portions of the text, please contact the author at christinedonovan6@verizon.net

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

This book is dedicated to my mother, Alberta May Murray. Thank you for your love, support and words of encouragement. I love you!

I want to thank my husband, Michael and my four sons, Shawn, Matt, Danny and Joey for all your support over the years. My sister, Karen Gomer, for always being there for me. You are the best sister in the world! Thank you, Patricia, Karen and Jan for all your help. Also, thank you to Joanne Smart, for being the first to read The Lady and the Earl, and encouraging me to get it done already.

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

EPILOGUE

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CHAPTER ONE

ENGLAND 1818

Please, do not be afraid.

Was he serious? How could she not be afraid?

Lady Amelia Seabrook struggled with her skirts as she waded through the shin-deep water to retrieve her boots and stockings from a nearby rock. Her muslin skirts were soaked to above her knees and clinging most embarrassingly to her legs; her stockings and shoes were drenched as she had splashed them in her hurry to exit the water. The mile walk back to her home, one she normally enjoyed, would be uncomfortable because of the dampness of her clothing. Most important of all was that she make haste to remove herself from this intruder.

How dare this stranger ruin the time she spent daydreaming about Captain Rycroft, her beloved? How dare he interrupt? It was only during these lonely, quiet times that Amelia allowed herself to think of him. To dream and wish he still lived. But today, when she needed this time to remember and to reflect, this stranger had destroyed the moment.

Amelia turned, her chin held high. She would not cower before anyone. Who are you, sir?

Lord Bridgeton. My land abuts this creek.

By the narrowing of Lord Bridgeton’s eyes, Amelia knew she failed to hide her shock at his intrusion here. She’d long known the earl lived as a recluse because of a scandal involving his older brother and his brother’s pregnant wife. Amelia had learned this from servants’ gossip.

Looking at him now, he did not look dangerous. Frightening perhaps, the way he sat on his fine stallion and towered over her, but not dangerous. Amelia admitted he was even handsome, with his dark, wavy hair, streaked with silver here and there. The earl wore it unfashionably long, however, and it grazed his shoulders. He had strong features and high cheekbones. What drew Amelia’s interest, despite her angst, were Lord Bridgeton’s eyes––a pale blue so light they were almost gray. Very striking against his dark hair and sun-bronzed skin. The color did not mesmerize her, rather it was the pain she recognized radiating from them. A pain she understood all too well.

Remembering her loss, she wiped a tear from her cheek, knowing her eyes would reveal her sadness and despair. She must look a sight after crying for so long. Her brothers had warned her to stay away from this earl and his property. Had they believed the gossip? Did they know more than she’d learned from servants’ gossip?

Are you going to continue to stare at me so rudely, or are you going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here? the earl demanded, slapping his riding crop against his thigh impatiently.

She should have been offended and cast him away like an irritating insect. But there was something compelling in his tone and his words that, though meant to intimidate her, did not. Instead, his voice, so demanding, deep, and smooth, wrapped around her like a blanket warmed by the fire.

I’m Lady Amelia Seabrook, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth’s sister. I live here and have been for several weeks now.

"If that is true, what, pray tell, is a lovely, young, privileged member of the ton doing crying in the country during the height of the Season?"

That, Lord Bridgeton, is none of your concern. Amelia looked down and again fought the burning of tears in her throat and in her eyes. She would not cry in front of this stranger. After all the crying she had done the past year and a half, she promised herself she would never cry another public tear as long as she lived. She had come to accept the fact that she would never dance at another ball or attend Almack’s or any such silly soirees that other young ladies attended during the London Season. And she did not care. Their loss did not make her cry. Losing Captain Rycroft did.

Lord Bridgeton’s eyes widened before he bowed his head ever so slightly. Please accept my sincere apologizes for my rudeness. You obviously have a good reason to be here instead of London. He held up his hand. And, of course, that reason is none of my business. Once again, I apologize.

Indeed, no, it is none of your business. Oh! Amelia backed up several steps as Bridgeton dismounted from his horse. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted about for an escape.

Please, I told you not to be afraid, he repeated. You just surprised me with your presence here. I come here almost daily, and I’ve not seen you here before.

Once again the warmth from his voice cocooned Amelia in a kind of radiance. Why did the voice of this stranger have such an effect on her? I’m truly not afraid. You just startled me.

Is the rest of your family in residence as well?

Did he think she resided here alone, with only the servants as protection––making her easy prey? Again she considered evading his question and running but caught herself. Stop it. There’s nothing to be afraid of from the earl. Gossip is only gossip, and not reliable. She, more than anyone else, should know this. He has not hurt anyone. And, certainly, he is not here to hurt her. When her inner voice stopped, she answered the earl. My brother, Lord Sebastian, is here as well.

I’ve not had the privilege of making his acquaintance. Mayhap someday I will.

Did Amelia’s ears deceive her, or did she hear loneliness in his voice? She understood pain––the kind she had already glimpsed in his eyes. She knew loneliness as well. These two were her constant companions.

