Excerpt from Never Trust an Earl

 

Northumberland, Summer 1819.

The  Earl of Redcliffe was jolted from the seat when his carriage struck a deep pothole and lurched  into a ditch. The vehicle tilted at a precarious angle. He shoved open the door and leapt onto the bank beside a small stream and gazed with concern at his coachman, who bent forward on the box, a hand to his head.

“Are you hurt, Grimsby?”

Grimsby rubbed his forehead and climbed gingerly down. “A bit of a banged noddle is all, milord.”

Dominic’s groom appeared to be hopping as he hastened to calm the skittish horses.

“What about you, Fellows?”

“Merely twisted me ankle, milord.” As the chestnuts whickered and strained in their harness, Fellows ran experienced hands over their legs. He shook his head. “No sign of injury.”

Dominic and Grimsby squatted down to examine the undercarriage.

“That front right wheel’s broken’n two, milord,” Grimsby said, stating the obvious.

Dominic stood and brushed his trousers. “We passed a sign a way back saying it was three miles to the village. I’ll fetch the wheelwright. You and Fellows stay with the carriage.”

“No need, milord,” Grimsby said, shocked. “I’m well able to walk.”

He eyed the man’s pale face and the bruise forming on his forehead. “No. I relish a stroll after hours spent in the carriage.”

Dominic left them and strode up the road, breathing in fresh air tinged with damp foliage and wet earth. The trees bordering the route dripped from an early rain shower, but above him, the summer sky was almost cloudless and a clear, bright blue. In the distance, the drying fields shimmered. Since he’d sold out of the army after the Battle of Waterloo, he preferred not to stray far from London, and yet here he was, miles from anywhere.

Surprisingly, after a few days on the road, with the ever-changing view of peat bogs, moorland, and hay meadows, so different from anything he’d seen before, Dominic found he gained some perspective on the last disappointing year. While he didn’t consider himself a rakehell, because he would never coerce a woman, he feared the gossip worried his sister. But even for Evelyn’s sake, he had no intention of marrying until well into his thirties.

As the last mile passed, he considered this trip to be an excellent idea. To leave the sooty gray skies and crammed streets of London for a short spell, not to mention the gossip swirling about seemed exactly what was needed. He hailed a pair of black-and-white cows standing in a field. They remained like statues, staring at him while they chewed. Dominic chuckled. The silence here was positively deafening. He felt untethered from his London life, floating free. It was a good feeling.

He considered it unwise to leave the men and the horses for too long, and careless of the mud sticking to his top boots, he jumped a puddle and broke into a run. Rounding a bend in the road, a few thatched-roofed cottages came into view. A sign welcomed him to Redcliffe Village. It gave him a jolt as reality struck. He was the fifth earl in a family whose history reached back to William the Conqueror.

By the look of the small, quiet village, he feared it could prove grindingly dull. A week or two at most would be enough with Williams’s help to prepare the estate for leasing or sale. Then back to London, refreshed.

The church spire came into view. He walked past the watermill, crossed a stone bridge over the River Tyne, and entered the village.

 There were few people about, but it was still early. The coach had departed the last coaching inn at first light. Once the wheel was mended, breakfast would be in order. An inn, the Plough, was farther along the street. After a hearty meal, he could face the neglected estate his uncle had shut himself away in for decades.

He passed a few shops and businesses overlooking the green, not yet open, and approached a barn with the wheelwright’s sign affixed above the door. As he drew near, a young woman, her skirts gathered high to reveal a trim ankle, bolted out the barn door. Her eyes on the path, she cannoned into his chest.

She stared up at him, her bonnet shoved back on her head, saved from falling by its blue ribbons, while Dominic steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. He gazed down into a pair of stunning, violet-blue eyes. “May I be of help?”

She stepped away to a safer distance. “No, thank you, sir.” Something akin to recognition dawned in those wonderful eyes. A frown creased the smooth skin between straight, dark brows.

Dominic swept off his hat. He’d enjoyed the brief moment her fragrant, slim body rested against his chest. Amused, he observed her. From her bonnet to her shoes she was a decidedly fetching woman. “Are you sure?”

