Chapter 1

A FORTUNE HUNTER SCHEMES TO CATCH AN EARL

 
Applewood Cottage,
Birdwell, England,
April 1813

“Mother! Someone’s coming!”

Grace Margaret Miller hurried through the little stone cottage, stepping over and around the many crates and boxes still scattered over the floor. The family had arrived at Applewood Cottage only three days before and there was still so much to be unpacked, sorted out, and put away.

And, in some cases, very carefully hidden from view.

“Who is it, Grace? We’re not expecting anyone!” Her mother, Patience Vane Miller, came rushing out of the larger of the two sleeping rooms.

“I don’t know who it is.” Grace peered out through the heavy glass of the windows. “It looks like a man – a tradesman – and a woman walking with him. I would guess she’s his wife. They just turned off of the road and they’re coming up our lane!”

“Oh, my heaven! It could be anyone, come to welcome us to Birdwell! Run and find your brothers. Tell them to get their – tell them to find him and bring him inside. They must hide him and keep him quiet, as always. Remind them to be gentle! They know where the bottle is, if needed.”

“Are you sure they know where anything is in this place?”

“Oh, my dear, the bottle was the first thing in their young lives that John and Noah learned about. They know where it is at all times. Now run and tell them, and then you run right back out here and help me with this!”

Grace sighed, gathered her rough woolen skirts, and stepped quickly over and around the clutter on the floor. In a moment, she was out through the rear door and into the high-walled garden attached to the back of the cottage. A quick glance showed her the silent, motionless figure sitting on a stone bench in the far corner.

Reaching into her apron pocket with shaking hands, she found the key and opened the solid wooden gate that led outside. “John! Noah!” she cried, looking out at the large, three-acre apple orchard with its hundreds of bare trees in neatly spaced rows. “Come in! Quickly! Come in now!”

To her relief, the two boys appeared from where they had been playing some game around the trees. John, fourteen years of age, was shy and soft-spoken while Noah, just twelve, was a little bundle of mischief. “Bring him in. Immediately. Someone is here! You know what to do.”

Grace had been worried that her brothers might complain or simply ignore her, but they seemed to understand and came running in. She waited just long enough to lock the gate after them, and then ran back inside to join her mother.

Who would be calling on them now? They hadn’t had enough time to get their home in order and were in no position to receive any sort of guests, not even the tradesmen and servants who lived in Birdwell. But as she got back to the half-open front door, she realized that her mother’s high-pitched voice sounded quite happy and excited.

“Oh, yes, come in, come in!” cried Patience, holding the door partly closed behind her. “I’m so glad to see you! Though I am sorry we have so little for you to see. We’re still moving in! Grace! Where is that girl? I’m sure she’s here – just let me go and see – ”

She turned around, pushing the door open, nearly hitting Grace with it. Quickly, her mother caught Grace’s arm, pulled her out to the front lawn of the cottage, and shut the door.

“It’s all right, dear,” Patience said brightly. “Your Uncle Leonard Vane and Aunt Betsey are here, come to visit!”

With a small curtsey, Grace smiled at their guests. She had only seen them once or twice before in her life, but was well aware that they were her mother’s brother, Uncle Leonard, and his wife, Aunt Betsey – and that they were the people who owned this cottage.

“Thank you for coming,” said Grace. “I’m looking forward to getting to know both of you, now that – now that we’re all here.”

“Oh, quick, now, Grace, go back inside and move some of those crates and things. We must have a place for our guests to sit down! And do we have anything to serve? Cake, anything?”

“Patience Miller. Please. I beg you,” said Aunt Betsey. There was great weariness and exasperation in her voice. She was an older, grey-haired woman in the plain dress, apron, and woolen shawl of a tradesman’s wife – which she was. Grace noticed that she carried a large cloth bundle beneath one arm.

“We know you just arrived,” her aunt went on. “We didn’t come expecting dinner at Worthington House.”

