The Earl That Overruled My Destiny
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Hanna Hamilton
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: The Prophecy of the Blood Born Earl
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Hanna Hamilton
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called A True Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
Hanna Hamilton
About the Book
Truth is a phoenix; it burns and hides, but it will always rise from its ashes...
Lady Gwendoline Lockwood has grown to despise every single Farraday.
Raised in the crossfire of her family’s blood feud with the Earldom of Elderdale, she would never budge an inch in their favor. Even less when she is consecutively challenged by their offspring.
Caspian Farraday, firstborn son of the Earl of Elderdale, strives to be his father’s son. Struggling to live up to what is expected of him, he finds solace where hatred once brewed: Lady Gwendoline’s eyes.
Determined to unveil the roots of the rivalry, they decide to put their differences aside to make amends for past sins.
The discovery of old letters defies all they have ever known and makes them allies in a game that started before they were even born. A forbidden love that never thrived turned the lives of everyone around them into a battlefield.
But when Caspian is critically wounded in a horse-riding accident, they need to look for the enemy at an arm’s length...
Chapter 1
The ballroom was like something out of a fairy tale. Its gilded walls shined in the flickering light of the lamps and in the calm moonlight. Silver and gold met, highlighting the delicate patterns on the room’s blue paper. The room was tall and swept upwards into a high, vaulted ceiling decorated with a meticulously painted representation of the night sky. But the most striking aspect of the room was the ton, all of them clearly merry and pleased. That was, save for one young woman, who stood resolutely against the ballroom’s wall.
Despite her bright-green silk dress, Lady Gwendoline Lockwood, the only child of the Earl of Newhost, looked far from lady like given the cross expression stretching across her face. The subject of her displeasure was the tall and broad-shouldered Caspian Farraday, the firstborn son of the Earl of Elderdale. He had a handsome, trim figure, complimented by the fashionable cut of his indigo waistcoat. His dark hair was a sharp contrast to his pale, fine-boned face. And if Gwendoline approached him, she knew she’d see the enchanting spread of peach freckles that spanned his nose.
It is quite unfair for such an abominable man to also be so terribly handsome, but then, the devil was once an angel and beautiful, too. Or so I have heard.
Perhaps, Lord Caspian was due for a quick and unfortunate fall from grace. That would be a delightful turn of events.
But it seemed as if fate itself had determined to spite Gwendoline. As she watched, Lord Caspian was joined by his younger brother, Lord Noah. Lord Caspian greeted his brother by slapping him on the back, a gesture which seemed to draw a good-natured laugh.
Gwendoline scowled. Lord Noah was an attractive man, too, with the same, thick dark hair and piercing green eyes. Gwendoline made silent notes of the gentlemen gathered around the Earl’s children. As far as she was concerned, those gentlemen had chosen a side: Farraday. And because of their blatant favoritism, they would see no favor from Gwendoline, if they desired it.
“The first ball of the season, and you have determined to spend it as a wallflower. An inspired approach,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Gwendoline turned to see Lady Florence Altman, her best friend since girlhood, walk toward her. As the other Lady approached, Gwendoline let out a soft sigh. “I just hadn’t realized that rabble was allowed here,” Gwendoline said.
Florence twisted a soft, golden curl around her finger and blinked her large, blue eyes. Her pink lips curled into a small smile. “How dare the Lord and Lady Hartford invite members of the ton to their own ball?”
“The Farradays are hardly a part of the ton. That would imply a certain level of decorum and grace which the entire family has failed to exhibit. Otherwise, they’d admit to the wrongdoings committed by Lady Helena and apologize for their unjust treatment of my family.”
Florence sighed and smoothed the pale-blue silk of her dress. Gwendoline recognized the gesture. Every time Florence was anxious, she petted her dress just like that, and no amount of chastisements from her mother could assuage such behavior.
“You might as well say what you’re thinking, Florrie,” Gwendoline muttered.
“You are a reasonable woman, Gwen. Unless, of course, the Farradays are being spoken of. I fear you will be cross with me if I dare say a word.”
Gwendoline winced and tried to ignore the little pang of guilt she felt. Florence was entirely right. Not that Gwendoline would ever say so aloud, of course.
“I promise that I shall not be cross with you.”
