Mysterious Miss Channing
Ranford Series, Book 3
by Nadine Millard
Blue Tulip Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
MYSTERIOUS MISS CHANNING
Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD
ISBN: 978-1-942246-20-6
Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design
PROLOGUE
“GOD, I’M BORED,” VISCOUNT Charles Carrington, future Earl of Ranford, announced petulantly as he stood surveying the guests filling the ballroom of his family’s Mayfair townhouse.
The ton had converged en masse on their stylish mansion to celebrate the illustrious marriage of Lady Caroline Carrington, daughter of the Earl of Ranford, to Mr. Thomas Crawdon, cousin of the Duke of Hartridge.
Really, the marriage should have taken place two years ago, but his sister had been a stickler for propriety (meaning boring) and had been adamant that she would only marry a Peer (meaning snobbish).
Tom had been wonderful for Caroline. Loving him meant she was no longer snobbish and, given that she’d hightailed it to London in pursuit of him only weeks ago, she was clearly no longer boring.
Charles had known from the moment he’d seen them together that theirs was a sickeningly real and everlasting love. Not unlike that of Rebecca, his youngest tearaway of a sister, and her husband Edward, the duke himself.
That one was a bit of a shock, until you saw them together.
The four of them were enough to make anyone cast up their accounts. They were so happy.
Charles had noticed that Tom had practically dragged Caroline out the door of the mansion earlier with barely a civil goodbye. However, he refused to think on it any further since Caroline was his younger sister, and the reasons for a groom to drag his bride away on their wedding day were not lost on Charles.
It was hard to get away from it, however, since it was all anybody could talk about.
“Disgraceful behaviour,” came the voice of one older lady. “I had high hopes for that girl. He has been a terrible influence.”
“Yes,” came another wavering voice. “But he’s so handsome.”
“And what a reputation he had,” a much younger voice chimed in, one that grabbed Charles’s attention since it was husky and pleasant and the exact type of voice that usually piqued his interest.
“Indeed, Mrs. Campton.”
Ah, the voice was married. Not that that usually stopped him. After all, the ton was a veritable hotbed of dalliances between bored spouses and willing, unattached men.
He was most times willing and always unattached.
“Mrs. Campton,” he said now to Edward. “Do I know her?”
“The wife of Robert Campton, son of the Duke of Salton. A lovely woman.” Edward paused, and Charles, in his usual manner, immediately took lovely to mean attractive.
“Is she indeed?” he asked, his interest further piqued.
“Oh, yes. Very pleasant and exceedingly attached to Robert and their seven children.”
Charles felt his jaw drop.
“Seven? Good heavens. She did not sound old enough to be the mother of seven children.”
“Well, there she is now,” muttered Edward as a portly woman with a cheerful smile and ruddy complexion came into view. “Decide for yourself if she looks old enough. But I assure you, the mother of seven she is.”
Charles shrugged with nonchalance, his interest immediately fading. He had no interest in carrying on with somebody’s mother. Or seven somebodies for that matter. What was another woman, in any case? By and large, they were all the same.
And the ones who stood out were the ones who caused trouble. One only had to look at both his brothers-in-law for the truth in this statement. His younger sisters had caused untold problems for both Edward and Tom, and still they had both men wrapped round their respective fingers.
Charles was happy for them but had no wish to follow in their footsteps. He had made the silly mistake of falling for a woman’s false charms and protestations of love once before. He would never do so again.
Sighing rather self-pityingly, he wondered if he should take himself off to White’s to drown his sorrows.
Or perhaps a gambling den where the brandy flowed freely and the women were more than welcoming.
The bride and groom had left, after all. And his father would soon retire.
He frowned slightly as his ice-blue gaze took in his father’s countenance. The earl seemed older and sicker by the day, and the journey from their estate in Offaly, Ireland, had certainly taken the wind out of the old man’s sails.
Charles felt a niggling worry. He and his father had been at loggerheads for some years now, but Charles loved the earl, who was a kind and decent man.
His only fault, as far as Charles was concerned, was a determination to see his son return to rusticate in Ireland, awaiting the day that he became Earl of Ranford. The problem was that Charles was more than satisfied being a rich and responsibility-free viscount. Oh, he knew his duty. He just didn’t want to act on it.
The issue had caused many a headache for both men, but Charles grew guiltier by the day. His father did not need the added stress of worrying about his renegade son on top of his health issues. And yet, the thoughts of leaving the thriving, lively city of London for rural Ireland was enough to make him itch.
Try as he might, Charles could not shake his maudlin mood. The weight of guilt and responsibility did not lend itself to a jovial party spirit.
The evening, it seemed, would be a dead end. His mood was set and nothing would distract him from it.
His eyes swept the room a final time until a flash of deep, rich red caught his eye.
The companion.
