The Earl’s Love Match: A Sweet Regency Romance Read online

  The Earl’s Love Match

  A Sweet Regency Romance

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Contents

  Copyright

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  The Earl’s Love Match

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Preview of A Brother’s Duty

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About Kelly Anne Bruce

  Join Kelly Anne Bruce’s Readers Group

  Also By Kelly Anne Bruce

  Sweet River Publishing

  Copyright

  Copyright 2019, Kelly Anne Bruce

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, without written approval by the author, except for short excerpts used in a book review.

  All characters, places, events, businesses, or references to historical facts are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any references to actual people, places, or events are purely incidental.

  http://www.KellyAnneBruce.com

  The Earl’s Love Match

  A Sweet Regency Romance

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Prologue

  The people of Great Sallingbury slept as the carriage arrived. Nobody knew that it had even arrived, except for Jim Elder, the innkeeper at the King’s Head. He frowned as he heard the sound of hooves on the cobbles of the coaching inn’s yard. New arrivals at this time of night rarely boded well. Reluctantly he got out of his warm bed, pulled on his dressing gown over his nightshirt and slid his feet into his slippers. He hurried downstairs and through the public bar. He was almost at the door when he remembered he was still wearing his nightcap. He snatched it off and stuffed it into the pocket of his robe.

  The vast black carriage drew to a halt right outside the door. The driver jumped down from his box. He was tall, broad and clad all in black, with a scarf covering his cheeks, his hat pulled down low over his eyes in an attempt to keep warm on the chilly October night. He unwound the scarf and tilted back his hat as he ran around the carriage to open the door. He nodded to Jim, who had been about to step forward to do the same and Jim knew to step back, though he could not have told anyone why.

  The door opened. Jim did not know what he had been expecting, but the slender figure that the coachman assisted to dismount from the luxurious vehicle was not it. The passenger was clearly a woman of wealth. Her thick velvet cloak was made of rich burgundy cloth, the heavy cowl covered her features almost entirely.

  “My mistress requires a bed, some drink and perhaps a light repast,” the coachman said firmly, more a command than a request, as he turned back to Jim. “We shall only be staying for the one night and will be leaving at dawn on the morrow.”

  “Of course, of course,” Jim said, feeling a little discombobulated by the brusqueness of the command, and curious about the identity of the young woman hidden within the folds of the cloak. She was tall for a woman, but he could make out little more than that. “I shall see to it that your horses are fed and rubbed down ready for you to depart.”

  He ushered them inside, firstly showing the young woman to his finest chamber then taking the coachman to a smaller room in the attic above. He hurried back down the stairs to prepare a tray with bread, cheese and a rich oxtail broth his wife had made earlier that day for the young woman. Carefully he carried it upstairs, knocked on the door and then left the tray on the floor outside. It did not do to be entering the chambers of young ladies. When he got back to the bar, the coachman was seated on a stool waiting for him. Jim poured him a tankard of ale and offered him a plate of bread and cheese, which was taken gratefully.

  “Have you travelled far?” he asked politely as he stood awkwardly watching the imposing younger man eat.

  “We have been on the road for some time,” he said, taking a large bite of bread and chewing on it noisily. He cut a chunk of cheese with his knife and speared it into his mouth.

  “The weather has been fine, for this time of year,” Jim said, wondering if he should even try to engage this man in conversation, or if it would be better for them both if he made his excuses and went back to bed. It would not be long before the cock crowed, and Wednesday was market day in Great Sallingbury. There would be all sorts arriving early and wanting breakfast, the carriage trade would come around lunchtime, and he would be unlucky if he was not full for the night once the day was done.

  “It has been good enough,” the coachman said as he stood, having eaten his fill and drunk the entire tankard in almost one gulp. “Good night to you.”

  With that, he disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jim alone. Jim washed up the man’s tankard and plate, then went back to his own bed. He could not help thinking that there was something peculiar about his unexpected, late-night guests. But he was too tired to think on it now, and so he curled up on his side and was soon in a deep slumber, his snores puncturing the silence of the almost empty inn.

  He arose as the dawn was breaking to find that his guests had left their payment on the bar and departed before the cock had even thought about starting to crow. Jim was not a clever, educated man – but he knew when something was afoot. There was something going on, though he had no clues as to what it might be. He only hoped that the young woman was going to safety, away from danger and not the other way around.

  Chapter One

  “I can hardly believe that such a thing could ever happen, Aunt Helena,” Lady Annabelle Greyshotte said, pretending to look aghast, as she dealt the cards for a hand of whist.

  It was well known that her aunt, the Duchess of Calder, was prone to exaggeration and her salacious stories were always full of distortions and half-truths. Lady Jane Whitton held her tongue, though she longed to remark upon the gossip they had just been privy to. In truth, the story did not seem so very far-fetched to her at all and in her mind such a woman deserved praise rather than the censure she was bound to receive in the parlors of polite society.

