To Heal an Earl

by Aston, Alexa

  She tried to explain all of this to Mr. Plummer in as vague a language as possible, not wanting to speak of such unspeakable matters, but he told her she was being too choosy. He said this position at Gray Manor would be the final one he would send her upon. Either she kept it or if she didn’t, she wasn’t to come crawling back to him.

  If she would have known it was located so close to Rumford Park, Charlotte might have refused. She hadn’t, though, and now found herself closer to home than she’d ever wanted to be.

  The coach reached Wilton, the nearest town which was six miles from Rumford Park. From her best recollection, Gray Manor was another six or seven miles to the east of the town. That should be plenty of distance and she doubted she would ever see Barclay or Leticia. If they were invited to a social occasion at Gray Manor, Charlotte would remain locked in her room. The few times she might venture into Wilton, she suspected it would be places neither Lord nor Lady Rumford went.

  The vehicle began slowing and she prepared to exit it. It came to a halt and the door opened after a moment.

  “Wilton!” the driver called out.

  “This is my stop,” she informed him and was the only one to leave the mail coach, pointing out which was her valise that sat atop the carriage.

  He handed it to her and tipped his hat before returning to the driver’s seat and starting the team up again. Charlotte watched it leave her behind and then looked around. She was to be met but didn’t see anyone so far. Venturing to the closest building, she remembered it to be a general store in which all kinds of goods could be purchased. She paused, her hand hovering above the door handle, and changed her mind about going inside. She didn’t want to be recognized. If Mr. and Mrs. Simmons still owned the store, they would know her. Mrs. Simmons was a terrible gossip and she would spread the news that Charlotte had returned to the area—and how far down in the world she’d fallen. She didn’t mind doing honest work to make her living but she didn’t want to be viewed with pity or gossiped about by the residents of Wilton and beyond.

  Instead, she returned to the street running through the village and after less than five minutes, a cart appeared with a man anxiously looking about. She waved and he came and stopped next to her.

  “Be ye Miss Nott?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  The man jumped down and took her valise. “I’m Sable, a groom at Gray Manor. I’ve come to fetch you.”

  He placed her luggage in the back of the cart and then helped her up, climbing beside her and taking up the reins again.

  “Sorry I was a bit late. Lady Harriet disappeared again and I was helping look for her.”

  “And who is Lady Harriet?”

  Sable glanced at her and looked away guiltily. “A daughter of the household. One of yer future charges if ye become the next governess. She’s the older girl, at eight. Lady Jane is two years younger. A sweeter disposition but she does everything her sister does, which is plenty, indeed.” He clucked his tongue. “Ye’ll have yer hands full with them two, Miss.”

  Charlotte dreaded hearing that. She liked children but had never dealt with wayward ones. The charges at her last two positions had been sweet, quiet creatures. She resolved to make it work, despite what this groom said. It had to—because she had nowhere else to go.

  “Have the girls been without a governess for long?”

  The groom shrugged. “A few have come and gone. Tutors, too, for Lord Rodger, but he has none now.”

  Mr. Plummer hadn’t mentioned a boy, only that two girls were to be her responsibility. “How old is Lord Rodger?”

  Sable thought. “I suppose eleven now. Or twelve? He’s a sick little thing. I doubt if ye’ll be responsible for him.”

  “So, he isn’t at school then.”

  “He has been in the past. Too sick to be there now, I reckon. He’s rarely seen outside the house these days.”

  They rode in silence a few minutes and then he said, “The house is in a bad way. The housekeeper and estate manager left last week. The place is topsy-turvy.”

  “I see,” she said, wondering what she was getting herself into. From what Sable had said, she would have two unruly charges and a possible sickly third one. The estate sounded ill-run. But she desperately needed this position. The last of Bernice’s money wouldn’t see her through a month now. Charlotte would have to make this work.

  They turned from the road and, several minutes later, rounded a turn. She caught sight of Gray Manor, the stone edifice a pale shade of gray. The house was immense, even larger than her girlish memory thought it. She hoped she wouldn’t get lost once inside, especially looking for Lady Harriet and Lady Jane.

  Sable brought the cart to a stop and climbed down, handing her down and claiming her bag.

  “This’ll be the only time ye’ll come in the front,” he mentioned. “Unless ye have yer pupils with ye, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Charlotte was used to the delineation between servants and residents and even lower and upper servants. While Bernice’s companion, she had been treated well by the staff and the few visitors that came to see the dowager duchess, but once she’d become a governess, that had ceased. She’d learned a governess fit in neither above nor below stairs and had taken her evening meals on a tray in her room. The other two meals she’d eaten in the schoolroom with her charges. At the first household, she’d been Miss Nott. At the last, plain Nott. It was a long way from her days as Lady Charlotte, waited upon by so many.

  Sable knocked and the door was answered by a man in footman’s livery instead of a butler.

  “This is Miss Nott,” Sable said. “Here for the two young ladies.” He handed the footman the valise. “A good day to ye, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Sable,” she said, always one to express her gratitude even before she’d fallen upon hard times.