Charles watched as Miss Channing did her level best to blend into the wall behind her. His eyes raked her from the top of her stunning hair, the colour of a fine claret, right down her breath-taking figure to the tips of her toes. Well, he couldn’t see her toes, he conceded. But they certainly weren’t the parts of her that were holding his attention anyway.
There was an air of vulnerability about her that tried desperately to tug at his heartstrings, but he refused to let it. His heartstrings would remain untugged by any woman ever again, he reminded himself fiercely.
He watched as she heaved a great sigh, shifting the bodice of her modest grey gown. Making his way slowly toward her, Charles felt the smile of the hunt begin to spread across his lips.
Miss Julia Channing. It would appear that something could distract him after all.
CHAPTER ONE
JULIA CHANNING SAT UP straighter and gazed at her surroundings, her green eyes sparkling with interest as she took in the passing countryside.
As she was sitting backwards in the luxurious carriage of the Dowager Duchess of Hartridge, she craned her neck round to see the passing scenery.
“My dear Julia,” the dowager chuckled. “You will hurt yourself quite badly straining your neck so. Come, sit by me. It will be easier to see.”
Julia smiled at her kindly employer and moved immediately to sit by her. Usually, a companion would never dare to presume that she should sit with a dowager duchess, but Her Grace had long since put Julia at ease
over such things.
In fact, she often said that Julia was more like a beloved niece than an employee. And she certainly did not treat Julia as a servant.
Julia had been with the dowager for over a year now, sixteen months in fact, and in that time she had settled into a life that she had never dreamed of having.
Ignoring Julia’s protestations at the start of her employment, Her Grace had insisted that Julia take one of the bedchambers on the family floor, a beautiful south-facing room decorated in palest yellows and gold. It was peaceful, elegant, and infinitely nicer than her own chamber had been at home.
As usual, whenever her thoughts skittered to her past, Julia ruthlessly pushed them away. No good could come of thinking of her home life and what she had left behind.
The dowager had gone about introducing Julia as dear Miss Channing, and although everyone was aware that Julia was a mere companion, the dowager’s introductions at parties and gatherings meant that she was treated more as a guest, only ignored by a slight few. Generally speaking, where a Hartridge led, people followed.
And Julia’s dance card was rarely left empty.
At first, Julia had refused to stand up with any of the gentlemen who paid attention to her; one, because it simply wasn’t done for a companion to act as a guest, and two, because she was desperately afraid that someone would recognise her.
Also, she had found to her disgust, that being neither titled nor well-connected seemed to make her fair sport for the overweight, over-eager, and frankly, disgusting gentlemen of the ton.
In fact, the first and only time Julia had shown her true character had been at Mrs. Beachamp’s soiree, where some earl or other had decided to take liberties, or at least tried to. What he had taken had been a slap across the face and the imprint of Julia’s slipper on his backside.
“Not long now,” chirped the dowager.
Julia smiled, glad Her Grace could not hear such unladylike thoughts, and continued with her musings.
It hadn’t taken long for Julia to realise that nobody she knew would be likely to be brushing shoulders with the upper echelons of Society that the Hartridge family reigned over.
Why, only a while ago, a cousin, albeit second or third, of the royal family had attended the dowager’s End of Season Ball.
Julia had been utterly awed by his presence when the dowager had introduced her to the royal duke. And though the man had barely glanced at her and had moved immediately to speak to Lady Rebecca and Lady Caroline, Julia had been thrilled. How far she’d come from the provincial town of Chilton!
He hadn’t been terribly handsome, quite the opposite in fact. But still, royalty!
And now, here she was, on her way to spend some time at Ranford Hall, the beautiful and sprawling Irish estate that was the seat of the Earl of Ranford.
Embarrassingly, Julia felt her breath hitch when she thought of the earl, Charles Carrington. Her mind darted to their last conversation, where he had laughed at the idea of her being a companion. Julia remembered well the flash of irritation at his amusement, but she remembered better the flash of something far more inappropriate at his flirtatious looks and wicked smile. The glint of interest in his ice blue eyes. And though their conversation had been mere minutes long, though she had politely refused his offer to dance and had spent the rest of the evening hiding behind a very conveniently situated plant, that meeting had played out in her mind more times than she cared to think about.
Which, she realised, wouldn’t make her sound altogether sane should she tell someone about it. And, actually, rather pathetic that she got more excitement from a three-minute conversation with a notorious rake than she had ever had in her life. But such was the path she had chosen and for good reason.
Charles had come into his title not long after Julia had first met him. A matter of weeks afterwards, in fact. Unfortunately, the late Lord Ranford had passed away two weeks after the wedding of his daughter, Lady Caroline.
As the carriage trundled along toward Ranford Hall, Julia gazed out at the winter afternoon, admiring the rich depth of evergreens interspersed with the bare branches of great oaks lining the road on which they travelled. She thought now of Lady Caroline’s sadness at the passing of her father with a familiar feeling of sympathy for her friend.
