A Prude Maiden for the Earl (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 8) Read online

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS CHAPTER 1:MESMERISING THE DUKE

  BONUS CHAPTER 2:FALLING FOR THE EARL

  Copyright © Regina Darcy 2016

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  For queries, comments or feedback please use the following contact details:

  reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com

  info@cleanandwholesomeromance

  ONE

  Everything was going to turn out all right. Miss Adrianna Carson remembered her late father Baron Sandrinham’s old maxim and tried to carry on as usual. Throughout the day, she had surveyed the drooping remnants of her gardens and orchards, played her mother’s piano in the drawing room, and discussed household affairs with her small staff of servants.

  Adhering to her regular routine did nothing to lessen the icy-dread pooling deep within her stomach. She silently continued to fret, her sharp mind constantly wandering back to thoughts of her dear — and hopelessly infuriating — little sister, Colette.

  Colette was due to return from her sparkling debut in London today. She was supposed to take the postal coach home. This inexpensive but reliable mode of transport had been scheduled to thunder past the house around noon. There was just one problem: Adrianna couldn’t be certain that the girl was on board the postal coach, as planned. Careless Colette had neglected to respond to most of her recent letters. She had not heard from the girl for an entire fortnight!

  This was not particularly out of character for the bubbly but careless 17-year-old. However, the few letters her sister did write were even more worrying (and scandalising) for Adrianna. In fact, the handful of singsong scribbles frightened the older sister to her very core. Colette wrote of late night rendezvouses, romantic dances, and even a stolen kiss or two. She regaled Adrianna with tales of falling in head-over-heels for a man that built docks for a living.

  Adrianna could only pray that the whole thing was her sister’s idea of a cruel jest. She tried to relax in the parlour while stitching her embroidery, but it was hopeless. She was far too agitated to sit still. Adrianna paced around the first floor of their spacious home, glancing out the windows to see if she could catch a glimpse of the postal carriage.

  Adrianna decided it was Colette’s beauty that was the problem. The girl had inherited their late mother’s long honey blonde hair, delicate, slightly upturned nose, and an angelic complexion to match. People were simply too nice to pretty Colette, men and women alike. She could do no wrong. She had a sweet personality, but all the adulation had left her quite spoiled in some ways.

  How else could she torture Adrianna like this? She had no reason to behave in such an abhorrent, irresponsible manner. The sisters had a wonderful life, as heirs to the Carson fortune. Their estate was massive — almost too large for just two people. The spacious mansion had seemed fuller when their parents had been alive. The halls had rung with laughter and music back then.

  Now, the girls lived with a small but loyal, dedicated group of servants and their eccentric Aunt Lydia. They could afford triple that number, but what would be the point? They did not need thirty people to attend them. Most days, Adrianna spent her time reading and wandering the grounds, while Colette wrote letters to friends and embroidered. Their dear late father had been committed to educating both girls after the passing of their mother, and they had both excelled at their studies. Their mother, on the other hand, had made sure to bring them up in the more practical, domestic arts. Both girls had turned out rather well rounded, indeed.

  To think Colette would waste all that care and effort on a frivolous love affair!

  It was not as if Adrianna had sent her off to London without a chaperone — perish the thought! Aunt Lydia herself had accompanied Colette to London! Lydia Spencer, their late mother’s aunt, was a widow whose sons had all grown. Lydia had been their faithful chaperone ever since their father passed away two years ago. Adrianna had imagined that the strict, if not slightly confused, old woman would not put up with Colette’s cajoling.

  How wrong she had been!

  Adrianna paused to check her reflection in the mirror over the mantle, twisting her fingers through her dark curls to give them some life. She supposed she still looked passable, for a withered old maid of 23. Her cheeks retained a pinkish glow, and her figure still looked slim and girlish beneath her light blue empire gown.

  Adrianna shook her head at her folly. What was she doing, preening in the mirror? Her chances at landing a marriage were gone. It was Colette who needed her full attention. Colette needed to make a good impression during her London debut, to capture the attention of a suitable young man, lest she become a spinster like her sister.

  Adrianna feared that, from the tone and content of the girl’s letters and from her general adherence to the county rumour mill, the man she’d snared was anything but suitable.

  Adrianna turned to the portrait of their late father, Sir William Carson, which hung over the sofa. The image made him look so stern, with his stormy eyes and wild, dark hair. In reality, he had been a loving father. He would have known what to do about Colette’s recent crisis.

  Shaking her head, Adrianna read through Colette’s last letter once more, devouring it until she reached the ghastly last line.

  I am in love with Jason Danvers.

  There was no mistaking Colette’s swirling, slightly erratic handwriting. And there was no mistaking that name — Jason Danvers. Adrianna knew all about him. He was a master shipwright and dock-builder by trade. He was quite a powerful force within the artisan class, actually.