“I am quite sure, Lord Redcliffe.” Her voice crisp, she settled her straw hat over her disordered dusky curls. Knew him, did she? He cocked an eyebrow.

“There’s an article in the local paper,” she explained. “They mentioned your visit.”

But why the distrustful attitude? Had London gossip traveled this far? Surely not the print shop caricature? Lord, no. His estate manager, Williams, would likely have spread about Dominic’s intention to visit. “And you are?”

“Miss Jenner, my lord.”

She spoke well for a country lass. Some years past twenty, and still unmarried, judging by the lack of rings on her slender fingers. He was pleased to find a pretty woman here, miles from a big town. Not a good welcome, however, for her eyes remained wary. “My carriage ended up in a ditch, and I have need of the wheelwright,” he said affably. “Is the fellow inside?”

“I… er… yes... he is.” After an annoyed shake of her head, she said, “He’s busy.”

Rendered curious by the flush creeping over her cheeks, he hesitated, then replaced his hat. “I must have a word with him. Good day to you.”

“Good day, milord.” With a bob, she hurried away.

When Dominic reached the door, he turned. But she’d disappeared from view down the street. She must have almost run. He stepped into the dim interior, breathed in the smells of sawdust and sweat. The wheelwright stood buck naked, a towel in his hands, a bucket of water at his feet.

Dominic thought of Miss Jenner’s reaction and grinned. “Bickle, I believe.”

Naked, Bickle paused from vigorously drying his hair and turned, displaying a broad chest covered in a matt of black hair. He was quick to perceive Dominic a gentleman, and snatched up his breeches, pulling them on. “I won’t be but a moment, sir.”

Dominic introduced himself. It was possible Bickle knew who he was, for he calmly nodded.

“Take your time. I don’t wish to interrupt your ablutions.”

As Bickle slipped his feet into his boots, Dominic explained his situation.

While the wheelwright readied the trap, he wondered who Miss Jenner was. He would expect a farmer’s daughter to have an earthier attitude to nudity.

The trap ready, Dominic joined Bickle on the seat.

As Bickle drove the carthorse along the road, Dominic wondered whether he would see Miss Jenner again. Bound to—it was a small place. Although she’d hardly been welcoming, once she got to know what a genial fellow he was, she might change her mind. If by some unseen circumstance he was stuck here for weeks while he worked out what to do with this property left in his unwilling hands, any feminine company—and most particularly someone as attractive as Miss Jenner—would certainly while away the hours.

***

Everyone in the village would know him on sight, dressed in his superbly tailored Bond Street clothes. Never in her memory had such a well-dressed, highborn gentleman visited the village. The former earl didn’t count. On the rare occasions he ventured out, he dressed like a pauper.

Olivia picked up a long stick and used it as a switch to batter away the leafy fronds encroaching on the path. The heat had only now left her cheeks. She had wanted to meet him, but not in that fashion. The drawing in the local newspaper hadn’t quite captured him. They’d made him appear sober and steely-eyed, and while his features were rugged and his jaw hard, when he smiled he looked more like the rake they’d heard about. His arrogant, green gaze flickered over her, from her head to her feet, making her quiver. Yes, definitely a rake.

 Entirely too attractive with smile lines radiating from his compelling eyes, a lean muscled body, and skin of an olive tone. His wavy, dark brown hair invited a woman’s touch. That last bit made her frown. Was she to act like a silly girl? But when she recalled his amused smile at her recognizing him, and his even white teeth, her heart gave a strange flutter.

Olivia continued along the road, increasingly annoyed at her foolishness. She needed to keep a cool head about Lord Redcliffe and not allow the embarrassment of their first meeting to spoil her plans. This was her chance to right a wrong, and she was determined to seize it with both hands.

She often walked the few miles to Redcliffe Hall along the road bounded by the estate’s high stone wall, to see if anything had changed since the old man died. From her limited vision through the tall, padlocked gates, nothing had. The ancient gatehouse deserted, the avenue of gnarled trees unchecked by any gardener still formed a dark tunnel over the driveway, the grounds overgrown, and the lawns past thigh-high. What must once have been a magnificent Elizabethan mansion now sad and neglected, with broken panes in the cobwebbed, mullioned windows.

