An Improper Earl Read online

  An Improper Earl

  A Regency Novella

  by

  Maggi Andersen

  An Improper Earl

  Copyright 2016 by Maggi Andersen

  Published by Maggi Andersen

  Published as Murder at Pendleton Manor

  Originally a short story, An Improper Lover

  Edited by: D.J. Coleman

  Cover Artist: Romance Novel Covers

  http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental and are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9942291-7-5

  With love and thanks to my family, who support me in all my endeavors

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Maggi

  Seven Nights of Sin

  Anthology

  One Scandalous Night

  Prologue

  The steel-rimmed wheels of the carriage clattered over the cobbles. Gerard pushed his beaver hat back off his face and leaned forward to raise the blind. Carriage lamps cast a feeble glow over the brick walls of the narrow lane, where scant moonlight penetrated. Minutes later, they’d reached their destination. He checked the pockets of his greatcoat and leapt down. “Return at one of the clock, John. See to the horses and have an ale on me.”

  “Right you are, milord.”

  He approached the townhouse at the end of the street. The door opened as soon as Gerard’s boots touched the step.

  “Good evening, sir. Mrs. Green awaits you in her boudoir.”

  Gerard handed his hat to the butler and climbed the stairs. As he entered the room, the lady rose to greet him in a black negligee, the thin fabric clinging to the curves of her body in the soft candlelight.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  A slight smile played upon her mouth, lips softly apart as though expecting his kiss. But he didn’t move, this was not their agreement, although his body hardened at the sight of her.

  He removed his coat and fought to keep his voice light. “You look most attractive this evening, Mrs. Green.”

  “I hope to persuade you to delay your departure.” She poured him a snifter of brandy, a trace of laughter in her voice.

  They shared a smile as Gerard took the glass from her. “I regret I must refuse your enchanting offer, I like to take my time in matters of love, and my coachman returns at one.”

  “And you will rise at cock’s crow, again, I gather,” she said raising her brows.

  Gerard chuckled.

  Chapter One

  London, 1812

  Harriett Edgerton wished to cover her ears as she opened the parlor door. The jarring call of a street peddler from outside in Mount Street competed with her sister, Leonora, her tantrum now at full volume.

  “I will not!” Leonora shook her head of golden curls. Her blue eyes flashed.

  “My darling girl!” Mama rested her embroidery in her lap, “It can’t be such a horrid thing, surely.”

  Leonora stamped her foot. “But this is my come-out. It’s important for me to make an appearance at Lady Frodsham’s ball on Saturday evening. Why must we visit Cousin Harrison now? He never comes to see us here in London. Why, we haven’t seen him for an age.”

  “He’s not been well, dear.”

  Harriett knew that delicacy forbade her mother to mention Cousin Harrison had no heirs to his fortune. With his wife, Elizabeth long dead and his son, Jack buried somewhere on the battlefields of Spain, interest had risen amongst his relatives. The Edgerton’s might have been above such dealings had her father’s investments not suffered a devastating blow with the sinking of the Ventris on the high seas. Now, her mother felt it would serve them well to appear before him, while he was still above ground.

  Harriett sat down by the tea tray. The late afternoon sun streamed through the bay windows, exposing the shabbiness of the faded Turkey rug. Dust motes swirled in the draft. Dusting was no longer a daily occurrence at Edgerton House, now run by a small staff whose duties her mother carefully managed. Mama had succeeded thus far in impressing on society that the family had not sunk into dun territory. Behind the scenes, however, strict economies now ruled their lives.

  “Leonora has never been fond of the country,” Harriett pointed out. She selected a jam tartlet from amongst the cakes on the tea plate. “Whenever we visit Aunt Georgina, she chafes until we return.”

  “And you’ve never felt as I do about London,” Leonora retorted. “Perhaps you would like it a great deal better if you’d received a good offer in your first Season.”

  “I don’t believe so.” Harriett took a bite of the tartlet and chewed unconcernedly. Whether married or not, she would always prefer country life to Town.

  “Harriett did receive an offer,” her mother said with an exasperated glance in Harriet’s direction. “A handsome one. She chose not to accept it.” She cut a thread with a snap of her small scissors. “If she didn’t have her father wrapped around her little finger, she would be married to Mr. Ducksworth by now.”

  At the tail end of this sentence, Harriet’s father entered the room. “Are we about to travel over old ground, my love?”

  Harriett put down her half-eaten tartlet and went to slip her arm through her father’s. She smiled at him. “I felt Harriett showed very good sense to refuse him,” he continued. “The man spoke nothing but fustian nonsense.”

  “Charles! He’s worth two thousand pounds a year,” his wife entreated.

  “And well may he enjoy it.”

  Harriet caught her father’s thoughtful frown with a sense of unease. “Shall I fetch your snuff box, Father?”

