The Seduction of an Earl

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  The Seduction

  of an Earl

  Linda Rae Sande

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Seduction of an Earl

  ISBN: 978-0-9893973-1-5

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2013 Linda Rae Sande

  V1.3

  Cover photograph © RomanceNovelCovers.com

  Back cover photographs © iStockphoto

  Cover art by KGee Designs.

  All rights reserved - used with permission.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  To Jaylene –

  thanks for being such a great sister

  Chapter 1

  There Be Pirates

  March 1815, near Bampton, Oxfordshire

  Nathaniel Forster regarded his best friend Andrew Barnaby with a quirked eyebrow. The expression was familiar to anyone who knew Nathan’s father, Henry Forster. The man’s eyebrow made a similar arch whenever he was puzzled by something, such as a problem that needed solving. At the moment, Nathan was considering Andrew’s assertion that they needed something to use as booty if their foray into playing pirates was to be the least bit believable.

  “A treasure?” he asked his best friend. “You mean, like gold?”

  Andrew nodded enthusiastically, causing his crudely made eye patch to slide down his face. He quickly pushed it back over his right eye. “Aye. Or jewels. Or coins,” he added, this time holding the eye patch in place while he nodded.

  Nathan considered what he might find in Gisborn Hall that could be used for booty. “And what would we do with the treasure?” he wondered then, not being particularly familiar with pirate stories. His mother, Sarah Inglenook, didn’t have any pirate stories in the library at the dowager house where they had taken up residence earlier that year. Since he had never been in the library at Gisborn Hall, Nathan didn’t know if there were any pirate books on the shelves there, either. He would have to ask his father the next time the earl paid his mother and him a visit.

  “Bury it!” Andrew answered as if everyone knew that’s what pirates did with their treasure. “To hide it from other pirates. And anyone else who might want the treasure.” This last was said as Andrew crossed his arms, challenging his friend to counter his claim.

  “Oh, alright,” Nathan replied, nodding as he considered where they could find gold or jewels or coins. He had a few sovereigns his father had given him on the occasions of his birthday. And he knew there were some jewels in a box in his father’s bedchamber. He’d seen a ring his father was trying on one day, a gold ring in which a ruby was mounted. A signet ring, he remembered his mother explaining to him later that night when he asked her about the ring.

  “He’s an earl, now, Nathan,” she’d said. “The ring is something passed down from one earl to the next. It will go to his heir when he dies.” And then she had suddenly looked away, her hand going to her mouth as if she had to stop her words, her usually happy demeanor replaced with sadness.

  Seeing his mother’s reaction whenever she spoke of his father, especially since Henry had become an earl, made Nathan realize he had to change the subject or risk seeing his mother sad again. For, despite the fact that Nathan was the earl’s son, he was not the heir to the Gisborn estate. And his mother, Sarah, was not the countess.

  “I have some money we could use,” Nathan offered finally, deciding they could use his coins, “And I think I can find a ring.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened in delight. “That’s perfect! Now we just need a box we can use as a treasure chest, and we’ll put the money and ring in it and bury it!”

  Grinning broadly, the boys hurried off toward Gisborn Hall to gather their treasures and plan their next adventure.

  The two lived about a mile south of Bampton in Oxfordshire and had been standing in the middle of Henry Forster’s farmland as they plotted their pirate story.

  Actually, the farmlands belonged to the Gisborn earldom. At the age of nine-and-twenty, Henry had just inherited the title of Earl of Gisborn from his late uncle. Within a month, Sarah Inglenook and her son, Nathaniel Forster, were moved from their small cottage near Bampton to the dowager house on the Gisborn lands. Henry, who had lived with them in the cottage, moved into Gisborn Hall and took up his duties as earl. Given the Gisborn earldom was primarily made up of farmland just north of the River Isis, Henry’s duties revolved around maintaining the farm, planning crop rotations, solving irrigation problems and overseeing the tenants who farmed the lands.

  Since he’d been farming for his uncle almost his entire life, Henry found he couldn’t leave the life of a farmer to take up the life of a member of the ton, a life for some gentlemen that included too much leisure, too much gambling, too much drinking and too many women. Henry opted to remain on his estate, working to modernize the farm and restore Gisborn Hall to its former glory.

  “What are you two up to today?” Parkerhouse wondered as he answered the knock at the front door of Gisborn Hall. The ancient butler stared down at Nathan and Andrew, suppressing a grin at the sight of the two dressed as pirates.

  “We’re going to bury our treasure!” Nathan announced, passing Parkerhouse on his way to the stairs leading to the second floor where his room was located. Although he didn’t live in Gisborn Hall, he occasionally spent the night at his father’s request. “I have to get a box.”

