Losing the Earl: Regency Romance Clean Read (Yearnings for Love Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Thank you

  LOSING THE EARL

  Yearnings for Love, Book 2 (A Regency Romance)

  REBECCA GRAVE

  rebeccagrave.com

  Other Books by Rebecca Grave

  Chasing the Earl

  Losing the Earl

  Book 3 Coming Soon!

  Copyright © 2016 by Rebecca Grave

  All rights reserved.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or organizations, living or dead, is purely 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.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to you! For without you, I wouldn’t be writing! Thank you very much, I appreciate your time with my stories.

  To learn about more Rebecca Grave books, you can find and “Like” me on Facebook here.

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  Chapter 1

  A note to my readers…

  One of the hardest things to do as an author is try to please everyone with the story your telling. So we don’t! At least, I hope you enjoy escaping with this book for a few hours, but I’m human too, and mistakes can be made with accuracy, dates, and so on when it comes to this time period. I do my best, but it’s tough to get all the details right.

  And while this story is set against the backdrop of the Regency period, the characters and the names of the community are fictional. There is no intended resemblance between the characters in this book or the setting, and any real members of the Regency era. As with any work of fiction, I’ve taken some liberty in some areas of research as a means of creating the necessary circumstances for my characters, setting and plot. It is completely impossible to be accurate in every detail and description—mostly since I wasn’t alive then! :)

  Therefore any inaccuracies (minor or otherwise) in the lifestyles portrayed in this book are completely due to fictional license, and well, my clumsiness with getting it right. I thank you in advance for your understanding!

  Enjoy!

  Rebecca Grave

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  Chapter 2

  Without having ever seen him before, Mary knew him from the across the room. She assumed his gaze falling on her to be the work of aligning stars. And why shouldn’t it be? He looked perfect. It just added more magic to the night.

  Her future husband knew his wife-to-be without prior introduction. Yet Lord Samuel Henry Surry, son of The Earl of Arthingworth, did not walk toward her, he glided with charismatic confidence. Crossing the dancers on the floor, he was the thing of artist's inspiration to cut marble. More than his face, she noticed his chest, wide and prominent under his jacket as hard muscles moved. His winter-paled, clean-shaven face was contrasted by dark, firewood brown eyes and ink black hair. He was tall; even in dancing shoes her head only came to his chest.

  Naturally he drew many eyes, despite attempts to politely hide doing so.

  And it excited her.

  She felt foolish, like a child in a room full of adults, giddy with energy from eating too many sweets.

  As he approached, he bowed, eyes taking her in. “My Lady, I took the liberty of asking your parents to allow myself introduction. I am Lord Samuel Henry Surry, of Arthingworth, and it is my distinguished pleasure to be at your service.” His cologne a musk scent with hints of ambergris, she wanted to bury her face against his jacket and inhale him.

  “And I yours,” she said. “I was crestfallen that you and your family were absent on New Year’s Eve.” Their first meeting had been planned for her family’s ball celebrating the start of the new year. She had taken his absence that night to mean she may never meet her future husband until wedlock.

  “My deepest apologies. My uncle's fever broke days after. He will never go ice fishing again, the clumsy man. While he is much better, he is not in attendance tonight as his recovery is yet incomplete.” He paused as his eyes took her in again.

  “Well, it is a tremendous stress on your future wife when you do not appear when expected,” she replied.

  “I promise, I will never fail you again.” He bowed again, and she pondered if this was how being under the influence of absinthe would feel. He seemed…wonderful. “I would ask you to dance but the composition is half finished…” he said, arm gesturing towards the dancing.

  “I’m sorry; my maid took forever in retrieving my pearls.”

  “You know, I can do everything by myself, I merely employ servants so when running late I have someone to blame.” He smiled, and she giggled at the joke, not because she found it humorous but because she felt like laughing.

  When Mary’s father announced the last dance before super, Samuel made it a point to be next to her, guaranteeing a seat across from her when dining. A loud pounding at the door stirred voices though the room. “This is how the terrors in France started,” said Samuel as the music continued, “with a loud pounding at the door. If King Louis had not answered, Robespierre would have gone home and the whole French Revolution would have never happened.” He flashed his big smile again as the two sailed over the dance floor.

  She felt as if nothing in the world mattered but his attention. And she loved it. Whatever was at the front door could not take her from this moment.

  Feeling his palm against hers, she looked at where their hands met. Large, but soft and unblemished, his warm hands were those of a gentleman. Looking up past their hands, she noticed her father’s steward and butler carrying two more chairs towards the dining room.

  Curious, she thought.