  “No thank you, my dear.” He settled in his favorite leather wingchair by the fire. Running a hand through his faded red hair, he gazed into the flames.

  Harriett perched on a cushion at his feet and toasted her toes by the fire. She felt a twinge of guilt. She could have improved her family’s situation if she’d married Mr. Ducksworth. She admitted to being horribly selfish, but she could not countenance spending the rest of her life with a stuffy prig. She yearned for so much more from marriage. To be thrilled and excited by it. To be passionately in love.

  She picked up the farming periodical she’d left on the table and flicked through it, thinking of Cousin Harrison’s nephew, Gerard, whose property ran beside Pendleton. His dark, handsome face appeared in her mind’s eye. It was years since she’d seen him and she wondered if he was much changed. “Are we to visit Foxworth, Mama?”

  “No indeed. Why would we?”

  “Do I have to go to the country, Father?” Le
onora trailed a hand over the back of his chair and dimpled at him.

  “You do, Leonora, and we shall hear no more about it.”

  After Leonora left the room to stomp up the stairs, Harriett picked up the poker and stabbed the coals. “If only I might find employment.”

  When she returned to sit at her father’s feet, he patted her head. “Ladies don’t take paid work, Harriett.”

  “Well they should,” she said. It made a good deal of sense. “It would take the pressure away from those who have to keep them.”

  “Enough Harriett!” Her mother tucked her embroidery away in its box. “Come upstairs. We must see to your wardrobe. You need to be dressed well.”

  “Yes,” Harriett agreed with a grin in her father’s direction. “I’m not blessed with Leonora’s looks.”

  “But you have something very special indeed.” Her father winked back at her. “A quick wit and a lively intelligence.”

  “A lively intelligence does not attract a rich husband,” her mother said crossly. “Come now, please, Harriett.”

  ♥♥♥

  “Whoa, there.”

  Gerard, Earl of Foxworth, eased the long chains on the draft horses pulling the plough, and stopped to judge the unplowed field ahead. The day was hot and this was thirsty work. He uncapped one of his leather water flasks and drank, the water trickling down his throat and over his bare chest. Removing his hat, he filled it with water and offered it the horses. As his horses drank, Gerard thought about what he’d learned this morning from Harrison, that Lord and Lady Edgerton and their two daughters were coming to visit Pendleton Manor. While Gerard was keen to see them again, it was deuced inconvenient. They couldn’t have come at a worse time. Harrison’s condition had deteriorated, which made things very difficult. Gerard was taking on more work over at Pendleton every day. Harrison had dismissed the steward, who he claimed was untrustworthy. Although the coachman and groom had been with Harrison for years, several other members of the staff were newly hired and as yet untried.

  He waved at Ben, who’d dug his spade into the dirt and raised a hand to block the sun. “You’ve done well. Almost time for luncheon,” Gerard called.

  “Right, ye are, milord.” Ben’s grin split his face from ear to ear. He was a good lad. Gerard had discovered him thin and homeless in Temple Ewell, just passing through in search of farm work and regular meals.

  Gerard urged the horse to work again wondering idly if either of the Edgerton girls was engaged. News took a long time to reach him in the country. He hadn’t seen them for years, not since they were school room misses. Now that his townhouse had been rented, he rarely stayed in London for the Season.

  Chapter Two

  Cousin Harrison’s country estate lay three miles from the village of Temple Ewell in Kent, and a short half-day’s ride from the coast. After Leonora’s complaints trailed off into silence, due either to exhaustion or defeat, Harriett began to enjoy the carriage ride. It was a perfect, English summer’s day, the verdant countryside dotted with motionless black and white cows. The road wound past a watermill on the River Dour. White clouds scattered across the pale blue sky made the view look like a Constable painting she’d seen on display at the Royal Academy.

  After mid-day, the carriage passed through Pendleton’s elaborate wrought-iron gates and drove into the park. When they emerged from the trees, the imposing southern aspect of the baroque mansion presented itself, giant urns and statues ornamenting its parapet balustrade. Harriett felt the house didn’t suit Cousin Harrison at all; it seemed far too elaborate and fanciful for his parsimonious personality. It had suited her mother’s cousin, Aunt Elizabeth, perfectly, however, whose childhood home it had been. The carriage rocked to a stop, and a groom stepped forward to put down the step and open the door.

  A lean, thin-faced butler stood at the front door. “Mr. Everard is in the small salon, milord.”

  “You’re new are you not?” her father said. “I don’t believe I know your name. Rumbellow has been here since the year dot.”

  “O’Hara, my lord.” The Irishman bowed again. “Rumbellow passed away two months ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it an illness?”

  “A terrible accident befell him my lord. He fell on the stairs I believe—broke his neck.”

  “He liked a tipple, Elizabeth told me. But she was fond of the man,” Mama observed, as they divested themselves of their traveling cloaks, pelisses and bonnets into the arms of a maid.

