The Earl’s Wicked Seduction: Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Ella Edon

  Grace felt that she could hardly catch her breath. "Then – why – why would you feel accepting of me? It can only be that you trust your son's judgment."

  "Oh, I do trust it, most of the time. But in this case, I knew that whomever this particular lady despised the most would be the one best suited for Thomas."

  "And that particular lady," Thomas said, unable to hold back any longer, "was Beatrice Clarke!"

  Grace glanced from one of them to the other, feeling aghast. But at seeing both of them laugh, she could not help but join in. The three of them sat down together to enjoy the tea that was brought in, sharing in the merriment of a clever secret that had brought them all together.

  The wedding was set for the end of August, giving them six weeks to send out the invitations, call upon well-wishers, find accommodations for any guests coming in from a distance, arrange for the wedding breakfast, and, of course, put up the banns at the local church, so that the marriage would be legal.

  At first, Grace felt overwhelmed by having so much to do, but she quickly learned that all she had to do was follow Lady Worthington's lead in exactly how to manage all of this. It was plain that the countess didn’t mind instructing her on the managing of a great house, both in its day-to-day running and in the execution of something as grand as a wedding, and soon Grace began to feel confident that she truly could learn to do this.

  Though I would do anything for you, Thomas . . . anything at all.

  She remained at Applewood Cottage, of course, while the preparations for the wedding went on. One morning, she was awakened by the sound of workmen barking orders to each other out in the open yard.

  Grace hurried outside to see what was happening. She found a crew of men using lengths of thin cord to block off the outline of what appeared to be two new buildings. "What's this?" she asked them.

  The foreman touched his cap to her. "Good morning, miss. Earl Worthington has engaged us to build both a second cottage and a barn on this property here. Hope the noise don't bother ye too much. We'll be done in a month or so of time."

  A cottage? and a barn? When Grace finally saw Thomas later that day, he gave her the answers.

  "We could arrange for your family to stay at Worthington House," he said. "But after seeing them here, and seeing how your brothers have so much freedom and can walk into town whenever they like, I thought it might suit them better to have a second cottage built right here. Your parents and brothers can take the new one, while your aunt and uncle return to the other and live as they did before."

  Grace closed her eyes. "I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. It's wonderful. And you are right; they will all love it here. But – the man said there is to be a barn, as well?"

  "A barn for up to three horses, with a few goats to keep them company and a small paddock, too. I know of a cart and a couple of suitable ponies that might be available, if you wish."

  "Oh . . . I cannot wait to see it! John and Noah will be over the moon. Not to mention my mother!"

  "There is one more thing," said Thomas.

  "My dear husband-to-be, I do not know if I can take anything more!"

  He grinned. "As my wedding gift to you, I’ve bought back the orchard. All three acres. Your family can both manage the apple trees and run the shop in town. There can even be the sale of goat's milk and cheese, should they want to keep a few nannies."

  "I think all of them will so very pleased by all of this. I cannot imagine it!"

  "The income from all of those things will provide very well for your family, as well as allow them to enjoy their lives in and around Birdwell. And, of course, they may come and visit you at Worthington as often as you like."

  Grace could only shake her head. "I don't know what to say."

  "Just tell me that you love me as much as I love you."

  She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I love you, Thomas. I love you more than you can know."

  The day of the wedding arrived at last, and Grace kept her promise to Aunt Betsey by wearing the beautiful pale blue silk gown that had originally been meant for the third assembly ball.

  Thomas sent the landau for Grace and her family, and soon they all arrived at the little church at the far southern end of Birdwell. It seemed to Grace that the entire town had turned out for it, and since the church quickly filled up many of the well-wishers stood in the yard until the brief ceremony was over, the documents were signed, and the newly married Lord and Lady Worthington left the church to the delight of the crowd.

  Soon, the procession of vehicles followed the black landau all the way to Worthington House, where the grandest of wedding breakfasts waited for them. it all seemed like some sort of dream to Grace, passing by in a whirl of silk and flowers and more rich food than she had ever sat down to in her life.

  Most of the young women in attendance were happy enough for her and seemed to find just attending the wedding and the breakfast to be excitement enough for them. But there was one who still seemed rather put out by the whole idea of Thomas marrying Grace, and that was none other than Mrs. Simon Clarke.

  She barely acknowledged Grace's presence and spent all of her time greeting the other young women and speaking with them, as though she were the lady of Worthington, and not Grace.

  It was beginning to become very tiresome. Even Thomas's mother, now the Dowager Countess Worthington, noticed it – and decided to finally take steps. "Come with me, my dear," she said, and leaned on Grace's arm as the two of them made their way across the large room.

