Loving a Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Aria Norton

  "You will just have to learn his weaknesses, brother."

  "You don't understand, Abby. If I don't win this election, we are ruined! I've spent most of Father's inheritance on the last two campaigns, and what have I got to show for it? Nothing! We'll both be living with Mother and Aunt Beatrice by year's end if I can't turn this around." Joshua sat down and poured himself a drink, taking a long swig before he continued.

  "I don't think I have what it takes to be a success in the political arena. I'm not like you."

  Abigail knelt before her brother and took the drink from his hands. His depressive moods only became worse when he drank. She set the glass on the side table and took both his hands in hers. "Joshua. I believe in you. And you know I am here to help you in whatever way I can. We will figure it out together, I promise." He smiled down at her and gave her hands a light squeeze.

  "I have always known I can count on you. I'm sorry for my temper. I know it must be beastly for you, with all the stress of running the household and trying to help me keep my career afloat."

  "I would not want to be anywhere else. You know that. Through thick and thin, I am with you, brother."

  He sighed as she let go of his hands and sat down in her chair again. They stared into the flames crackling away in the fireplace for a moment, a companionable pause stretching between them. The rain started coming down even harder, pounding on the rooftop. It was one of her favorite sounds in the world.

  "I should never have listened to Father, no matter how he railed at me. I'm not cut out for this life," Joshua whispered. Abigail's heart broke for him. He had always dreamed of going into the church, a profession for which he would have been much better suited. He was much more concerned with people's spiritual needs than gaining their favor so they would vote for him.

  Politics drained him of his energy, rather than exciting him as it did for Abigail. They had both disappointed their father, their personalities not matching his expectations. Joshua was the quiet, docile one, where she was passionate and headstrong. It was too bad they could not switch places.

  "Everything will be fine. You'll see. We will transform you into a first-rate politician if it's the last thing I do!"

  He laughed. "My sister. Ever the optimist." Shaking his head, he stood. "I should change for dinner. Thank you, Abby, for trying to cheer me up. I don't know what I would do without you."

  She nodded as he left the room. She called for Mazzie and had her take the unfinished glass of Scotch to the kitchen. Abigail took the liquor bottle back to the study and replaced it on the drink cart. If only she could run for office in her brother's place, then all would be well. Knowing that the stress of losing the house and their livelihood weighed heavily on her brother's shoulders, she had taken to making small economies here and there.

  Their financial status was not looking good, although she tried to keep this fact from her brother as much as possible. He did not need even more bad news to worry him. With the election looming only six months away, the prime minister's assassination, and the upheaval of the war with Napoleon, Joshua was in for a bumpy ride.

  Abigail went back out into the parlor to tidy it up before dinner. Joshua soon rejoined her, and they talked about his day at the office. "You've heard about the Prime Minister, no doubt?"

  "Yes, how awful! His poor family, they must be devastated." Abigail's heart went out to Mrs. Perceval and their twelve children. She could not imagine raising twelve children on her own.

  "Everyone is reeling. The government wants a swift trial and an end to it all. With the war still on, we need to set in the new Prime Minister as soon as possible."

  "Perhaps you can run for the post. That would solve all of our financial difficulties," Abigail teased.

  Joshua laughed. "Only in our dreams would I become Prime Minister, sister."

  Chapter 3

  Instead of going straight home, Thomas made his way to his fiancé’s house as the sun was setting, a light spring shower greeting him as he exited the gaming house. The rain picked up, however, as he made his way down the street. Wishing he had hailed a hackney, he pulled up his coat collar and wrapped his arms around his waist to ward off the chill.

  His only worry was for Sarah's safety, though. He had to be sure that Harold's words were unfounded. It was true that Sarah was the most beautiful woman in London, and would therefore be hard to mistake for someone else. However, Harold would have had the gall to play a nasty trick on him as well. The only other alternative was that what Harold claimed was genuine. Thomas could hardly bear to think about that now.

  When he arrived at the Thorne mansion, his clothes were soaked through. He must have looked like a drowned rat, with his hair slickly pasted to his brow. It took a moment for the butler to recognise him.

  "Good evening, Smithers. It's me, Lord Brampton."

  "Oh, good heavens! Please come in, sir!" Smithers exclaimed. He went to tell the Lord and Lady of the house that he was there, leaving him to stand dripping on the foyer's expensive rug.

  Thomas sniffed and stood as still as possible so as not to soak down anything else. Lord Thorne came out of his study a moment later, looking distraught.

