Earl of Bergen: Wicked Regency Romace (Wicked Earls' Club Book 15)

by Anna St. Claire

  The Earl of Bergen

  Anna St. Claire

  Lauren Harrison

  Copyright © 2019 by Anna St. Claire

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Heather King

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  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.

  For those willing to see the ‘possibilities’ and take a chance on love and happiness ever after…

  And to those that support them.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Preview The Earl of Charm

  Chapter 1

  Stony Stratford, England

  1817

  Deuced tired of travelling in the freezing wet weather, Lord Thomas Bergen urged his horse onto High Street in the direction of one of the baiting houses. The journey home had been especially tedious this time, thanks to the nasty weather. He should have expected it, so close to Christmas. It was lucky that it had not started snowing. The skies seemed to threaten that very misfortune.

  His horse stopped, prompting him to make a choice. “You know me too well, my girl.” He sniggered and patted her neck. The two inns he patronized stood almost next door to each other—both offered pleasurable entertainment and a hearty meal; he had enjoyed many a good time at both.

  Noise accompanied a couple of over-served men as they were tossed through the door of the Bull Inn into the road in front of him, thus making his decision for him.

  “Ah…the Bull Inn seems to be lively tonight. ’Tis exceedingly tempting, but somewhat more than I am ready to take on tonight.” He laughed out loud, as if conversing with his mare. “It will be the Cock Inn for me this night, Merry.” With that, he patted his horse and nudged her towards a post outside the inn. At his approach, a young ostler straightened from a position against the wall and he handed the reins over. Fishing in his waistcoat pocket, Bergen withdrew a shilling for the groom. “Take good care of Merry, and I will match this in the morning. What is your name, lad?”

  “Perry, my lord,” the young man answered, taking the proffered reins. “I’ll do an especially fine job with her—I’ll rub her down, and feed her, and I’ll make sure she gets a warm blanket.”

  Bergen chuckled. “I’m sure you will. Is there anyone here who could check her shoes? We stumbled over a rut in the road a few miles ago, and I noticed her gait was uneven for a while afterward. She may need a hind one replaced or tightened.”

  “Certainly, my lord. Smitty is still here and will be happy to look her over for you.”

  “Thank you, lad. Merry will give you no trouble.” He patted his dappled grey mare and grabbed his saddle-bag. He had thought the journey would take only a day, but the weather had considerably mired the road. A good night’s sleep for both of them would be just the ticket.

  Loud music, raucous singing and the smell of mutton assailed him upon entering the inn. His stomach reacted quickly, growling loudly. Yes, I will feel better shortly, he thought to himself. A hearty meal and a good night’s sleep would feel wonderful.

  The innkeeper and his wife—a short round man and an almost matching woman—greeted him. “Good evening, my lord. How can we serve ye?”

  “I need a room and a good meal.” Bergen smiled in anticipation.

  “Do ye think ye be staying more than a night?”

  “Just tonight, thank you.” Bergen looked towards the tap-room and surveyed the merriment. It would be the wee hours of the morning before that settled down. “Do you have a room available which is not over the main room down here?”

  “Certainly, we do, my lord. Would ye like your meal and a hot bath brought up for ye, my lord?” the missus asked. Without giving him a moment to respond, she continued, “We be serving lamb stew and I made fruit cake special for tonight. ’Tis the Christmas season, after all, and we are starting to do some of our cooking. Lamb be my husband’s favourite dish, isn’t that right, William?” She gently nudged him with her elbow.

  The innkeeper started. “Yes, yes, dearest wife.” He coughed and stood straighter. “Lord Bergen, it is good to see ye. It has been too long.”

  “Thank you. It is good to see you and your wife looking so well.” He smiled at the wife. “And lamb is also my favourite dish, so ’tis a lucky thing for me that I stopped here this night.” The innkeeper’s wife smiled broadly at his remarks.

  “Did Lord Weston come with ye?” The innkeeper walked to the door and glanced out.

  “No, Lord Weston is not with me on this occasion.” Bergen was not sure where this was going but appreciated that the man seemed to like both Edward and him. Maybe the room would be decent. The last time they had stayed here there had been live female entertainment…all night. A smile tugged at his mouth at the memory. The girl had been a pretty one—he could not recall her name, but he could easily recollect the low cut of her gown.

  “Yes, well, Lord Weston is probably just returning from his honeymoon.” He glanced down at his muddy boots and frowned. “I am making a bit of a mess in the entrance, here. A bath would be most welcome, thank you. I will then take my meal in the private dining room, providing there is a table available.”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. There is a table available in our private parlour. Ye will not have to suffer the insolence of those in the tap-room. My missus will show ye to your room.”