If what she saw reflected in his eyes were true, then she and her neighbor had much in common. Perhaps someday soon you will meet him. She looked down at her hands, still gripping her soggy boots and stockings. Others would be shocked to see her standing there in her bare feet, talking to Lord Bridgeton. She was not. Too much had happened to her in the past year and a half for her to worry about something as silly as being caught barefoot in public.

She curtsied. Good day to you, Lord Bridgeton. Even before she heard his reply she hurried along the bank of the stream toward home, looking for the safety of the walls of Stony Cross Manor.

Do not look back. Do not look back, Amelia mumbled to herself. The words didn’t convince her because, despite them, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him in the distance standing at the water’s edge. That he stood there watching her was unsettling. She would not acknowledge that her sudden breathlessness had anything to do with him.

Running. She had practically been running. That was the reason she could not catch her breath. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Lord Bridgeton and his wounded eyes pierced straight to her soul.

CHAPTER TWO

The Earl of Bridgeton, William Spencer, had been living in seclusion in Dover at Spencer Estate for nearly twelve years. Family scandal and death had driven him out of London. His brother, Geoffrey, the earl before him, had died at the hands of highwaymen. Some said William had planned Geoffrey’s demise to acquire the title—that he had been driven by greed as the second son who wanted it all. Then, six months after his brother’s death, Geoffrey’s pregnant wife, Katherine, drowned in the small stream near their home. Rumor had it William killed her to keep an heir from being born, an heir who could have taken the title away from him.

Utter nonsense.

Then why had William exiled himself in the country? He did not have an easy answer for that. Perhaps he continued to punish himself because he was still among the living when the two people he loved most in the world were not. Perhaps the gossip embarrassed him. The answer really did not matter, for William had vowed he would never enter London Society again. He’d adjusted to this country life he led. His happiness now came from being alone with his loyal servants and his estate accounts.

What else was there in this lifetime for him? If the truth of their lives and those long-ago deaths came out, it would cause scandal and point fingers in directions he didn’t want. He preferred to look the villain.

William’s perfectly boring existence suited him. Or so he thought, until the day he saw the lovely young woman standing in the stream that separated his property from his neighbor, the Duke of Wentworth’s. The duke was eight years William’s junior, so they hardly knew one another. He did recall, however, that the duke had two younger sisters and a brother.

Intrigued by the young woman’s presence and her sadness, William visited the stream at the same time daily for the next sennight, hoping to see her again. Something about this lovely stranger intrigued him. There were days William tried to stay away, he could not.

Each day she came there alone. And for seven days he did not disturb her; rather he watched with growing interest and compassion.

He watched each day as she stood on the banks of the stream and cried, her head tilted up to the sky, arms up in the air, as if reaching for something or someone.

Each day the hard shield surrounding his heart had melted a bit more.

But this day, he had sat on his horse and watched from behind some trees. He should have walked as he’d done previously. To his shock, the young lady altered her routine. She removed her boots and stockings, hiked her skirts up above her knees, and waded into the cool water. The vision of her there drew from him a need to protect her as a swarm of memories surfaced, of dangers past. The memories were almost too much for his senses. Then he caught a glimpse of her bare legs, boldly uncovered, and William reacted like a green lad barely out of the schoolroom. His mouth dried up and his pulse thrummed at the sight. It had been years since he’d seen a beautiful woman or any woman who was not one in his employ as a servant. It had also been just as long since he’d bedded any woman. His principles would not allow him to take a household servant to his bed. But this girl––and William had to call her a girl, as she looked no older than ten-and-eight––woke up long-dormant emotions and passions inside him. Emotions he would just as soon have stayed buried.

Today he’d noticed her deep sable hair, piled carelessly on top of her head. If he plucked out one pin, he imagined her tresses would fall wildly down to her narrow waist. Her waist hugged by an aquamarine day dress with a deliciously scooped neckline. A neckline low enough so that when she bent over to pick up her boots, she exposed the tops of her lovely breasts. William licked his dry lips and fought not to reveal himself by groaning out loud. Her skin appeared flawless and creamy, her nose small and pert, her lips full and pink. Her eyes were a soft chocolate brown—so alive he wanted to escape in them and never return.

When the woman paused, looked around anxiously, and dropped her skirts into the stream, he realized he had groaned out loud. Her panicked eyes found and settled on his, and she began to struggle to reach dry ground. So he’d said the first thing that came to his mind.

Please, do not be afraid.

As William watched her hurried footsteps take her further and further away from him now, he realized what a fool he’d been. Why hadn’t he been quiet? He’d known that once he gave himself away, he could no longer hide behind the trees and watch her silently.

On some level, in the beginning, it had angered him to have his special spot invaded by someone. Not that this spot brought back good memories––quite the opposite––but still it was his spot. Now, he relished sharing his spot with this stranger.