“Worthington!” Patience turned and glanced out at the great estate up on the faraway hill. It was over a mile from Applewood, but easily seen due to the supreme height on which it rested. “We have no hope of being invited to Worthington. Though I do hear there is an unmarried earl living there – ”

“We don’t need to go inside the cottage,” said Uncle Leonard. “We are perfectly fine to speak with you right here, in the front garden.” He was a man in his fifties, of medium height, dressed in the old and threadbare suit that was his daily uniform for managing his little fabric and ribbon shop on the main street of Birdwell. “We have simply come to ask after your well-being and see if there is anything else you and your children might require.”

Patience seemed to relax slightly and stood close to Grace while holding onto her arm. “We couldn’t ask for anything more,” Patience said, a little more softly. “This cottage – it’s – I’m well aware that it’s – ” Her voice broke and she dropped her head into her hand, leaning against her daughter.

Grace patted her mother’s shoulder. “Uncle Leonard, I have not had the chance to thank you properly, either. We know this is your cottage. And we are very grateful that you are allowing us to stay here.”

“Yes, yes, very grateful!” said Patience, straightening up and fumbling for a handkerchief in her own apron pocket. “Very kind of both of you to allow a widowed sister and her three poor children to live in the cottage you own.”

All three of them shot Patience a look, but she simply went on talking. “One day, I promise we will invite you for the finest supper! I’ll make it myself – I was a kitchen maid at Northcliff, you know, for five years – and Grace will help – ”

“That is all very well, Patience,” said Betsey. “But for the moment, do you suppose we could sit down on the benches under the tree?”

“Of course, of course!” Patience led Grace over to the three worn wooden benches beneath the single oak tree that grew between the cottage and the road. Grace sat down close to her mother and waited for Leonard and Betsey to join them.

“I promise,” said Patience, “that we will be ready to show you some proper hospitality very soon. Won’t we, Grace?”

“Of course.” Grace glanced at her aunt and uncle as they sat down on their own bench. “Of course. You are welcome here anytime.”

Aunt Betsey simply rolled her eyes and settled the large cloth bag on her lap. “Don’t worry about us. We didn’t come here looking for an invitation to our own – ” She stopped suddenly as her husband nudged her with his elbow. “That is, we have more important things to discuss with you and Grace.”

It was Betsey’s turn to nudge her husband, and he responded by reaching into his coat for something in an inner pocket.

“Discuss with us? What do you mean?” said Patience, holding more tightly to Grace’s arm. “What has happened now?”

“Oh, I think you will both like this,” said Leonard. From inside his coat, he drew out what looked like a small piece of white paper and offered it to Grace. “I think you will like this very much indeed.”

Quickly, Patience snatched it out of his hand and studied it. “Oh! Oh, my – it’s – Grace, do you know what this is?”

“No. I don’t. But I might if you will let me see it.” Still sitting on the bench, Grace took the piece of paper from her mother and examined it closely. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know what this is.”

“Of course you don’t!” Patience cried. “Poor girl that you are – no coming-out, no fine gown, no invitations to anything out there at that northern house – not with you and your mother being servants there – your young brothers with no schooling and working all day in the barnyards, and your father nothing, but a coachman – ”

“But now, Grace,” said Uncle Leonard, quickly breaking in and trying to ignore his distraught sister, “all that is over. You are holding the first of what will be many new opportunities for you.”

“It’s a ticket to an assembly ball! In just ten days!” Patience grabbed the ticket from Grace and held it as though it were made of pure gold. “And you, my dear, are going to attend!”

“An assembly ball?” repeated Grace. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories of endless drudgery at the isolated Northcliff estate where she had lived for most of her life.

“That means,” cried Patience, “that anyone with a ticket may attend! Oh, how exciting!”

“That’s right,” said Aunt Betsey. “Now give that to me.” She held out her hand until Patience reluctantly handed back the ticket, and then tucked it into the little knitted bag that hung from her wrist. “Thank you. Now, this is the very first assembly ball to be held for many years here in Birdwell. There have been private dances up at Worthington, of course, from time to time, but those were far too fine for any of us who are merely in trade.”