  A tub of hot water was just what he needed, he thought, as he undressed in the quiet room overlooking the coach-house. It was a simple room—single bed, a wooden stand with a sink and a chair. A large single-sash curtained window was on the wall next to the bed. The dark shabby grey curtains did not add much ambiance to the room. There was a full moon out tonight and the light of the moon would be preferable to the darkness of the room, he thought. He wished he had thought to open them before settling into the tub. The innkeeper’s wife had thoughtfully sent him sandalwood soap with the clean towels. He eased further down into the water and closed his eyes, happy to empty his mind of all thoughts. Before many minutes had passed, however, loud female and male laughter, accompanied by raucous singing, drifted in through the window, which he suddenly realized was cracked open behind that set of shabby grey curtains. He sunk further into the warm tub and found himself following a strange conversation. He could smell the smoke from a campfire and imagined that there must be one in a clearing in the wood behind the inn. I will look when I finish my bath. The voices were carrying clearly on the night air, despite the distance.

  “I swear, ’tis that cursed donkey. Ever since we picked him up, bad things have happened. He goes no further,” a deep male voice bellowed above the laughter.

  “You’re just blaming your shortcomings on the donkey. He isn’t to blame for your inadequacy,” a female responded with a loud cackle.

  “Woman, I’m done with you. Leave me. Go
mind the children. You know what I am talking about. I have not been able to sell a single horse; and I am not the only one who is noticing the bad luck. That donkey is cursed and he’s spreading it among us.”

  “The donkey is a baby.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! We got him and we lost the horses we were going to trade. His braying and…singing scared them off.” A loud mimic of a donkey braying to ‘Rock-a-bye baby’ followed. Loud laughter erupted.

  “I ’ave never seen a singing donkey before,” a loud husky voice added with a hoot. “The women love him.”

  “The amulet around his neck is evil. I tell you, the donkey is cursed,” the deep male voice thundered.

  “Well, the horses did disappear, but that was because the gate was left open. Donkey had nothing to do with…”

  “What are you talking about? We never leave the gates open. Never. I do not care…that thing around his neck…has magic. He is cursed. We leave him. That is the end of this discussion.”

  Bergen could hear female voices speaking in a soothing and sing-song fashion yet could not make out anything else beyond their laughter. His bath water had grown cold, so he rinsed his face and stood up. The stream of cold night air that had offered him so much entertainment moments ago, now created almost quaking shivers. Quickly, Bergen dried himself on a towel and dressed. He needed his dinner. A singing donkey? A cursed singing donkey? What do these people drink? He needed some of that, he mused, as the foolish questions formed in his head, and then…a good night’s sleep. He went to shut the window when a soft singing captured his attention. Instead, he pulled a frayed cane chair from beside the door to the window and doused his light, and instantly found himself drawn to the fire-lit images of eight women dancing provocatively around a camp-fire. Damn it! I wish I had ordered my meal up here, after all.

  The moon gave just enough light to make out the details of their lithe bodies. The gypsies were obviously enjoying themselves. No one seemed to care that they were camping so close to a building, which gave him more time to observe. With a laugh, he slouched to a comfortable sitting position. By George, I never thought I would be a Peeping Tom, but I cannot ignore the allure of their exotic…dance. In spite of the distraction, though, before long he was losing the battle with his eyelids.

  A bright, rising sun woke him, and he found himself slumped in the chair. The room was freezing cold, owed to the window still open. Laughing to himself at his predicament, he tried to stand, pushing through the aches and pains of an acquired stiff back, so he stood and stretched. When was the last time I slept in a chair? He surveyed his clothing and decided to do his best to freshen before breakfast. As quickly as he could, he poured water in a bowl and cleaned up. He laughed out loud thinking of what his valet would say if he could see him trying to tie a fashionable knot with his cravat, until he gave up and made some sort of tied bow. His stomach was rumbling loudly as he hurried down to the dining room to break his fast.

  An hour later, Perry was brushing Merry when Bergen arrived at the stables ready to leave. Merry looked rested enough.

  “Thank you, lad.” Bergen nodded and when his mare was saddled, passed the ostler two more shillings before riding away in the direction of London. He needed to be there by tomorrow for he had promised Aunt Faith he would be there. Otherwise, he would have stayed here an extra day. Stony Stratford always held a good time. Besides, the Season would be long and dreary without his friends. They had all fallen into parson’s mousetrap. He still could not believe Edward was married. It had been an inn like this where they had first seen the young woman who would become his friend’s wife—Miss Hattie. Her cursing parrot had certainly been refreshing. Yet once the popinjay had set his sights on Edward, there had been nothing else for it. The very thought filled Bergen with mirth. Bound and determined, the bird had been, to have them both.

  A loud braying caught his attention as he rounded the bend out of town. Merry jerked in distaste.

  “Steady, girl. What have we here?” A small grey donkey was braying loudly and kicking up his heels, unable to free himself from ropes tying him to a large mulberry bush. His thrashing had torn off limbs, but not the core of the bush, where the ropes were secured.

