To Heal an Earl (Soldiers & Soulmates Book 1)
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Synopsis
Instead of making her come-out during the upcoming London Season, Lady Charlotte Nott finds herself tossed from her home after her father's untimely death by a vengeful half-brother. Penniless, she makes her way in a world new to her, first serving as a companion and then governess to the three children of Lord Crampton. When the earl dies moments after hiring her, Charlotte takes on the running of Gray Manor's household and estate until the children's new guardian arrives.
Guilt weighs heavily on Major Danforth Grayson, having lost too many men under his command over the years. When he receives word of the death of the brother who wronged him, Gray returns home, bitter with the hand life has dealt him. He intends to hire competent people to manage the estate and care for his nephew and nieces and retreat to a solitary life in London—until he meets the inimitable Miss Nott.
Charlotte is drawn to Gray but knows she is no longer of his world. When he suddenly becomes the new Lord Crampton, she knows it's time to leave her charges behind—for what woman would care to watch the man she loves wed another and start a family as she suffers in silence? Yet Charlotte knows Gray is a broken man and her leaving might shatter him forever.
Can Charlotte walk away from a flawed man who desperately needs her, or will she leave before she loses her own soul?
Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston's first book of Soldiers and Soulmates, To Heal an Earl.
Each book in Soldiers and Soulmates is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Soldiers and Soulmates
Book #1: To Heal an Earl
Book #2: To Tame a Rogue
Book #3: To Trust a Duke
Book #4: To Save a Love
Book #5: To Win a Widow
Release date: February 6, 2020
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Print pages: 248
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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To Heal an Earl (Soldiers & Soulmates Book 1)
Alexa Aston
CHAPTER 1
Rumford Park, Kent—1800
Lady Charlotte Nott stood at the graveside of her beloved father, a terrible numbness spreading through her. The cold, gray February day already chilled her to the bone but it was the complete sense of isolation that now overwhelmed her.
She was alone in the world.
Her mother had died when Charlotte was barely two and she had no memories of her. She’d come to know her mother through the miniature her father kept on his desk. Every night, Lord Rumford retrieved the painting and brought it upstairs with him, placing it on his bedside table so that he could see his late wife’s face first thing each morning. Charlotte remembered sitting in his lap when she was young and he’d be working at his desk. She’d hold the miniature in her small hands and wish that, somehow, her mother would come back to her.
Those wishes had never come true but she’d had the next best thing in one loving, attentive parent all these years.
And one very cruel, conniving half-brother.
Barclay was her father’s son from his first marriage. He was a dozen years older than Charlotte and had never said a kind word to her in all her eighteen years. In fact, he’d been rather awful to her from the time she was a small child. Pinching her. Screaming at her. Even locking her in the cellar once. When she’d been found a day and half after she’d disappeared, she saw the warning look he gave her and so she never told on him.
She was still afraid of the dark.
Barclay resented that his father had wed again. The fact that Charlotte so closely resembled her mother gave him reason enough to hate her. Fortunately, he’d spent most of her life away at school, only home for short periods, and after university, he lived in the Rumford London townhome year-round. She and her father only went to London for brief periods and so even when in residence, she rarely saw Barclay. The most she’d been around him was last year when he’d wed Lady Leticia, who was a year older than Charlotte. She’d hoped during the various social events before the wedding that she and Leticia might become friendly if not true friends but Barclay had poisoned his fiancée against Charlotte.
And now the new Lord and Lady Rumford were her only living relatives.
Thunder grumbled in the distance and she looked to the skies, now darkening.
“Lady Charlotte?”
She turned and saw Reverend Bixby standing behind her, sympathy written across his broad, plain face.
“Yes, Reverend?”
“It looks like rain. You need to head home to Rumford Park.”
Sighing, she said, “I know.” She glanced back at the fresh grave. “It’s just so hard to leave Papa.”
He came and put an arm about her shoulders. “Your father was the best of men, my lady. He will be sorely missed by friends, family, and servants alike.”
Tears misted her eyes. “Thank you. I should go.”
The clergyman took her hand. “Send word if you have need of me, my dear. Mrs. Bixby and I would be happy to keep you company or share memories of Lord Rumford with you.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate your wise counsel, Reverend Bixby. Good afternoon.”
Charlotte left the graveyard, the winter wind pushing against her back as she walked the two miles home. She’d told Barclay and Leticia that she wanted to stay a while with Papa and had assumed they would send the carriage back for her. Their thoughtlessness aggravated her but she knew to hold her tongue. Barclay had quite the temper and she didn’t want to anger him in any way. Charlotte hoped they would return to London soon and leave her to her mourning.