  "I am sorry for calling so late, sir, and for dripping all over your carpets…"

  "Nonsense, my boy. Come in and warm yourself." Lord Thorne seemed to be distracted, not even noticing that Thomas was standing in a small puddle in his foyer.

  "No, thank you. I would not leave a water stain on Lady Thornes good chairs. I wanted to come and speak with Lady Sarah, if it is agreeable."

  He looked around for Sarah, hoping that she would appear at the sound of his voice.

  Lord Thorne shook his head. "I think you had better come in. We've just received the most dreadful news."

  Thomas' heart sank, fearing that Withesby's cruel words were valid after all. "What has happened, sir? I cannot bear to be kept in the dark another minute."

  Sarah's father sighed heavily. "You have heard then. I'm afraid it's all too true. Sarah has run away with Sir Filmore."

  The words fell like a judge's gavel. The hall started spinning, reeling as he tried to take it all in. "No…" he whispered, halting in his tracks. "It can't be true. Sarah would never do this to me, to her family." It was all too much.

  "I'm afraid it is, son." Lord Thorne put his hand on Thomas' shoulder in a familial gesture. He led him into the study where Sarah's mother was sitting before the desk, weeping. She stood when she heard Thomas and her husband enter the room. When she realised Thomas had come, she went to him and took his hands.

  "Oh, Lord Brampton!" She squeezed his hands, and he looked down at her glumly. "Have you heard the news?"

  "I have, Madam. I am shocked, to say the least," Thomas replied, wishing that he could leave and never look back. He felt as if his chest was laid bare, his heart vulnerable for the whole world to see. How could Sarah do this to him?

  "As we all are! I assure you, this is not the way I have raised my daughter. I shall never speak to her again!" Lady Thorne went back to her seat and sank into the chair, holding a handkerchief to her nose. "She has treated all of us abominably ill. Most of all you!"

  Thomas could not argue with her on that point. Sarah had broken faith with him in the worst way possible - by running away with another man. Even so, he was angrier with Sir Filmore than Sarah. She was an impressionable young woman, and not the best judge of character. No doubt Filmore had used that to his advantage as he had tempted her away from him and her family's protection.

  Thomas must focus on something else other than his roiling emotions, though. Perhaps there was still time to save her from her disastrous decision. "Where is she now?"

  Her mother let out a sob. "We don't know."

  "She left this letter, with no clue as to where they were going. I've been to Filmore's home and his servants have no idea where they have gone either. I don't know if they are protecting him or if he simply didn't tell them. Here," he held out a letter. "She wrote us this
letter and left it on her mantel in her room. She was gone before her maid went up this morning."

  Thomas took the offered missive and scanned its contents. She had been vague about where they were going, merely stating that they were leaving the city to elope. Sarah was nineteen and would have still needed her father's permission to marry if they had done so in the conventional way. The fact that she had betrayed Thomas on top of it was unforgivable.

  "Find her for me." Lady Thorne took his hand and made him walk around her chair so that he was facing her.

  "I don't know what I can do, Lady Thorne. She is out of my reach now."

  "Please, Thomas. You know her. She is not the mastermind of this plan. You are in Sir Filmore's circle, are you not? He will have to come back to London at some point, with his political career on the line."

  "I thought you said you would never speak to her again? What good would it do to find her now? She has made her choice."

  "She is my only child, Lord Brampton," she said softly. "Although I cannot welcome her into my home, I want to know if she is well. I must know that she is safe."

  Thomas nodded, wanting the same. He had been in love with Sarah since she was fifteen, waiting years until she was of marriageable age. Now Filmore had taken the only woman he had ever loved from him. He owed it to the Thornes to find out whatever he could about Sarah's whereabouts.

  "I will do what I can, Lord and Lady Thorne. I make no promises, but I will try." His mind reeling, he had no idea where to start to try and track the wayward couple down. He supposed he could go to Filmore's house and try to pry information out of his staff.

  "That is all we ask, Lord Brampton. Thank you." Lady Thorne looked as if she had aged ten years in the space of a day. What she was going through, he could not even fathom. To be a parent of a child who had vanished, even to a grown woman, must be terrifying.

  Lord Thorne saw him out. "I can't tell you how sorry I am, my boy." He placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed. "I was looking forward to having you as my son-in-law."

  Thomas shook his head. "I was looking forward to it as well. Goodbye, sir. I'll let you know if I can find anything."

  "Thank you."

  Thomas hurried home, hailing a cab this time. He was grumpy from everything that had transpired and from being soaked to the bone.