  Mr. Bancroft, her father’s butler, entered the doorway where gallery met the ballroom. He stood looking at no one and waited for the music to end before announcing supper. The crowd of friends and relatives began milling out of the ballroom. As she realized everyone in the room had their backs to them, Mary felt Samuel's hand on her hip. Her heart felt a mad dash, a hare escaping from a fox within her, his soft lips contacting her neck above her pearls.

  She went weak, although she tried not to show it. His proximity was…intoxicating. She felt alive and faint at the same time.

  “They’ll be waiting for us,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she felt her chest pressing against the corset under her dress as she inhaled. The next kiss was no longer the evasive hare but wild horses in full stride. “There will be plenty of time for your impropriety after June,” she said, almost breathless.

  Being the last two people in the room dining had not worked to Samuel and Mary's advantage. One chair had been left open for her between her mother and her two friends Lucy and Victoria, both ladies in their own right. They were her oldest and dearest friends, and alongside her maid her only real confidants. Samuel's place was near hers, two seats down and across the table.

  Next to Samuel stood two men, one white, the other black, clearly the newcomers.

  Her father stood at the head of the table, the res
t of the guests waiting for him to sit. His smile deepened as Mary and Samuel entered the room. He raised his glass, “Friends and Family, I never thought my little girl would enter into a betrothal. When you have a child, they are forever your baby. To think I would give my child away to a well-respected member of royalty, my mind is set a whirlwind.” He leaned forward at the waist, gesturing to the table, arms out with drink in hand. “I want to thank you all for coming out to our home, so far from London. While many are far from home tonight, we have two guests from the Americas.” All eyes turned towards the two standing there, waiting patiently.

  “They are two gentlemen traveling and caught in the blizzard. They requested to take shelter with us, which we’re happy to provide. A Mr. William Caulfield and a Mr. Thomas Aquinas.” Her father nodded at the two well-dressed but slightly shivering men. “To friends, old and new. Hear, hear.”

  The room lifted their glasses with a “hear, hear” and drank. As everyone sat, Samuel remained standing as he gazed, face neutral but with a hard stare at the two men.

  “Sir,” he began. “I find it distasteful that I have to sit and eat with the help, never the less a man such as him,” he nodded at Thomas, the black man, “from the Colonies.”

  The black man said nothing but his eyes tilted upward at the chandelier. His companion, sitting between him and Samuel rolled his blue eyes and ran his fingers through his wet blond hair. “There are no slaves or servants here friend, only fellow good men of standing like yourself.”

  Samuel snorted, and a few raised their eyebrows. “Apparently very good men, one of you achieved Sainthood.”

  “Sir, I needed a better name than the one I had, sir.” The black man answered, his voice low but confident, with an accent Mary had never heard before.

  “Of that I’m certain,” Samuel mumbled.

  “No sir, I was a slave, and I escaped to the North and became a free man. When I was a slave, my master had given me a different name. One I no longer answer to.”

  “Men in the colonies have forgotten what stature is…if they ever had honor in the first place.” There was something veiled in what he said as he smiled, and Mary did not know why but she laughed along with her friends at his remark.

  Samuel then lowered himself into the chair, apparently bored with the conversation.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the blond man, William, “and sir, you have no idea of how lacking in honor some men in the South are. I beg you, please don’t make light of my friend.”

  “My gracious apologies, I jest sir” Samuel said, directing his words to the man next to him. “Welcome.”

  There was a moment of silence as they sized each other up, the American cautious but confident and relaxed, and Samuel, nose a little higher in the air, and secure in himself as well. Her Samuel was an honorable man to be sure, but something felt out of place she couldn’t quite identify.

  The American gentlemen seemed satisfied, and the guests began talking amongst themselves as three footmen entered with food. It looked to be an interesting night ahead.

  Chapter 3

  Placing sterling platters on the table, they removed the lids in unison revealing three different cooked birds.

  Samuel started, “I see we have cooked pheasant, partridge, brazed goose, and off to the side we have a libertine swan and a saintly savage raven.” He burst into laughter and a few other guests added their chuckles, including Mary who felt it only right to join in.

  “And a rather dim roasted pig!” said William, flashing a brilliant white smile as the dinner table erupted in laughter. At the far end of the table, Mary’s father suddenly whooped louder than the rest. His face turned a bright red, and Mary worried if it was not laughter but choking. He covered his face with one hand, his free hand slapping the tabletop as he regained composure. It was unlike her father.

  Mary looked at her disapproving in-laws to be. To make things worse her father continued, “Good lord boy, dim roasted pig! Next time I get a meal at The Seven Stars I have to tell that one.”

  Mary’s anger doused her mortification. Her father was a wealthy man and worldly traveled, excelling in all manner of custom, so why this display?

  It bothered her. But those laughing were not the true offenders; this William Caulfield from America dealt the barb in the manner of a true vulgarian. He and his companion filled their plates with her family’s food while ridiculing them.

