Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  Undone By The Earl

  Elizabeth Rue

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Rue

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  * * *

  Cover Design and Interior Format by

  The Killion Group, Inc.

  For Sam

  Prologue

  Somerset, England 1810

  Anna Colbrook watched from the sitting room window as Mr. George Harley’s carriage left Wareton Manor. The sound of the wheels crunching against the gravel drive faded along with her dreams—dreams of finally having a home of her own and a husband she might grow to love.

  From the moment they’d met, Anna had been attracted to Mr. Harley’s gentle smile and wry humor. Other gentlemen had quickly lost interest in her when they learned of her modest inheritance, but not him. And though they’d known each other only a few weeks, she hadn’t been surprised when he’d proposed. Finally, she would have a chance at happiness. She could experience the joy of affection deepening into love.

  And she could escape the despair of Wareton Manor.

  But after speaking with the earl for only a few minutes, Mr. Harley had stormed out of the manor without a word.

  After watching his carriage leave, Anna forced back tears and strode into the study.

  Within, Alfred Sinclair, fifth Earl of Wareton, hunched behind his enormous desk. The candles in the room were unlit, the curtains drawn, and the coal fire glowed feebly. The dim light deepened the shadows on his ashen face.

  "Your Mr. Harley was most displeased with my refusal,” Lord Wareton rasped. “And most surprised." His dark eyes, sunken beneath bushy gray brows, looked almost cheerful.

  Anna marched to the desk. Her stomach rolled at the stench that surrounded him: stale perspiration mixed with the sharp, alcohol scent of laudanum.

  "Why did you refuse him?" she demanded, forcing herself to speak calmly.

  Her mother had been the earl’s daughter-in-law, his son Gerard’s second wife. In the years since her mother and stepfather’s deaths, the earl had rarely let a day pass without reminding Anna how much he resented her presence in his home. She had believed that he would welcome her marrying. And when he unexpectedly allowed her a season in London—at last—she had hoped he might care just a bit for her after all.

  The glee in his eyes now made it clear that she’d been a fool.

  "You assumed I would agree," he said, "but you should know better.” The high-backed chair creaked as he leaned forward. He’d grown so stooped over the past several years that the worn spot in the wood where he’d rested his head for decades was now several inches above his bent head.

  She gripped the edge of the desk. "Why?"

  "Because I am old. And ill. While you have been off enjoying yourself these past weeks, I have been considering what will happen after my death." He straightened as much as his crooked back would allow. "I want you to care for your stepsister.”

  "You know I would never abandon Madeline! She could come live with me—"

  “She is the granddaughter of an earl. She belongs here, not in some pitiful manor no bigger than my stables.” He began to cough, a dry hacking that made him tremble. He still managed to choke out, "Mr. Harley’s home would have been well enough for you, but not for Madeline."

  Of what use was a huge manor when it was so cold and so lacking in love? Mr. Harley’s home would have been the warmest home Madeline had ever known. But Anna knew better than to speak such thoughts aloud.

  Instead, she forced herself to say calmly, "I am old enough to marry without your permission.”

  "You are." His coughing subsided, and he wiped spittle from his mouth with the sleeve of his black coat. "If you can find a gentleman who will have you now."

  Her mouth went dry. "What do you mean?"

  "I have settled the terms of your inheritance,” he said. “Now, if you marry before your stepsister, you forfeit everything. I’ve also ensured that when I die, Horace or—God forbid something befalls Horace, if that wastrel Adrian should inherit—neither of my nephews can undo it.”

  She gripped the desk tighter, ignoring the pain in her fingers. “That was my mother’s money,” she said, “intended for me.”

  “Yes, and she gave me the care of it. We both know your inheritance is all you have to bring to a marriage. You have no rank, no great connections.” He leaned back in his chair and tapped his gaunt fingers together. “So you will stay here, unless you can find a man who will marry you with nothing.”

  A man who would marry her with no money?

  Even her mother, beautiful as she was, was married for her money. Twice.

  Finding Mr. Harley, a gentleman who wanted her despite her modest dowry, was a miracle enough. But he could not likely afford to marry her with nothing. If she were forced to wait until Madeline married, she’d be at least twenty-seven—hopelessly on the shelf.

  Her face grew hot. "But Madeline is only twelve—”

  "It is only six years until she is out. Not likely much longer until she marries.” He spoke with the same cold, bored tone he used when he ordered her to change the dinner menu or have a carriage brought round. “You have enjoyed many advantages living here, advantages far above your birth. Is it so unreasonable that you stay to care for her?"

  “I shall always care for her,” she said, “as long as she needs me, whether I am married or not. I only want a home of my own!”

  His pale lips twitched into a horrible smile. “My dear, your home is here.”

  For years, she’d longed to hear those words from him. Now he had finally spoken them, but to imprison her.

