The Earl of Heartbreak

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  The Earl of Heartbreak

  A "Tales From Seldon Park" Novel

  By Bethany M. Sefchick

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016

  Bethany M. Sefchick

  All rights reserved

  For the real Earl of Heartbreak....

  You know who you are.

  Prologue

  December 1813

  Fieldown

  Dorset

  The rich scent of pine from the thick garlands wound around the balustrade wafted around him and, as Rayne approached the grand staircase, he could hear someone - quite possibly his cousin Deborah - banging out Christmastide carols rather mercilessly on the pianoforte. She was accompanied by some horribly off-key singing, though he rather doubted the screeching yowl that sounded more like a cat in severe pain came from her. When Cousin Deborah sang, it was usually more of a deep, rumbling growl typical of a caged animal eager to rip apart its captors. Hardly sounds appropriate for a young debutante, but then one could not help what one's singing voice sounded like, he supposed.

  Mixed in with the cacophony was the sound of howling, most likely coming from his mother's pack of six corgis. The little dogs had been running about the house all day, causing mayhem wherever they went and chasing the three cats - two of which were pets of a guest - around the halls as if they were possessed by the Devil himself. Given the dogs' sheer stamina and obstinate personalities, he would not doubt that possibility in the least.

  Yet above all of that ceaseless noise, he could hear her. Fast. Fluttery. Still somehow also determined and in charge as well. She was a curious mix, his Sarah. Always had been and likely always would be. She was also late, as usual. Her mother, Lady Chillton, often said that Sarah would be late to her own funeral. That would not surprise him in the least either.

  Rayne could also hear Sarah humming and making far more noise than both his mother and hers would likely approve of, especially tonight when she was supposed to be already downstairs and fluttering her lashes at the eligible young swains attending his mother's annual Holly Ball. She was not, as evidenced by all of the clatter she was making - something she would likely be reprimanded for in the morning.

  Instead, Sarah was still roaming the halls abovestairs as if she owned Fieldown - which she didn't. Though Rayne was not about to inform her of that fact. Quite honestly, if she requested ownership of the stately old pile, he would likely hand the entire household over to her without a second thought. After all, this sort of behavior was quintessentially Sarah - and his heart sped up just a bit with that thought - despite his best efforts to the contrary. For there was simply something about Sarah that set Rayne ablaze. Especially as she was right at this very moment.

  At present, she was wild and free and untamed - precisely how he liked her best. Soon enough, unfortunately, she would be bent and molded into what a proper young lady should be. Or at the very least, what Society dictated that a proper young lady should be. In truth, he was surprised that she wasn't already. She had already made her debut this past season after all.

  So for all of those reasons and more, he would gladly hand over his family's ancestral home to her, if only she could remain the same woman she was right in this moment - mischievous, free-willed, beautiful, without artifice, and unattached. Even though Rayne knew that was an impossible dream.

  At only eighteen, Sarah knew exactly what was expected of her in Society and for some reason, she did her best to flout those expectations as only she could. And get away with it. It was one of the things he liked best about her. Or loved about her. Rayne was no longer certain where the line between those emotions lie. He only knew that as the eldest sister of his best friend, he had no business thinking about her in such a fashion. She was forbidden to him, for according to her brother, Frost, friends did not court other friend's sisters. She was also still rather young, having just made her debut this past Season. Rayne himself was a worldly young man of three and twenty. They simply could not be. For so very many reasons. That did not stop him from wishing those reasons to perdition, however.

  Strangely enough, Rayne had always felt a peculiar sort of connection with Sarah. Even when he was fifteen and she a very young ten, and they had met for the first time here in these very halls. When he had been in desperate need of a friend, she had been there for him in a way that no one else was or even knew was necessary. His mother certainly hadn't been, nor his sisters and least of all his surly uncle who had been left with instructions to see to Rayne's education and make certain the new young earl learned his duties to both Society and the estate.

  Even at fifteen, Rayne had known that his uncle desired the earldom for himself far more than he wanted to be responsible for the new earl who was still studying at Eton. Rayne was young, after all. He was not stupid.

  Back then, Rayne had also known what it meant when he didn't see his mother for months on end, always being told that she was "ill" or "indisposed." That meant she was locked in her room, crying. No one had thought he knew the truth, but he had. One did not essentially lose both parents at the same time and not have some inkling of what was going on around him. Especially not a boy like Rayne who had been told more times than he could count that he was too intelligent for his own good.

  Eight years ago, Rayne's world had been upended when his father died and left him an earldom he was not in the least prepared to oversee. It was also the first time that Lady Chillton, herself a Society widow, had descended upon Fieldown, the Earl of Raynecourt's country seat, in order to assist her best friend - Rayne's mother - and brought her family with her. Including Rayne's best friend, Frost. And Frost's three younger sisters since the girls could not be left behind. Including Sarah, a girl who, even at the tender age of ten, had been wise beyond her years.