Perhaps he would call upon her and her brother––or perhaps not. He did not want to test his theory that even here, in the country, he might not be welcomed by the members of polite Society close by. From past experience, William knew people believed nonsense and rumors. When he’d uttered his name to Lady Amelia, he’d seen the recognition in her eyes––and the pain of that unsettled him. Did she know and believe the gossip?

After she disappeared, he’d shrugged and grabbed his horse’s reins to walk back home. It did not matter what she believed. He would likely never find out. He would probably never see her again.

CHAPTER THREE

"Who did you meet? The man’s said to have murdered members of his own family to gain the title. Oh Amelia––"

Sebastian, calm down. Amelia did not know why he made such a fuss. Surely the man she met did not murder anyone. I said I met our neighbor, Lord Bridgeton—

Yes, I got that, Sebastian interrupted, clearly upset by Amelia’s chance meeting with the earl.

I don’t believe any of that silly nonsense about him killing anyone. All you have to do is meet him to know he is harmless, Amelia said, trying to calm her brother down.

Even if he’s innocent of murder, don’t be fooled. No man is ever harmless, and you would do well to remember that, Amelia.

Deep breaths, Amelia, deep breaths. Her brother had been looking out for her for the past year and a half while the two of them had traveled in America. Now that they were back in England, she felt he could rest easy. They were all safe and back home where they belonged. Although, there was still tension in the family. Amelia hoped her two brothers would reconcile someday––but that was between them and Wentworth’s wife, Emma. Amelia did not know the reason Sebastian had abruptly gone to America in the first place, except he’d had a falling out with their brother and it had something to do with Emma.

Perhaps we could do the neighborly thing and invite the earl to tea?

I don’t think so, Sebastian said. We leave for London in a week. Mother’s expecting us. She insists both of us socialize this Season.

Amelia’s heart sank at her brother’s words. Her fear at having to attend another London Season was just realized. Won’t everyone wonder where I’ve been? Yes, well—they know I’ve been in America traveling with you—but won’t they wonder why? To disappear for a year and a half, shortly after the death of Daniel, would have the tongues wagging amongst the ton. Indeed, some of the old ladies had done just that already.

Could Amelia hold her chin up as if she had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of?

How could her mother ask such a thing of her now? She would much prefer to stay here with her one-year-old daughter, Olivia, and her maid, Gretchen. Her daughter meant the world to her. And when she left for London, Amelia knew Olivia and Gretchen would have to stay in the country. Olivia and Amelia looked so much alike that her child’s parentage was obvious.

If anyone saw them together they would immediately know whose child she was, and all their secrecy and seclusion would be for naught. Amelia would be good and properly ruined, and Olivia would face a lifetime of contempt and isolation.

Did Amelia care? Not for herself, but for her family and for Olivia. Each time Olivia held out her arms to Gretchen, Amelia’s maid, Amelia’s heart cracked a little bit wider. What a terrible thing...not to be able to acknowledge her daughter as her own. Mayhap someday she could. Perhaps she should tell Daniel’s family about Olivia. Wouldn’t Daniel’s family want to know they had a grandchild? That a part of Daniel lived? Guilt ate at her insides over this struggle.

No matter how many times her mother and siblings told her not to feel ashamed, deep down inside, where she answered to no one but herself and God, she was. Now that she planned to leave her daughter here, to go off to balls and soirées in London, Amelia’s guilty pain and shame tripled.

The sound of her brother clearing his throat brought Amelia out of her woolgathering.

People will always talk. But you’re the sister of a duke, which means the talk will be minimized. Sebastian paced to the window in the drawing room and peered out into the bright afternoon sun. Let them talk. They will soon know there’s nothing to talk about.

But there is.

Sebastian swung around and narrowed his eyes at her. Yes, but they don’t know that.

This conversation is giving me a headache. Before Amelia plopped herself down onto the royal-blue velvet settee, she rang for tea.

Once the tea arrived, Sebastian sat beside her and reached for her hand. I know I’ve not been the easiest brother the past year and a half, with me taking over Hamilton Oil for Wentworth, and for being a man when you needed a woman to help you through.

Amelia squeezed her brother’s hand and ignored the tears, once again pooling in her eyes. You helped me more than you’ll ever know. When her brother’s eyes lit up, she smiled and the crushing weight eased off her chest slightly. Maybe it was true when her mama said her broken heart would heal with time.

You’ve not seen our brother or Emma since you left for America. Are you anxious? Amelia asked Sebastian.

Now Sebastian squeezed her hand. Yes. I made an ass of myself. His eyes flicked to hers and his face paled. "Excuse me, Amelia. I meant I made an idiot of myself. I never told you the story, but I had asked Emma to marry me."

You did?

As much as I wish it were not true, it is. I believed myself in love with her. She, of course, tried to refuse my proposal, but I made her think on it. The next thing I knew, I found Emma in Wentworth’s arms in the library and I flew into a rage. I tackled our brother right there in front of Emma. Never mind the hateful things I said to both of them. How can they ever forgive me? I would not be forgiving if the roles were reversed.

You would,