Uncle Leonard nodded. “But rumor has it that now, since our town has been growing of late, the family at Worthington wants to see some wholesome amusements provided for we working-class folk. Most likely it is done in an effort to keep us to more, shall we say, ‘respectable’ means of passing the time.”

Patience froze for a moment, but Aunt Betsey actually managed a smile. “I hope that the first to benefit from Birdwell’s revived assembly ball will be Grace.”

Grace nodded, her eyes wide. It felt strange to be the one receiving such generosity. “I am sure I will benefit,” she went on, a little puzzled. “Attending a ball would be such fun! I cannot imagine what it might be like. I used to see the ladies arriving for such things at Northcliff, and occasionally the servants would try the dances out in the yard when no one was looking. But I never thought that I myself – ”

“Miss Miller,” her uncle said sternly, leaning forward, “you must be very clear about this. We are not sending you to this ball solely for your own amusement. You have a very serious task ahead of you.”

“Task?” Her heart began to beat faster and she suddenly felt very nervous. “What – what do you mean? What kind of task?”

Uncle Leonard started to speak, but then stopped. He glanced at his wife as though pleading with her to say what he could not.

With another deep sigh, Aunt Betsey looked straight at Patience. “You are all well aware that this was my home before you came here. This little cottage was very comfortable for my husband and I, and near enough to Birdwell that we could easily walk to our shop there. And frankly, I should like to have it back again before too much time passes.”

Grace looked down, feeling suddenly very low for having turned this woman out of her home. It did not matter that neither she, nor anyone else in the Miller family had had any wish to do so.

“But Mr. Vane and I discussed the matter,” Aunt Betsey went on. “We agreed that this was the only Christian thing to do. We sold the three acres of apple trees surrounding the cottage and kept only this half acre, which has just enough room for the cottage and the walled vegetable garden.”

“That sale provides the money for your upkeep,” Uncle Leonard explained. “But it will not last forever.”

Aunt Betsey glanced him. “I will not be so polite,” she said. “We are all in need of money. My husband and I have our shop, which provides a small income. Patience, you were a kitchen maid in a great house. We propose that you create pastries and dainties for us to sell in our shop a few times per week, and we would share the profits with you.”

“Oh, I should love to do that! I could put my name on them, just like the city bakers do!”

“No. No. You could not,” insisted Uncle Leonard.

“But – ”

“No one is to know that you do aught but care for your lovely daughter and your two young sons, living at ease in your country cottage,” Uncle Leonard continued.

“I could work, too,” Grace said, rising to her feet. “I was a maid-of-all-work at Northcliff. I can clean, polish, launder, haul water, carry wood – whatever is needed. Surely someone here – ”

“Again, no,” Uncle Leonard said firmly. “You will work, Miss Grace. But not in the way you think.”

Slowly, Grace sat down on the bench again, almost afraid to ask anything further.

“I’ll be the one to tell you, Grace,” said Aunt Betsey. “You are the best hope for this family’s future. You have no other male relatives, save your Uncle Leonard. Your brothers are too young to earn more than a pittance. They would be better off with some schooling anyway, so they do not grow up to be rough, ignorant men.”

“They are not ignorant!” cried Patience, shocked. “I taught them to read myself. And they can write – a little!”

Betsey ignored her. “My husband and I agree that Grace must marry and marry well. It will certainly be a better life for her than working until she drops in the dark hallways of some enormous house, which is about all she can look forward to now.”

“I see,” Grace whispered, not knowing whether she should feel thrilled or horrified. “Perhaps at the ball I might meet a successful tradesman or farmer . . . even a preacher, or a young soldier.”

But Aunt Betsey sat up very straight on the bench, clutching her large cloth bag. “You still do not understand!” she admonished. “I said that you are to marry well.”

