A Guiding Light for the Lost Earl: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Novel

by Abby Ayles

  At last, she sat down on her bed and pulled some stationary from her bedside table. Using her favorite book as a desk, she penned a letter to this Francis Blackburn, inquiring after the position.

  Even as she wrote, part of her hoped that the position would already be filled by the time he received her letter. However, a much bigger, more sensible part of her prayed that she would get a reply soon and that the job would be hers.

  Chapter 2

  Francis read the letter for the fourth time. He understood well the contents of it. It was disbelief that had him repeatedly reading the words.

  After yet another read-through, Francis at last set aside the letter with a heavy sigh.

  That anyone could expect him to consider remarrying was unimaginable to him, especially since his beloved Caroline had only passed on a year ago. That the person insisting on Francis’s remarriage was his late wife's own father was incomprehensible.

  Yet, here it was, in front of his eyes. His father-in-law was pushing him to get remarried. Moreover, he already had a bride in mind, his very own niece.

  Rosaline Brentwood was, by all accounts, a good match for any man. She was beautiful, with blond hair just a couple of shades lighter than his beloved Caroline’s, as well as her cousin’s green eyes. She was slender and pale, a most attractive quality, indeed.

  She also tended to be quiet and reserved, though she was charming and elegant when amongst friends and family. She was from a very wealthy family, as well.

  Francis knew that any man would do well to wed Rosaline. Every man, that is, except for himself.

  He did not dislike Rosaline. In fact, they had often laughed and bantered like siblings when he and Caroline had visited with her. But her beauty was so akin to her cousin’s that each time he looked at Rosaline now, he could not help but see his dearly missed wife.

  He knew that a marriage to her would be a miserable one as a result. It would likely be miserable for Rosaline, as well.

  She was youthful and vibrant, and she deserved a good life with a man who loved her and could make her happy. With his darkened mood and life outlook since Caroline’s death, he feared that he would, as a husband, only serve to darken Rosaline, as well.

  However, if he were to refuse his father-in-law’s offer to marry his niece, Francis would be risking offending the family, which was something he could ill afford to do.

  The Brentwood family owned half of the merchant ships in the area, and Francis depended a great deal on those ships. Without their assistance, doing business with America and India and shipping his goods to those places would be next to impossible.

  As such, he knew he had little choice but to agree to marry Rosaline.

  Francis sighed again. He knew that he would have to give Grant Brentwood his answer soon and that putting it off would likely only serve to upset him. He had more pressing matters at the moment, however, so he would just have to put it off just a little longer.

  He started to return to the business ledgers on his desk that needed tending, but the sound of small, hurried footsteps interrupted him. He looked up just in time to see his two children come to a sudden halt just outside of his open study door.

  When they saw him looking at them, they ducked in unison just out of sight. He was just about to call for the nanny when he saw his son’s face peeking in the doorway.

  “Aren’t you two supposed to be in bed?” Francis asked his son.

  “Yes, Father,” the boy said, taking a couple of steps into the study. “But we were hoping that maybe you could read us a bedtime story tonight.”

  “And tuck us in,” came a voice from the hall, just out of view. A moment later, his daughter was standing in the doorway, clutching a doll.

  The children were, indeed, dressed in their nightclothes, and Francis mentally cursed the nanny for not already having them in bed. He would have to speak with her again about the importance of a prompt bedtime, especially since they would soon have lessons every day.

  Francis stared at his children in silence, fumbling for an answer. He cursed himself for not closing and locking his study door.

  “Margaret reads your bedtime stories, does she not?” Francis asked, looking away from his children and back to the open ledger before him.

  “Yes,” Winston said. “It’s just that—”

  “She doesn’t do voices like you used to…” Rowena interrupted, trailing off at the end of her sentence.

  Francis knew what she had been about to say. Before your mother died, Francis finished silently.

  He felt a tug at his heart, but his daughter’s unfinished statement also irritated him.

  He knew that the children missed their mother as much as he did, so how could they wish for him to carry on as if nothing had happened, as if everything were normal? How could he?

  Francis took a deep breath.

  “I am not yet finished working,” he said, not looking up from the book.

  “I have already picked out a story,” Winston said. “A short one that will only take a few moments to read.”

  “And we will be as quiet as church mice and let you read the whole thing,” Rowena said. “We will not interrupt you by adding imaginary scenes throughout, like we sometimes do with Margaret.”

  Francis spared his children a glance without lifting his head. Winston was watching his father hopefully. Rowena clutched her doll more tightly to her chest, her unspoken plea quite apparent in her eyes.

