The Earl’s Dangerous Passion (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  Thomas glanced at his friend. Though Simon was trying to keep a serious countenance, he finally broke out laughing. "All right, then. I’ll make you a bet that you cannot walk down one side of the street in Birdwell and back up the other without everyone there recognizing you. Not even if you dressed in rags and said you were a beggar."

  "That's a bet. How much?"

  Simon considered it for a moment. "A bottle of whatever that is you're drinking. I can only hope to be so bold myself. Maybe that will help me."

  "Done. Come down to Birdwell tomorrow morning at about, say, eleven. There will be plenty of folk about at that time. I’ll be there. Find me – if you can!"

  * * *

  The next morning, just past dawn, Grace and her young brothers, John and Noah, walked down the cottage lane to the road which led to Birdwell. The air was cool and the sun shone bright on the soft mist that was just fading away. Grace felt wonderful today, for she wore the prettiest dress she had ever owned: a pale green muslin gown that was one of the two Aunt Betsey had given to her.

  The other gown was yellow-cream in color and printed all over with tiny pale pink roses. It remained at the cottage, for it was in need of some mending. Grace didn’t mind repairing a few seams for the privilege of owning two such very elegant gowns.

  She still wore her old work boots, for she had nothing else. But that didn’t keep her from very much enjoying the day, which promised to be unlike any she had ever experienced in all of her nineteen years.

  "John, do you think you will like the town? I'm not sure you have ever really seen an actual town!"

  John, the older of her two brothers at fourteen, walked briskly along the road beside her. "Sure I have. There was Northcliff."

  "That wasn’t a town!" Noah insisted. He was just twelve, but never let it slow him down. "That was just a very big house with barns and sheds and workshops all around it. It all belonged to the master. That's not a town!"

  "I'm afraid Noah is right," Grace agreed with a laugh. "Birdwell is very different. I hear that it has one very long main street. It stretches for nearly a quarter of a mile! And on either side of it, there are all sorts of different places to buy all sorts of different things."

  "What things?" asked John, genuinely puzzled. "And why would we need to buy them? At Northcliff, we made everything we needed. Won't we make things here?"

  "Well, yes, I suppose we will. But anyone who has a little money can go into a town and buy whatever they like – Whatever they need."

  "What kind of shops does this town have?" asked Noah. "Are there shops for cake and candy? Those are my favorite foods." The truth was that the Miller family had had such things very rarely at Northcliff – only at Christmastime – but Noah hadn’t forgotten them.

  "There’s probably a shop for cakes and another for candy," Grace told him, and watched his eyes widen.

  "And what else?" asked Noah. "Clothes? Shirts and trousers already stitched together?"

  "Almost certainly.”

  "But how would they know my measure?" Noah wondered.

  "Will there be – a place with books?” John asked. “I liked my book. I'm glad I got to keep it. You taught me to read from it."

  "That was a Holy Bible, John," said Noah. "I told you that. The mistress always gave one to servant families when they arrived at Northcliff."

  John shrugged. "I liked it. And I'd like to have another book."

  "So would I," said Noah. "But books cost too much."

  "I'm afraid you're right," said Grace. "Outside of a Bible given in charity, books are not for people like us. We were simply lucky at Northcliff to get the one we did."

  "When I grow up," declared John, "I will have all the books I want."

  "And I will have all the cakes I want!" announced Noah.

  "I hope you will," said Grace softly. "I hope this little journey today is our first step to exactly that."

  * * *

  Late in the morning, a small governess car, pulled by a tall, stout, cream-colored Highland pony, made its way down from the north and approached the little village of Birdwell.

  "Get on now, Oriole," Thomas called, making a clicking sound with his tongue to keep the pony moving. "We're almost there." The mare snorted and bobbed her head, but kept on at a steady walk down the road that ran alongside the Feathering River.

  It was strange to be riding in the little governess car. It was not much more than a large basket on two high wheels, with upholstered bench seats facing each side. Thomas actually had to sit sideways on one bench in order to drive. But his mother enjoyed the comfortable little vehicle and Oriole was her favorite pony, even though Lady Worthington no longer ventured out as often as she used to.

  In order to keep the pony fit and accustomed to working, Thomas often told the servants to drive her whenever they needed to go into town to pick up a few supplies. But today, that servant was actually Earl Worthington, himself.

  No one knew, of course. Thomas had simply told his stableboys that, as a favor to his mother, he was taking Oriole for an early-morning drive through the countryside. No one had seen him stop at a wooded spot along the road, put on the worn boots, plain work clothes, and flat woolen cap that he'd brought with him, before going on his way again.

  The cap had a wide brim that he could keep well down. At the same time, the collar of his old coat tended to stay up, so his face could stay fairly well hidden. He hadn’t shaved that morning and had even rubbed a little dirt on his face and hands.