  Sarah had looked at Rayne with those glowing emerald eyes and somehow known that he needed someone to listen. Not someone to speak, for he had enough people speaking both to him and at him on all manner of subjects. No, he needed someone who would listen. Sarah, surprisingly enough, had been that someone.

  They had formed a peculiar sort of friendship during those odd two months that Lady Chillton and her family were in residence at Fieldown. He supposed he would term it a friendship, for he had no idea what else he might call it. Now, five years on, Sarah, Frost, and the rest of her family were firmly entrenched within Rayne's. He and Frost - as his best friend preferred to be called rather than the Viscount Chillton, which he thought sounded a bit pompous and stuffy - were best friends. Rayne loved Lady Chillton almost as much as he loved his own mother. He thought of both Dory and Aurelia, Frost's other two sisters, as his own flesh and blood sisters as well.

  But not Sarah. Never Sarah.

  There was something about her, a seriousness, or perhaps it was more of a carefulness, that called to him in a way unlike any other female of his acquaintance. He knew better that to act on those feelings, of course. Not even now, when she was older and technically ready to be wed. She was still little more than a child - despite her Society debut - while he was a red-blooded man just coming into his prime. Still, Rayne had often felt for so long that Sarah was, in many ways, an adult trapped inside of a child's body. That was the only way he could explain this odd connection he felt to her. It was also the only way he could live with himself given the growing strength of these feelings he had for her deep within himself.

  That connection was also another reason why Rayne was extremely glad he was o
ff to Persia after Twelfth Night. Somehow, he'd had the good fortune - not to mention the coin - to join one of the upcoming archeological expeditions to the region. There were several teams venturing out into that barren, sandy region and he'd had his choice of locations to pick from. Seeing these places that he'd only just begun to read about, visiting recently discovered historical sites and possibly discovering an entire new culture or civilization? Those were the things that fired Rayne's blood. It was what he wanted.

  History didn't change. It didn't leave or die or lock itself away in a room, not wanting to emerge, not even for a young son desperate for parental guidance. History was always there, waiting to be uncovered or discovered. Just waiting to be found. It was always present, even if one didn't see it. Far more reliable than people in his opinion. Not to mention far less painful.

  History was also not often found in the form of a very beautiful young woman that he desired but could not have. Oh, Society would not fault Rayne for courting Sarah, certainly. They were both of an age, after all. Still, she was his best friend's eldest sister and Frost had made it clear on more than one occasion that he did not want any of his friends even thinking about courting her. In fact, he had made threats to that very effect and Rayne did not relish the idea of pistols at dawn with his best friend.

  Which was why it was best if Rayne went away. At least until he could get these unruly feelings and desires of his under control. If that was even possible. The way he hardened almost painfully every time he saw Sarah, he rather doubted that it was.

  For a moment, Rayne debated about turning around and walking the other way, of avoiding Sarah completely. It would be for the best. He knew that. Still, he could not do such a thing. Not even if it was the wise thing to do. Instead, he slowed his pace, knowing that when she rounded the corner, she would see him ambling towards the grand staircase that led to the main ballroom below. Their meeting would appear accidental. In reality, it was anything but an accident.

  "Rayne! Wait!" He couldn't help but smile as he heard Sarah call out to him the moment she glimpsed him, her slippers slapping against the ancient floor as she ran towards him. Still young at heart even if she was considered a woman now. That was his Sarah.

  She was dressed in a deep crimson gown, not at all appropriate for a young debutante, but it suited her better than those awful pastels she was typically forced to wear. Tonight, she was gleaming with her hair piled high on top of her head with only a few tendrils of curls escaping down to brush against her bare shoulders. Diamonds shone at her throat in a bit of an ostentatious display, but then, that was Sarah. She loved to sparkle. He was, however, pleased to note that she had paired the necklace with the more sedate emerald and ruby earbobs that he had secretly given her as an early Christmastide gift a few days ago. He had said they were a small token of his affection, but in truth, they were so much more.

  They were also entirely inappropriate. In fact, as an unwed young lady, Sarah shouldn't even touch a gift from a young man who wasn't her betrothed. However, Rayne hadn't cared about the proprieties and neither had Sarah. Society could go hang. This connection they shared went beyond any words to properly describe it, and if he wanted to give her a gift, he would. Just so long as Frost knew nothing about the gesture, of course.

  Turning with a smile meant only for her - even if she could never know that - Rayne reached for her hands, catching her as she skidded to a stop in front of him. He prayed that she never lost her exuberance. "Sarah. I trust you are well this evening?"

  She frowned as she snatched her hands away and once more, he was reminded that just because he fancied her, that did not mean that his feelings were reciprocated. She was young yet. What could she possibly know of such things? Of love and desire? Of what a man wished to do to a woman he thought he might love? Nothing. That was what. Then again, other girls she had debuted with had already been married that fall. But no. Not Sarah. In fact, Rayne couldn't imagine her wed to anyone. Not even him on most days.