  A pang of guilt struck Francis, but he could not bring himself to comply with his children’s request.

  “Perhaps another night,” he said.

  He tried to return his thoughts to the ledger before him and ignore the disappointment he sensed from his son and daughter. In truth, he was disappointed in himself, as well.

  “Please, Papa?” Rowena asked softly.

  Francis’s heart twisted. She only called him Papa when she was ill or sad. However, his agitation won.

  “I said no, and that is final,” he said, rising from his seat but not meeting his daughter’s eyes. “It is far enough past your bedtime already.”

  Without another word, Francis gruffly took his children’s hands. He forced himself to pay no mind to the way they both dropped their heads in defeat in unison. He led them to their bedroom, where the nanny was turning down their beds.

  “Margaret, please put Rowena and Winston to bed now. It is past their bedtime,” he said coolly.

  The nanny looked up from her task, her eyes wide.

  “I am sorry, milord,” she said. “I did not realize that the children had slipped away while I was making the beds.”

  “Please, be more attentive in the future,” he said. “They will soon have a governess, and they must be in bed at 8 p.m. sharp to wake early for their lessons, as you are well aware.”

  The nanny blushed.

  “Yes, milord,” she said. “Come, children. Let us read your story so that you can get to bed.”

  The children reluctantly released their father’s hands and climbed into their respective beds.

  “Good night, Papa,” Rowena murmured.

  “Good night, Father,” Winston echoed, his voice flat and sounding near tears. Francis turned and silently exited the room.

  He loved his children, of course, but they reminded him so much of his beloved Caroline. Winston possessed many of his mother’s mannerisms, like her wit and her gentle nature. Rowena behaved more like Francis, but she was almost physically identical to Caroline. She even had her mother’s laugh, and the same narrowing of her eyes when she was angry.

  It was not their fault, but that fact did not make it any easier. He simply could not look at them without seeing her, and it was too painful for him.

  Every day, Francis was finding it more difficult to be around his children. He was even struggling to be in the same room with them at mealtimes. In fact, he often had his meals brought to him in his study or had the children served in their bedrooms.

  He had given the nanny
strict instructions to keep them occupied in another part of the house when he was in his study, which is where he usually stayed whenever he was home.

  Inside his study once again, he firmly closed and locked the door, not without feeling another stab of guilt. Then, he set about looking through the papers on his desk.

  While admonishing the nanny, he had remembered that someone had, in fact, written to him about the governess position. He had not yet had many inquiries, and he was anxious to hire someone as soon as possible. He realized the necessity of having someone to care for the children and interact with them, especially with his ever-growing aloofness.

  Spotting the letter at last, he sat in his chair and retrieved a fresh piece of paper from his desk drawer. He reread the letter from the woman, who had introduced herself as Miss Emma Baker.

  He noticed that the penmanship was clear, legible, and quite lovely, at that. The letter itself was very well written. He thought that the woman who had penned it must be very well educated, which was exactly what the children needed.

  With any luck, he would be able to stop his search for a governess with her, and he would not find it necessary to sit in on the children’s lessons to ensure that she was teaching them properly.

  Satisfied that he was making the right decision, he wrote back to Miss Emma Baker, requesting that she arrive at his home on Monday morning to discuss the position. He also stressed the importance of beginning the children’s lessons immediately.

  The sooner they were better occupied, the better.

  Chapter 3

  As suppertime neared, the dread in Emma’s heart grew more intense.

  Lydia would be serving the meal soon, and Emma knew that she must be ready to give Lydia the bad news. As ready as I could ever be, she thought, a single tear slipping almost unnoticed down her cheek.

  She thought again about how she would begin the conversation, and she silently prayed for her dear friend’s forgiveness.

  Right on schedule, Lydia appeared in the doorway of Emma’s bedroom.

  “Dinner is ready,” Lydia said.

  Emma’s eyes filled rapidly with tears, and she stared intently at a stray thread on her dress, willing the tears to vanish. Lydia walked into the room, and from the corner of her eye, Emma could see the concern on her friend’s face.

  “What is it, Miss Baker?” Lydia said.

  Emma took a deep, ragged breath.

  “We must talk,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

  Without hesitation, Lydia sat down beside Emma. Emma instinctively reached out and took Lydia’s hand.

  “I am afraid that I must let you go,” Emma blurted, flinching at the bluntness of her words.

  Instead of the shock and betrayal Emma had expected to see on her face, Lydia pressed her lips together thoughtfully and nodded.

  “I was actually hoping to speak with you about that,” Lydia said.

  Surprised, Emma could only nod.