  Adrianna had her qualms about his lower social standing, but Danvers’s terrible reputation was the real nail in the coffin. He was a renowned fortune hunter. Now that the war was over, soldiers and sailors had flooded back into England. Lacking pensions, desperate men took to seducing or scheming their way into a life of comfort. Adrianna strongly suspected that Danvers fit this mould.

  The Carson sisters were not overflowing with funds, but their wealth would make a pretty prize for a fortune hunter. Also since Adrianna was an old maid, by marrying Colette, Danvers could hope to eventually acquire the entire estate.

  The whole thing was despicable. Adrianna felt sick dwelling upon it. She rubbed her temples and stormed out of the house to wait for her sister outside. The relatively cool air in her home had suddenly become too stuffy.

  The autumn day was cool and overcast as she marched over to the nearby country road where the coach would deposit her sister and aunt. Withered, brown fields stretched around her. The harvest had come and gone. She felt a pang of guilt over her worries. 1816 had been a terrible year for the farmers around her. The end of the war had sparked a disastrous tumble in produce prices. Banks closed throughout the county, and many local people had lost everything.

  There were so many individuals in situations far worse than hers were. This snag with Colette’s romantic notions was miniscule in comparison to total ruin.

  Adrianna had tak
en it upon herself to support the local farmers. It was an expensive endeavour, but she had funds to spare to aid the farmers working on the surrounding Billingham estate. Someone had to take action, with the old Earl dead and his son out gallivanting around the world instead of tending to his tenants. The late Earl of Billingham had not been a particularly good landlord either, come to think of it, always cranking up rents to fund his alcohol-soaked lifestyle.

  There were even whispers that his son Alexander had not really escaped to seek his fortune in India. Many believed the old man had snapped and killed his own heir. These rumours chilled Adrianna. There was a time, long ago, where that young man had actually caught her eye at a ball once.

  Lost in her hazy memories, Adrianna barely noticed the postal coach hurtling toward her. Suddenly, she was staring at a weathered carriage and several tired-looking horses.

  The door flung over. First, Aunt Lydia stepped out, aided by the coachman. The older, grey-haired woman still had vivid blue eyes, which regarded Adrianna with a vague sort of affection.

  “It’s nice to see you, Auntie,” Adrianna said, crumpling into a quick, informal curtsy. “Where is—”

  “Good to see you too, Alexandra…” Lydia said. “You look slightly pale, child! Are you ill?”

  Adrianna couldn’t blame the woman for forgetting her name. She had so many sons, nieces, and nephews to keep track of. Still, the slip up frightened her. Odds were the old woman had just forgotten about Colette in London! “Where is Colette?”

  “Colette?” Lydia looked confused by the question.

  Fortunately, Adrianna’s question was answered when her younger sister practically tumbled from the coach and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. It took a few moments to break free and gather up all the parcels and luggage. Then, the coach rumbled off into the misty day.

  Colette peppered her older sister with bright apologies as they headed back to the house.

  “Oh, Adrianna, I’m so sorry I haven’t replied to your letters in a while,” she said, breathlessly. As they walked, she practically circled her older sister, who was handling most of the baggage — the postal coach had arrived so quickly that she had not had the time to call any of the servants to help. “You must be so cross with me! I do apologize for being so monstrous. You know I would normally write to you in a heartbeat, I was just having the most splendid time.” Adrianna opened her mouth to interrupt, but Colette kept on talking and talking. “We went to so many balls — you’ve never seen Auntie dance, have you? She is still quite good! Oh, London is so magnificent.” She twirled around, puffing up her filmy, white skirt. “And, Adrianna, I met the most glorious man.”

  “Colette,” Adrianna said.

  “He’s an angel.”

  “Colette.”

  “I’m in love with Jason Danvers,” Colette sang.

  “Colette!” Adrianna snapped as they crossed the threshold.

  Her sister fixed her with a pair of sparkling eyes. “Yes, dear sister?”

  Adrianna set the luggage down as a loud thud rang throughout the still house. “We need to talk.”

  TWO

  Alexander Norborne, the recently minted Earl of Billingham, slowly pried open the door to his estate. The rusty hinges groaned to greet him. He stared into the dark gloom of what was once his home. Fortunately, the coachman had been good enough to leave him with a lantern from his ride from the port. He raised the flickering light and moved into the front hall.

  If he had been a superstitious man, he would have feared that a ghost or ghoul might be lurking around every corner. However, for all his faults, the Earl possessed a rational mind.

  He drifted through the home until he reached the ballroom. The light from the lantern rippled across the high, vaulted ceiling. The Earl found himself staring up at the splotch staining along the white ceilings of the massive room. The colour was unmistakable — it had to be merlot.

  He tried to recall if it had always been there? He knew every inch of Billingham Hall, his ancestral home. Centuries earlier, Billingham Hall had served as an abbey, but it was seized by the Crown and distributed to the king’s loyal followers after the Dissolution of the Monasteries.