It disappointed her that Papa would never see her wed. Charlotte was supposed to make her come-out this spring when the Season began and she’d so looked forward to all of the parties and gatherings. She’d known that she would seek her father’s advice on which man to marry. Papa had always known what to look for in others. Now, he wouldn’t be here to help her make the most important decision of her life. Her children would never know their grandfather. It was enough to rip her heart in two yet again.
Of course, now that she was in mourning, her come-out would be delayed until next year. She would take a year to mourn the greatest man she would ever know—and then hope fate would bring one just as good and kind into her life and allow her to marry him. She would appreciate a year of quiet at Rumford Park, knowing Barclay and Leticia would spend the bulk of it in London with their friends. It would allow her to mourn Papa in her own way.
The mist turned to drizzle and then a heavy downpour when she still had half a mile to go and by the time Charlotte reached home, she was wet, cold, and tired. And hurting. The ache within her was as physical as any pain she’d ever known. She didn’t know how she would get through the rest of this day—much less all of the days ahead. Still, Papa would want her to not only go on living, but he’d want her to be happy. She decided in that moment that she would name her firstborn son after him, to honor the memory of the man who was kind and generous to all.
She burst into the house and quickly closed the door behind her, now so thoroughly chilled that her teeth chattered noisily. Graves, their butler, hurried toward her.
“Lady Charlotte, you’ll have caught cold,” he chastised. “You’re soaked to the skin. I’ll order a bath for you at once.”
“Th-thank you, Gr-Gr-Graves,” she said, allowing him to remove her sodden cloak.
“Go upstairs at once,” he urged, his eyes darting to the staircase and back to her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He frowned. “You were to see Lord Rumford in the drawing room when you returned but, right now, you need to get in a hot bath.”
Her stomach twisted. “I can quickly visit with him. I don’t want you in any trouble.”
“Just hurry,” Graves said. “I’ll see to the hot water.”
The butler scurried away and Charlotte headed toward the stairs. She caught a movement but didn’t see who it was until she reached the top and saw Barclay’s valet hovering.
“I’ll take you to Lord Rumford.”
She sneezed violently and decided it was better to change before she did so. Being sick was a nuisance and she hated when others had to wait upon her when she was ill. “Thank you, but I’m going to get out of these wet clothes first. Please tell my—”
“You’re to see Lord Rumford now,” the servant insisted. “Follow me.”
Charlotte did as requested, deciding to get the visit over with quickly. She clamped down on her teeth so they didn’t chatter. She hoped whatever Barclay wanted wouldn’t take long.
“Lady Charlotte,” the valet announced as he led her into the drawing room and then closed the door after she’d stepped inside.
She saw Barclay and Leticia sitting on the far side of the room, close to the roaring fire, and made her way toward them, hoping to soak up some of the warmth from the blaze.
“You look like a drowned rat,” sniffed Leticia as Charlotte approached.
“I’m very sorry. I got caught in the rain as I walked home,” she apologized. “I can go change and come back,” she offered.
“No,” the new earl said firmly. “This won’t take long.” He set the newspaper he’d been reading aside and frowned at her.
Charlotte waited patiently for him to speak, though she started to tremble. She longed to move closer to the fire’s heat but stood since he hadn’t invited her to sit and likely wouldn’t want the furniture stained with water.
“We need to discuss your living arrangements,” he began.
She decided to help him since it was taking forever and she was dripping all over the carpet.
“I know I was to come to London for the Season this year with Papa. Of course, that can’t happen now with us being in mourning. I realize I will need to put off my come-out for a year and I am fine with that. I’d actually prefer staying at Rumford Park until next spring.”
“There’s to be no come-out,” Barclay said firmly.
“Yes, Barclay, I just said that. Mourning makes it impossible—”
“You’ll address me as Lord Rumford,” he demanded.
Charlotte knew that when younger family members assumed their titles that others in the family often changed the way they addressed them. “Of course, my lord.”
“And I said there’s not to be a come-out.”
“I agree with you. I understand the need to mourn Papa.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “You don’t understand a bloody thing,” he snapped.
She took a step back. “I . . . don’t?” Apprehension filled her.
“There will never be a come-out for you,” he hissed. “I wouldn’t spend a farthing on you, much less on fancy ball gowns to clothe you.”
“But . . . Papa . . .”
“Your precious papa isn’t here anymore,” he said harshly. “He coddled and protected you all of these years. You . . . the daughter of some third-rate opera singer. You’re no better than the daughter of a whore.”
Anger filled Charlotte. “Don’t say that about Mama,” she cried. “She was the most famous singer of her day. She loved Papa and he loved her. She gave up everything for him.”
“Singers. Actresses. They’re all trollops,” Rumford growled. “And you’re the mongrel she bore.”
She tried to still her trembling, which had spread to every limb, whether from cold or fear, Charlotte didn’t know. Still, she put on a brave front.