“But – I am a servant – ” Grace felt like dissolving into despair. How could she possibly do what her aunt and uncle expected her to do?

“Listen to me,” Aunt Betsey said. “I told you I would not be polite. There is no time for niceties when the bills are coming due and your brothers need new breeches.

“You have an entire family who needs what a well-to-do husband can provide,” she went on. “Surely you can understand that it is your duty to marry such a man – That you must set your sights as high as possible. That you should aim for the young earl himself!”

Grace looked up. Her mother caught her breath. “Oh!” said Patience. “Will Earl Worthington be there, at the assembly ball? Oh, how exciting!”

“That is not known,” said Uncle Leonard. “The ladies who come to our shop have long said that though he does enjoy the company of pretty young women, he does not find large social gatherings to his taste. But you still must be ready, Miss Miller.”

“I must say that I agree,” said Patience, who was nodding beside her. “And even if he is not there and you hit a lower mark, it will still be higher than what you would have had otherwise! Oh, my dear, every eligible man in the county will be there. One of them is sure to be more than suitable for us!”

“For us?” said Grace, turning to look at her mother.

“For you, of course!” said Patience, and laughed happily.

Grace stood up and paced a few steps across the worn green grass of the lawn. “But Aunt Betsey – Uncle Leonard – the fact remains that I am nothing but a servant. I have never been anything else, never will be anything else. None but a simple tradesman would ever consider me, and a man like the earl would not look twice. I would only be wasting my time, and yours.”

“Please, Miss Miller,” Uncle Leonard said, shaking his head. “The point of all of this is that you will not be going to the ball as a servant. You will go nowhere ever again as a servant. That girl no longer exists.”

“But – what do you mean?”

Aunt Betsey actually smiled. “We have a plan,” she said. “And once we are done with you, the earl – and every other man at the ball – will look at you far more than twice!”

Grace sat back, feeling stunned. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “It feels like the whole world is spinning!”

“It will stop soon enough,” said Aunt Betsey, and passed the bundle in her lap over to Grace.

“In there, are two slightly worn, but perfectly respectable muslin dresses, along with a bonnet. You have not yet come into town and no one has seen you. Tomorrow, you will come to us in the shop for further planning and you will wear one of these dresses. Do not think of wearing your servant garb ever again.”

“You are no longer a servant. You never were a servant,” Uncle Leonard repeated firmly. “You must never forget that. Your future, and that of your family depends on it.”

Chapter 2

AN EARL SCHEMES TO AVOID A FORTUNE HUNTER

“Simon! Simon! Quickly! The bees – they’re all around me! Oh, help me, please, take this plate away!”

Thomas, better known as the Earl Worthington, sat on the hillside just below the enormous, castle-like house where he and his family lived. It was a beautiful spring day and he was surrounded by his trusted male friends and by several of the prettiest young ladies in the county, enjoying a picnic atop blankets spread over the grass.

Or rather – he would have been enjoying it, if not for the behavior of one of the young married women at the picnic.

Almost from the moment the party had arrived at the hillside, Beatrice Clarke had complained loudly about practically everything: the sun, the ants, the honeybees, the wind, the leaves that fell onto her plate – everything. And to make things worse, Beatrice was the newly married wife of Thomas’s close and loyal friend, Simon Clarke.

Thomas watched as Simon hurried over to his wife’s side. “What can I do, dear? Do you want to change your place again? Is the sun bothering you in this spot?”

“No! Didn’t you hear me? It’s these bees! They’re everywhere! Get this plate away!”

The entire gathering watched, fascinated, as Simon awkwardly took her plate full of cakes in one hand and tried to help her up with the other. “Oh! You’ve trod on my skirts! Why do you have to be so clumsy? Get off, get off!”

No one said a word. Finally, Simon managed to get his young wife to her feet and brush away the honeybees who had been drawn by the sugary cakes. “I want to go inside!” she demanded.

“Oh, but – my dear, please,” Simon said, in a small voice that was not much more than a whisper. “We’ve only just arrived. The earl is here to join us. We cannot leave now.”

