A Lady for the Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  A Lady for the Forsaken Earl

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  BRIDGET BARTON

  Copyright © 2018 by Bridget Barton

  All Rights Reserved.

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  Table of Contents

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  A Lady for the Forsaken Earl

  Introduction

  Madelene is on the run. She refuses to become an Earl's forced bride merely to settle her uncle's gambling debt. Using her only means of escape, a male disguise, she flees to London, where she will board a ship to her freedom. But her plans go askew when a run-in with bandits brings her face-to-face with the very last man she wanted to meet. Young Madelene finds the Earl intriguing, but her guard is up. As a new danger grows imminent, will Madelene be captured and forced into an unwanted marriage, or will the man she once feared be the one to rescue her?

  Lord Hugh Trentham has returned from the war with an injury on his leg and the title of Earl of Scarbrough waiting for him. This title though does not come free of guilt! Hurt and betrayed from his late wife, he finds himself winning the hand of a young maiden through a bet. Will his tormented past prevent him from carrying on with this union, or will this young Lady save his aching heart?

  While he sets out to discover the truth hidden behind the curious boy's wary eyes, he unearths more than he bargained for. Will he accept his chance of redemption, or will he allow his past to devour his newfound happiness?

  Prologue

  June 1811

  Madelene shook her head furiously, refusing to accept her father’s words.

  “No, Father, no. I object to this – you cannot make me leave your side!”

  Her father sighed. “It is done, Madelene. If it is of any consolation, Maria will, of course, be at your side, as will Giles. I would have Rashid accompany you, but perhaps he will attract far too much attention.”

  Madelene’s forehead puckered. Her father appeared to be reassuring himself as opposed to explaining the reason for dealing her an unwanted fate. Furthermore, when had her father cared about such a trifling thing as the Moor’s appearance? Rashid’s dark skin and fierce countenance may strike fear into a lesser man, but of what consequence was it to him? Sir Cardross Huntington was a man who welcomed and appreciated the allure of the taboo, the strange, and the otherwise frowned upon evidence of his travels and tastes. Rashid was but a fraction of the myriad of seamen who boarded her father’s ship, working in return for food, lodging, and adventure. Why do I concern myself with such a trivial matter when it is my future that is at stake? Madelene resorted to begging, hoping that it may soften her father’s will.

  “But who will look after you, Father? Is it not a daughter’s duty to ensure that her father is well taken care of?”

  But Sir Huntington was not to be fooled.

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Daughter. Yes, I admit that you have been a great comfort to me in my old age, but I would rather you have a fulfilling life than settle for being nothing more than a nurse.”

  She turned away, unwilling to reveal the tears that threatened to weaken her will to stand her ground. Madelene resented the women who used their tears to achieve their will, and she had vowed that she would never become a blubbering fool in the heat of an argument. Agitated, she walked to the books that littered her father’s study, running her fingers along the spine of the works of a Greek philosopher. Her father had always encouraged her to think for herself and to hold onto her own opinions, no matter the opposition. Father is mistaken if he believes that I will simply agree to his plan – I am my father’s daughter, after all. She turned back to him and fixed him with a determined look.

  “I refuse to be tossed about without any consideration of my needs! I will remain on this ship, Father, and you will let me.”

  The exchange that followed became too much for Madelene to bear. She ran from her father, entering her room in such a state that her abigail uttered a shriek of alarm. Madelene paid her no heed and buried her face in her pillow, stifling the cries that shook her body.

  *****

  The Marguerite was making its arduous journey home, having just left the cacophony of The Cape of Good Hope. They had several weeks to go before they were to reach London Dock, but each new day brought her closer to the life that was awaiting her in England. She wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the cold wind that whipped about her, but she knew that nothing could warm up the chill in her heart. Madelene found some comfort in the undulation of the waves, smiling when a dolphin leapt into the air and made a graceful splash back into the water. Many seamen saw dolphins as a good omen, but would that work for her on land as well? Madelene’s anxiety rose as thoughts of her future filled her mind, so she fastened her mind back on the waves again. Whenever her mind threatened to overcome her with distressing thoughts, she found that concentrating on the sea beneath her was enough to calm her.

  “Father says that it is for my benefit, surely he is wrong? He would have me leave all that I am accustomed to and deposit me into the hands of a man that I have neither met nor known. It seems that not even I can escape the fate of all women under the authority of men.”

