The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “But when may I return?” Susana covered her mouth immediately after asking. “That is, the country is so dull, and I—”

  “You have no right to object to the dullness of Silkstone when you would otherwise be facing the dullness of the workhouse!” said the Duke sharply. “However, my own social ambitions are ever at the forefront of my efforts. I am not going to all this trouble for you out of the goodness of my heart, you see. You will thank me by securing a proposal from someone of good breeding and high standing—next season, at a reprise of this party. And next season, you will redeem yourself, Miss Alvin—so help me—or I will disown you entirely, as I should have done thirteen years ago.”

  Susana was visibly disturbed by this proclamation, but also had not the nerve to speak out. Her eyes bulged, and she looked as if she wanted to be sick, but she kept her handkerchief against her lips and only moved it to say, “Very well, Richard.”

  “And you,” said the Duke to his brother, “you will accompany her to the country for a time. You may not have been the object of ridicule last night but being in attendance and dancing with Susana all night, you have certainly made yourself look a bit silly by proxy. You could do with some time in the country as well, dear brother, and perhaps you can take some lessons from the Dowager Duchess, as well.”

  “I will do nothing of the kind!” Will spat. “Your ambitions for social grandeur have clouded your thinking, Richard, and it pains me to see it. You have characterized Susana and myself in a most uncharitable light, and I shudder to think what might happen if either of us were to sneeze in public without your consent. I find it all utterly ridiculous.” The young sailor stood and touched Susana’s arm. “Come, Susie.”

  “Ridiculous it may be, but this is the world we live in,” said the Duke. “And it is my prerogative, as the Duke of Bainton, to do as I please with you and your property, William. So, you may choose between my so-called ridiculous plan, or being disinherited and turned out on the street.”

  “It is no choice at all,” said William.

  “No, indeed,” said the Duke. “Gather your things. You both shall be taken to Yorkshire by carriage tomorrow morning.”

  William said nothing and led Susana out of the parlor. As they ascended the stairs, Susana faltered a little, and Will caught her in his arms. His protective heart leapt to hold her, so small and sweet and pure.

  “Are you all right?” said Will, looking her over in concern.

  “William, I confess, I was so nervous to face Richard that my knees have turned to aspic!” the girl said with a bewildered laugh. “How one man can be so fearsome yet so weak in form, I will never know!”

  “He does have a gift for it,” William muttered. “Well... there is one upside to spending the rest of the year at Silkstone.”

  “What is that?” Susana held his arm as she ascended the last of the stairs, and Will could feel her unsteadiness. He clasped her hand a bit tighter.

  “We will be able to ride whenever we please, and I shall finally beat you at racing!” cried William, laughing. He had hoped to cheer her with this, but Susana only forced a smile, and nodded. The seriousness of the situation had evidently begun to dawn upon her. It had on William, too. His brother did not make threats idly. Susana needed to prove herself or be turned out. And besides that, William had a sinking sort of feeling in his belly that, all talk of horse-racing aside, this summer in the country would not be as simple and carefree as either of them would have liked to think.

  And he was right. They did not yet know it, but that night at Susana’s coming-out party had changed their lives forever, and it would be many months, or even years, before William or Susana would know carefree simplicity again.

  Chapter 3

  The sunset upon Silkstone Manor was a splendid sight, indeed. As the carriage came around the bend in the gravel road, Susana could see the hill upon which the enormous country house sat. The house itself was thrown into shadow by the brilliant sky behind, glowing golden and deep pink, shot through with the lavender streaks of nightfall snagged upon wisps of cloud.

  “We are hardly ever here in the springtime,” Susana remarked, as they drove past a line of pear trees in full bloom. “How lovely!”

  “Indeed,” said William, relaxed back into his seat across from her, his eyes dark and flashing, and fixing her with a queer expression.

  “You have hardly said two words to me since we left London, Will Nielsen,” said the girl, folding her arms, one brow quirked in irritation. “Have I upset you?”

  “On the contrary, my good sister, your presence is a balm on my troubled spirit. It is Richard who has disturbed me.” Will looked out the carriage window, unsmiling. “While I have no doubt he has your best interests in mind, this all seems rather an excessive response to a single night of social blundering. It rather makes me question his mental state.”

  “William, you mustn’t speak so unkindly of Richard,” Susana chided as gently as she could. “While I know Richard bears no love for me, he has always shown me a certain... generosity.”

  “And now, he treats you as some kind of pawn,” growled Will. “It does not seem right to me, that he would have you marry someone of the royal peerage, or else turn you out into the street.”

  “Do you really think he would?” Susana bit her bottom lip, twisting her fingers together anxiously. “I know that the Duke is a very serious man, but I cannot take such a threat seriously. It is a bit ridiculous. After last night, I do not care how long I spend at Silkstone. No royal shall ever want me.”

  “Exactly,” Will muttered, and settled into a moody silence that stretched on and on until the carriage reached the driveway summit in front of the manor.

  Susana had rather hoped that her personal embarrassment would serve as punishment enough, but Richard’s threat was beginning to seem more serious, and Will’s mood was further troubling her.