  Jane had always struggled to accept that a woman’s only role in life was to do as she was bidden by first her father and then later by her husband. She was not a pretty, delicate flower – like Lady Annabelle and Lady Faith Judd, the other young lady at the table. Everything about Jane was wrong, as far as fashion dictated. She was tall and large-boned, when she should be dainty and petite, had dark hair when she should be blonde. She was lucky enough to have blue eyes, but that in itself was not enough. And further, she was educated and opinionated when she should be quiet and defer to her supposed betters.

  But Jane was no more than a guest here, and only a lady’s companion to Lady Faith at that. Faith, her dearest and sweetest friend, was cousin to Lady Annabelle, and daughter to the Duke and Duchess of Calder. No matter her sex, in such company her opinion mattered little to her hosts, and she would do nothing to jeopardize her place. There was too much at stake for her to do anything other than be the deferent and good young lady that she was employed to be.

  “No young woman would take it upon herself to travel the length of the entire country – from beyond Edinburgh to Dorset – just to escape a marriage she did not want,” Lady Annabelle continued. “It just is not done.”

  It was clear that such disobedience made no sense to the spoiled and silly young woman seated opposite her at all. Jane wa
s not surprised. After all, they were here in Dorset for Lady Annabelle’s marriage to a man almost twice her age, the choice of her father. Lady Annabelle would never have thought to so much as complain about her father’s right to choose a husband for her, much less take a stand against that choice, though it did seem that she held at least a passing fondness for her betrothed.

  The quartet seated around the small card table in the elegant drawing room of Wilmsley Manor, picked up their cards and made little noises of appreciation and dismay, dependent upon their luck. Jane was not entirely unhappy at the hand she had been dealt. She had a sharp mind, and it was lucky that she did. Her winnings at the card table had to supplement what had recently become a very meagre allowance.

  “I tell you, it is true,” the duchess said, pouting just a little to show her disapproval that her niece was not giving her the respect she believed to be her due, as she lay down the first card. “It is the talk of the Ton from Scotland to the Isle of Wight.”

  “But it is such nonsense,” Lady Annabelle said, watching her cousin lay her card down on the table without saying a word, a thoughtful frown making her delicate features seem unusually stern.

  “Surely, if such a young woman had arrived in our midst, we would know of it?” Lady Annabelle added, as Jane laid her own card down. Lady Annabelle sucked a breath in through her teeth, obviously disappointed that she did not have a card to take the trump. She threw a low spade down as Jane collected the trump with quiet delight.

  “Mayhaps we have met her and have not even noticed,” the Duke of Calder said, chuckling to himself as he looked up from his newspaper by the fire. He was a portly man, of good humor and somewhat lazy habits. He enjoyed the company of the women in his life and was unusually fond of both his wife and his daughter. Jane doubted that he would ever force dear Faith to marry anyone she did not wish to. Jane could only imagine what her life might have been like had her own father had been so considerate and kindly.

  “Maybe she is amongst us now,” Jane asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “Do any of us know someone who has come newly to the area?”

  “Other than yourself, Miss Lacey, no,” Lady Anabelle said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are the secret heiress on the run?” She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and gave Jane a searching look.

  Jane’s breath caught at the young woman’s pointed use of the name Jane had chosen to use rather than the one she had been born to. She quickly flicked a glance at Lady Faith, who was looking assiduously at her hand of cards. “Would that I were,” Jane said with a bright smile. Faith gave her a concerned look, her complexion a little pale, but she said nothing. Jane tried to breath more normally. She had nothing to fear, she was sure of that. The only person, other than Faith, who knew of her flight from the Scottish borderlands was her cousin Henry’s coachman, Jem. The man was discretion itself, and was now in Spain, or was it Portugal, looking after Henry’s needs.

  She and Faith had been friends since school, and Jane had been swift to accept when Faith suggested she become her companion and join her on this visit to her cousin’s vast estates in Herefordshire. Jane had been in need of some time away from her own life and she was glad of the kindness that dear Faith had shown her. It was more than Jane deserved and she would go to her grave trying to find a way to repay her friend for her kindness and courage.

  “You cannot really think that dear Jane could have travelled all that way, and then managed to keep her true identity secret?” Duchess Helena said in a shocked tone. “Why, she is as honest as the day is long. I do not know how we managed without her - she has been such a good friend for dear Faith.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Jane said dipping her head. She had never been more grateful to anyone in her life. The duchess’s outrage would be more than enough to dispel any lingering doubts in the mind of Lady Annabelle, at least for now.