  Her voice, usually bright and captivating, held a note of sorrow that she couldn’t hide. There was nothing to be done about it: as soon as they reached London Dock, she would be sent to live with her uncle and his wife. Her father had described his brother’s wife as a good and respectable woman, but Madelene had a feeling that austere would probably be a more apt description. The English women who she had had the unfortunate chances of meeting were reserved women who catered to every whim of the men in their lives. They had looked down upon her, resenting her for her outspoken ways. She would have to hold her tongue once she set foot on English soil, but the thought of changing herself just to conform left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Madelene bowed her head, allowing a few blonde tresses to escape her hastily donned cap. She had left her room in a flurry of clothes, needing the therapeutic smell of fresh air and the saltiness that was in keeping with the vast expanse of sea that surrounded the massive ship.

  “I fail to understand the reasoning behind his decision! Am I such a burden that he would remove me from his presence? Perhaps a daughter’s bond with her father does not suffice where matters of the ever–present patriarchal world are concerned.”

  She had always believed her father to be an unconventional man, one who was ahead of his time and didn’t give in to the pressures of society. He had been the one who had allowed her to grow used to living a type of life that would have been denied to her had she been closeted in the world of doctrines that England represented. Madelene had been fortunate thus far: her life on her father’s ship had afforded her entrance into the exotic and unusual world of pirates, sultans, princes, snake c
harmers, fortune tellers, sights, and sounds that put the civilised society to shame. Their journey to the East Indies had been profitable; stowed away below deck were goods fit for the extravagant life of the ton. Gold, diamonds, spices, tea, porcelain, china, and silk filled the cargo space to the brim. The goods would fetch a princely sum that would fill her father’s coffers handsomely.

  A sudden gust of wind loosened her grip on the shawl around her shoulders, and it rose in the air, dancing as if an invisible hand had attached strings to it. Madelene watched in dismay as her mother’s shawl threatened to be plunged into the sea, but it lifted into the air once more and floated down gracefully before settling into the steady hands of her father. She would have laughed at the good fortune of having her father save her shawl, but her sombre mood would not allow it. Her father’s eyes twinkled as he made an elaborate bow and held her shawl up as though he was some gladiator awaiting his prize.

  “My lady, I believe that this belongs to you,” he called out.

  Madelene made no move to meet him halfway, bringing forth a frown. My disappointment is greater than your need for reassurance, Father. Sighing, Madelene closed her eyes and turned away.

  *****

  Sir Cardross Huntington was an astute man in business, some could even call him ruthless. He could read people like an open book, and that had served him well as a merchant. Now, with the added role of a privateer, his life depended on making the right decisions in a split second or risk ruin. But when it came to his daughter, he was as malleable as the shawl in his hand. He was used to having her unwavering love and ready smile, thus he was at odds at what to do. His smile faltered as she turned away from him, leaving the shawl to dangle limply from his hand. He could feel his daughter’s sorrow as profoundly as his own, a torturous feeling that had stolen his sleep from him. It had been a fortnight since he had believed it necessary to tell her of his immediate plans for her welfare, and still, she refused to speak to him. Sir Huntington recalled how his words had been met with brief shocked silence, followed by such opposition that he was of the mind to gently remind her of her position as his daughter.

  “Madelene, I fear that you have forgotten your place. As your father, I am charged with your well–being – what I do, I do out of concern for your future.”

  Her eyes had pierced him with guilt, penetrating eyes that reminded him of his late wife. Sir Huntington experienced a pang of pain and regret as he recalled his last moments with Marguerite. She had held their infant daughter in her weak arms, painfully thin from the wasting disease that had eventually claimed her life. Cardross had made a vow to her to take care of their daughter, to shelter her from the ills of the infested world. Surely she would have agreed to his plans for their beloved daughter?

  “Father, must you send me away from you? Is there no other way?” she had asked.