  The footman closed the door. “I’m Smith, Miss Nott. Our butler, Mr. Masters, has taken ill and I’m filling in for him. You’re to see Lord Crampton. He’s in his study. Follow me.”

  They wound through several halls and Smith stopped. “I’ll put your valise right outside the door, Miss. If you decide to accept the position, I’ll bring it and you to your room. If not, well . . .” His voice trailed off, a worried expression creasing his brow.

  “Let us hope Lord Crampton thinks I’m a good match for his children,” she said.

  Smith nodded and tapped on the door. She heard a voice bid him to enter and the footman announced her and then said, “Go right on in, Miss.”

  Charlotte entered a large room with several chairs scattered about and a desk covered with pages scattered everywhere. She shuddered at the mess and then looked at the man sitting behind it. In no way was this the boy she remembered. He would be close to her age and this man was at least forty years of age. Perhaps fifty. His complexion was florid, as if he’d just run a race. Sparse, gray hair covered his head. She guessed him to weigh over twenty stone and wondered how he even fit in the chair he was seated in.

  “Miss Nott?” he said, his voice raspy.

  She curtseyed. “Good afternoon, Lord Crampton.”

  “Have a seat.” He indicated one in front of his desk and she took it.

  “Usually, Lady Crampton handles these sorts of things. She is currently indisposed at the moment, giving birth to my child.”

  “Oh! Congratulations, my lord. How many children have you already been blessed with?”

  The earl frowned. “Three have survived. Rodger, my oldest, is twelve years of age and my heir. He’s down from Eton now. Has some health issues. You would need to spend a bit of time with him. He’s bright and wouldn’t need prepared lessons. More someone to discuss materials he’s read. Until he’s strong enough to return to school, of course.”

  “I’d be happy to do so, my lord. I myself read as much as possible and would love to discuss the classics with him, as well as current topics of interest. Does he speak any languages?”

  “How would I know?” he
asked, his irritation obvious. Clearing his throat, he said, “Your primary responsibility would be my daughters, Harriet and Jane.” A sour look crossed his face. “They are girls but wild as geese. You won’t be the first governess they’ve had. They’ve run off eleven others.”

  “I see,” Charlotte said, her heart racing.

  Eleven? How was she supposed to manage?

  “Mr. Plummer said you have a genteel background.”

  “Yes, my lord. My father was an earl.”

  “Hmm. Well, you might be well-bred but it’s going to take more than that to manage those little hellions. If they aren’t under control soon, I don’t know what we’ll do. My wife has had several miscarriages and is no longer active. We need someone to totally take responsibility for the girls. Being around them isn’t good for either of our nerves.”

  Charlotte began to gain a clearer picture. A self-absorbed father who seemed disappointed in the children he had. A sickly mother and brother. No family member spending time with Harriet and Jane. Governesses who allowed them to run wild, perhaps pitying them.

  “The girls will need a firm hand,” she said. “May I have your permission to discipline them?”

  “Whatever it takes,” he said grimly. “Are you up for the challenge, Miss Nott?”

  “I would be happy to accept the offered position, Lord Crampton.”

  He rose and she followed suit. Before they could speak, the door burst open, a flush-faced woman pausing in the doorway.

  “What is it?” Lord Crampton barked at the woman, who flinched.

  “My lord . . .” Her voice broke as she entered the room. She looked to Charlotte and back to the earl. “My lord . . . the baby. He was stillborn.”

  The nobleman swore loudly, his hands crashing against the desk and sweeping papers off. They flew everywhere.

  “And my wife?” he demanded angrily.

  “She . . . Lady Crampton . . . she didn’t live, my lord. She’s dead.”

  A loud keening erupted from the large man. He turned an even brighter red than Charlotte thought possible and slammed his hands against the desktop, again and again. The servant backed from the room and disappeared, leaving her alone with her new employer.

  Then the noise erupting from him became a guttural cry, something like a wounded animal would make. Lord Crampton’s eyes bulged until she thought they would pop from his face. He clutched his chest, groaning loudly, and fell from his chair, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

  Charlotte sprang toward him, rolling him so he faced up. His eyes stared straight ahead. She touched his throat and felt no pulse.

  The Earl of Crampton was dead.

  Chapter Four

  Spain

  Gray accepted the bundle of letters the corporal handed him and went about dispersing them to his fellow officers. Letters from home were the lifeblood to many, giving men renewed spirit to fight on. For two years after taking up his commission, Gray had never received one. It wasn’t as if his brother would write to him, much less his sister-in-law. He had no other close relatives. He was fortunate to have been placed with both Burke and Reid and so he saw his best friends on a daily basis.

  When the two finally learned that no one ever wrote him, though, they made sure that he received letters from England on a regular basis. His most frequent ones came from the Duke of Gilford, Reid’s father, and Burke’s mother, who constantly wrote to her brood of seven that had scattered across the land. Gray appreciate the small kindness his friends had been responsible for. It helped the loneliness that ate away at him. He didn’t know what his state of mind might be like without having his close companions in his life. War, in all its brutality, was hard on a man’s soul. Sometimes, Gray wondered if he had one left at all. He dreaded the day he would return to England—if this war ever ended—for he had no idea if he could ever live again in Polite Society.