  Parkerhouse sighed and watched the boys disappear into Nathan’s bedchamber. Deciding they couldn’t get into too much trouble, he continued with his duties on the main floor. He was unaware of their entry into his master’s bedchamber, of them retrieving the gold signet ring from Henry Forster’s jewelry box, of Nathan emptying his coin collection into a pasteboard cheroot box. He was only aware of their retreating steps when he spotted Nathan outside with the box under one arm and a shovel from the stables hoisted over Andrew’s shoulder. He watched with a small smile as the two boys made their way toward the farmlands to the south.

  The following day, after Nathan had finished his studies with a tutor, and Andrew had finished his chores, the two met at Gisborn Hall. There they planned their expedition to retrieve the buried treasure from the place in the field where they’d buried it the day before. Decked out in pirate regalia, or in borrowed clothes that at least made them look somewhat like pirates, and each sporting black felt patches over their eyes, they stood at the edge of the field in which they’d buried the pasteboard box.

  They stood, and they stared.

  For at some point in the twenty-four hours since they had buried
the treasure, the field had been plowed. Furrows running parallel to one another had replaced the flat land that extended as far as the river. Tenant farmers were following the furrows and using seed drills to plant wheat. The rock the two boys had put into place to mark the location of the box was gone. And, despite their best efforts to locate the treasure, it was nearly dark when the two, disheartened and disappointed, made their way to their respective homes.

  It was two days before Nathan admitted to his mother that his birthday money was somewhere in his father’s wheat field. Stunned that her son would do such a thing, Sarah sent him to bed without supper, weeping as she did so. Although she had threatened to tell his father, Nathan begged her not to, claiming he would one day find the money.

  It was another month before Nathan found the courage to tell his father that the Gisborn signet ring was somewhere out there. He only did so because his father’s valet had reported the ring missing when he was searching for a pair of cuff links, and when a maid was accused of the crime of thievery, Nathan knew he had to admit his involvement in the ring’s disappearance.

  Henry’s first reaction had to be kept hidden from the boy. Given the small size of its ruby, Henry was amused that his son would consider his signet ring suitable as part of a pirate’s treasure.

  Henry’s second reaction was far more severe, however. His son had taken something without asking, and because he had not admitted his involvement from the start, a maid had quit his household in shame. Upset at his son and saddened at the same time, Henry did what his own father had done to him under similar circumstances, back when his father had still been alive to discipline him. The whip, made from a willow branch, left its mark across the boy’s bottom and the back of his legs. Having never suffered such discipline, Nathan cried in fear and pain at the lashing. But it was Henry who wept later that night, wondering if he had done the right thing. He was sure he could find the missing treasure – he knew from the boy’s description its approximate location out in his wheat field.

  But by the time he learned of the missing ring, the field of wheat had grown too tall to allow a search to take place. When the harvest took down the wheat, there was still no sign of the pasteboard box and its treasure.

  Deciding it was a lost cause, Henry decided he would simply arrange for a jeweler to make another signet ring on his next trip to London.

  And Nathan’s coins had been his to lose.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Bostwick Calls on Lady Hannah

  March, 1816, Mayfair

  At precisely nine o’ clock in the morning, Elizabeth Bennett-Jones, Viscountess Bostwick, stepped as lightly as she could from the pristine black carriage bearing her husband’s family crest onto the semi-circular drive of Devonville House. Stepping lightly wasn’t something Elizabeth could do well these days. She was six months into her first pregnancy, and given the size of her expanding belly, her largest carriage gown just barely covered the evidence. At some point, probably within a fortnight, she and her husband George would retire to their country estate in Sussex, and she would go into confinement. If her husband didn’t dote on her as he did, rubbing her ankles every night after dinner, bestowing various gifts on her for no particular reason, and making love to her every night and sometimes in the morning, she might have been one of those women of the ton who complained about breeding. But George Bennett-Jones did all those things. And he did them well.

  “Good morning, Lady Bostwick,” the butler greeted her as he opened the double doors and let the young matron sweep into the vestibule. Except for Sundays, Elizabeth’s visits to Devonville House occurred every other day of the week. On the opposite days, Lady Hannah Slater, daughter of William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, paid a call upon Lady Bostwick at Bostwick Place, just a few blocks down in Park Lane. “Lady Hannah is expecting you in the parlor,” the balding man said as he took Elizabeth’s pelisse from her shoulders. He led the way.

  “Of course she is, Hatfield,” Elizabeth replied with a roll of her eyes. “If she were not, I would have to hire a Bow Street Runner to locate her,” she deadpanned, for if Hannah Slater was not where she was supposed to be, Something was Wrong.

  The butler barely turned to give her a nod, not quite certain of the viscountess’ sarcasm.

  “Elizabeth!” Hannah gushed as she hurried to greet her best friend, her hands held out in front of her. A very large dog, brown and white in coloring, with a square head and floppy ears, raised itself from the hearth to regard the visitor.