“You stay then, if you cannot leave your dearest earl,” retorted Beatrice. She obviously did not care if everyone heard her berating her husband. “Just leave your poor wife to the ravages of the sun and the ants and the bees, with no chance to eat properly!”

With a deep sigh, Simon gave up and took Beatrice’s arm. “Come in, then,” he said, walking her along towards the house as quickly as he could.

The rest of the group seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and then went back to their pleasant conversation and laughter. Yet Thomas could not help but wonder what had happened to his good friend’s sweet and lovely young bride. In just the three months since the wedding, she had become selfish and demanding to the point of being  rude and dismissive of her husband in public . . . and actually seemed proud of treating him that way.

Thomas lay back on the blanket and gazed up at the blue sky, watching the soft grey-white clouds drifting through it. He was well aware that his mother was becoming very concerned about his being married and wanted him to find a suitable bride as soon as possible. Lady Worthington had actually succeeded in restarting a series of subscription balls down in the village of Birdwell, and of course, she would expect him to attend.

Finding young and pretty feminine companions was no trouble for him. He was surrounded by them at this small picnic, mostly invited by his mother. But a wife? However did one know for sure whether he was getting a sweet-tempered companion or a selfish shrew who was only after the man with the biggest purse and the largest house?

It actually made him feel helpless, in a way. There was no hiding his great wealth as the proprietor of Worthington. Scattered on these grassy hills were the best herds of prime Teeswater cattle, good for both beef and milk and quite attractive with their splashy, red roan coloring and short, curving horns.

Thomas had found that he quite enjoyed the scientific side of farming. He loved trying to improve the animals, their pastures, and their corn, and found it very rewarding to see the local farmers make use of the excellent meat, milk, and feed, all of which had been created right here on his own estate.

Raising good herds and feed crops was not just a satisfying pastime. It was also very profitable. It allowed Thomas to both improve the estate and maintain a small herd of broodmares of various types, whose offspring added even more money to his coffers.

Never had it seemed possible that his fortune would cause him trouble. Most everyone saw wealth as the answer to all of life’s problems. But Thomas knew that these delightful young women enjoying the picnic with him were not here simply for his company. They were well aware that that he was a successful man from a wealthy and titled family. His wife – whoever she turned out to be – would always have the very best that life had to offer.

Thomas closed his eyes. Sometimes, he almost wished he was poor . . . at least, just long enough to find a wife who might actually want him for himself alone. Someone who would not turn out to be a fortune hunter like the ever-nagging and complaining Beatrice Clarke.

#

Just as the twilight faded and true night fell, Thomas sat out on the expansive covered front portico of the great house and gazed out into the darkness. To the north, he could easily see, perhaps a mile away, the torches and lamps of the town of Birdwell, as well as the many scattered lights from the farmhouses all around it.

His friend, Simon Clarke, sat in the other chair. The small table between them held a lantern with a beeswax candle, a couple of glasses, and a fine brandy.

Inside the house, some of his friends from the picnic that afternoon were all enjoying some wine and a few card games. Thomas noted that Beatrice was especially good at cards and seemed very fond of a little gambling.

“Where did your wife learn to play?” asked Thomas. “She seems to enjoy it very much.”

He heard Simon take a deep breath. “Apparently, her mother whiles away many hours at cards. Beatrice learned the rudiments of a few games there, and  . . . and begged me to show her more.”

“So you did.”

He sighed. “I don’t like having my wife gamble and waste her time on such pursuits. But – ”

“But you will pay hell if you don’t allow it.” Thomas stood up and refilled both his own glass and Simon’s from the brandy decanter. “I’m sure I shouldn’t be so blunt, but I’m sorry for you.”

Simon merely shrugged and took another sip of his brandy. “I did it to myself. My parents adored her. She was so beautiful . . . so sweet, so thoughtful, so demure . . . I was swept away by her, by all that she offered me. In a fit of passion, I asked her to marry me. And now . . . ”

“Yes, now.” Thomas cleared his throat. “Simon. Did you know that my own parents tried their best to have me marry Beatrice? They, too, thought she would be an ideal wife.”