Haunted, many believed, by the old earl guarding his money, which rumor claimed he’d hidden somewhere in the house. Olivia didn’t know if that was true, but he certainly didn’t spend any of it paying his bills. If he still lived, her poor father could attest to that.

Olivia entered through the side gate of Lady Lowry’s establishment and followed the path to the servants’ entrance. Her mistress had sent her to Bickle to arrange for him to fix the broken axle on her cabriolet. Before Lady Lowry questioned her, she must find an excuse for why she hadn’t seen him. Although she certainly had, much more than she ever wished to see. As it was, she loathed having to speak to him because he leered at her and made improper suggestions. Fortunately, Bickle had a towel over his head, and she made her escape without him seeing her. Then in her haste to get away from the man, she’d run into Lord Redcliffe. Literally. Smack bang against his hard chest. Heavens. He’d caught hold of her. Held for a moment while she breathed in his clean male smell.

He’d be very different to Bickle when stripped. She batted that thought away. She’d been tongue-tied with embarrassment, and he must think her an idiot. But then her absolute distrust of all Redcliffes took hold, and she’d had to take herself in hand not to reveal it.

Olivia entered through the servants’ door of the manor house, a solid two-story brick edifice built in the last century, where Lady Lowry employed her as housekeeper. Her mistress, the widow of Sir Hubert Lowry, could be difficult, at times quite horrid to her servants. As she entered the breakfast room, Olivia wondered what mood she would be in this morning. She hoped the young maid, Emily, hadn’t served her mistress cold porridge again.

In a dressing gown of pale pink, lavishly trimmed with ribbons and bows, Lady Lowry looked up from buttering her roll. “There you are. You’ve been gone a long time.” She gazed suspiciously at Olivia. “Did you tarry to flirt with the fellow?”

Olivia suppressed a shudder. “I had no chance to speak to Bickle. He was busy.”

“I’ll send the footman. He will not be turned away.”

“As I left,” Olivia said, aware this would draw her mistress’s attention from herself, “I saw Lord Redcliffe.”

Lady Lowry put down her roll. “The earl has arrived?”

“Yes.”

She tucked strands of fair hair beneath her cap. “I must get busy. Such a lot to organize. Of course, he will want to meet those in society equal to his rank. Whom shall I invite?” She frowned. “So few to choose from. Mr. and Mrs. Crompton of the Pastures, and the widow, Mrs. Herrington, and of course, , the squire at Northoaks…” She drifted off for a moment in thought.

Olivia’s cheeks warmed. She told herself she was immune to her mistress’s callous disregard for her feelings but feared she wasn’t. Would never be.

Impervious to any hurt she might have caused at the mention of the squire, Lady Lowry stared up at her. “Don’t daydream, girl. The reception rooms need to be cleaned. Thoroughly. Take up the rugs and make sure the piano is properly dusted and polished. The servants always make a poor job of it.” She tapped her chin. “We might have some music. And see they are careful with my china ornaments. Any chips, and the girl will find herself out in the street. Tell Cook to come here. I wish to discuss the menu.”

Lord Redcliffe’s arrival had stirred Lady Lowry into a frenzy. Relieved to escape, Olivia hurried from the room. In the kitchen, Cook sat with her morning cup of tea, something delicious baking in the oven. “Sit down and have a bite to eat before you fade away,” she said, eyeing Olivia. “Is Madam in one of her moods?”

“She wishes to discuss the menu for the party she plans for the Earl of Redcliffe. He has arrived in the village”

“Oh?” Cook pushed her cap on straight. “Well, his nibs will have to take what he’s given, won’t he. I’m not one of the Prince of Wales’s fancy chefs.”

Olivia laughed as she poured herself a cup of tea. When free of her duties, she would call on Lord Redcliffe. As soon as she learned of his expected visit, she had given this considerable thought, for she feared he may not remain here long. If he planned to restore the house with even a skeleton staff for further visits, he would soon see what a pickle he found himself in and could hardly refuse her offer. She rubbed her aching temples. The success of her endeavor rested on his acceptance of her proposal.