  In a moment, they reached the spot where Mrs. Clarke sat with her plate of cake and glass of wine, holding court with many admiring young women gathered around her. "Of course, my own husband does not have nearly so fine a house as this," Beatrice fretted. "He has no title, though our little farm does well enough."

  Little farm? thought Grace. How can she embarrass her own husband so, in front of everyone? "Why, Mrs. Clarke. I know that Feathering Park is a fine estate, nearly as large as Worthington. And a beautiful place it is, with its racehorses and many green fields."

  Beatrice merely sniffed, barely glancing at Grace. "It is considerably smaller, Miss Miller. And my husband could not even manage what we do have without my constant help and supervision."

  Complete silence fell over the little group standing around Beatrice Clarke. Grace became aware that Lady Worthington was standing and staring in silence at Beatrice, who was busy consuming her large slice of cake.

  Eventually, Beatrice seemed to notice the silence. She paused, with her fork still in her hand, and looked up. "What is it?" she asked, glancing from Grace to the dowager and back again.

  "Mrs. Clarke," the dowager finally said. "Perhaps you would like to take this chance to greet the new Countess Worthington?"

  Suddenly, it dawned on Beatrice that she had addressed Grace as "Miss Miller" instead of using her proper title, now that she was married to the earl. "Oh! Your ladyship, I am so very sorry for my rudeness." Hastily, she set down her fork and plate, stood up, and dropped an abrupt curtsey to Grace. "Congratulations, Lady Worthington."

  Grace raised her chin. Again, the confidence – and defiance – she had begun to feel after her night in the orchard with Thomas returned in full force. "Do not curtsey to me, Mrs. Clarke," she said, surprised at her own audacity. "Curtsey to the husband who loves you, instead and be grateful that he still does."

  This time, the silence that fell over the gathering was one of complete shock at Grace's words. Beatrice, her mouth open, looked to the dowager as though asking for support – but the dowager only shrugged and smiled at her.

  No one moved, or said anything. All of the young women simply stared at Beatrice to see what she would do. Finally, she did set down her cake, rise to her feet, and walk to her husband.

  Simon Clarke stood with a small group of men who were all speaking to Thomas. "Lord Worthington," Beatrice said, as she approached them. "Your wife, and your mother, have bid me curtsey to my husband." And so, she did, drop
ping down very low and greatly exaggerating the gesture.

  But what Beatrice had not counted on was Simon's reaction. After an incredulous look, he smiled and seemed genuinely moved. "Stand up, stand up, my dear wife," he whispered, taking her by the hand and raising her up again. "You need not ever curtsey to me. Just be by my side. It’s all I would ask of you."

  Beatrice looked ready to make some sharp retort, but then looked up into her husband's face. She must have seen, at last, what Grace and everyone else saw whenever Simon Clarke looked at his wife: a combination of both real love for her and genuine despair that she did not seem to return that love.

  "Well, then," she said softly, and actually smiled at him. "Perhaps I will stay right here for the rest of this wedding breakfast."

  Quickly, Thomas raised the glass he was holding. "I offer a toast – to marriage, and to love." He looked at Grace as he raised his glass, as did all the other guests, and in that moment, Grace knew that she could never wish for anything half so wonderful as this day.

  The end?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to learn what the future holds for Grace and Thomas?

  Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.

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  Afterword

  Thank you for reading my novel, The Earl’s Wicked Seduction. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?

  It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to get better at writing.

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  Do you want more Romance?

  Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my first full-length novel: Abducted by a Fiery Lady

  It's the story of two people that fate brought together in the most unconventional and risky way...

  Abducted by a Fiery Lady

  Chapter One

  A Surprising Encounter

  Luke leaned back in the leather chair and sighed.

  Of all the things I wish for most, there’s nothing I wish more than for Carrington to shut up, he mused. He wasn’t about to say anything, of course. Although, he had the suspicion it showed on his face. He tried to wipe the sneer away, but failed.

  Of all the things he wanted to hear, another of Carrington’s stories about his latest conquests was not one of them. Opposite him, Alexander Carrington, his grace, the Duke of Elsmoor, paused in his narrative to take a sip of brandy and give Luke a hard stare.

  “What?” Luke asked mildly.

  Carrington said nothing. He very pointedly said nothing. He tipped back the last of his brandy and slammed the crystal glass on the table, all the while keeping his icy gaze locked on Luke.

  Luke frowned. What the deuce is the matter with him?

  “I think it’s time I left,” Carrington continued. Again, he was staring at Luke.

  Luke shrugged. “If you have some engagement to attend, then…”

  “I think I am being encouraged to go,” Carrington said icily.