  “I understand that money has been scarce of late, and only getting scarcer,” Lydia said. “But I would ask that you keep me on here.”

  Emma stifled a sob.

  “Oh, Lydia. Would that I could,” Emma said. “It’s just that—”

  “I do not ask for money,” Lydia interrupted. “You are my dear friend, and I need nothing more than room and board to stay.”

  Emma blinked in shock. She was not sure she had heard correctly what Lydia had said.

  “You do not mean that you should work for no monetary payment,” she said.

  “That is precisely what I mean,” Lydia said.

  “I could not accept such charity,” Emma said.

  “It would not at all be charity,” Lydia assured her. “If you fired me, I would have no place to go. At least not until I could find another position, and who would want to hire a homeless maid?”

  Emma thought for a moment. It was true that Lydia had no living family with whom she could live, and she had too little money for a boarding house.

  Emma realized it would be far crueler to sever Lydia’s tenure in her service than to keep her on for no compensation other than room and board.

  “Of course, you may stay,” she said at last.

  “Thank you,” Lydia said, her own voice sounding emotional. “This way, we will be helping each other. No shame in that. Now, come. Dinner is getting cold.”

  Emma hugged her friend once more, then let Lydia lead her to the dining room for supper.

  The following day, Emma looked anxiously through the mail over her untouched breakfast. It had been a few days since she had inquired about the governess position, and she grew more nervous with each passing day.

  She feared that, if a reply did not come soon, it would come too late. As she reached the bottom of the stack of letters, however, she saw that which she was seeking.

  Now that the letter was in her hands, she found that she was terrified to open it. Whatever it said, it would drastically change her life. She wished, now more than ever, that Marcus was there to support her and be there for her, no matter what the letter said.

  With a bitter smile, she reminded herself that if Marcus were there, she would not be opening the letter in the first place.

  After muttering a silent, quick prayer, she forced her fingers to pry open the envelope. With a deep breath, she read the words written on the page:

  Dear Miss Baker,

  Thank you for inquiring about the governess position for which I am hiring. I am interested in further discussing your possible employment for me in this capacity. Please, come to my home on Monday next at 9 a.m., so we can discuss your duties and the terms of employment.

  I cannot stress enough how imperative it is that you be punctual. I have business matters to which I must attend, and tardiness will not be rewarded with the job you seek.

  It is also important that the children begin lessons immediately, so please be prepared to start teaching right away, should you be hired.

  Sincerely,

  Francis Blackburn, Earl of Ashfield

  Emma exhaled a breath she had not been aware she was holding.

  She felt a mixture of relief and discomfort. She had understood that the man for whom she would be working would be wealthy, and likely held some kind of a title, but Mr. Rowley did not mention that it would be an earl.

  She was grateful that this Lord Ashfield seemed to want, to need, to hire her, but the news had elicited a fresh well of fear into her heart. Monday was just two days away, and she had hoped to have a bit more time to prepare.

  She looked down at her worn, plain dress, and feared that he might laugh and turn her away at the door. She felt sure that he had someone who was not so poor in mind for his children’s governess.

  She took her plate of cold, uneaten grits and stale bread and disposed of it. Then, she rushed upstairs to begin packing.

  ***

  When Monday morning came, Emma was beside herself. She had not been able to sleep the night before, which, she supposed, was all the better. She would have hated to have overslept and broken the only rule her employer has issued her thus far by being late.

  At first light, Lydia rushed into the bedroom to help her dress. Lydia helped her select the nicest dress she had, which was only slightly less worn and outdated than the rest of her wardrobe. While Emma fussed over her hair, Lydia packed the rest of the clothing that Emma had decided to take.

  When she at last felt that she was presentable, the two women carried Emma’s luggage to the waiting carriage. The driver, thankfully, jumped down from his seat and helped them load it into the coach.

  With that done, Emma turned to Lydia. She felt a sudden wave of love and gratitude for her friend, and she enveloped her in a fierce embrace.

  “I will miss you so,” Emma said tearfully.

  Lydia returned the hug with equal firmness.

  “And I, you,” she whispered. When they pulled from the embrace, Emma saw that Lydia was crying, as well.

  “I promise to write
every day,” Emma said.

  “You certainly better,” Lydia said. “And do not worry about a thing here. I will take care good care of everything.”

  Emma nodded.

  “Thank you again, for everything,” she said.

  Lydia waved her hand.

  “Not at all,” she said. She pulled out a fresh handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress. “Now, take this and get going. You do not want to be late, and you certainly do not want to look as though you have been crying.”