  Suddenly, she wanted to scream at him all the things she never dared, and to lift the heavy paperweight close to her hand and hurl it at his miserable face. Years ago, she’d given up hope of ever winning his affection. But she never thought that he despised her enough to crush all her dreams.

  From the hallway behind her Anna heard sounds of arguing and the scuffing of feet on the floor.

  “Anna!” a girl’s voice called out. “Sophie will not let me come in—” More muffled arguing followed.

  Madeline.

  Fresh anger surged through Anna. If not for Madeline, she’d be free to marry—

  She forced the thought away. No, Madeline was only a child. It was not her fault. Only Lord Wareton’s.

  And if Madeline learned what had happened, if she knew why her grandfather was forcing Anna to stay, it would break Madeline’s heart. Madeline had already known far too much sorrow
in her short lifetime.

  And now, Madeline was all Anna had left.

  Anna glared at Lord Wareton. The miserable wretch had won. And he knew it. She couldn’t bear to look at him a moment longer.

  She turned and strode from the study, nearly running into Madeline waiting outside the door. Madeline’s black braids were mussed and one of the snowy ribbons undone. Sophie, her white cap and apron crooked, held Madeline by one arm.

  “I tried to keep her away, miss,” Sophie whispered.

  “Why did Mr. Harley leave?” Madeline pulled free from Sophie and grasped Anna’s sleeve. “Will there not be a wedding?”

  “No,” Anna said, “there will be no wedding.”

  Sophie shook her head and turned away. She stood with her back to them, her apron raised to her face.

  “Why not?” Madeline frowned. “Does Grandfather not like him?”

  Anna reached out and began retying the satin ribbon in Madeline’s hair. Her hands trembled, and it took her two tries to make a proper bow.

  “Is it because I was not friendlier when he first arrived?” Madeline lowered her gaze. “It was just… He was going to take you away and it was so sudden. But it was wrong of me. I like him, truly I do.”

  She is just a child, Anna reminded herself, a child who needed her desperately.

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Anna said.

  “Do you not like Mr. Harley?”

  “I do.” Anna smoothed Madeline’s braid. “But I will stay here with you.”

  Madeline frowned. “But when will you marry?”

  “I do not know.” Anna forced a smile. “Perhaps not until you are married first.”

  Sophie, her back still turned, sniffled loudly.

  “Truly?” Madeline’s face brightened and she threw her arms around Anna. “Then we could have a season together! I wish I were eighteen now. I wish it were not so far away.”

  Once again, Anna fought back tears, and she forced herself to hug Madeline back.

  Soon Lord Wareton would be gone. No matter how old she was, no matter how difficult he’d made it for her, Anna vowed that one day she would marry.

  The miserable old wretch wouldn’t win in the end.

  1

  Somerset, England 1816

  Adrian Sinclair, seventh Earl of Wareton, had enjoyed more pleasant meals while camped in a muddy battlefield with rain battering his leaky tent and a bayonet wound throbbing in his side. The bread had been stale and the cheese moldy, but at least the company had been warm. Here at Wareton Manor, it was quite the opposite.

  He savored a mouthful of exceptionally good red wine as he looked across the linen-draped table.

  “Improvements?” Miss Anna Colbrook lowered her fork to her plate, a bite of roasted pheasant untouched on the end. “What do you mean?” It was the most she’d said to him since his arrival that afternoon.

  “The design of the orchards is outdated,” he said, setting down his wineglass, “and while the grounds are well kept, some areas need enhancements.”

  “Enhancements?” She frowned at him as if he were saying something impossible. Was that to be the extent of her conversation, to repeat everything he said back to him?

  “How do you find your dinner, Lord Wareton?” Madeline said quickly.

  Adrian turned his gaze to his cousin. At least she was friendly. He’d been worried about meeting his new ward, but he was relieved to discover she was sweet-tempered and diplomatic—nothing at all like her stepsister.

  “Everything is delicious,” he said. As he enjoyed a bite of pheasant, he was forced to admit that the food was far better than at his home at Eastgate. Even so, he looked around the table at the members of his new household and wished he were back at Eastgate, lounging in his study with a good book and a mediocre dinner in peaceful solitude.

  He hadn’t lived with a female since he was orphaned at thirteen. His sister, Cecelia, had been put in the care of their aunt, while he and his brother, Edmund, had gone to live with an elderly uncle. Boarding school and a bachelor’s existence in London had taken up much of his life before the military, and since returning home, he’d lived alone except for the intermittent company of his brother. Suddenly, along with unexpectedly inheriting an earldom, he was the head of a household of four female relations. A disorienting situation to say the least.

  “Adrian,” his aunt, Lady Carlton, said, “your sister, cousin, and her stepsister require new wardrobes.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “We must get started immediately,” Lady Carlton said.

  “Whatever you wish,” he said. He was depending on his aunt to manage such matters.

  “I shall have new ball gowns made,” his sister Cecelia said, smiling across the table at Madeline. “One in burgundy with satin—”

  “Burgundy?” Lady Carlton said from beside Cecelia. “I think not.”