  "This letter came for you, My Lord," the butler said as Thomas walked through the door. The butler held out the silver tray on which the letter was resting and helped Thomas off with his coat. He took the note and went straight up to his room to change out of his sodden clothes.

  The letter was in Sarah's hand, and it smelled of her perfume. Intrigued, he opened the message, wondering if she would give him any further explanation than she had given her parents. He sat down on the lounge chair near the hearth and began to read.

  My dearest Thomas,

  It is with a heavy heart that I write this news to you…

  Thomas snorted derisively. He doubted her heart was heavy in the slightest.

  I have long wanted to tell you of my true feelings towards you. Do not think that I am ungrateful for the many years of devotion you have bestowed upon me. You have always been kind and generous, and for that I commend you. However, over the last month, I have realised what it means to fall head over heels for someone. Please forgive me for what I am about to do. I must break the promise I gave to you. You will think me impulsive and foolish, perhaps, but I must go where my heart is leading me.

  Sir Ezra Filmore and I are going to be married. He has asked me to go away with him to elope. I am deeply sorry for any pain this news may cause you. Ours was a match of convenience, where my match with Filmore is that of the heart.

  Thomas paused at this, blindsided. He has always thought she returned his feelings for her. Had she been pretending the whole time to please her parents? Had he been deceived by her smiles and blushes for the last four years? What a fool he had been! He continued reading, the rage building inside him.

  The last favor I would ask is that you keep what I am about to write a secret. Filmore and I have eloped to Brighton. Please do not tell Mama and Papa. I know that Papa will not understand why I have gone against his wishes to marry Filmore. I daresay no one will understand. We will be back in London soon. I will explain everything to my parents then.

  Finally, I must say again that I am sorry for the haste in which I write this letter. I wanted you to know the truth from my own words and not those of my father. Goodbye, Thomas.

  Sincerely,

  Sarah

  Thomas crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire as he finished reading. He stood and paced before the hearth, still in his damp clothes. A guttural roar boiled out of his belly, echoing throughout the chamber. He went to the table in the middle of the room, sweeping everything onto the floor. A great crash ensued as a vase full of flowers shattered, water splashing everywhere. He stood there panting for several minutes, his heart breaking with rage and disappointment. How could she betray him like this? How could he have been so wrong about her?

  He rang for his valet and then sat down again, holding his head in his hands. When the man opened the door and saw the mess, he sucked in a breath. "Are you well, My Lord?"

  His valet began picking pieces of the vase up.

  "Leave it," Thomas instructed. "I need to change. One of the maids can clean that up in the morning."

  His valet gave him a sideways look. What if he got up in the middle of the night and cut up his feet? However, he did not argue with his master. "Of course, sir."

  He changed quickly into his nightshirt, handing over his wet things to be laundered.

  "Shall I have the cook send up a tray for you, My Lord?"

  "No, thank you. I am going to bed, Fetters. Good night."

  "Good night, sir." His valet left the room, gingerly stepping over the shards of glass and flowers strewn about the floor. Thomas did not care that the floor was a mess and would probably ruin the carpets. He climbed into bed, soul-tired.

  He had been so looking forward to being a husband. Since his parents' death a few years earlier, he had been so lonely. He and Sarah were supposed to build a life together, a family. She had taken that away from him now with her selfishness.

  However, wasn't it better to know her true feelings before they had been married? Still, he would have wished that she had had the courage to tell him face-to-face rather than sneak away in the dead of night. All the dreams he had built up over the last few years had come crumbling to the ground.

  Turning over onto his side, his face reflected the flickering flames of the fire, his face turning an ominous orange in the low light. "As God as my witness, I will have my revenge."

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Abigail awoke early. Much of the housework fell on her shoulders since they had only one maid, a cook, and a hall boy in their employ. She was unsure if they would have the means to afford her maid and the hall boy for much longer.

  If their situation did not change soon, they would have to let them go elsewhere to find employment. Joshua's career was failing; there was no doubt about that. If only he put a little more study into what the common man was facing. He would connect with the voters in his constituency all the better for it.

  Although they had not grown up in wealthy circumstances, they had enjoyed a comfortable upbringing. Joshua had no idea what the poor were battling. Unbeknownst to her brother, Abigail had disguised herself in his clothes and visited some of the city's poor districts. He would have been livid had he known that she had put herself in such danger.

  However, no one had even paid her mind. Blending in with the poor as she walked the streets, she had been sick at what she had witnessed. Some barely had the means to survive, let alone thrive. Children roamed the streets, dirty and dressed in rags. Some of them begged on the corners, various illnesses and disabilities enfeebling them.