Julia had met Caroline at the London Docks, not the usual meeting place of two gently bred women. Julia had been there with a vague notion to flee from England, or more particularly, from her family, and Caroline had been there to find Tom. Their story had been terribly romantic and had led to Julia now having her position with the dowager.
Lady Caroline would have been quite ruined had word got out that she’d travelled to London alone. Julia, who had been unsure as to where she was going or what she was going to do, meaning only to remove herself from her old life as quickly as possible, had spotted Lady Caroline looking as lost and frightened as she herself had felt.
Julia had also spotted, to her terror, the group of foxed men who had begun to approach Caroline, so she had done her best to help, trying to lead them both from danger.
Fortunately, Mr. Crawdon had happened upon them then and rescued them both.
Julia had never seen two people so in love as Caroline and Tom, until she had met Caroline’s sister Rebecca and her husband Edward, Duke of Hartridge. Both couples were vastly besotted with each other and a joy to watch, if one discounted the pangs of envy that tended to pop up at the most inconvenient times.
After Tom’s rescue of Caroline and subsequent proposal, there had been much talk as to how to keep the scandal from becoming widely known. It was then that Julia had volunteered to say that she had travelled to London with Lady Caroline as a companion.
Since nobody in London Society would know her, it seemed the answer to all their problems. The dowager would claim that she had hired Julia for herself and had consented to let her travel with Caroline.
It was still slightly inappropriate, two females travelling alone together, but was infinitely better than Caroline being completely by herself. The dowager had insisted on actually hiring Julia for a few months at least, to make the story plausible, but after mere weeks she’d decided that she rather enjoyed having Julia around, and therefore the arrangement had been made permanent.
Julia had been vastly relieved and grateful. She had a roof over her head, money in her possession, since the dowager was a very generous employer, and she dearly hoped that after some years of saving, she would be able to afford a small house somewhere and live a quiet life by herself.
Of course, she would love nothing more than to fall in love and marry, but due to her past, she did not think that would be possible. Also, due to her urge to smack virtually every gentleman she’d had the misfortune to meet.
Stupidly, thinking of love brought her thoughts straight back to Charles Carrington. Julia stifled a sigh of frustration. She had met the man a mere handful of times, the last of which had been his sister’s wedding, and Julia knew, from watching him and from hearing of his reputation, that this was not a man to be trusted.
In fact, hadn’t it been at Caroline’s wedding that she’d seen two debutantes, one of whom was the daughter of a much-respected duke, engaged in fisticuffs that would have put most men to shame, because Charles Carrington had been filling both their ears with the exact same sweet nothings for the last few weeks? And then mixed their names up. Julia herself had gotten a none-too-gentle smack in the face, trying to pull them off each other.
So, yes, devilishly handsome he may be, charming he certainly was, but this was a man who had caused her to be slapped, for heaven’s sake! Albeit inadvertently.
He was dangerous. And very handsome. So she would disapprove of him in public and happily ogle him when nobody was looking.
They were coming onto the main drive to the house now, and Julia continued to be impressed.
The dowager had travelled to Ireland for the funeral of Charles’s father but had asked that Julia remain behind and oversee th
e packing up of the townhouse so that they may remove one of the duke’s country estates for the winter.
Julia had been happy to do so. She did not know the family well enough to intrude on such a private and grievous occasion. And although, selfishly, she would have liked to see Charles again, it was ridiculous and frankly dangerous to even think that way.
The carriage rolled on, and finally, Ranford Hall, which she had glimpsed through the trees, came into full view.
Julia gasped in delight at the beauty of the house before her, her mind finally distracted from thoughts of the darkly handsome earl.
The house stood slightly raised from the road on which they were travelling, the dome in the middle of the roof glinting in the afternoon sun. Built in the Palladian style, it was huge and beautiful, but somehow managed not to be ostentatious. Julia felt less intimidated by it than she had the duke’s country estate, which was odd, since in size they were very similar.
The dowager sighed contentedly beside her.
“I do so love coming here,” she said now to Julia. “You will be hard pressed to find grounds more beautiful, I think. And of course, the countess is such a dear friend. I believe we shall be very happy here. And when the others arrive, it will be glorious.”
“They will miss the late earl very much though, will they not?” asked Julia quietly. She had become good friends with Caroline, and indeed the duchess, Lady Rebecca, and she knew how much their dear father’s death had affected them.
“Yes, of course,” answered the dowager, and Julia noticed the sadness in that lady’s eyes too. The Carringtons had, after all, been lifelong friends of the duchess and her own late husband. “We all shall. And they felt his death keenly. But I believe our presence will help raise the countess’s spirits. And they will be out of mourning dress now, which helps. ‘Tis so very depressing being in black all the time. Besides, if Henry and the twins cannot keep the countess occupied, not to mention Rebecca’s lying in, which is fast approaching, I do not know what will.”
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 1