  "I would be better if Mama would let me cry off from this ball. Your ballroom is filled with suitors who will paw at me all night and attempt to ply me with spiked punch so that they might compromise me. That does not sound appealing in the least, and I would prefer to spend the night in bed with a good book." She shook her head, those luscious curls bouncing so enticingly. "I am not ready to wed and uncertain if I will ever be. Thank goodness Frost, at least, understands my reluctance."

  "Your mother simply wants you to make a good match," Rayne said softly, wishing once more that he could be considered an appropriate suitor for Sarah. "Even now she is concerned about your future."

  "She need not be. I am fine. Frost has told her this many times." She sighed so heavily that he wondered what was going through her mind. "I have experienced more in my life than any of them know. I know what I want. What I desire. And what I don't." For some reason, Rayne decided that was probably true. Even now in the dimly lit hallway, with the odd tilt of her head, Sarah appeared more like an old woman of eighty rather than a fresh-faced eighteen.

  "Do you wish to talk about it?" he asked, knowing she would likely decline. Even at her young age, Sarah had secrets. Deep ones. And she would not confide about them to anyone but her brother. It was odd, certainly, but it seemed to fit her somehow. Just one more piece of the puzzle that was Sarah.

  For a moment, Rayne thought she might reconsider, but then she shook her head. "No. Not tonight. Tonight we should be happy, not sad." Yet she said the words as if the weight of the world was weighing upon her.

  Unable to stop himself, Rayne reached out and placed his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Remember, Sarah. I am your friend. You can tell me anything."

  For a brief moment, her hand strayed to her lower back, her fingers caressing the silken fabric of her gown. "Not...this." She shook her head. "I am sorry, Rayne. I am not usually so maudlin. Especially not at this time of the year. I think I am simply weary from my first Season, and now Mama is insisting that I dance at least once with Baron Hodge, even though Frost is well and truly opposed to that match. As am I. Truly, the man is a horror."

  "Surely he is not so bad," Rayne replied, reminded once again that though her age might be young, her soul was old. Likely far older than anyone at Fieldown.

  "A horror." She repeated as she shook her head once more. "However I don't wish to speak of him any longer. Especially not now when you require me to listen to all of your plans for your latest journey. Persia, isn't it?"

  Impressed that she had remembered, he nodded. "Exactly. Italy was wonderful, but I have always wished to see the desert and no one I know is leading an expedition to Egypt just yet. Or at least no one who will take me with them."

  Linking her arm through his, Sarah began to walk with him and once more, Rayne felt something shift inside of him. He wanted her. He could not have her. That was that, and tonight was not the night to burden her with those feelings. Tonight Rayne needed Sarah to listen. No one else listened to him the way she did. No one else understood that he wasn't this hardened man of three and twenty. No one else realized that his heart had been broken when his father had died and never really healed. No one but Sarah, that is.

  "Then we must delay our arrival at the ball and you can tell me all about it. I shall be ever so cross with you if you don't." There was a teasing light in her eyes and for a moment, she seemed almost happy. It was not perfect, but it was enough. For now, anyway.

  So for the better part of an hour, Rayne outlined all of his plans for his grand expedition to Persia and then the Orient after that. If they were late to his mother's ball, then so be it. Rayne was with Sarah. That was all that mattered to him. And it was likely all that ever would.

  Even if he were damned to Hell and back for the desire he felt for her, he would not change a thing. Sarah was his everything. Even if she could never really be his.

  Chapter One

  Late June 1820

  Chillton House

  London

  La
dy Sarah Tillsbury's feet barely touched the ground as she waltzed around her mother's London ballroom. In this very moment, she felt truly lighter than the air itself. In her mind's eye, she envisioned herself to be as delicate as one of the ballet dancers she had seen on stage several weeks past. Those women had been so utterly graceful and magical, and now as Sarah twirled in the Earl of Raynecourt's - otherwise known as Rayne - arms, Sarah imagined that she felt much as those dancers had when they pirouetted across the stage.

  Sarah had ventured out to the ballet, or rather the ballet d’action, with Rayne only to see for herself what he had been raving about ever since he had returned from the Continent and had regaled everyone who would listen with stories about ballet as an art form and not as part of the lower class opera that much of London's elite enjoyed on a regular basis. She had been skeptical at first, for often times, events that appealed to Rayne held very little attraction for anyone else given his notoriously scholarly ways. Even Sarah. In this case, she felt certain that the great Lord Brook Ellesmere Bexley was wrong in his effusive praise of the ballet as art. He had even narrowed his eyes at her when she had told him so, though she suspected that had more to do with her use of his full name than anything else.

  Rayne had not been wrong this time, much to Sarah's delight. In fact, if anything, he had not been effusive enough and now she was just as enamored of the dance as he was. Which was why as Rayne twirled her across the ballroom floor, Sarah's mind wandered back to those exquisite dancers and that magical night she had spent in Rayne's company. She only wished that she could have more of those nights - and far more often.

  Except that it could not and would not be. No matter how much she wished otherwise.