“Yes, I do know,” Simon said, after a moment. “Beatrice told me about it the very first time we quarreled – which was the morning after our wedding night. And she has brought it up to me many times since, seeming to delight in holding it over my head that the earl himself wanted her for his wife.”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile a little. “My friend, if I had truly wished to marry her, I would have.”

“Then I have to ask why you did not.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, and walked a few slow steps towards the edge of the portico. The lights down below still glowed steadily. “I certainly found her just as pretty as you did, and just as sweet and accommodating. And yet . . . ”

“Yet?”

“I cannot name it. Maybe it’s just that I tend to be drawn towards dark-haired women and not the golden-hairs.”

Both of them laughed. “That is as good a reason as any,” said Simon. “But don’t feel too sorry for me. I still have hope that she will turn back to the person she was during our courtship. I still have hope that I can find a way to make her happy and that there will be peace and conviviality in our home.”

“Hope is not a plan, my friend,” said Thomas. “You cannot build your life on it. It will not feed you, or protect you, or keep you warm at night.”

“But it’s all I have.” Simon reached for the brandy bottle again. “It’s all that keeps me going, much of the time.” He sighed. “I am twenty-four years old. And already I find myself living in the same way as so many of the old men that I see. They lead entirely separate lives from their selfish and ill-tempered wives, who care nothing about a husband’s happiness as long as they have their own.”

“And his fortune.”

“And his fortune.”

“You must mind that fortune very closely, Simon. When women gamble, they often lose everything. Do not let her do that to you. She has taken enough already. Do not allow her to ruin you with wild spending and profligate gambling in an effort to impress everyone in England except you. You really could lose all you have.”

“I know. I know all too well.” Simon drank the entire glass of brandy in one long draught. “It’s just that I do not understand how anyone, man or woman, could change so much from meeting to marriage.”

“Well, anyone, man or woman, can choose to be deceptive. I think your true question is: How did you not detect any signs of trouble beforehand?”

Simon laughed. “Which is the same as saying: How did she make such a fool of me?”

“Women make fools of us all.”

“But surely not like this. Surely not to the point of losing all hope for a happy life.” Suddenly, he slammed the empty glass back down on the small table. “I was willing to be married, but not like this! How could I have gotten it so wrong?”

Thomas could hear the despair in his friend’s voice. “I don’t know. But I’m afraid my own family is only increasing the pressure on me to marry. They want an heir for Worthington and so far, I am all they have. That’s not enough.”

“Well, not into the next generations, no. I suppose not.”

“And I am still faced with the same problem that you had. That every wealthy man has: How do I find a wife who might love me at least a little, and who is not simply putting on a show to gain my family’s fortune? Any woman can have the face of an angel and the airs of a delicate fawn when her cap is set for you, and then become a snarling she-wolf, determined to control all you have once married.”

Simon just poured himself another brandy. “But how can you stop it? I don’t want you to end up as I have. But how can you know for sure that your wife will not change, as mine did? As so many do?”

Thomas was truly saddened by the defeat and weariness in his friend’s voice. He sat down again and reached for the bottle, pouring his own brandy before it was all gone. “I mentioned earlier that my mother has restarted the subscription balls down in Birdwell.”

“You did. It’s been a number of years since they were last held.”

“It has. And I intend to go.”

Slowly, for the brandy was evidently leaving him quite relaxed, Simon turned to look at Thomas. “Are you, now? Hope to find a simple country girl, do you, and try your luck marrying one of those?”

Thomas just grinned and took another sip of the good brandy. “Not quite,” he said, lowering the glass. “But I have it in mind to try another way of finding a bride. I’ve been to countless parties and balls and picnics and hunts, with no luck. I intend to try another way of finding the sort of wife I hope for.”

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