  “Oh! Alex, old boy, not at all,” one of his friends – a fellow Luke barely knew – protested loudly. “We were all waiting to hear what happened next.” He looked put-out, giving Luke a pointed stare.

  “I think I’m being encouraged to continue my narrative elsewhere,” Carrington announced.

  He lifted his velvet jacket from the peg by the door and shrugged it on. Luke heard a low growl escape the vaguely-familiar man’s throat.

  “By gumption, Carrington! I’ll give whatever knave’s putting you off a good lesson…”

  “No need, Wiltshire,” Carrington said thinly. “Those of us with interesting lives can go and continue discussing them elsewhere.”

  He raised a brow at Luke as he spoke.

  Somebody chuckled. Somebody else cheered. On Luke’s left, Lord Canmure drunkenly pushed back his chair, springing to his feet in Luke’s defense.

  Luke just raised a brow.

  I don’t care if he thinks my life is interesting or not. I know that I find his quite boring.

  He didn’t air that thought, however— he just gave Carrington a mild stare.

  “If you want to go elsewhere, then, feel free. I’ll stay on a while longer.”

  The room bristled with imminent violence. Carrington drew in a breath. His friends had all stood from the card-table and flanked him. On Luke’s side of the table, only Canmure and Exfield stayed. Luke, out of everyone in the room, was the only one who remained seated.

  “If you’re so pitiable that you want to stay here and mope about Stella Longfield, then you can stay,” his adversary hissed.

  Luke blinked. Outwardly, he stayed calm. Inwardly, he reeled from the blast. Stella Longfield! That was a cruel slap.

  Few people, save Luke’s immediate friends, knew about his brief, but ill-fated romance. He had been truly interested in Lady Stella, but her attachment seemed superficial. She’d left town with only a distant goodbye, heading up to Yorkshire, where she’d become affianced to a Mr. Huntstone. Luke still mourned her loss.

  Carrington held his gaze in open challenge.

  “I think what I choose to think about when I drink is no matter for open discussion,” he said lightly.

  This time, he did push back his chair. He felt his hand go to his belt as Carrington drew out one of his silk gloves. He felt that stony gray gaze hold his, and he stared back. The room tensed with the promise of violence.

  “Well, lads, it’s time to light the lamps, what?” a voice mumbled indistinctly.

  Luke let out a breath as the proprietor of Milway House, an old ex-soldier by the name of Major Banksfield, came in. He didn’t look at either faction, but went straight to the wall and started to pour the lamp-oil. All the same, Luke and every other man in the room knew the old Major’s policy about dueling. They knew he would go straight to the newly-created Watch and report them all. This, in turn, would attract the ire of the Prince Regent, who was vehemently against such scandal.

  “I won’t forget this,” Carrington murmured.

  “I might remember, too,” Luke replied insolently.

  Carrington, who had been halfway to the door, turned around and glared at him. He was about to come back to Luke, but one of his friends, Wainsley, laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come on, Alexander,” he said. “You know we should go.”

  Carrington shot Luke a hard glare, but left. Their booted feet echoed down the hallway, then even that sound disappeared.

  Luke leaned back in the chair, relaxing as he heard their horses leave the stables.

  “That was close,” Exfield said. “What a clod-pate, eh?”

  “Nothing happened, Exfield,” Luke said mildly, stretching as he shifted on the leather seat. He pretended nonchalance, but in truth, he was still tense from the encounter.

  A duel with Carrington was no idle threat – the fellow was rumored to have shot an army officer recently. Nobody knew if it was true, but certainly Carrington’s skill with a pistol was well-known, and it wasn’t something Luke wanted to encounter first-hand. He lifted the remains of his brandy and drank it, wincing at the bad taste.

  “This club could surely get better brandy?” he asked Canmure.

  Canmure, Luke’s longtime friend from their Oxford days, gave him a squint-eyed stare. Whatever the quality of the brandy, he had been drinking it steadily since they arrived mid-afternoon, and was in no fit state to comment on anything.

  Luke turned away, staring into the fire.

  The Milway Club, like so many of the clubs in London, had many layers. On the surface, it was simply a place for a drink, cards, and relaxation. Luke knew there was prostitution involved, but he himself had never gone up to the rooms above the card-room. He also knew there were other aspects to the club, involving contraband and illegal trade, but he did not participate in them.

  I wish someti
mes that I could escape London. Life in the Indies seemed much better— more authentic.

  He closed his brown eyes, recalling the feel of sunlight, bronzing his skin. The scent of spice on the air. The humid heat of the forests and the sound of myriad bright-feathered birds.

  “Is this the card-room?” a voice said at the door.

  Luke’s eyes shot open in surprise. He saw Exfield shoot to his feet, and Canmure turned his head, blearily staring in the direction of the doorway.