“I’m no mongrel,” she declared. “I’m the daughter of an earl. A lady.”
Leticia sniffed. “You don’t have a coin to your name. And we are afraid our sons and daughters would be hurt by their association with you.”
“How? I am a member of this family. I would never do anything to hurt my future nieces or nephews.”
“You won’t have a chance to know them—much less hurt them. Your reputation, thanks to your mother, is enough to see the Nott family totally disassociate themselves with you,” Rumford said. “I want you gone from this house by morning.”
Charlotte looked blankly at him. “Wh-wh-where am I to go?”
“You will be given funds for the mail coach that passes through the village. I suggest you travel to London and find work there.” Her half-brother sneered. “If you can.”
“I can’t believe you would totally abandon me,” she said, her voice wavering. Then Charlotte looked him in the eye and asked, “What would Papa say?”
He cackled like an old woman. “I don’t care what that bastard would say. He stopped being my father the day he married your mother. I’ve had to put up with your presence all of these years—but no more.”
“So, you’ll turn me out into the cold?” she asked, her chin high, daring to keep looking him in the eyes.
“Gladly.”
Rumford turned to the table and lifted up a bank note and handed it to her. “This is all you’ll ever get out of me. As of this moment, you are dead to me. I never wish to see you again. Now, get out!”
Charlotte clutched the note, crumpling it in her hand. She turned and fled the room, hearing Leticia call after her, reminding her to be on the mail coach tomorrow morning.
Fleeing to her room, she saw servants toting buckets of hot water into the bedchamber. The last one dumped the bucket’s contents into the bath and left.
From the doorway, she heard a throat clear and saw it was Graves. Charlotte burst into tears and ran to him, flinging herself at him.
“Tell me, Lady Charlotte,” he said, stroking her hair.
The butler had always seemed more family than servant. Quickly, she told him how she was being removed from the family home—and the family.
Sorrow filled his face. “I feared something like this would occur. I tried to warn Lord Rumford but he wouldn’t believe anything so drastic about his flesh and blood.” He released her. “Your maid will bathe you and then I’ll have a tray brought up for you. We’ll talk,” he promised.
Graves left and Charlotte’s maid arrived, stripping the wet clothes from her and scrubbing her from head to toe as if she were a small child. Once dressed, her food arrived and she did her best to try and eat but could only pick at it.
A knock sounded and her maid entered again.
“Mr. Graves wishes to see you in the kitchen, my lady. I’m to bring you there now.”
“All right,” she said shakily and followed the girl downstairs.
They went through the kitchen to the servants’ dining room, where she saw the room packed. Footmen. Maids. Scullery workers. The head groom. All eyed her with pity.
Graves stepped forward, a pouch in his hand. He handed it to her and said, “Lady Charlotte, you have always been a favorite with the staff, full of a gentle spirit and kind words for all you encounter. We have taken up a collection to help you once you reach London.”
Tears blinded her and she blinked rapidly. “I cannot accept this,” she protested, knowing what a sacrifice the entire group made on her behalf.
The butler placed a hand over hers. “You must, my lady. You’ll need every prayer we send and each coin in that bag in order to survive.”
Overwhelmed, she looked out at the people she’d known her entire life. “Thank you,” she whispered and then wheeled and left before she broke down in front of them all.
In her room, she counted the contents of the pouch so she would know what she had. Not having any idea about how much things cost, Charlotte wondered how long she would be able to make it on the sum. She didn’t know what a room’s lodging might cost per night or how much a meal would be. She’d only used her pin money to buy ribbons and the occasional book over the years and hadn’t a clue about the world around her.
She’d always had a calm, practical nature, though. Right now, she knew she should pack. It must be light enough for her to carry for she wouldn’t have servants with her or coin to spare for others to transport her trunks. She opened her wardrobe and glanced through the dresses. Unfortunately, she only had a few and those were worn. Living in the country, she hadn’t dressed up much, especially since she wasn’t out in society yet. Papa had promised her an entire new wardrobe for the upcoming Season but she was to be fitted for it next week after they went to London. Who would have thought Charlotte would be arriving in the great city without her beloved father?
A footman brought her a valise and she packed three dresses into it, along with a spare pair of shoes and a night rail. She would place her comb and brush in it tomorrow. She went to the tray of food and forced herself to eat all that remained. She might not have the opportunity to do so in the morning since she needed to be in the village very early, waiting for the mail coach to arrive.
Charlotte lay on her bed, curled on her side, and cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER 2
Oxford—1803
Danforth Grayson threw off his gown of colored silk and cap with its gold tuft, marking him as a Nobleman Commoner. His days at university had come to an end. What awaited him, he hadn’t a clue. What he wanted more than anything was to have his brother purchase him a commission in the army. With England recently declaring war against France, Gray wanted to fight for his country against the threat Bonaparte posed.