  Simon hadn’t believed he could pull off the ruse of going into Birdwell without anyone knowing who he was. Some of the townsfolk would recognize Oriole, of course, but at a large estate, servants came and went all the time. Thomas intended to simply pass himself off as a new man sent into town to fetch a few supplies and exercise the pony at the same time.

  As he turned onto the main road and the town began to come into sight, he noticed a woman who had two boys walking with her. The boys seemed to be about twelve years of age, with one a little taller than the other, and they were dressed in the worn, patched clothes of any farm children.

  The woman, though, was nicely dressed in a pale green gown. Her dark hair was drawn back into a neat twist at her neck and covered with a simple little bonnet. She was tall and slim, with square shoulders. She held herself very straight. Thomas saw that she was young. And quite pretty.

  He started Oriole into a jog, and as he passed the little group, he touched his cap to them. The young woman – for she was certainly no more than twenty – looked a little startled, but then smiled a little and nodded back to him.

  She had a pretty face— large, dark eyes, and strong, but well-made features. He was sure he had never seen her, or those boys before. But that also meant that she wouldn’t know him, either.

  Thomas smiled to himself and kept Oriole trotting all the way into town.

  He left the little mare and the governess car with the livery stable, which was the very first building on the east side of the street. Thomas was careful to keep his cap pulled down and his accent as close as possible to someone from the east end of London.

  Once Oriole was settled in, Thomas stepped back outside onto the wooden walkway that ran in front of the row of buildings – and right away, he saw the girl in the green gown. She was across the street with the two boys, who were talking excitedly as they tried to look at everything at once.

  Yes, they were all very new here. He was quite sure of it.

  Near the far end of the street, the young woman opened the door of the Fabrics, Feathers, and Fineries shop and made the boys walk inside.

  Even though he knew he was taking an enormous risk, Thomas was determined to wait as long as it took for her to come back out again. It was one thing to merely interact with the shopkeepers for a moment or two and see if he could keep his identity from them, but quite another to go up to a pretty young girl and try to get to know her on a personal level.

  There was every chance that his entire scheme c
ould fall apart in a matter of moments, and then he'd be the laughingstock of the county. His mother would be shocked, even if on some level she might understand. But having her son caught in the middle of such a bizarre event would affect her own social standing, too.

  And almost worst of all, as far as Thomas was concerned, was that he would no longer be able to get to know the young women on the local marriage mart as anything other than Earl Worthington. And he had reached the point where he didn’t want a girl who only wanted the earl for his title and money.

  He stood on the brink of risking it all, purely in hopes of finding a woman who might care about him for himself alone. Was this selfishness? He wasn't sure . . . but he did know that the last thing he wanted was to marry someone who looked at him and saw nothing but his fortune.

  A simple county girl, not much different from what his own mother had been many years before, might be more inclined to see a man's true character. Any woman might be blinded at the thought of marrying into titled nobility and that, Thomas told himself, was reason enough to conceal his identity from them . . . even at great risk to his own and his family's reputation.

  So, Thomas very much looked forward to meeting the simple, lovely girl who had happily walked along the road to Birdwell on this soft and misty morning.

  Chapter Four

  The Earl Becomes A Coachman

  As Grace and her brothers had walked along the road to the town, she began to see where it had got its name. "Birdwell," she giggled. "No wonder!"

  Everywhere they looked, in all the yards of the little cottages, scattered here and there on either side of the road, they saw birds. Chickens, ducks, and geese pecked for seeds and bugs in fenced yards, covered with netting. White swans nested along the grassy, reedy banks of the river and swam gracefully through its quiet waters. And calling and singing, high in the trees, were all kinds of songbirds, doves, and ravens.

  "I can see why they call it the Feathering River," Grace said, still laughing. "The banks are lined with them from all these birds. There would be no trouble getting feathers for a pretty hat in this place!"

  Grace also saw a few dairy cows, and some large work horses, and sturdy ponies around the cottages, of course. But it seemed that the primary product of Birdwell was – well – birds, and their feathers.

  The stone buildings of the town came into sight. John and Noah stayed close to Grace, but tried to look in every direction at once in an effort to take it all in.

  The three of them stepped up onto the easternmost wooden walkway. It ran along the front of the western row of buildings and so that the passersby did not have to walk in the wide and neatly cobblestoned street. Grace was impressed with how clean and new the town looked. A few wagons and teams traveled past, their wheels rumbling on the cobblestones, along with a few riders on horseback.

  Grace enjoyed the sights as much as John and Noah did. Some of the places seemed to be establishments of service, such as a small bank, a post office, and a bookkeeper. The largest place was the Robbins Inn, located right in the center of the eastern side of the street. It had several cheerful signs in the windows, offering table meals in its dining room, and lodging upstairs.