  Their gall could not go unchecked.

  “Are all men from America as brutish in wit as you are sir?”

  He placed his hand on heart, “Forgive my impertinence if I offended you, Lady Mary.”

  Samuel cleared his throat, “We have a man who has lived amongst the savages in the wilderness of the America’s. He has brought with him a slave,” a slight raise of the eyebrows from the two men, “I’m sorry, a former slave, amongst polite society, they must be permitted grace. We should be glad they are not eating with their hands,” said Samuel, looking around. “What was it the great bard said in Othello? ‘Thick-lips sure is lucky if he can pull this off.’”

  Mary ignored Lucy's tittering and focused on Mr. Caulfield, wondering how he’d react. After he finished chewing his food, he reached for his wine glass and sipped. Putting the glass back down, he picked up his napkin and wiped his lips. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave the table, and then she realized he was taking his time to reply.

  “It is my observation that men of false culture quote Shakespeare but seldom know other poets or playwright. If they can quote anything from a book not by written by your bard, it is something they heard at mass or authored by a French Lord in a lunatic asylum.”

  “A French Lord in a lunatic asylum?” Mary asked.

  “He’s referring to the horrid works of the Marquis De Sade,” said Samuel. “A vile lunatic, he wrote the most disgusting books known to man. Among his titles ‘Justine’ and the infamous ‘The One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom.’ The books are description after description of unspeakable carnal acts with no plot or characters.”

  “I have not read them myself, but you seem to know how to describe them with accuracy. But to my point, when people quote Shakespeare using his words in lieu of wit, I find it fascinating he is the only poet chosen.” The conversation had moved further into personal territory now, with other guests leaning to hear. “Sonnets and plays aside, do you know any other work? Your own Ben Johnson perhaps?”

  Samuel chortled, “Pray tell good sir, do you not come from a country filled only with barbarians? America will sooner turn out a great poet then repay its debts owed to France. Your country is too uncouth to speak of greater ideas like love."

  “‘In vain the sages turn their volumes over, and on the musty page incessant pore. Still mighty Love triumphant rules the heart, baffles their labor and eludes their art. What is science, what is reason's force to stop the passions wild ungoverned course.’” William stopped, locking eyes with Mary.

  “I think it is indecent,” said Lucy, and Victoria giggled.

  “And you Lady Mary?” William asked.

  “I concur, indent and vulgar. It speaks of things that should remain reserved.”

  “Then it seems myself and Thomas Godfrey defer to you, sir.” William said turning to Samuel, “My humble colonies as you call them might have no hope for culture.”

  “And what is a young man such as yourself doing out in a blizzard,” said Mary’s father, projecting his voice to be hear. “We still have not gotten your story boy.” Mary knew from the way he enunciated there was more to it. His words had the “you better be good” tone to them she knew as a child.

  “My father sir.” William took a big swallow of his wine.

  “You father? Was he born here and wanted burial on British soil?”

  “Nothing so ghoulish. He is alive and well in Rhode Island. I am brought here by his belief that every man should have a year or so of wanderlust. He wanted me to see the art of the world, and more of the world i
tself. Acquire culture and knowledge if you will.”

  “Traveling is a magnificent endeavor. Where have you been?”

  Mary loved her father’s stories of his travels to the West Indies and of pirates. From investments in shipping and more, he’d seen his fair share himself. While she had no interest in swashbuckling, the idea of seeing more than English manners and countrysides stirred Mary’s imagination.

  “On this trip, it has been limited because of the war. We landed in Lisbon and then headed to Morocco before passing Gibraltar. Then onto Sardinia, Sicily…”

  “Florence and Rome,” Thomas added.

  “Then we had to retrace our course, not wanting to pass through territory occupied by Napoleon's armies. My father has a merchant business,” at this Mary noticed Samuel grimace, “so I spent a lot of time on his ships in the Mediterranean. Upon returning to Lisbon, we booked passage to Copenhagen and Stockholm. With Napoleon’s naval power on the rise we wanted to limit our time on the North Sea. The closest point we could book passage for was the port of Aberdeen in Scotland. From there we hired a coach and we’ve been on the road to London the last five, maybe six weeks.” William paused for more wine. “And now we have the good fortune to be in the company of such wonderful guests as yourselves.”

  Mary watched William, his eyes trained on her father. He had high cheekbones and fine lip. She wondered how many woman he had kissed, he seemed the type to congregate with the common folk. With his attention focused on her father, his eyes twinkled with an intensity that betrayed his calm manner. Looking at his face, he was not only a handsome man, but his intense eyes covered his thinking of something important.

  “We’re delighted to have your presence and be of service in such unfortunate weather. Welcome,” he said again, arms outstretched as the gentleman she knew her father to be, “please.”