Whether he could wheedle the large amount necessary from Seymour remained to be seen.
As it was, Gray had to fight his brother to release the funds to finish his schooling at Eton and then did battle again with Seymour in order to attend Oxford the past few years. Fortunately, Mr. Bonham, the Grayson family solicitor, had seen the tuition money earmarked for Gray’s education spent in the proper places after the Earl of Crampton died five years ago. Thoughts of his father’s death still left a bad taste in Gray’s mouth. He’d arrived home from Eton after the Michaelmas term at sixteen to learn his father had passed away more than a month earlier. His brother had assumed the title, never bothering to notify Gray of what had occurred.
Gray had never forgiven Seymour for keeping him from their father’s funeral and the chance to bid the old man goodbye. They’d had a huge row, with Gray proclaiming he’d never darken Gray Manor again. And he hadn’t.
Until now.
He’d written his brother, letting him know he was about to earn his degree and that he would arrive home for a short visit. As a second son, Gray was destined for the army and only hoped the earl would provide the funds for him to purchase an army commission. It would be impossible to do so on his own. Despite Mr. Bonham’s help, the monies the solicitor had freed up so that Gray could finish Eton and continue on to Oxford hadn’t been enough to survive on. He’d had to take on tutoring other students in languages and mathematics in order to eat and afford living space.
Of course, his closest friends in the world wouldn’t have seen him cast out on the street or let him starve. He’d shared rooms with Reid Baker, Marquess of Medford, and Burke Nicholson their entire time at Oxford. Reid was always quick to accept any bill when they were at a pub and both he and Burke would offer Gray their castoff clothing, many times the items still in excellent shape, all so he would be adequately clothed. The two men had been his friends since they’d begun their schooling at Eton at seven years of age and were more brothers to him than Seymour ever had been.
Reid was a natural leader. Intelligent. Practical. Friendly to all without making many close friends. Every boy at Eton wanted to be on the pedestal Medford stood upon, admired by all for his strength and loyalty. Gray had gone home with Reid during many a holiday and was treated as family by the Duke of Gilford. Though the duke was against it and few peers of Reid’s standing entered the army, his friend would be doing that very thing after a brief visit home.
Burke would also be joining the army. A third son destined for the church, Burke was a hellion. He went out of his way to ensure that his family wouldn’t force him into the clergy and had long proclaimed he would make a career of the military. Burke was all charm and full of fun. Women wanted him. Men wanted to be him.
Gray couldn’t have asked for better friends and hoped they would remain close for years to come.
He glanced at the small table where they always left a sheet of parchment in order to communicate with one another, reading the last line written by Burke. It told Gray to meet them at their favorite pub for a final meal in Oxford before they left in the morning for Kent. Reid had hired a chaise lounge to carry the three of them home. They would first drop Gray and then Burke before Reid made his way home to Gillingham.
Exiting the rooms, he hurried down the stairs and out onto the busy streets of Oxford. He traveled the three blocks to his destination and ducked inside, immediately spying his friends. Burke caught his eye and hoisted a tankard, a huge grin on his face.
“I see you’ve started without me,” Gray said as he joined them.
“You’re only one drink behind,” Reid said, handing him an ale. He then held his tankard up. “To finishing our education—and friendship.”
The three touched mugs and downed the cold brew. Gray wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand and they took their seats.
“I’ve already ordered,” Reid said. “All of our favorites.”
“Is she one of them?” Burke asked, indicating a buxom tavern wench who saw she was the object of their attention and gave the trio a saucy wink.
“You’ll have to arrange that on your own,” Reid said. “After we dine.”
They spent two hours eating and reminiscing about classes and professors and shared adventures throughout the years. People they’d known. Politics. Their love of horses and cards. Gray couldn’t help but think that a curtain was being drawn on this part of their lives as they stood on the precipice of the next chapter that would come, one where they would become responsible adults.
He called for a final toast. “To Burke and Reid. My greatest friends and chief collaborators in mischief. You have stood by me as no others have in my darkest days. May we ever stay in touch and know we can call upon one another, in both good times and bad.”
“Hear, hear,” the two said in unison and they drank their fill.
***
The coach turned down the lane. Gray’s stomach clenched, knowing he would soon see his brother again after five years of no contact.
“It’s been a long time,” Reid said as he gazed out the window.
Both his friends had been frequent visitors to Gray Manor during their early years. After his quarrel with Seymour, Gray had stayed with both of them during school holidays, trading off. He enjoyed Burke’s noisy household, with two older brothers and four younger sisters but found going to Gillingham a nice respite, as well. Reid’s young stepmother, only a year older than they were, had two small boys still in the nursery, so a quieter time was had when visiting there.