  At least two or three places on this single street had signs offering meat pies, cuts of beef, breads, cakes, and pastries. Other shops carried sweets, or leather boots and bags, or suits of clothes, or –

  Or books.

  There was indeed one small shop with books, chapbooks, and sheet music displayed in its single window. "Look, John! Noah! A shop with books!"

  The boys stopped and peered into the window with her. John soon shrugged and turned away. "Books cost too much," he said again, and gazed into the street at the passersby as though not wanting to get his hopes up.

  "Oh, but look again," Grace pointed out. "They have chapbooks, too!"

  "They have – what?" asked Noah, still looking through the window.

  "Chapbooks. Just little books made of folded paper. They don't usually cost more than a penny, or even a half-penny."

  John looked back again. "But are they any good, if they cost so little?"

  "I’ve heard that they do! Stories, poems, histories – I promise you, when we can, we will go in there and look. We'll save up and get a chapbook to share among the three of us!"

  The boys nodded and then continued on down the street with Grace. She could hardly wait to explore the book shop, but for now, it would have to wait.

  Taking a deep breath as she walked beside her brothers, she looked up at the soft and cloudy grey-white sky and breathed a small prayer of thanks at finding herself and her family in this new place . . . a place where, it seemed, the whole world had suddenly opened up to all of them.

  Eventually, they reached the end of the street. Out beyond the small white church, which sat a little apart from the eastern side of the shop row and marked the end of the town, Grace saw several more scattered, distant cottages much like the one where she now lived.

  These cottages, however, were occupied by the families who owned them and who also grew vegetables and raised animals for the table . . . not by charity cases who were living on the kindness of a relative and keeping a sad secret at the same time.

  Then she saw it. Almost at the end of the west side of the street, Grace realized they were standing in front of a door that had Fabrics, Feathers, and Fineries painted in faded gold letters above it.

  "Here we are!" Grace announced to her two young brothers. "Now, you must be on your best behavior in Uncle Leonard's and Aunt Betsey's shop. I have some things that I must discuss with them, so you must touch nothing and only speak very quietly. If you speak at all."

  "Can't we stay out here and look around some more?" asked John, frowning as he peered through the door windows. "That's just things for ladies."

  "Of course it is," said Grace. "That's the kind of shop they own. Maybe later, you can – "

  The door opened with a little jingle of harness bells. "Come in, come in," Aunt Betsey said briskly. "Don't stand out there all day like gypsy peddlers! Come inside and see our shop. Then, Grace, you will sit down with your uncle and me, and we will have our talk."

  Aunt Betsey stepped back and held the door open for the three visitors. Grace walked inside and tried to take it all in at once.

  Working at Northcliff, she had, of course, seen plenty of fine gowns and bonnets in her life. But this was different. Here in the softly lit shop, with its dark and heavy wooden shelves and cupboards polished and gleaming, the bolts of bright, beautiful fabrics were shown off to their best advantage.

  Walking across the thick, wooden floorboards in her heavy work boots, she could hardly resist reaching out to touch the breezy lightweight cotton muslin in so many pretty pastels: the bleached linen, almost white as cloud; the warm wools dyed in deep shades of blue and green and red; and, especially, the lustrous silks in bright rich colors, that shimmered in the glow of the lanterns.

  On other shelves, were displays of fine ribbons in silk and velvet and grosgrain, from deep black to jewel colors to soft cream and bright white. Near the ribbons, were strings of beads in every shape and hue, to be used for trimming the dresses. Grace seemed to remember that the older women were especially fond of heavy gowns with strings of beads stitched along the necklines, leaving long loops that fell freely to the waist.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the many wooden boxes of feathers – large and small feathers in every color, both natural and dyed. These would add a touch of softness and brightness to any gown or cloak or bonnet.

  Indeed, one corner was entirely devoted to hats. Some were plain and awaited the exact decoration that a lady might order, while others were done up and ready with velvet ribbons, silk flowers, and the most beautiful of the feathers and plumes.

  Grace could have stayed here all day, just taking in the sight of these rich and beautiful fabrics and trims, looking at them for as long as she liked and even touching them very gingerly if she wished. She almost felt a
little giddy at being surrounded by such loveliness. It seemed that life really was changing for the better!

  "The feathers are sold to other dressmakers and milliners all around the country," said Uncle Leonard, walking down the narrow staircase from the upper floor. "We buy them for pennies from the local farmers, and then clean and dye them in all sizes and colors. It's a specialty of ours."

  "I saw all the many birds as we walked through town this morning," said Grace, turning to face him with a smile. "Ducks, geese, and chickens in every yard, and no end to the wild ones. No mystery as to why this place is called Birdwell!"

  "No mystery at all." Uncle Leonard looked up and Grace saw him smile. She looked in the same direction and saw that John and Noah still stood patiently just inside the door, apparently having no interest whatsoever in wandering around a ladies' dress and feather shop.