by Merry Farmer
Naughty Earls Need Love Too
Merry Farmer
NAUGHTY EARLS NEED LOVE TOO
Copyright ©2021 by Merry Farmer
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B09B2P5XKP
Paperback ISBN: 9798760457073
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Created with Vellum
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Belfast, Ireland – September, 1889
If there was one true thing that Maeve Sperrin knew above all else, it was that nothing was more important than friendship.
“It was horrible and terrifying,” Alice Woodmont, her very best friend in the entire world said as the two of them walked arm-in-arm through the high street of Belfast. “We skated within inches of being exposed to Lady Coyle, and all because Mrs. Horner used the last diaper to clean up the jam she spilled.”
They occasionally glanced into the shop windows that they passed, but their excursion was mostly for the purpose of gossiping and telling stories where no one who knew them would see them or overhear their words.
“Did Lady Coyle actually see Ryan?” Maeve asked, duly horrified by Alice’s story of near disaster. She blinked and went on with, “I thought Ryan had grown out of diapers.”
Alice laughed humorlessly and sent Maeve a wary, sideways look. “I only wish that Ryan had grown out of diapers. That entire process is taking longer than any of us want it to, though I’ve been assured that Ryan’s progress is normal for his age. Thank heavens that my darling boy lives with Mrs. Horner and not at home, under my parents’ roof. If he were to spoil the furniture there, as he has, unfortunately, done at Mrs. Horner’s, there would be even more hell to pay than there already is.”
Maeve made a sympathetic sound and hugged Alice’s arm tighter as the two of them walked. Alice was like a sister to her and had been since they were girls. There were times when Maeve felt she was the only soul in Ireland who had stepped up to support Alice in her hour of greatest need.
Three years before, Alice had been seduced by a charming rogue who had left her with child, but without any promise of marriage or support. From the moment Ryan had been born, Alice had shouldered the burden of having a bastard son almost entirely on her own. Her parents knew about Ryan, of course. Her mother had taken Alice away for what everyone else in County Antrim believed was a grand tour of the continent for the last five months of her pregnancy when, in fact, they had merely retreated to a country house in County Cork until Ryan was born.
Alice had discovered at almost the last possible moment that her mother had plans to give Ryan away to whoever would accept the boy, and by a miracle, she had convinced her mother to change her mind on that score. Maeve still wasn’t certain how she’d managed that, but there they were, over two years later, with little Ryan being cared for by Katie Horner and raised in a cottage just past the edge of the Woodmont family’s property. Mr. and Mrs. Woodmont seemed determined to forget they had a grandson by Alice at all, but at least they hadn’t turned Alice out.
Yet.
“To be honest,” Alice went on, her face pinched in worry as they stopped at the corner and prepared to cross the busy street, “I’m not certain how much longer the situation can remain as it is.”
“Oh?” Maeve asked, bristling with anxiety on her friend’s behalf.
Alice nodded, and as they started across the street, she said, “Mr. Horner is due to return from his service in the army soon. Mrs. Horner has indicated she might not have a place for Ryan after that.”
“Oh, dear,” Maeve sighed, immediately racking her brain for some sort of alternative plan for Ryan. “I thought Mrs. Horner was willing to raise Ryan at least until he was old enough to be apprenticed into some sort of trade, or until your situation changed.”
Alice sighed as they stepped up on the far street and crossed to take a look at a window full of hats. “That was what she said at the start. She said that since God hadn’t blessed her with a child of her own, she would think of Ryan as hers. But I have a feeling the upset and excitement of this past summer might have changed her mind.”
Maeve hummed and nodded. The upset that Alice spoke of was a result of Ryan’s natural father returning to Ireland and discovering his existence. Michael Feeney was a bounder and a cad, and the moment he’d learned he’d fathered a son with Alice, he’d used the boy to try to extort money from his own brother, Mr. Rory Feeney.
In the end, Michael’s plan was short-sighted and easily thwarted. But in the process, Mrs. Horner had been injured, and Alice had nearly been exposed as the mother of an illegitimate child. Whereas only a tiny handful of people had known about Ryan before, more people had learned the truth through the course of the kidnapping and Ryan’s eventual rescue. Beyond that, the whole, frightening incident had brought Alice’s indiscretions back into the minds of her mother and father.
“Mama has been insisting to me for a month now that I should turn Ryan over to the Sisters of Mercy in Dublin,” Alice said with a sudden sniff, wiping a stray tear that had sprung suddenly to her eyes with one gloved hand. “And we’re not even Catholic.”
“Oh, Alice, no.” Maeve turned to her friend, ignoring the curious stares of passersby to hug her. “You can’t do that. Ryan is your pride and joy. You cannot give him up.”