Doubt flashed in Florence’s eyes. “Nevertheless, don’t you think it’s a little much to glare at the man as if you wish him an early death?”
No. Because nothing was too bad for a Farraday. And like the rest of London society, Florence knew that.
But she can’t really understand. She does not carry the same burden I do. No one has wronged her family as much as mine was wronged by the Farradays.
“At the risk of drawing your ire…” Florence trailed off, her eyes searching Gwendoline’s face for a reaction.
“You might as well say what you mean. Coyness doesn’t suit you. Or any lady, for that matter.”
“So you say. I think if ladies always said what they meant—”
“The world would be an infinitely better place,” Gwendoline interrupted. “I’m firm in that conviction, despite what my father may say.”
Although Gwendoline kept her back straight and her shoulders back, she felt as though she wilted inside herself. Her father was a good man, for whom propriety was paramount, but sometimes, propriety was stifling. Like now.
The delightful image of storming across the ballroom floor and telling Lord Caspian precisely how low her opinion of him was danced in her mind. Perhaps, after she insulted him, she and the Lord could duel one another with pistols. In Gwendoline’s fantasy, she would obviously emerge victorious in such an endeavor, despite having never held a pistol in her life.
Florence’s lips twitched in amuseme
nt. “Don’t let your father hear you say that.”
“I wouldn’t. That would disappoint him.”
As would Gwendoline’s insistence on lingering by the wall with Florence. As the only Lockwood child, Gwendoline knew that she ought to be socializing, flitting about and laughing with the several wealthy and potential suitors in the room.
A pity the Farradays arrived. I feel as though that family has smothered all my desires to enjoy myself.
“Lord Noah isn’t too terrible,” Florence said.
Gwendoline shot her friend a withering look.
“Come, now,” Florence replied. “You know that the Farraday family is distantly related to my mother. You can’t possibly expect me to avoid them forever. Lord Noah seems to be a decent sort of man, and I daresay Lord Caspian is not so dreadful either, although he’s something of an acquired taste.”
“The most cunning, selfish men usually do seem as if they are not so terrible,” Gwendoline countered. “No doubt Lord Noah is a gifted actor.”
“I think he is sincere, which is quite exceptional. Lord Elderdale is a very cold man; you know.” Florence lowered her voice. “I feel genuinely sorry for his poor wife. During her last miscarriage, the Lady begged for him to return from the Orkneys and comfort her, but he did not even dignify her pleas with a response.”
Gwendoline clenched her jaw. Part of her did feel a spark of empathy for the poor Countess. Although most aristocrats did not marry for love, Gwendoline’s parents liked one another well enough. They were kind and respectful, and both her parents had doted on her.
“I do have sympathy for Lady Elderdale,” Gwendoline conceded. “Nevertheless, the sentiment is not extended to her sons. I’m sure they’re quite terrible, regardless of what you may believe, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
Florence shook her head, and with a rueful smile, she held out her hands. “You need something else to occupy your attention. Then, you’ll hardly care that the Farradays are present.”
Gwendoline forced a smile, her resolve crumbling when faced with her friend’s kindness. The ladies linked arms, as if they were sisters, and drifted closer to the crowd of elegantly clothed ladies.
Gwendoline tossed her head back and painted a brilliant smile across her face. In situations such as this, she liked to imagine herself as putting on a costume or becoming a character in a play. She was some headstrong heroine, playing a part and being a proper lady.
Except that if I was a heroine, I would have some wonderful secrets. Midnight escapades and adventures. Something like that.
The image of her sneaking through a darkened castle corridor with a lantern and a long, billowing cloak lifted by the wind sprang in her mind’s eye. How wonderful it must be to live inside the pages of a novel and have the steadfast knowledge that everything would end well in one’s life!
“I wonder,” Gwendoline said, “If you sometimes think I’m a cat, Florrie. Easily distracted by the least little thing.”
“Hardly that. Although you do sulk like an angered cat sometimes,” Florence replied.
Cats lead wonderful lives, too. They have no obligations save to keep the kitchens free of mice, and that is already in their nature. If only I could be so free!
As Gwendoline and Florence approached, the gathering of ladies invited them with warm smiles. Lady Sophia and Lady Lydia, the fair-haired twin daughters of the Marquess of Hartford were part of the group. Although the sisters were identical in appearance, their tastes were remarkably different. Sophia was a quiet, studious creature; her sister Lydia would accept nothing less than always being the center of any engagement.