  Bergen slid from his horse. “Just a minute, little fellow.” He tried to sort out the muddle of rope and branch that the donkey had created. “You must be the little donkey I heard about last night. I recall they said you were cursed.”

  “Eeeeeeeorrrrrrrr!” Kicked-up clumps of mud covered them both.

  “Damn it, donkey! I am trying to help. Hold still.”

  The donkey tried to turn his head towards him and seemed to be moving his lips as if pleading. Bergen did not sense any aggression.

  “There, now. That should do it.” Still holding the rope, he freed the donkey and patted him on the rump, hoping to send him on his way, but the donkey stayed. He pulled up his lips and showed his teeth.

  “Oh, there! Is that a smile? I have never seen a smiling donkey…and with blue eyes…” Bergen laughed out loud. “Well, your eyes do not quite line up, but you are a friendly fellow despite your predicament. Not the temper I have normally experienced with your brethren, I will say.”

  Bergen fished in his saddle-bag and pulled out an apple he had packed before leaving on the trip. “Here you go…Clarence. You look like a Clarence, I think.”

  The donkey accepted the apple and nudged Bergen’s arm in a gentle show of thanks.

  “Very well…off with you, Clarence. Time for me to go.” The donkey starred at Bergen and slowly walked off in the opposite direction.

  Once back in his saddle, Bergen urged Merry into a canter. “I am suddenly in a good mood, old girl. I have done a good deed today.” He began to whistle and suddenly heard what sounded like a donkey braying along to his song. Bergen turned slowly. There stood Clarence, smiling his odd smile.

  “Clarence, what am I to do with you?” He looked upward at the position of the sun. It had to be two hours past his early meal already and he had hoped by this time to be well underway. He could not take a donkey into London with him, so there was nothing to do but retrace his steps to the inn. Grabbing up the rope, he looped it through Clarence’s collar. “That is an interesting collar you have, Clarence. Does it mean anything significant?” The words of the gypsy came back to him. Amulet, cursed. “Well, it is odd, but I do not think I have ever heard of a cursed donkey. I think you might be the funniest one I have met, however.”

  A thunderous sound exited the small animal; soon they were both enveloped with a sulphuric stench.

  “Goodness, Clarence! Was that you…good God!” Bergen grappled with the ropes while at the same time trying to move away from the animal.

  “Whew! All right now, let us go back.”

  On reaching the Cock Inn, Bergen noticed Perry in the yard and whistled. A deep bray mimicked him from behind. Unable to stop himself, he laughed.

  “Yes, my lord? Are you returning for the night?”

  “No…I found myself in the company of this…Clarence.”

  “A donkey?” The young man smiled in amusement. “You named him Clarence?”

  “Yes. It seemed to fit.” Bergen chuckled. “Clarence seems in need of a home.”

  “Oh, I see, my lord. Well, the master here already has a donkey for his cart and though I shouldna say so, he is a bit of a skinflint. I do not think he would take to this little fellow, but there is a place…” Perry scratched his head and smiled.

  “Lady Newton in the big house up the lane, there…” He pointed towards the other end of the High Street. “…she takes in strays. She heals them and gives them a home. Been known to take all kinds of animals. I reckon she’d like this little donkey—er, Clarence.”

  “Thank you, Perry. Could you give me a better description of her house?”

  “My lord, it be the first one you see as you pass out of town. On the right, it is. It has a short, black iron fence surrounding it, and the yard is full of plantings—I think roses
. Yes, red ones.” He nodded, seeming pleased with his directions.

  “Thank you, again, Perry. You are very helpful.” Bergen turned to Clarence.

  “Well. old boy, it appears we are going to make a social call. This should be interesting.” He gently tugged at the donkey, but before he would move, Clarence turned to smile at Perry.

  “Lizzie!” Aunt Jane shouted from the back door, loud enough for anyone in the county to hear. “There is a delicious gentleman arrived!”

  Elizabeth cast her gaze heavenward. Aunt Jane thought any human with different parts and of marriageable age was delicious. Dear Horace had only been dead for two years, and Jane never tired of trying to see Elizabeth remarried.

  “I will be there directly,” Elizabeth replied as she shut the door with her foot and set down the pail of fresh milk without spilling it. The milkmaid was away, caring for her ailing mother, so Elizabeth had taken on the extra task. She did not mind, really. There was something soothing about the repetitive tasks of farm work.

  After untying her apron, she placed it back on the hook beside the door and made a fool’s attempt to tidy her hair.

  “Why bother,” she muttered, “Most likely it is only Jed Hamm come to convince me to give the children away.”

  They had gone ‘around and around’ her propensity to take in helpless children and animals, and he was constantly haranguing her about giving them to an orphanage in London. Building her ire as she walked up to the drawing room from the kitchen, she was ready to go to war with him by the time she was at the door to the formal room where they received their guests. It was bright with white, blue and light touches of yellows with fresh daisies in vases around the room.