The vehicle pulled up to the manor and came to a stop. Gray steeled himself.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to come in with you?” Reid asked, his brown eyes full of concern.
“I’d be happy to slam a fist into Stinkin’ Seymour’s nose,” Burke offered.
They laughed at the nickname Burke had given the Earl of Crampton many years ago.
“No, I should do this alone. I doubt I’ll be welcomed so I know the two of you wouldn’t be,” he replied.
“Why does Stinkin’ Seymour hate you so much?” Burke asked. “In all these years, we’ve never talked about it.”
Gray shrugged. “Father told me the best he could guess was that Seymour blamed me for Mother’s death. They’d always been especially close and after she died giving birth to me, Seymour took her death hard, blaming me for it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Reid said. “What was he, sixteen? I’m not saying he shouldn’t mourn a mother he was close to but to blame her death on a newborn—and hold it against you all of these years? He was old enough to know better. Death in childbirth is but a fact of life.”
“Stinkin’ Seymour is a bloody idiot,” Burke proclaimed. “We’ve always known that.”
“Thank you both,” Gray said. “I don’t look at Seymour as my brother. That’s a role the two of you play, not brothers by blood but ones by choice. But it’s time I faced him after all these years.”
Reid stopped him from rising. “If Crampton won’t give you adequate funds to purchase your commission, Gray, I will. Or Father would be happy to do so. You know how he admires you. You could pay us back.”
Gratitude at the offer filled Gray. “I know and I’m thankful for that option. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Commissions are expensive and it would take years of an officer’s pay to fulfill that debt to you or the duke.”
He opened the coach door and jumped to the ground. “If I turn up at either of your doorsteps, you’ll know things went poorly.”
With that, he slammed the vehicle’s door and stepped aside. The driver removed Gray’s portmanteau from the top of the carriage and tossed it down to him. He caught it and watched as his friends waved from the window and the coach returned down the lane. Squaring his shoulders, he went to the front door and knocked.
When the door opened, it was Masters who greeted him, beaming from ear to ear. The longtime retainer had been a footman doing Gray’s early years and then had moved into the role of butler about ten years ago.
“Master Gray, how good it is to finally see you again.”
He shook hands with Masters. “Is that gray hair I spy along your temples?”
The butler laughed. “It is, indeed, sir. Just a touch of it. Do come in.”
Masters took the suitcase from Gray and ushered him inside. He looked around the foyer and saw that nothing had changed. It was as if he had left only yesterday.
“Is the earl in residence?” he asked.
“He is,” the butler confirmed. “Your carriage was spotted and he’s received word that you’re arriving. He asked to see you immediately.”
Gray didn’t know whether that was good or bad.
Suddenly, movement caught his eyes and he turned as a young boy ran up to him.
“Is this my uncle?” the frail child asked, his eyes large, shadows under them.
“If you are Rodger, then yes, I am your Uncle Gray. I haven’t seen you since I held you in my arms. As I remember, you tinkled all over me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I did? You held me? I didn’t know you were ever here.”
“I was. And you did,” Gray confirmed. “How are you, Rodger?” He offered the boy his hand and they shook.
“Very well, sir.” He thought a moment. “Oh, you won’t know about my sisters. I have two.”
“What are their names?”
“Harriet is three. The baby is Jane. She was a year old last week.”
Gray couldn’t help but like this bright, eager boy and wished he would be able to get to know him and his two nieces. It would all be up to Seymour, though.
Suddenly, Rodger began wheezing and placed his hands on his knees, leaning over.
Gray’s gaze met Masters and the butler mouthed, “Asthma.”
He thumped the boy on his back lightly and after a few minutes, the fit seemed to pass.
“My lord, you should return to the nursery,” Masters suggested. “You know it does you no good to become excited. Your uncle is to see your father now.”
“Must I, Masters?” Rodger pleaded. “I want to talk to Uncle Gray some more. I don’t know anything about him.”
“Later, my lord,” the butler insisted.
“Oh, all right.”
Rodger reluctantly said goodbye and Gray watched his nephew trudge slowly up the stairs. Once he was out of sight, Gray turned and said, “How does Seymour handle the boy’s asthma?”
“Not well,” the butler said succinctly. “His lordship has never had patience for weakness of any kind.”
“And my nieces? I’m sure Seymour’s disappointed they’re girls.”
The butler’s disdain was obvious but he remained silent on the matter. “We should go up to the drawing room, Master Gray.”
Gray followed the servant upstairs and allowed Masters to announce him before he entered. The butler gave him a tight smile and a nod as he passed and closed the doors.