  The estate retained a gloomy, mysterious air that Alexander had always loved, especially as an impish child. As a boy, he had explored every part of the manor, every secret passage, every forgotten room. He had once even gotten up on the sloping roof. Returning to Billingham Hall was like reuniting with an old friend.

  Alexander determined that he would have certainly noticed this blemish on the ceiling before. This stain had to be of relatively recent vintage. It must have somehow gotten up there during the last raucous bash he had held, before he fled Billingham Hall all those years ago.

  He shook his head, smiling at the memory. It had been an excellent party — at least the parts that he remembered were excellent. It was a fragment, but he clung to it. It was a happy memory — the last he had of his home. The next night he had fled the home he had lived in for the first 23 years of his life.

  Lord Billingham stood in the ballroom, alone with his thoughts. The large mansion was deserted. His old workforce of servants — who had been on indefinite leave since his father’s passing — would be returning to work tomorrow. Alexander had been surprised to discover that.

  He suspected his late father must have had a secret stash of funds to retain the servants and the tenant farmers for the time after his death. He would have to ask his father’s lawyer about the specifics.

  It was now up to Alexander to take on the responsibility of tending to the army of people who relied upon the estate. He felt uneasy and unsuited to the task. The tenants deserved a leader that would sustain them through these troubled financial time. His father certainly had not been up to the task. The new Earl was not sure that he was, either.

  Alexander took a deep breath. He had assumed his feeling of unease and discontent was just from the extensive traveling he had done over the past few weeks. However, that was not the source of his anxiety, he realised.

  It was being back home that was making him somewhat ill. Already, just the sheer stillness of the house was getting to him. The silence was overwhelming. The air was stuffy. All the intricate pieces of furniture in the room were shrouded in white sheets, surrounding him like fluttering ghosts.

  On impulse, he yanked one of the cloths off a large, oak table. Dust swirled into the air, shimmering and conjuring shapes in the light.

  For an instant, the past returned to him like an old friend and embraced the Earl — the dancing couples, the clinking glasses, and the raucous laughter. They were all there waiting for him, nothing had changed.

  The memory flickered with the light of hundreds of candles, as the floor thrummed with people laughing, talking, and twirling. He could taste the sweet wine on his tongue. He could feel the heat of the crush of people. He could see a smiling girl with feathers in her dark hair and a pink sash around her waist. He could not quite make out her face, her features kept blurring before his eyes.

  Alexander raised her pale, un-gloved hand to his lips and gently kissed it, prompting the apparition to flee back into the mob. He watched her disappear as the music began to change. The band of players switched from a jaunty, dancing tune to something slower. The sad, faraway song drifted over Alexander. It called him back to that winter’s night.

  For a moment, he was truly home.

  Then he blinked, and he was alone again in the empty house.

  THREE

  Adrianna awoke the next morning, groggy and aching in her soft bed. She pulled herself from beneath the covers and thawed out a bit in front of the cheery blaze of her fireplace. She had been up late quarrelling with Colette over the Danvers situation. Adrianna did not like fighting with her sister, but she would put her foot down on this issue. She had to save Colette from herself.

  Last night had been ghastly. Colette had refused to listen to reason and eventually fled to bed weeping and declaring her undying love f
or Danvers (for about the hundredth time). Adrianna shook her head at the memory. Someday that silly girl would thank her for her foresight and judgement.

  As soon as one of the maids helped her into a simple, white gown, Adrianna glided to Colette’s room and poked her head in to say good morning.

  Colette lay in a lump in her bed and did not reply.

  “I am sorry about the words we had last night,” Adrianna said. “I hope you realise that I… I do want what is best for you. And that I love you very much.”

  “How would you know what is best?” Colette muttered. “Speak to Aunt Lydia. She can vouch for Mr Danvers.”

  “Oh, Colette. I’m sure he was a very charming man. But you cannot take people at face value. He’s a known fortune hunter — and you’re a girl with a fortune… Colette?”

  The girl had pulled the covers over her head.

  “Be gone, I’m sleeping.”

  Sighing, Adrianna drifted downstairs to instruct the rest of the staff. Normally the group would stand silently and listen carefully to her. Today, however, the servants seemed a bit riled up. This concerned Adrianna.

  “Excuse me,” she snapped, after one of the maids giggled and looked out the window for about the fifth time. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” the youngest maid said, with a sly smile. “We are all just a bit anxious about the return of the infamous Lord Billingham.”

  “Billingham?” For a moment, Adrianna did not understand. The angry old earl had passed away several months ago. He had developed a terrible reputation for boozing and cheating his hard working tenants. Then, the realisation struck her — the servants must be talking about his son. “Lord Bellingham has returned to England?”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” the maid said. She stifled a snicker.

  “They say such wicked things about his lordship. That he roams the land on a red-eyed horse, hounds swarming around him—”