  He went about camp, distributing the large stack and bringing much joy, until he came to the final bit of parchment at the bottom of his pile. Surprise filled him when he saw his own name scrawled across the creamy paper, though it was addressed to Captain Danforth Grayson, not reflecting his recent promotion to major. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar but Gray had no idea who from home might be writing to him.

  Returning to his officers’ tent, he found it empty and sat upon his cot, breaking the seal and opening the letter. He glanced to the bottom before beginning to read it and saw it came from Mr. Bonham, the Grayson family solicitor who lived in Canterbury. He’d last communicated with the man when his final year of university tuition had come due. Mr. Bonham had made sure that the funds earmarked for Gray’s education had been forthcoming from Seymour. He wondered what news the solicitor had and began to read the missive.

  My dear Captain Grayson –

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. Know that all of England counts upon men such as you to see Bonaparte squashed like the vile insect that he is. Your service is valued by your countrymen, including me.

  I am sorry to be the bearer of terrible news regarding your family. Your sister-in-law, the Countess of Crampton, has passed away recently after giving birth to a stillborn son. Your brother, Lord Crampton, met the news of her death with such sadness that he, too, has left us.

  Because of these unusual circumstances, I implore you to come home at once, not only to run the estate but to exercise your duties in regards to the children. Lord Crampton named you their guardian and they are in sore need of your presence at Gray Manor.

  Your brother’s will stipulated a generous, annual stipend to pay for your services to the estate if this day should ever come to pass. It is to be delivered every quarter to you. Monies have already been designated to run the household and country estates, as well as the London townhome, and those expenses are separate from what you will draw.

  I know you have spent years in military service to your country, sir, but it is now time to return home and see to the duty of your family. Your nephew, now the Earl of Crampton, is but twelve years of age and so it will be some time before he reaches his majority and takes his seat in the House of Lords. The boy could certainly use your sage counsel and the estate, as well, needs a firm hand.

  Send me word when you have arrived at Gray Manor and I will come to you as quickly as possible to discuss in detail the affairs of the family and your considerable responsibilities.

  Your most humble servant,

  Benjamin Bonham

  Gray folded the letter, a myriad of emotions running through him. Shock at the deaths of both Seymour and his wife, along with their newborn. Anger at having to give up the only life he’d known as an adult, especially when Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley was soon to arrive and a major campaign would be underway in Spain. How could he abandon his men and fellow officers at such a critical time?

  If he were being honest, hatred also coursed through him, directed toward a brother who’d despised Gray the moment he appeared in the world. Their contempt for one another had only deepened after their father’s death, as Seymour assumed the earldom. Gray recalled the last, bitter words the Earl of Crampton had spoken to him five years ago, expressing his hope that the enemy would kill Gray. He never forgave his brother for his callous comments.

  And now, he was to become a father figure to the children of the very man he loathed with all his being.

  Could he put aside the enmity that had existed between brothers and accept the responsibilities now thrust upon him?

  Gray didn’t know.

  Oh, he would make sure the estate was being managed adequately. That its tenants were cared for properly. As for the children, he could hire the appropriate people to care for them, as well. He didn’t know if he had it in him to be at Gray Manor with them, day after day, trying to be a parent to God only knew how many of Seymour’s offspring. The last he knew, there’d been the oldest, Rodger, and two younger sisters, whose names he couldn’t recall after so many years. The boy had so favored his father that i
t had been hard for Gray to look at the lad. Yet he remembered the eagerness of young Rodger and the frail child had wanted to get to know his uncle.

  Would Seymour have tainted how his heir regarded his uncle? It wouldn’t surprise Gray in the least if that’s what had occurred.

  He sighed, suddenly so weary that a fortnight of sleep wouldn’t see him feel whole. He would do as asked. Sell out and leave the army. Return to England. He would go to Gray Manor and meet with Bonham to have a good idea what needed to be done regarding the estate. Make certain his nieces and nephews were surrounded by competent people who would manage them on a daily basis.

  Then he’d go to London and reside in the city year-round. Gray Manor held too many memories for him. He didn’t see a life there for himself, especially when Rodger would come of age and the estate would be his to do as he saw fit. It would be too painful to live at Gray Manor and run things in all but name, only to have to give it up several years down the line. This way, he could make a life for himself in London and only see his charges once a year. It was all he was willing to assume at this point after having lost too many men under his command. He didn’t have anything to give and, in truth, would dodge this responsibility if he could.

  He needed to find Reid and Burke.

  Leaving his tent, he went to Lt. Colonel Baker’s quarters. Reid could have gone by Medford since he was the Marquess of Medford, but his friend downplayed his noble connections. He entered and found Reid alone, pouring over a map on a large table.