“I won’t,” Alice said, standing a little straighter and sucking in a breath. “I will not abandon my son simply because my parents are embarrassed by him. When we argued about it, I reminded them that they haven’t been bothered by his existence, or even seen the darling boy, since shortly after his birth. He is of no concern to them, so they should not attempt to dictate terms to me where he is concerned.”
Maeve winced slightly. “I have a feeling that sort of declaration was not well-received.”
“No,” Alice said, letting out a breath and dropping her shoulders. They walked on past the haberdasher, barely looking at the other shops they ambled past. “They still treat me as a child, even though I am most certainly not at this point. Not only a child, but a failure in everything that makes a good daughter. I am forever being reminded of how well my sisters have married and how proud they are of them and their children.”
“Which is wretchedly unfair,” Maeve added. Alice’s sisters, Elizabeth and Prudence, were horrible, arrogant witches who
had married the richest men they could get their hands on, even though they couldn’t have cared less about the gentlemen. The two of them had made their husbands’ lives miserable after they nabbed them, and they had immediately dumped their babies off on nursemaids from the day the poor things had been born.
Alice shrugged. “Too many things in this world are unfair. Your situation isn’t any better than mine.”
Maeve smiled at her friend, even though Alice was decidedly wrong. Her situation was perfectly fine, if dreadfully dull. She came from a traditional family of the prosperous middle class. She’d never wanted for anything in her life. She’d been well-educated and accepted by society.
But there she was at nearly twenty-eight years of age, unmarried and with few prospects. She’d had interest from gentlemen in the past, but none of them had struck her fancy enough for her to abandon Alice’s side. In the last few years, her friend had needed her far more than she had needed to obey the standards of society and find herself a husband. She’d turned down more than one chance to marry and have a child of her own for Alice’s sake, but she hadn’t minded at all.
Until recently.
“Mama and Papa have told me that I must find a man willing to marry me and take me off their hands by the end of the year or they will turn me out to fend for myself,” Alice said as they came to a stop in front of a wool shop on the corner.
Maeve’s eyes popped wide. “They didn’t!”
Alice nodded, but she didn’t seem as mournful about the shocking ultimatum as Maeve would have thought she would be. In fact, she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I know just the man to swoop in and rescue me.”
A wary feeling hit the pit of Maeve’s stomach. She already knew who Alice had in mind. She’d known from the day that the man had visited them, and Ryan, along with his cousin, Lady Siobhan O’Shea—who was now Mrs. Rory Feeney. She’d known since the way the two of them had bickered over the man at Siobhan and Rory’s wedding reception several weeks ago.
“Alice, please,” Maeve said, lowering her voice and shifting to face her friend with a serious look. “Please don’t say you have your heart set on Lord Carnlough.”
Alice’s eyes widened. “And why shouldn’t I go after a man as fine and beautiful as Lord Carnlough?” she asked. Maeve knew that answer as well, but before she could open her mouth, Alice rushed on with, “He is an earl, but not one of the proud, arrogant sort. He already knows about Ryan, and judging by the way he was so willing to help us during the trouble with Michael, he does not care about Ryan’s parentage. He wouldn’t be able to acknowledge Ryan as his own in any way, of course, but I am certain he would allow me to keep my son and raise him along with any other children we have.”
“Perhaps,” Maeve said cautiously.
“Why, Lord Carnlough is a member of the O’Shea family,” Alice went on. “Everyone knows that family is well-versed in scandal. For years, Lord Carnlough employed his own half-cousin as his valet. He, more than anyone, would understand the conundrum I’m in with Ryan. He would accept both of us as we are.”
“I’m not convinced it would be that simple,” Maeve said, wincing.
It wouldn’t be simple because, as it happened, Lord Carnlough had turned her head as well when he’d assisted them with the muddle over Michael Feeney. Lord Carnlough had been gracious and understanding. He had been kind and helpful, and after the fact, he had been discreet. More than that, he’d been dashing and charming to her on all of the occasions in which the two of them had met. Simply put, he was the first man to catch and hold her interest in years, the first to make her heart pound in her chest, and to have her daydreaming about a myriad of naughty things nice young ladies weren’t supposed to think about.
And because Maeve shared everything with her, Alice knew all about Maeve’s feelings.
“Please don’t ruin my last chance for happiness, Maeve,” Alice said, as serious as the grave. “I know you’re fond of Lord Carnlough, but please just let me have him.”
“You speak of the man as though he were the last piece of soda bread on the plate,” Maeve snapped.
Alice winced. “I know you’re fond of him, but you will have so many other chances to fall in love.”
