The Earl’s Wicked Seduction: Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Ella Edon

  Moment, they’d reached the wooden walkway on the other side of the street.

  "Thank you, thank you," Grace said, catching her breath as Uncle Leonard once again placed her on her feet. Quickly, she straightened her gown and smoothed her carefully done hair.

  "Come along, come along," said Aunt Betsey. "Now you must wait for Mrs. Robbins to take you inside. Then she can introduce you to the proper folk. All you will have to do then is wait for the dancing to begin!"

  Grace smiled at hearing the excitement in her aunt's voice. No doubt she would have enjoyed the ball, too, and Grace seemed to remember something about how she’d met Uncle Leonard at just such an assembly ball many years ago.

  But Grace was tempted to remind Aunt Betsey that at her own long-ago ball, she hadn’t been trying to be someone she was not. Young Betsey hadn’t been trying to raise her station from a poverty-stricken servant girl with no letter of reference, telling lies and being deceptive in order to convince everyone that she was actually a respectable tradesman's daughter.

  It left Grace feeling shaken and terrified. She didn’t know what would happen if she were found out, but one thing was bad enough: If she were revealed as an imposter, her reputation would be lost. She would have no chance left of ever finding a decent husband who might be able to help her and her family. They might all end up in a London workhouse, which everyone knew was another name for Hell itself.

  Grace very much wished that her greatest worries about this ball were simply dancing, cakes, and a little flirtation. No, this was far more serious and it was too late to back away from it now.

  Chapter Twelve

  An Accident Diverted, Despite Kid Gloves

  Thomas heard Simon open the door of the landau and get out, but Beatrice seemed to be taking her own good time when it came to leaving the carriage and going inside to the ball.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Beatrice remained seated in the carriage while carefully arranging her salmon-colored gown and gold-embroidered shawl. Then she looked up towards the Inn, feigning surprise at seeing the gathering of guests who had all paused in the doorway and along the walkway to see the black landau and the shining black pair . . . and, especially, to see the most beautiful of all the ladies at the ball preparing to step down and join the rest of them.

  He turned back to watch his horses, unable to keep from rolling his eyes at Beatrice's conceit.

  At last, she stood up and allowed her husband to help her down to the walkway. Though Beatrice was well aware of the sudden crowd of other young women who had immediately stepped outside at her arrival, she ignored them and kept her attention on the woman who was her host for the evening: Mrs. Robbins.

  "Good evening, Mr. Clarke. Mrs. Clarke," said Mrs. Robbins. "So pleased to have you here for the first of our subscription balls. It is so important for the most prominent of those who live in and around Birdwell to come out and support our little effort."

  "Why, my dear Mrs. Robbins," said Beatrice, with enough sweetness to bake all the cakes in England, "I am the one who is honored that you would invite me! I am certain that this will be a most memorable event for us all!"

  "I do hope so," Mrs. Robbins answered. She glanced up at the giggling crowd of young women on the walkway, who clearly were dying to know whose carriage this was. "Mrs. Clarke. This is indeed a beautiful carriage and pair that you have traveled in tonight. I suppose I thought that Earl Worthington was the only one among us who owned such a turnout."

  "Oh, he is, he is!" exclaimed Beatrice, delighted at having such attention brought to herself. "He loaned it to me and my husband for the evening. Wasn't that so prodigiously kind of him?"

  Thomas closed his eyes and tried not to laugh out loud. Mrs. Robbins's actual question was entirely lost on Beatrice, who had once again managed to turn a simple statement into a compliment for herself.

  "Indeed," agreed Mrs. Robbins. "Very kind."

  Thomas became aware that all of the girls and a few of the young men, who were standing on the walkway were all talking rapidly among themselves.

  "That is the earl's carriage!"

  "Yes, and new horses, too!"

  "Well, then, where is he? Didn't he come with Mr. and Mrs. Clarke?"

  "You don't suppose he's snubbing the first of the subscription balls, do you?"

  "What? Is he snubbing?"

  "If he is, should we even be attending?"

  "Oh, no! Perhaps we should – "

  Simon cleared his throat and spoke up over all the chirping and twittering. "Ah – you see – pardon me, everyone – "

  Finally, the little crowd quieted enough for Simon to speak to them. "You are quite correct that this is, indeed, the earl's new landau and pair. And I am sorry to tell you that no, the earl will not be attending the first ball this evening."

  There was disappointed moaning all around from the little crowd. Thomas quieted the fidgeting horses and tried not to smile.

  "But I can assure you," Simon continued, "that Lord Worthington does, indeed, wish for the ball to go on, even without him."

  The crowd began to sound happier, glancing at each other and smiling.

  "The earl is merely giving everyone else – all of you – a chance to enjoy your dancing and socializing in a more relaxed atmosphere, before he attends and brings what he calls 'unfortunate formality' with him."