  Her eyes had stared imploringly into his, a moment longer and he may have relented. But it was not to be, so she simply could not remain with him for her safety was at peril. He had spoken of his plans to send her to his brother’s house, but he had neglected to share his reasons for doing so. His daughter had blossomed into a rare beauty that drew the eyes of many admirers, and while some were purely appreciative of her striking features, there were yet others whose leering gazes had spoken of unsavoury thoughts and intentions. He was well aware that his ties with the Barbary pirates may soon come to an end as he was against the selling of humans as commodities, and should he decide to end their complicated partnership, there was no telling if they would capture his young daughter and sell her to some prince at the highest price. And there was the matter of the Viscount– Lord Allandale – who had approached him with marital designs on Madelene. The idea had been entirely preposterous, and he had stated so, effectively succeeding in earning the scoundrel’s contempt. Sir Huntington was all of three years older than the Viscount – it would not do for his daughter to be subjected to the affections of a man who would sap all her youthful exuberance before she had had her taste of life beyond the boundaries of a ship. The man was hardly the type of suitor that he had envisioned for his only daughter for there was a cruelty that emanated from the Viscount, kicking up a stench whenever Sir Huntington had the misfortune of seeing him. The tales surrounding the Viscount described great evil dealings that would put any convicted criminal to shame. A father hoped that his daughter would find true love; a type of love that saved one from the monotony of daily existence and lasted long after a spouse was lost to the abyss of death.

  Sir Huntington draped the shawl over his arm and approached his daughter, his weariness increasing with each step taken. You are angry now, Daughter, but it is my hope that you will soon understand that I have made this difficult decision to protect you. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do to ensure her safety, even if it meant having oceans and continents separating them.

  *****

  October 1811

  Hugh stepped down from his carriage, his heart in his throat. Six years. Six years, and it still feels like yesterday. His limp was more pronounced this morning, likely due to the chill that had settled in the country air. Autumn had made itself known and was steadily paving the way for the icy grip of winter that would soon strip the trees bare and cover every surface with a layer of white. There was a happy moment in time when the cold had meant blazing fires, hot cocoa, and being carefree while playing joyfully in the newly fallen snow, but age seemed to have a substantial bearing on a man’s view of the wintry season. To Hugh, it appeared that time was a man’s foe rather than a trusted friend; no one could escape the sand that steadily fell through the hourglass. He certainly had not. Here he was, standing before the gates of his home, and yet he could not bring himself to enter.

  “Furthermore, I am doubtful that I will receive a returning son’s welcome.”

  If his parents had not already turned his younger sister away from him, then he was sure of her welcome. I suppose that it can be counted as something.

  “Perhaps it will not be as terrible as I assume it will be.”

  But he would be better off turning away from Trentham House rather than entering through its gate. His mother was not a woman who could easily forget, and his father was merely a puppet in her hands. If his fate could have been rewritten, Hugh would have taken his brother’s place without a second thought. However, fate was not subject to the wants of man, it was an unforgiving woman that gave lovingly and took away with a measure of hatred. He reached out towards the south gate and pushed – better for him to enter through the servants’ quarters than through the front like a guest.

  Chapter 1

  England 1812

  No. 7 Bennet Street

  ‘The Gold House’

  The Gold House was wrought with tension. Harry Huntington’s upper lip was beaded with sweat, and his eyes darted to the other gentlemen in the room.

  “You have nothing else to wager, Huntington, go home.”

  Harry shot a look at the man who spoke, narrowing his eyes in anger. The dark haired man surveyed him with a hard gaze, challenging Harry to deny his words. Harry firmly believed that he could win. I know that I can win; I just know it. He needed a good hand, just one good hand, and he would win back all that he had lost.

  “I will make that decision for myself, My Lord.”

  The Earl laughed. “Do not be a fool, man, just give up and go home.”

  But he couldn’t; he just couldn’t. The Earl of Scarborough had no right to tell him what to do – bugger the peerage. A gambling house evened things out, as far as he was concerned. Harry scratched his head and took a swig of rum, buying himself time. He would wager their house, but his wife would likely skin him alive and throw him to the pigs. The woman has no sense! He was the man of the house, not her! But he dared not upset his wife, not when she could ruin him with the right words spoken in the right ear. No, not the house, but then what? He had lost all of his money and what possessions he had brought with him, but he needed just one more cha
nce and then everything would be alright. I can feel it in my bones – I’m going to win. He scrunched up his face, trying to think of something, anything, to wager with. A dark thought crept into his mind.

  “How many chips will the hand of a young woman get me?” he asked.

  The room went silent. Harry looked each of the five men in the face, pleading with them to agree to his plea. One by one, they all looked away, not wanting to meet the eyes of a man that would do such a thing. Three of the men had daughters who they doted on – they would never consider betting the hand of their own loved ones upon a game of chance – it was beneath them. Only one man kept a steady gaze on Harry.