  They followed O’Hara past one echoing room after another, all under covers with the sour smell of neglect. They found their relative ensconced in the small, stuffy room with the curtains drawn. He lay on a sofa wrapped in a shawl, close to a roaring fire, despite the mildness of the day.

  Leonora raised her eyebrows at Harriett as if to say, and for this, I’ve missed one of the best balls of the Season?

  “Harrison, so good to find you looking well.” Her mother sank onto an uncomfortable looking curly-legged Louis XIV armchair.

  “Not according to my doctor. About time you came to see me.” He sniffed. “I may well have died by now. How long has it been?”

  “When you have children, your time is never your own, “Mama said. Harriett thought she hid her annoyance well.

  “Perhaps if we open a window, Harrison, let in some fresh air,” her father suggested, tugging at his cravat.

  Mother unfurled her fan, casting father a warning glance. “I wonder if we might have tea. It’s been a long, tedious journey.”

  Cousin Harrison stared up at Harriett with pale, cold eyes. “Don’t just stand there like a stuffed goose, girl. Pull the bell.”

  When the tea arrived, Harriett left her parents to their attempts at a civil conversation and wandered out onto the porch. The tallest tree, an aged oak, rose up above the park. She had played there as a child, when Aunt Elizabeth was alive. It had been a very lively place then and a delight to visit. One saw things differently as an adult. What seemed thrilling back then was no longer the case. Disheartened by the dreary state of the house, Harriett roamed along a path through the trees dressed in their summer green, recalling how she’d made up stories and narrated them to an audience of birds.

  Before she knew it, she’d walked over a mile and stood before the stately old oak tree that she used to climb. She paused, remembering that Pendleton lay on a rise above a wide green valley, and the tree offered a wonderful view all the way to the Channel from its topmost branches. One might see the French coast on such a fine day. It was undignified for an adult, but who would see her? She looked around. Finding no one in sight, she untied her poke bonnet, divested herself of her cinnamon-brown spencer and pulled off her kid half boots. She rolled down her stockings and tucked them into her shoes. Gathering her cream percale carriage dress up around her knees, she eased herself onto the lowest branch, and began to climb. Pleased, she quickly got into the swing of it. She’d been an excellent climber when she was young. Such a practice stayed with one into adulthood, apparently, although she was now a little more cautious. She’d climbed half way and stopped to consider her way forward when a figure rose from the shrubbery below her. He stood examining something, in his hand. He looked up and caught sight of her then shoved it into his pocket. Whipping off his hat, he stared up at her in surprise. “Can that be you, Harry? It must be. Taller, but as skinny as ever.”

  From her lofty perch, Harriett took a deep breath. “Gerard.”

  “’Tis I.” He came to stand below her. “So, you can still climb that tree.”

  “Why ever not?” She put a foot on a lower branch in an attempt to climb down without affording him a revealing view up her dress, and soon found it impossible. “Turn your back, will you?”

  He gave a sly look at her bare legs before he turned away. “Are you sure you don’t require my assistance?”

  “I’ll ask if I do,” she said ungraciously. She reached the bottom branch and stood holding on, while considering whether to jump and poss
ibly fall in a heap at his feet. In the end, she swallowed her pride. “You might help me,” she suggested.

  Gerard turned around and put up his arms. She leaned over and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. He gripped her waist and lifted her down. For a moment, he held her close against his chest, causing a rush of sensation to pass through her. “Not so scrawny after all,” he said with a grin.

  His hard male body pressed against hers, his mouth close enough to kiss, unsettling her. She struggled within his arms. “Put me down! You are just as outrageous as ever.”

  He set her on her feet and stood with legs spread and arms folded, studying her. “You always were tall for a girl.”

  In her bare feet, Harriett’s head reached his shoulder and Gerard stood well over six feet. “Too tall for beauty, or so I’m told,” she said pragmatically.

  His dark brows rose. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  Beholding Gerard, Harriett quite agreed. With his well-shaped mouth and the cleft in his chin, he was still the handsomest man she’d ever set eyes on. She bent to pick up one of her boots.

  “Allow me.”

  Her cheeks burned. “No. I have to put on my stockings. Would you turn your back again, please?”

  “What gentleman would refuse?” He turned away.

  Harriet was securing her blue satin garter around her stocking when he swiveled to face her. She hastily pulled down her dress. “You agreed not to look.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t say I was a gentleman. May I assist with your shoes?”

  “No, I—”

  “Nonsense. We are cousins after all.”

  In truth, their connection was distant at best, he being the only son of Cousin Harrison’s brother. Very aware of that fact she leaned back against the oak’s trunk, and gazed down at his dark head, as he crouched at her feet. Harriett stiffened when he grasped her ankle. Her senses swam at the gentle touch of his fingers. He eased her foot into her half boot and fastened it. She almost lost her balance and had to resort to holding onto his shoulder which felt broad and strong. She quickly let go.