“And so will you, I know it.” Maeve rested a hand on her friend’s arm. She truly believed that Alice would make the perfect wife for a very lucky man someday. Just as she was also aware that desperation had convinced Alice she was on her last chance. She inched closer to Alice and said, “You don’t care for him as I do.”
Alice pressed her lips together for a moment and said, “You barely know the man. How can you be convinced that you love him already?”
Maeve wanted to argue that there were some things you just knew from the moment you met someone, but instead she said, “You haven’t known him any longer than I have. What makes you so certain he is the husband for you?”
It was Alice’s turn to open her mouth without actually making an argument. At last, she furrowed her brow and said, “What choice do I have but to pursue the man?”
Maeve could think of quite a few more things her friend could do besides stealing away the only man who had ever captured her fascination quite so much, the man who might be the last thing standing between her and spinsterhood. She thought of those arguments, but she hesitated to draw them like swords and wound the woman who was like a sister to her. Instead, she blew out a breath and turned to stare through the window of the wool shop, hoping all of the brightly-colored skeins of yarn would bolster her spirits.
What she saw in the shop startled every thought right out of her head. There, standing at the counter, looking as though he were in deep discussion about a large selection of skeins in shades of blue and red, his bright ginger hair unmistakable, was Lord Carnlough himself.
“Good heavens,” Maeve said, breaking into a laugh. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Lord Carnlough haggling over the price of wool?”
Alice turned to look, then let out a gasp as she saw what Maeve had seen. “This warrants an investigation,” she said, breaking into a smile.
Maeve followed quickly behind Alice as she moved to the door, then burst into the wool shop. The small bell on the door jingled merrily as they entered. They were instantly surrounded by the cozy scent of lanolin and dyes.
“…which is why you want to purchase seven skeins of the lighter weight instead of eight or even nine of the heavier wool, my lord,” the shop owner—a cheerful woman of about fifty—was in the process of telling Lord Carnlough.
Lord Carnlough wore a calculating frown as he studied the variety of wool on the counter as though it were a major financial investment. He had a hand on one skein, and the way he stroked it sent shivers of an entirely inconvenient sort down Maeve’s spine.
A moment later, Lord Carnlough glanced up. The moment he spotted Maeve and Alice, he jumped and spun away from the counter as though he’d been caught cheating at cards.
“Oh, good heavens,” he gasped, his eyes going wide.
Maeve couldn’t hide her smile at the way the man flinched and stepped away from the selection of wool. Guilt painted his handsome face, which only made her tender feelings for him grow.
“Are you planning to knit a sweater, my lord?” she asked, sending him her best flirtatious look.
To Maeve’s surprise, instead of attributing his potential purchase and his presence in the wool shop to buying a gift for some aged female relative, he said, “It’s for my nephew. I’ve never tried a sweater before, but I saw a pattern—”
The way he stopped abruptly, his eyes going even wider, as though he’d realized too late that he could have just denied everything, brought Maeve right to the edge of laughing out loud.
“Lord Carnlough,” Alice said, inching closer to the man’s side and glancing fetchingly up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a knitter.”
Maeve swallowed the wave of jealousy that crept up on her. Alice had just as much of a right to flirt with the man as she did, especia
lly considering how droll the situation was. She just wished she wouldn’t.
Lord Carnlough recovered quickly. He cleared his throat and tugged at the hem of his jacket to straighten it, then pushed a hand through his red hair. “My sister taught me when we were young,” he confessed, his face turning a brilliant shade of pink and his green eyes sparkling with fondness for his sister. “I have found it to be a soothing and useful hobby, particularly during the stressful months when Parliament is in session.”
“Do you knit while sitting in the House of Lords, then?” Alice asked, batting her eyelashes at him.
The gesture felt forced and manipulative to Maeve. Her own, budding feelings for Lord Carnlough wouldn’t let her be outdone by her best friend. “I think it would be a brilliant way to make those long, dry debates pass faster.”
Lord Carnlough glanced between the two of them, every emotion from guilt to curiosity to flirtation passing across his face. After holding his breath for a few seconds, he let it out in a laugh, softened his stance, and said, “Yes, it is a rather nice way to make it through those endless debates. Particularly for a humble back-bencher like me.”
“You do not give yourself enough credit, my lord.” Alice inched closer still to Lord Carnlough, looking like she might lay a hand on his arm or start petting him.
Maeve loved Alice dearly, but she couldn’t simply push her feelings aside. Especially now that she had seen a side to Lord Carnlough that she suspected few had seen—a side she was utterly taken with.
“Do you have this pattern for your nephew’s sweater on hand?” she asked, taking a half step closer herself. “I have been known to knit a sweater myself. Perhaps I could give you sage words of advice as you attempt to conquer the design.” She added a winsome look of her own for good measure.