Sophia wore only soft shades of gray and blue, while Lydia favored brilliant shades of red and purple. But they were both dears. While the sisters were never as close to Gwendoline as Florence was, they were all childhood companions. Gwendoline thought longingly of those days, where she managed to escape her poor, long-suffering governess and hide in the massive, walled gardens with her friends.
With the sisters was Miss Eleanor, the daughter of the Baron of Westfoss. She was a beauty with auburn hair and sparkling green eyes. The lady was clever and had a strange, awkward sort of wit that Gwendoline had never been able to keep up with.
“Good evening,” Lydia said. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”
Gwendoline had been until she realized the Farraday family was in attendance, but despite her irritation, she nodded. “Your parents always plan the most exquisite balls. How could we not enjoy it?”
Lydia smiled. “Well, it is the first ball of the season. The ton would be terribly disappointed if we did not begin the London season as extravagantly as possible. A poor start foretells a poor end.”
“And I’m certain that our own marriage prospects had no bearing on the planning of this party,” Sophia said dryly.
“Be that as it may,” Lydia replied, with a shrug of her slender shoulders.
Gwendoline’s eyes swept over the crowd. She had her own marriage prospects to consider. And although Gwendoline envisioned meeting someone witty and enchanting, a prince charming like in the gilded, framed portraits which adorned her father’s grand manor, she knew the truth of the matter was significantly less romantic.
“Shall we predict which of us will be engaged first?” Florence asked.
“No,” Gwendoline said, “But I’ll be content to place myself last. I intend to make my beau work for my hand.”
Lydia laughed. Sophia’s eyes widened.
“You would,” Florence replied, “And I feel no shame in admitting that I cannot wait until the day when you find yourself engaged to a man of value.”
“If you truly cannot wait for that day, you ought to seek out my father,” Gwendoline replied. “Shall we? I do fancy a dance.”
So the ladies spread throughout the ballroom, and Gwendoline straightened her spine. It was time to do her father proud.
* * *
Gwendoline let herself drift along from one elegant gentleman to the next. She was one-and-twenty and still unwed. While many of her younger peers had husbands, she was her father’s only child and Gwendoline knew he was saving her hand for a particularly advantageous marriage.
Finally, Gwendoline bade her most recent partner farewell. Her face was hot, and she thought that—perhaps—she need not have applied any rouge to her face. It was surely red now, from passion and exertion. But at least, the color rising to her face would make her dark eyes shine like polished jet.
From across the room, Florence caught her friend’s eye. Gwendoline returned to her place by the wall and waited. After a few seconds, Florence joined her. The lady’s face was as flushed as Gwendoline suspected her own was, and her blonde curls were slowly becoming more disheveled.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Gwendoline said.
Florence let out a breathless, little laugh and fanned herself. “I have neglected my dancing lessons. I’m afraid I have grown lax during my time on my father’s little country estate.”
Gwendoline didn’t believe that for an instant. Everyone knew that Florence was an exceptionally active, young lady.
“I’m certain your partners are very pleased,” Gwendoline replied. “They always are.”
Florence grinned. She raised a delicate hand and attempted to smooth her curls once again. “I do my best. Speaking of, have you heard about Lord Carmichael?”
“What about him?”
“I heard that he’s found a young lady in America, whom he wishes to wed. An actress.”
Gwendoline arched an eyebrow. “Well, Lord Carmichael has always been a rebellious sort of man. I never envisioned him marrying among the ton, as is. It’s a pity. He was a good man, and he’ll likely make an excellent husband.”
“But an actress!”
Gwendoline shook her head. She knew that she ought to be scandalized, but the pairing seemed reasonable to her. Lord Carmichael was a witty, theatrical man. A beautiful actress sounded just like the type of woman he’
d admire.
“Do you think he intends to return to London with her?” Gwendoline asked.
“Oh, I hope so. I would enjoy some excitement,” Florence replied, her eyes alight. “It does sound terribly interesting. And when was the last time something truly scandalous happened in London?”
Gwendoline thought for a moment, trying to recall. “It would probably be Lady Weithorn.”
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