  Everyone laughed. "When will he attend?" called out one of the young men, and all of the young women murmured their interest in the question.

  "Not right away, I'm afraid," said Simon. "There are three balls in the subscription set, and I should not expect him before the third."

  "Ohhh," moaned the crowd, greatly disappointed. The young women glanced at each other and rolled their eyes, snapping their fans open in frustration.

  This time, Beatrice addressed the gathering. "I certainly understand how you feel," she said sweetly. "But we all know that the earl simply prefers outdoor pursuits to the stuffiness of an indoor ball. If we want to see him, maybe we should arrange a cross country ride through the mud instead!"

  Everyone laughed. Beatrice smiled her most gracious smile at them as her husband spoke up again. "Please, do go and enjoy yourselves tonight," said Simon. "Then, when the earl finally does attend, you can show him some of the finest dancing this side of London."

  "Yes, yes. Come in, come in," said Mrs. Robbins. The red and orange plumes in her own hair were even longer than Beatrice's swan feathers and bobbed in the torchlight. "The musicians want to play! Come in, come in, and the dancing will begin!"

  With a great flurry of giggling and ribbons and pretty muslin dresses, all of the girls turned to hurry inside. The young men followed close after them. With a final glance up at Thomas, Simon offered his arm and took the preening Beatrice safely inside.

  Thomas watched them go. He stuck the whip up in its holder and then prepared to step down and see to the horses. They would be standing for some length of time during the ball, so he needed to uncheck them and get them settled.

  Before he could get down from the box, Thomas noticed that one of the young women was still standing outside on the wooden walkway and looking towards the door to the Inn as though hesitant to go through it.

  She also stood very close to the couple he knew as Leonard Vane and his wife, Betsey. They owned the dress shop across the street and had been here for many years. Was this girl their daughter? But, no – he seemed to recall that they had no children at all.

  Then the girl on Leonard Vane's arm turned around to look towards the carriage, and he saw her face. Her smooth warm skin. Her very large, dark eyes, shining with nervousness and excitement. The flush of deep pink across her nose and cheeks in the torchlight. Her brown hair was tied back in a twist at her neck, looking as smooth and as polished as the finest oakwood with little brass pins gleaming here and there.

  Why – it was Grace! The young woman he had met in the village just days before, along with her two young brothers. Grace Miller!
<
br />   He started to hide his face again – but then realized that she was one person he could talk to. Grace knew him only as Adam Wheeler, for she was new to Birdwell and had never met the earl. Talking with her now would only make his story that much more credible.

  Thomas looked at her again. Though she looked terribly nervous, he could see that her face was finely made, but strong, just like the rest of her. She looked taller and straighter than ever and was quite slim with strong, square shoulders.

  The gown she wore was yellow, as yellow as the primrose flowers in spring. As she finally looked up at Thomas, she looked like a bright ray of sunshine standing in the darkness just outside the inn.

  Grace stood watching in fascination as the crowd of beautifully dressed girls, all gathered together outside the door of the Inn and looking towards the landau carriage, listened to the announcement that the earl would not be attending the ball tonight. They all seemed very disappointed at first, but then remembered there was a ballroom and musicians and refreshments waiting for them inside.

  Then they all crushed in as quickly as they could.

  She started to follow, but stopped. Through the open double doors, Grace could hear the music start and just see the dancers begin to line up on the waiting floor. There was no sign of Mrs. Robbins.

  "Where is she?" whispered Grace. "Am I not supposed to go inside with her, so she can introduce me?"

  "She'll be out. They're getting the dancing started right now," said Uncle Leonard.

  "Look for Merope, her daughter," advised Aunt Betsey. "Find one and you'll find the other."

  Grace nodded. She ventured a step closer, trying to see inside a little more clearly – and then began to feel that someone was watching her.

  At first, she tried to ignore it and just watch for Mrs. Robbins and Merope – but at last, she couldn’t resist turning around.

  She found herself staring eye to eye with the handsome coachman who sat up on the box of the earl's landau.

  For an instant, she was afraid that perhaps she was doing something wrong. Grace well remembered, from her time at Northcliff, that often the servants were the first ones to be offended if anyone broke a rule of etiquette – and she was still very new to being on the other side.

  But then, she realized who she was looking at. The light brown hair beneath the top hat – the sparkling hazel eyes – the tall slim form – she was looking at –

  Adam Wheeler.

  He grinned as he touched his hat to her. Quickly, she turned away before anyone saw her looking at the coachman and moved closer to the doorway to look for Mrs. Robbins.

  Grace could not imagine what her mother and Aunt Betsey would say if they knew she was exchanging looks with a mere coachman – not when they had gone to considerable trouble and expense to present her to a much greater target!

  At last, the girl in the yellow gown – Grace – turned away and walked closer to the doors, trying to look inside. Thomas realized that this would be a good time to speak to her. She had been perfectly sweet and natural when he'd spent the morning with her and her brothers some days before.