  As they disembarked the carriage and settled in the parlor for tea and refreshments, Will’s mood grew darker and more withdrawn. And while Susana had surmised by now that the situation was dire, there seemed more than that on her beloved brother’s mind.

  “Are you worried about Richard’s health?” Susana prompted, sipping her tea. “You know he is as tenacious as he is mean, he will be all right.”

  “Yes, I know,” said William. “I am in a queer sort of mood, Susie, please pay it no mind. I did not sleep well last night, and... well, truth be told, I am worried, but not about Richard. I worry for you.”

  “For me?” Susana laughed a little. “Oh, I will be all right, William. It is nothing to be so morose about.”

  “If Richard decides to turn you out, there is nothing I can do to stop him,” said the young man, shaking his head. “I will do all I can to help you, Susana, but if the Duke of Bainton is determined to deliver you to an ill fate, then he will.”

  Susana drew herself up in indignation. “Well, I care not for your tone, William James Nielsen! You act as if I have no say in my own fate, but perhaps my part is greater than you think. Why, perhaps I shall become such a wonderful, splendidly-mannered lady that I shall secure a proposal from the Crown Prince himself.”

  With that, Susana stood and strode across the room. Mid-stride, William said her name, “Susana,” and she paused, sparing him the smallest glance over her shoulder.

  “Yes?” said she.

  “You are going out for a ride, aren’t you?”

  “Well...” Susana twitched her shoulders. “It is a fine evening, and I am sure my pony could use the exercise, and—”

  “If you go unchaperoned, Richard will certainly hear of it,” Will cautioned.

  “You will not tell on me?” Susana whirled and glared at him.

  “Of course not,” Will scoffed. “But you know he will hear of it, all the same.”

  “Well... well...” Susana fidgeted a little. “Well, then, oughtn’t you to accompany me, like a gentleman?”

  “I thought you were cross with me,” he said with a bare
ly-concealed smile.

  “I am,” she muttered. “But the only remedy for me is a ride on the moors at dusk, Will of Bainton, and you will come with me or I will go alone, I care not.”

  “Fine, fine.” Will hopped to his feet. “I should hate to see you sent to the workhouse over a horseback ride.” He fell in step beside her and offered her his arm. “I never could understand why the Duke always thought you were such a bother... until now.”

  “You are horrid to me!” Susana cried, but she took his arm, nevertheless. Not because it was proper, but because holding Will’s arm made her feel a certain way. As if she were wrapping a warm blanket about her shoulders during the first snow flurries of winter.

  She felt that certain way all the way out to the stables. As eager as she was for a ride, it was difficult to let William go. She had come to associate him with comfort and protection, and to release his arm now would have meant shedding that security, however temporarily.

  However, as they saddled the mares in a hurry and raced against the darkness, the angles of his profile against the sunset’s glow made her insides all ticklish and warm. His musical laughter made her laugh, too, and she was deeply pleased to see him lifting out of his sour mood. Watching him sit astride his horse, so gallant and strong, made Susana feel a bit dizzy—a bit silly—and she wondered at the meaning of such strange feelings. She had no such feelings for Richard, yet Richard was as much her brother and guardian as William.

  They rode until darkness finally fell, with Susana following the sound of Will’s voice across the fields, and the percussion of his horse.

  “You will lead me astray; I am certain of it. Riding in the dark—whatever next? Perhaps you are every inch the rogue Richard believes you to be.” His pleasing tenor lilted with laughter as he teased her.

  “Would that I was. Then I could understand his disapproval of me,” she replied, chuckling. “If he thought spilling a cup of ice upon myself was an embarrassment, maybe I should do something more worthy of his ire.”

  Now far removed from the site of her epic personal disaster, they made light of her foibles. And, as the night chill set in, and they could no longer see far enough to ride, they returned to the stables. There, Susana took the saddle off her beloved pony, and Will came over to lift it off for her. Standing so close to him, a sudden thought came into her head, unbidden. I might like to kiss you.

  Now Susana was at a loss, for William had always been her only friend and closest confidant, but she could not express such a thing to him. The words would not come. And even if they did, what if he hated her for it? Or worse, what if he laughed?

  I must keep such ludicrous ideas to myself. She blamed it upon the fresh air and the excitement of the ride, creating such unusual thoughts. And yet, she could not help but steal a few more glances at him as he stowed away the horses’ accoutrements with the aid of the stable master. She liked that he preferred to do things by himself, instead of relying upon help. It made him seem so much more masculine, somehow.

  After returning indoors, they had a quiet supper, talking and laughing later still into the evening. More than once, upon seeing the candlelight sparkling in her adoptive brother’s eyes, Susana had that wild urge again. What on Earth has come over me? She could not comprehend it.

  He was a handsome man, of course, not to mention charming. He was kind, and intelligent, and of abundant good humor, too. Perhaps it was only natural for a sister to have such feelings for her brother, if he were as uncommonly perfect as Will? But that hardly seemed the case—marrying one’s brother was practically unheard-of, except for all those crowned heads of Europe whose children were small and sickly.

  It is an unnatural idea… It should have nauseated her, but it did not.