  “Hello, Harold,” Elizabeth said by way of greeting the Alpenmastiff. “No kisses, please,” she added with a wave. The dog settled his massive body back down onto the tiled hearth, as if understanding her ladyship’s refusal of one of his primary functions in life.

  Smiling, Hannah kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and stood back to have a look at her attire. “You look splendid in that shade of green,” she said as she fingered the superfine. “Whenever did you have time to have a fitting?” she wondered, realizing the carriage gown had to be new.

  “I left the office early last week to see Madame Bouvier. The worker bees had everything under control, so I gave myself the afternoon off.” Elizabeth’s charity, Lady E and Associates – Finding Working for the Wounded, had its recently enlarged office in Oxford Street and boasted a staff of four full-time office workers and several part-timers. They also had contracts with several tailors, hat makers, and boot makers in London for the purpose of outfitting war veterans for employment. The burgeoning charity, which Elizabeth had begun just before her introduction to the viscount nearly seven months prior, was a huge success. The men she’d hired were from among those who responded to her ads offering help in locating employment. The ex-soldiers were responsible for finding positions in which wounded soldiers could work, despite those men having only partial sight or hearing, missing limbs, or some other malady resulting from their time spent in the war against France.

  Sometimes those employers willing to take a wounded man required a bribe to do so. In those cases, Elizabeth sent out one of her employees to negotiate the employment contract. At one time, she had done that part of the business. With her growing belly, her husband had suggested, very carefully and with a good deal of tact, and perhaps using a bribe of his own, that Elizabeth allow her minions to do the jobs for which they were paid out of the charity’s coffers and allow her to do the part of the charity she did so well – matching men to jobs.

  “Spoken like a true queen bee,” Hannah teased as she motioned for Elizabeth to take her favorite chair. She waved to the butler for tea to be brought and settled in the chair opposite her friend. “And when did you start using Madame Bouvier?” she wondered, never having heard Elizabeth mention that particular modiste.

  “Oh, there’s a first time for everything,” her visitor sighed. “Lady Pettigrew suggested her because she specializes in maternity gowns, and ever since I saw her niece Lucy wearing that peach confection at Lady Worthington’s musicale last month, I thought to try her.”

  Hannah leaned back in her chair, admiring her auburn-haired friend. Beautiful, with aquamarine eyes, full lips, and a peaches and cream complexion, Elizabeth was not much older than Hannah’s twenty-one years. Her condition made her look as if she was lit from within by a dozen candles. “And?”

  Elizabeth regarded Hannah for a moment. “She’s brilliant. And she eschews corsets! Which means George approves.” This last was said with an elegantly arched eyebrow, which was Elizabeth’s way of pointing out anything that might be considered naughty by gentlewoman standards.

  “And how is George?” Hannah wondered, noticing the maid rolling the tea cart over the threshold. “Thank you, Rose, I can serve this morning,” she said as an aside. Normally, she would allow the maid to do the honors, but she knew her friend would not speak freely with a servant in the room.

  Cocking her head to one side, Elizabeth grinned but didn’t say anything. Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! What have you two done now?” she wo
ndered as she leaned forward to pour the tea. There was something positively salacious about having a friend who shared tales of her sexual exploits. Despite the embarrassment she felt at hearing them described in such detail, Hannah found herself looking forward to Elizabeth’s tales.

  “Characters from storybooks,” Elizabeth offered, not immediately elaborating on just what she meant.

  Hannah handed over a cup and saucer and poured one for herself, adding milk and sugar. “Like Cinderella and her Prince Charming?” she guessed.

  A very unladylike snort erupted from Elizabeth. She lifted one foot from the floor and pulled up her gown to reveal her unfashionably large feet. “I think not,” she replied with a shake of her head. “And I’m not about to be an ugly stepsister. No, my dear, more like ...” And here, she paused, for there were times her friend could be a bit of a prude, and she dared not shock the poor girl too much. Given Hannah’s appearance – she was the one who looked like a fairy princess with her cornflower blue eyes, berry colored lips, pale complexion and pale blonde hair pinned up in a mass of curls atop her head and wispy ringlets scattered about her temples – she would have been the perfect person to play the damsel-in-distress captured by a fire-breathing dragon. George, with his finely honed skill at fencing, slew the dragon, used the tip of his sword to deftly remove every last button from Elizabeth’s new French chiffon gown, and then, despite her swollen belly, had his way with her.

  Her maid was, at this very moment, sewing all the buttons back onto the gown.

  “Oh!” was all Hannah could say when Elizabeth described the scene.

  “Really, Hannah,” Elizabeth admonished her with a shake of her head. “When it comes to a husband, you must keep him guessing, Hannah. Keep him interested. Keep him entertained,” she said with that naughty eyebrow. “You just have to use your imagination.”