  But it could be very different out here tonight, when Grace was at the ball to dance with other young men and would be seeking to make her very best impression on them. If ever a woman was going to be something she was not, it was in a situation exactly like this one.

  He smiled again. Perhaps his little ruse had not been such a bad idea after all. It would be very entertaining to tell Simon just how well it had gone.

  Suddenly, the carriage jerked forward. Quickly, he turned and took up the reins – and realized he was in trouble.

  Starling, the off horse, was half-rearing and whipping his head back and forth. Raven was becoming nearly as upset by the sudden wild behavior of his harness mate.

  Thomas realized that Starling was fighting his checkrein. Keeping the reins in hand, he leapt down to the walkway to uncheck the horse before things got any worse.

  Thomas slipped briefly as he landed – it was a long way down from the driver's box – and before he could reach Starling, he was shocked to see that the Grace had reached him first.

  She immediately grabbed the horse by the cheekpiece of the bridle with one hand, pulled his head up and towards her with the other, managing to unhook the checkrein from the harness girth at the base of his neck. Right away, Starling lowered his head and stood still, though he gave a loud rattling snort through his nose.

  That snort was the sound a horse made when it was thoroughly spooked. It was a signal to other horses that something frightening was happening. Raven was already on edge, both from standing too long while checked up and from his agitated teammate.

  The danger was that Raven, still checked up, or Starling, still frightened, could rear up and take a crashing fall onto his teammate. They would get hopelessly tangled and then –

  "Get the other one! Hurry!" cried Grace. "I'll hold this one, but you must uncheck the other!"

  Thomas dashed around Grace and ran in front of the horses to get alongside Raven. He got him unchecked quickly and then moved in front of them to stand at their heads and hold them by the reins.

  Both horses seemed all right, and were calming down now. Thomas took a deep breath, feeling very foolish – and wondering if he had just given himself away.

  He turned to look at Grace. "I thank you, my – " he started to say. Then he caught himself, cleared his throat, and turned back towards the horses. "I mean, thankee, miss! Fine job ye did there!" Thomas affected his best Cockney accent and could only hope that it would be convincing enough.

  She let go of Starling's bridle, suddenly looking down at her hands with horror. She had grabbed the horse while wearing delicate kid gloves meant for nothing more strenuous than dancing, and Thomas could see that one of the gloves had a nice long rip in the delicate leather palm.

  He also noticed immediately that although the glove was newly torn, the leather itself was old and worn and mended. Her gown seemed to have been made especially for tonight's ball, but aside from a few brass hairpins, she wore no jewelry at her wrists or hair or throat.

  Yet, her kindness was still present, just as he remembered it from the first time they had met, and it seemed that her eyes sparkled more than any diamonds when she looked at him.

  He stepped closer, still keeping hold of Starling's rein. "So sorry, so sorry, miss. Your poor gloves! But I do thank you."

  "You're welcome," she said softly. She looked up into his eyes, and for that moment, Thomas forgot all about horses and carriages and candlelit ballrooms. Grace seemed to remember herself and carefully stepped back from him.

  Thomas made himself remember that he was a coachman right now – just a servant. He was not Earl Worthington and could not be acting like it.

  Nodding politely to Grace, he took a small step back. "It's lovely to see you again, Miss Miller. Please give my best to your family."

  He was rewarded by a very shy smile from her. "Thank you," she said faintly. "It's very good to see you, too." She glanced up at the horses. "I'm glad they’re all right. Beautiful pair."

  "Indeed," he whispered, never taking his eyes from hers.

  They both stood in silence for a moment. The lively sounds of the ball and the street faded away into nothingness, as though there was only the two of them, standing together in the torchlight.

  Finally, Thomas smiled gently and made himself take another step back. "You'd best go back inside, now, miss," he said, turning a little and reaching up to scratch Starling's neck. "They'll be waiting for ye."

  Grace blinked. Then she seemed to awaken from some daydream and gave him a little nod. She almost dropped him a curtsey, but caught herself at the last moment. She turned and hurried back to her Uncle Leonard and Aunt Betsey, who were still waiting outside the door of the Robbins Inn.

  Thomas let out his breath. He gave Starling one last pat and then walked over to Raven to scratch his neck, as well. Both horses seemed calm and steady now, but he knew
that he'd just had a close call.

  If he was to pass himself off as a coachman, he had better pay attention to the horses that he was responsible for. Yes, these two were new to him and plenty of horses had quirks, but few horses would stand still for long with a checkrein in place, no matter how well trained they were.

  If you were a decent coachman, you wouldn’t have forgotten that, he thought to himself, with a wry smile. The truth was, he had been quite distracted by the lovely young woman with the dark eyes and yellow gown, who had bravely jumped in to grab a frightened horse while wearing little slippers, delicate muslin, and fragile kid gloves . . . and never thought to ask how much that horse and carriage cost.