  Jane was always careful to be seen as the very study of polite deference. She could do nothing to draw attention to herself. But even with the duchess having stood her champion so vehemently, Jane could see that Lady Annabelle was not entirely convinced that Jane was what she seemed. Her eyes narrowed a little each time she looked at Jane, and she stared quite openly at her each time she spoke. Jane would have to be very careful around this perceptive young woman if she was to keep her secrets, of that she was sure.

  Jane could not deny that the young woman seated across the table from her was quite right to be suspicious. There was indeed something about her that was not as it seemed. Jane knew that in many ways she was too polite, too kind, too good – and she was too well-educated and spoke almost perfect French. Her story of a genteel upbringing in a Norfolk Rectory did not ring true. Jane was possessed of the impeccable posture and manners that could only have come from being raised amongst the very highest echelons of Society. She would have to ensure that she showed a few roughened edges if she was to play her part effectively.

  But she knew it was not her own part she need worry about. Dear Faith was not adept at telling falsehoods, though she would do everything she could to never give Jane’s true identity away. Faith was sweet and generous, kindly to a fault – but she was not comfortable with lies and subterfuge and Jane could see that the toll of keeping Jane’s secrets was already beginning to take its toll on her most honest of friends. Faith’s usually talkative and open nature was being stretched and becoming strained at the edges. She was pale and looked anxious at the topic of conversation and was uncharacteristically quiet. Yet Jane knew that Faith would never willingly do anything to hurt anyone and would be mortified if her actions brought Jane any hurt.

  “There is little point in speculating about the whereabouts of Lady Whitton,” Jane said firmly. “We may never know of what has become of her, if she does not wish to be found. Though we can consider what might be to come for ourselves.” She paused for a moment, racking her brains to think of something she might say to distract everyone from what was becoming a very uncomfortable topic. “Do you attend the Early Winter Ball at Lord and Lady Penford’s?” she managed finally.

  “Sadly, we cannot,” Lady Annabelle said, an odd smile curling her lips and lighting up her pretty eyes. “I shall be travelling with my husband, which will of course be wonderful, but I shall be sad to miss it. The Penford’s ball is the only highlight in a dreary season.” She was obviously delighted at the idea of her travels, but it was also clear that she would indeed be sad to miss an event she enjoyed.

  “That is a shame,” the duchess said. “And, of course, we shall write and tell you all about it, just as you must tell us of your travels. Is it true that Viscount Hawthorne is to take you to Paris and Rome?”

  “It is,” Lady Annabelle said in a tone of feigned tedium, as though she wanted people to think that the idea bored her more than a little. “And to Prague and Bruges, and all manner of other dreadful places where I will not understand a word anyone is saying around me - and will be forced to eat food that disagrees with me, no doubt.” Jane could not be sure if Lady Annabelle’s words were supposed to make everyone else think she simply did not care for the trip, or if it was to hide her anxiety about leaving all that was familiar to her. Jane suspected that the latter was probably most likely.

  It had always puzzled Jane that women of society were expected to be so uninterested in such things as travel. She herself would love to take ship to the continent, to see all the wonders of the ancient world and to explore places she had only read about. But Annabelle was not like Jane. She had been bred to be a wife, to know her place. She wished for little more than a suitable marriage so she might keep her place in Society and to do her duty. Jane wondered if the young woman had ever dared to dream of anything more. She rather doubted it.

  The game of cards came to an end, and the duchess rose from the table. “Annabelle, dear, I think we should be going. You must have so much you need to prepare for Saturday’s celebrations, so we shall take our leave of you. We must away to Winchester ourselves in good time.” Sh
e bent down to press a kiss upon her pretty niece’s forehead, nodded at Faith and at Jane, then swept from the room. The three women at the table stood immediately, as did the duke. He set down his newspaper and bowed politely to his niece.

  Annabelle bobbed an elegant curtsey and then embraced Faith warmly. “I am so glad that you will be with me, dearest cousin,” she said, emotion choking her voice. “I do not think I could have gone through with it if you had not come.” Her words were untrue, but Jane was touched on Faith’s behalf. Her dear friend so longed to be of use to those she loved, and Jane was oddly surprised that Lady Annabelle had considered anyone other than herself for long enough to know this about Faith.

  Yet, as she looked at the usually perfectly composed young woman, Jane was surprised to see a flicker of anxiety and she detected a note of vulnerability in Lady Annabelle. It was clear that her outward happiness about the match was not as strong as Jane had believed. As Jane politely said her goodbyes, she was convinced that she could see a slightly haunted look in the young woman’s eyes. “Viscount Hawthorne is a good man and will be lucky to have you as his wife,” she said softly as she took Lady Annabelle’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  Tears filmed Lady Annabelle’s eyes. “He is, is not he?” she asked, rather than stated.

  “One of the kindest men of the Ton,” Jane assured her.