He spotted his brother on the far side of the room, seated next to his wife on a settee, and went to join them. His brother would be thirty-eight now and looked every year of. He’d gone to fat and his thinning hair had already turned iron gray from the family’s chestnut shade.
“Good day, Lord Crampton, Lady Crampton,” he said formally, knowing his brother enjoyed hearing his title. “I had a chance to speak with my nephew downstairs. He’s a fine little fellow.”
His sister-in-law nodded politely and then her gaze returned to her lap. His brother’s face hardened.
“Why are you here?” Seymour demanded. “I thought you’d cut us from your life.”
Gray kept his temper. “I regret the harsh words between us years ago, my lord,” though he still felt his brother was at fault. “I was young and impetuous. I’d hope we could both be mature and set our issues aside.”
“I won’t support you, Gray. You’re a second son and entitled to nothing,” Seymour said flatly. “But despite that, I will do my duty to you.”
“And what is that?” he asked, on edge.
“Father spoke of your desire to enter the military. Frankly, I think it’s the best place for you. You were a spoiled, difficult child and I doubt you’ve matured any, despite all of those years of schooling.”
Gray held his tongue, not willing to risk what Seymour might do if he spoke out against him and tried to defend himself from his brother’s harsh opinion.
The earl reached for a rolled parchment sitting on a nearby table and thrust it at him. “When you wrote that you were coming, I prepared for your arrival. I’ve purchased you a commission in the army. Be warned that it’s the last thing I’ll do for you. I want you out of our lives. If we’re lucky, some bloody French bastard will run a sword through you and gut you and you’ll never return home. If you do live, don’t bother to come to Gray Manor again for you won’t be welcomed.”
He clutched the commission in his hand, fighting the rage that filled him with his brother’s cruel words.
“I am grateful for this, Lord Crampton,” he said, holding tight on the reins of his temper. Though he had a thousand things he wished to say, Gray had gotten what he came for.
He never needed to see his brother again.
“Good day, Lady Crampton. My lord.”
With that, Gray turned and strode from the room, leaving no regrets behind.
CHAPTER 3
Gray Manor—July 1808
Charlotte glanced out the window, knowing Rumford Park would be visible from the road soon. The house sat at the end of a long lane which the mail coach would pass. She would have to squint but she knew the house would be there.
She’d been gone from it eight years.
A part of her wanted to be a poor match for the governess job she now headed to at Gray Manor, a place she’d visited a few times in her youth with her father. She remembered a boy close to her age, tall and friendly, with dark russet hair that shone red in the sunlight. Charlotte couldn’t remember his name but did recall he’d been kind to her. Boys that age usually weren’t nice to girls and his good manners had made a lasting impression on her. She wondered if that boy was now the Earl of Crampton, the gentleman she had scheduled an interview with. She vaguely thought there might have been an older brother but couldn’t picture him. If there had been, he would be the earl instead.
The carriage came around the bend and, despite knowing how much it would hurt her heart, Charlotte looked wistfully at the beautiful manor home that stood in the distance as the vehicle passed by. Her throat grew thick with unshed tears, knowing she’d grown up at such an idyllic place. That she’d been an earl’s daughter, hoping to marry a gentleman, and raise her own family in a similar setting. Instead, Barclay had tossed her from her home and the only life she’d known when she was barely eighteen.
Fate had led her to The Plummer Employment Agency, run by the whip-thin and bright-eyed Mr. Plummer, who placed impoverished gentlewomen in positions suitable to their backgrounds. Charlotte had thought her only choice would be to become a governess but Mr. Plummer insisted she travel to the far north to serve as a companion to the Dowager Duchess of Exbury. It had been the best place possible for her to heal from the emotional wounds inflicted by her half-brother. The duchess was in her late sixties and had lost her legs in an accident many years before. She possessed a fine mind and read voraciously. She’d taken to Charlotte immediately and they’d spent seven wonderful years together. Charlotte had become a part of the community, serving on church committees and singing in the local choir. She’d spent most every waking hour with the duchess—reading to her, discussing politics, pushing her in a wheelchair through the gardens. Bernice, as the duchess had Charlotte call her when they were alone, served as a grandmother to Charlotte. She still mourned for the friend she’d lost.
Bernice left Charlotte a small amount of money, not enough to live on, but it allowed her to take her time before choosing her next position. Unfortunately, she’d been fired from it within two weeks. She adored the little girl who was her charge but the girl’s father had in mind for Charlotte to tutor him after hours in ways she found disgusting. When she refused to play his immoral games, she was sacked without references.