  “But why?” Cecelia’s pale blue eyes narrowed, and she fidgeted with her fork.

  “You are only nineteen,” Lady Carlton said. “You will look like a jezebel.”

  Adrian sighed. Cecelia and Lady Carlton had grown so alike that they now looked more like daughter and mother than niece and aunt. They had always resembled each other in their fair coloring, but now they also shared mannerisms. When annoyed, Cecelia mimicked his aunt’s hair toss, the arrogant tilting of her head that practically pointed her nose to the ceiling, and even the way her nostrils flared when she felt truly put out. She hadn’t yet developed Lady Carlton’s terrifying scowl—Cecelia still pouted petulantly instead—but he feared it was only a matter of time.

  Poor Cecelia. He blamed himself as much as his aunt. After observing his sister and Lady Carlton together for the past few days on the journey to Wareton, it had become clear that leaving Cecelia in their aunt’s care for so long had been a mistake. An enormous mistake.

  Yet another failure to add to the horribly long list he’d accumulated during years wasted in selfish indulgence.

  But no more. All that would—had already—changed. He was an earl now, and he had great responsibilities that he had every intention of living up to.

  He would see the estate prosper. And fulfill his family duty by seeing Cecelia, Madeline—and even Miss Colbrook, if he could—married off. As soon as possible. He would then be able to manage his new estate without distraction.

  His aunt inspected Madeline and Miss Colbrook from across the table. Madeline glanced at Lady Carlton nervously, but Miss Colbrook ignored her and continued to eat.

  “You, Miss Colbrook,” Lady Carlton said, “need the most improvement. To begin with, we must lower your necklines. I will select new styles—”

  “Thank you, but I can choose my own gowns,” Miss Colbrook said.

  Lady Carlton frowned. “Nonsense. You need my help. Far more than the others.” She eyed Miss Colbrook’s gown critically. In his aunt’s view, anything but the latest fashions and one might as well be wearing sackcloth.

  The offending gown was plain, high-necked, and a pale blue—several years out of fashion but still quite acceptable. It was the type of gown a woman wore when she didn’t wish to draw attention to herself, neither too shabby nor too stylish. Miss Colbrook’s chestnut-red hair was likewise pulled back into a simple, unadorned knot, except for a few loose strands that she was constantly tucking behind her ears.

  But the simplicity of her dress did nothing to disguise her beauty. Indeed, if she had been wearing sackcloth, he’d still know she had a stunning figure. He recalled her curves quite well from her time in London years earlier. Likely because her appearance was usually the only pleasant thing about her.

  “Miss Colbrook,” Lady Carlton said, “I must insist. We must improve your wardrobe if we are to find you a husband. Do you not agree, Adrian?”

  Four sets of female eyes looked to him.

  He glanced from his aunt’s stern face to Miss Colbrook’s even graver one and quickly took an enormous bite of herbed potatoes. He chewed slowly, shrugging n
oncommittally. As he’d hoped, his aunt continued

  “I shall brook no refusal,” Lady Carlton said, turning back to Miss Colbrook. “You must allow me to help you.”

  “You are too kind,” Miss Colbrook said, “but surely your efforts would be better spent on Madeline and Miss Cecelia.”

  “Adrian,” Lady Carlton said, “do you not agree that Miss Colbrook needs my guidance?” Unfortunately, this time his aunt waited for him to finish his bite of food.

  “Not if she does not want it,” he said.

  Miss Colbrook’s eyes widened, as if she’d not expected him to defend her. Madeline and Cecelia stopped eating, both watching the exchange with great interest.

  “She is of an age that she can make her own decisions,” he added.

  A sudden pain shot through his temple, likely the beginning of another headache. He’d never suffered from headaches until a few days ago. He was weary from traveling and had no wish to be caught in the middle of their argument. Miss Colbrook’s appearance was certainly not the reason she remained unmarried. More likely it was her icy personality.

  “Miss Colbrook,” Cecelia said softly, “I think your dress is quite lovely. The color suits—”

  “Do not lie, Cecelia.” Lady Carlton said, scowling. “And stop fidgeting like a child. Your manners this evening are disgraceful. I can only imagine what your cousins think.”

  “Surely, none of us could claim perfection,” Madeline said, forcing a smile.

  Lady Carlton sniffed. “I am always most exacting about such matters.”

  “Of course, Lady Carlton,” Miss Colbrook said, “some of us come far closer to perfection in manners than others.”

  “Indeed.” Lady Carlton nodded curtly, clearly taking her words as a compliment. Adrian had no doubt that Miss Colbrook meant quite the opposite. Foxed as he’d often been when he’d encountered Miss Colbrook in the past, he could still clearly recall many of her put-downs.

  Miss Colbrook met his stare. “Lord Wareton,” she said, “will you be replacing any of the staff?”