  Even the notion of sickly children was not a strong enough thought to deter Susana’s mind from her meandering thoughts about Will. Her heart strained at the confines of her chest as she watched him eat dessert. All her muscles trembled as she watched him sip wine and grimly recount tales from his time at war—which he made no secret about editing heavily for her sake. And when he announced that he was tired, and wanted to go to bed, Susana could not explain the tears that formed in her eyes, or the lump in her throat which made her all but whisper a choked sort of, “Goodnight.”

  * * *

  She was cold. So cold. Sick, hungry, and starved.

  Papa was a good man and a hard worker, but he gambled too much. Mama had six children to look after. All their livelihood had been packed into a single, rickety wagon to make the long migration from their rural hometown in Upper Yorkshire, southward to London, where Papa hoped to make his fortune. Or, at least escape his many gambling debts.

  They had been poor for a long time, and all the children took turns flirting with serious illness. That winter, as they rode south, Susana was ill with pneumonia, and too weak to keep herself in the wagon. As Papa drove the weary mule over a stone bridge, little Susana had fainted. The jostling of the wagon sent her slipping right out the back, taking with her a few of Mama’s prized linen towels, by accident.

  It was then that a young William Nielsen was out playing with a few of his friends, rough-housing and throwing snowballs, and they stumbled upon a half-dead, half-starved, frozen little child laying on the banks of a river.

  That moment, William became the heart of Susana’s entire world. Her savior. He had knelt at her side and removed his own coat, so he might wrap it about her like a broken bird. His sympathy had been her first hazy impression of him, laced with an earnestness to see her brought back to health.

  Commanding his friends’ help, they carried Susana back to Silkstone Manor. When she woke, she had little recollection of her family or where they were going—which was no surprise, given how sick she was. Her name was Susana Alvin, and her Papa and family were going to London, and that was all that she knew.

  Richard advertised in the papers in an attempt to find the Alvins, but to no avail. On more than one occasion he threatened to send Susana to the workhouse, but William had always stepped in, having none of it. It was not Susana’s fault that she had been lost, and she did not deserve such a cruel fate as the workhouse.

  Nevertheless, Richard maintained his stoical opposition to keeping her at the house, but never found it in himself to send her away. The Nielsen boys had lost their father just a year before, during the French Revolutionary War, and both had shed tears enough. William’s tears over Susana had ultimately earned her the title of the ward of the Duke of Bainton.

  The memories recurred to Susana in dreams very often. She dreamed of her family, of her mother and father, of her brothers and sisters. She dreamed of their old home in Upper Yorkshire, which she recalled but dimly, and she dreamed of the day she had been lost, and nearly died. She dreamed of when she woke, and that strange older boy with the handsome brown eyes who had been holding her hand. And his coat about her shoulders.

  That night at Silkstone Manor, Susana dreamed of falling again. And, more vividly, she dreamed of the first time she saw William’s face. She woke with tears in her eyes and a strange pain in her chest, which she was certain was not illness… but something deeper.

  For one week, she and William had the house—and each other—to themselves.

  It was a lovely reprieve. They rode together, ate together, played at cards and music together, they even went out for a hunt together. Essentially, William indulged all of the unladylike pursuits that Susana so treasured, because he did not seem to care a whit whether she sang bawdy drinking songs or did needlepoint, so long as she was happy.

  But it could not have lasted.

  Just as they were settling into a contented routine, the arrival of the Dowager Duchess of Boroughbridge threatened their peace, and a sinking sort of feeling in Susana’s belly told her that things were about to change.

  Susana had a picture in her mind of what a widowed woman of breeding ought to be like: gray-haired, dressed in black, ugly, and dull. She thought the Dowager Duchess
would teach her better table manners, or perhaps more suitable topics of conversation, or even how to stifle her laughter in public. Susana thought the Duchess might stay for a few nights, then return to her own nearby country estate, and leave Susana to her own devices for the rest of the summer.

  Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

  Susana waited in the parlor while William met the Dowager Duchess at the foyer. She stood when she heard them approaching, and prepared to say her greetings, but upon seeing the lady in question, the words died in Susana’s throat.

  The Dowager Duchess was practically an angel: a tall woman of less than forty years, with immaculately-coiffed blonde hair. Her afternoon dress was of cream-colored silk and many yards of the finest French lace, accented by half a dozen ropes of pearls about her neck and wrists. She carried herself with impeccable posture and a certain regal stiffness that said she would sooner be carried off the edge of a cliff by the wind than let it compromise her physical bearing. She had a very handsome face, which was smooth and pale and affixed with a very small, agreeable smile, and her slender arm was clasped in Will’s.

  For some reason, this last fact made Susana feel a little bit ill. She stared at the Dowager Duchess’s elegant hand, resting on the stiff blue fabric of William’s sleeve, and swallowed the venom that wanted to rise up within her. The Widow smiled at her, and Susana was forced to admit that there was something altogether likable in those eyes.

  “Susana, dear, this is Catherine, Duchess of Boroughbridge,” said William, by way of introduction. “Your Grace, this is our dear sister, Miss Susana Alvin.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Alvin,” said the Duchess, proffering her hand and dipping into the most elegant curtsey that Susana had ever seen.