Her most recent position had lasted eight months but she spent all of her time trying to avoid the master of the house. The viscount wasn’t in residence often but when he was, he made it abundantly clear that he was interested in her. He’d caught her several times, forcing unwanted kisses upon her, pressing his body against hers, his manhood jutting out. He told her of the things he wished to do to her in private, things that sounded so wicked and foul that they sickened her. Knowing the man planned to spend the entire summer at his country estate with his two small boys, Charlotte knew she wouldn’t remain a virgin if she stayed. She resigned abruptly, knowing once again that no reference would be forthcoming.
She tried to explain all of this to Mr. Plummer in as vague a language as possible, not wanting to speak of such unspeakable matters, but he told her she was being too choosy. He said this position at Gray Manor would be the final one he would send her upon. Either she kept it or if she didn’t, she wasn’t to come crawling back to him.
If she would have known it was located so close to Rumford Park, Charlotte might have refused. She hadn’t, though, and now found herself closer to home than she’d ever wanted to be.
The coach reached Wilton, the nearest town which was six miles from Rumford Park. From her best recollection, Gray Manor was another six or seven miles to the east of the town. That should be plenty of distance and she doubted she would ever see Barclay or Leticia. If they were invited to a social occasion at Gray Manor, Charlotte would remain locked in her room. The few times she might venture into Wilton, she suspected it would be places neither Lord nor Lady Rumford went.
The vehicle began slowing and she prepared to exit it. It came to a halt and the door opened after a moment.
“Wilton!” the driver called out.
“This is my stop,” she informed him and was the only one to leave the mail coach, pointing out which was her valise that sat atop the carriage.
He handed it to her and tipped his hat before returning to the driver’s seat and starting the team up again. Charlotte watched it leave her behind and then looked around. She was to be met but didn’t see anyone so far. Venturing to the closest building, she remembered it to be a general store in which all kinds of goods could be purchased. She paused, her hand hovering above the door handle, and changed her mind about going inside. She didn’t want to be recognized. If Mr. and Mrs. Simmons still owned the store, they would know her. Mrs. Simmons was a terrible gossip and she would spread the news that Charlotte had returned to the area—and how far down in the world she’d fallen. She didn’t mind doing honest work to make her living but she didn’t want to be viewed with pity or gossiped about by the residents of Wilton and beyond.
Instead, she returned to the street running through the village and after less than five minutes, a cart appeared with a man anxiously looking about. She waved and he came and stopped next to her.
“Be ye Miss Nott?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
The man jumped down and took her valise. “I’m Sable, a groom at Gray Manor. I’ve come to fetch you.”
He placed her luggage in the back of the cart and then helped her up, climbing beside her and taking up the reins again.
“Sorry I was a bit late. Lady Harriet disappeared again and I was helping look for her.”
“And who is Lady Harriet?”
Sable glanced at her and looked away guiltily. “A daughter of the household. One of yer future charges if ye become the next governess. She’s the older girl, at eight. Lady Jane is two years younger. A sweeter disposition but she does everything her sister does, which is plenty, indeed.” He clucked his tongue. “Ye’ll have yer hands full with them two, Miss.”
Charlotte dreaded hearing that. She liked children but had never dealt with wayward ones. The charges at her last two positions had been sweet, quiet creatures. She resolved to make it work, despite what this groom said. It had to—because she had nowhere else to go.
“Have the girls been without a governess for long?”
The groom shrugged. “A few have come and gone. Tutors, too, for Lord Rodger, but he has none now.”
Mr. Plummer hadn’t mentioned a boy, only that two girls were to be her responsibility. “How old is Lord Rodger?”
Sable thought. “I suppose eleven now. Or twelve? He’s a sick little thing. I doubt if ye’ll be responsible for him.”
“So, he isn’t at school then.”
“He has been in the past. Too sick to be there now, I reckon. He’s rarely seen outside the house these days.”
They rode in silence a few minutes and then he said, “The house is in a bad way. The housekeeper and estate manager left last week. The place is topsy-turvy.”
“I see,” she said, wondering what she was getting herself into. From what Sable had said, she would have two unruly charges and a possible sickly third one. The estate sounded ill-run. But she desperately needed this position. The last of Bernice’s money wouldn’t see her through a month now. Charlotte would have to make this work.
They turned from the road and, several minutes later, rounded a turn. She caught sight of Gray Manor, the stone edifice a pale shade of gray. The house was immense, even larger than her girlish memory thought it. She hoped she wouldn’t get lost once inside, especially looking for Lady Harriet and Lady Jane.
Sable brought the cart to a stop and climbed down, handing her down and claiming her bag.
“This’ll be the only time ye’ll come in the front,” he mentioned. “Unless ye have yer pupils with ye, of course.”
“Of course.”
Charlotte was used to the delineation between servants and residents and even lower and upper servants. While Bernice’s companion, she had been treated well by the staff and the few visitors that came to see the dowager duchess, but once she’d become a governess, that had ceased. She’d learned a governess fit in neither above nor below stairs and had taken her evening meals on a tray in her room. The other two meals she’d eaten in the schoolroom with her charges. At the first household, she’d been Miss Nott. At the last, plain Nott. It was a long way from her days as Lady Charlotte, waited upon by so many.
Sable knocked and the door was answered by a man in footman’s livery instead of a butler.
“This is Miss Nott,” Sable said. “Here for the two young ladies.” He handed the footman the valise. “A good day to ye, Miss.”
“Thank you, Sable,” she said, always one to express her gratitude even before she’d fallen upon hard times.
The footman closed the door. “I’m Smith, Miss Nott. Our butler, Mr. Masters, has taken ill and I’m filling in for him. You’re to see Lord Crampton. He’s in his study. Follow me.”
They wound through several halls and Smith stopped. “I’ll put your valise right outside the door, Miss. If you decide to accept the position, I’ll bring it and you to your room. If not, well . . .” His voice trailed off, a worried expression creasing his brow.
“Let us hope Lord Crampton thinks I’m a good match for his children,” she said.
Smith nodded and tapped on the door. She heard a voice bid him to enter and the footman announced her and then said, “Go right on in, Miss.”
Charlotte entered a large room with several chairs scattered about and a desk covered with pages scattered everywhere. She shuddered at the mess and then looked at the man sitting behind it. In no way was this the boy she remembered. He would be close to her age and this man was at least forty years of age. Perhaps fifty. His complexion was florid, as if he’d just run a race. Sparse, gray hair covered his head. She guessed him to weigh over twenty stone and wondered how he even fit in the chair he was seated in.
“Miss Nott?” he said, his voice raspy.
She curtseyed. “Good afternoon, Lord Crampton.”
“Have a seat.” He indicated one in front of his desk and she took it.
“Usually, Lady Crampton handles these sorts of things. She is currently indisposed at the moment, giving birth to my child.”
“Oh! Congratulations, my lord. How many children have you already been blessed with?”
The earl frowned. “Three have survived. Rodger, my oldest, is twelve years of age and my heir. He’s down from Eton now. Has some health issues. You would need to spend a bit of time with him. He’s bright and wouldn’t need prepared lessons. More someone to discuss materials he’s read. Until he’s strong enough to return to school, of course.”
“I’d be happy to do so, my lord. I myself read as much as possible and would love to discuss the classics with him, as well as current topics of interest. Does he speak any languages?”
“How would I know?” he asked, his irritation obvious. Clearing his throat, he said, “Your primary responsibility would be my daughters, Harriet and Jane.” A sour look crossed his face. “They are girls but wild as geese. You won’t be the first governess they’ve had. They’ve run off eleven others.”
“I see,” Charlotte said, her heart racing.
Eleven? How was she supposed to manage?
“Mr. Plummer said you have a genteel background.”
“Yes, my lord. My father was an earl.”
“Hmm. Well, you might be well-bred but it’s going to take more than that to manage those little hellions. If they aren’t under control soon, I don’t know what we’ll do. My wife has had several miscarriages and is no longer active. We need someone to totally take responsibility for the girls. Being around them isn’t good for either of our nerves.”
Charlotte began to gain a clearer picture. A self-absorbed father who seemed disappointed in the children he had. A sickly mother and brother. No family member spending time with Harriet and Jane. Governesses who allowed them to run wild, perhaps pitying them.
“The girls will need a firm hand,” she said. “May I have your permission to discipline them?”
“Whatever it takes,” he said grimly. “Are you up for the challenge, Miss Nott?”
“I would be happy to accept the offered position, Lord Crampton.”
He rose and she followed suit. Before they could speak, the door burst open, a flush-faced woman pausing in the doorway.
“What is it?” Lord Crampton barked at the woman, who flinched.
“My lord . . .” Her voice broke as she entered the room. She looked to Charlotte and back to the earl. “My lord . . . the baby. He was stillborn.”
The nobleman swore loudly, his hands crashing against the desk and sweeping papers off. They flew everywhere.
“And my wife?” he demanded angrily.
“She . . . Lady Crampton . . . she didn’t live, my lord. She’s dead.”
A loud keening erupted from the large man. He turned an even brighter red than Charlotte thought possible and slammed his hands against the desktop, again and again. The servant backed from the room and disappeared, leaving her alone with her new employer.
Then the noise erupting from him became a guttural cry, something like a wounded animal would make. Lord Crampton’s eyes bulged until she thought they would pop from his face. He clutched his chest, groaning loudly, and fell from his chair, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Charlotte sprang toward him, rolling him so he faced up. His eyes stared straight ahead. She touched his throat and felt no pulse.
The Earl of Crampton was dead.
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