A Dashing Earl’s Secret (Preview)

Prologue

A knock on the door startled Olivia as she stared out of the window. A dismal, damp, gray day with a bitter north wind. The perfect weather for a funeral. 

I thought I’d be safe in the morning room – that no one would think to look for me here. If I don’t answer, then whoever it is might go away. 

Today she needed to be alone, she craved solitude. It wasn’t much to ask for, just a short time on her own, to calm her emotions and find the courage to face the world again. She could cope with the pain, the bandages wrapped around her shaven head.  One day those bandages would be peeled away and she would see her new identity. 

There would be scars, and the doctor had been very specific in telling her to prepare herself for a changed appearance. She must, he had told her in somber tones, prepare herself for a life living with disfigurement. 

I can live with physical scars. But the intense pain of losing Frederick and Mary will always be there. How could this have happened? She clutched at the velvet curtain, feeling the softness between her fingers. 

I must be brave. I have to pull myself together for Jocelyn’s sake. She has lost both her parents. 

Her fingers flew to the bandages and the strange sensation of no hair covering half her head. Tomorrow she would get Ellen to cut the other half short. It would be better to look even on both sides while her hair grew back. 

I don’t need to look in the mirror. I know how I feel inside, that’s all that matters, she thought to herself. 

The knock came again, more insistent this time. The noise resounded in her head, the pain in her temples throbbing at the sound. A whining, whimpering noise began in the corner of the room. Olivia looked towards a King Charles’ spaniel sitting on its cushion near the fire. Her sister in law’s tiny companion, Marguerite, looked towards her with enormous eyes. 

Poor little thing, you’ve lost your family too, and you’re just a puppy. Come here. 

She lifted the little dog and held it close. Mary had always had Marguerite close to her, and the tiny scrap of soft fur was bewildered, continually keening for her mistress. 

“I miss her too,” murmured Olivia. “Jocelyn and I will look after you, don’t worry my little friend.” 

Olivia capitulated to the knocking and called, “enter.”

She breathed a sigh of relief to see Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, miss. The guests who came here after the funeral have all gone, except for Sir Jonathan Ellington. He’s still here, and asked to speak to you.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. In the depths of this sadness her beloved Jonathan had stayed to support her. Her fiancé was an anchor in this time of turmoil and change. 

Would their marriage need to be delayed now she had entered a period of mourning? She smoothed down the skirt of her mourning gown of black bombazine silk. She hoped they could marry soon, then Jocelyn could come and live with her, rather than with her new guardian, Uncle Harold, the new Earl of Riversmead. 

“Thank you Mrs. Jennings. I’ll see him now. Please show him in.”

“Very well. I’ll bring tea for you both, miss,” said Mrs. Jennings as she left.  

She had not had a chance to speak with her fiancé at the service or in the churchyard. He entered the morning room with an air of confident authority, tall and handsome, reminding her of the statue of a Roman Emperor she had once seen in a museum in London. 

Her eyes relaxed at the sight of his concerned face. He came immediately towards her and took both her hands in his. 

“My dear. How are you?” he asked with gentle concern in his voice. 

“As well as can be expected,” she responded. “I’m glad to see you Jonathan,” she said as she smiled into his flint gray eyes, expecting him to kiss her on the forehead as he usually did when they met. He didn’t kiss her though, and she thought fleetingly that this was no doubt because it was the day of the funeral of her brother and sister-in-law. 

“Come, sit,” he said, somber and serious. “Does it pain you?” he asked as he gestured towards the bandages covering the side of her head. 

“Not really,” she said, trying to smile and put him at ease. “The doctor said I’m healing well and he will remove the bandages next week.”

Jonathan was concerned for her, and her heart melted with love for this man. 

Olivia took a seat on the sofa but, to her surprise, Jonathan didn’t sit next to her, instead taking a seat on a chair, a little distance away from her. 

“Erm, this is difficult, Olivia,” he began, “possibly one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I was awake all night thinking this through and there really is no alternative.” He avoided looking at her, his eyes staring at his polished hessian boots.

What does he mean? thought Olivia as she listened, confused at his tone of voice. 

“I spoke with Mama and we both thought it would be best to get this out of the way. It would be cruel to tell you in a few weeks’ time. No, it’s best for you to hear this now.” He turned his head away from her, seeming like a stranger, so formal and cold. 

Olivia gripped the lace edged linen handkerchief she held in her hands. A feeling of trepidation crept through her body. 

“My dear, the reality is that we can no longer marry. I spoke to your Uncle Harold earlier this week. Your situation is bleak. It seems that the provision your father made for you in his will is not legally binding. The small estate near Olney, and your financial settlement, were never legally binding and he tells me you are penniless.”

Olivia felt the pounding in her temples growing stronger as she struggled to comprehend Jonathan’s words. 

“I may be a baronet, but the income of our family estate is small, and the finances perilous. I love you Olivia, but I have to marry well.” He still looked away, running his fingers nervously through his sandy colored hair. 

A sob broke from Olivia’s throat. A strangled, harrowing sob, which she could no longer contain. “No….: that cannot be!” 

“I’m afraid it is the reality of life. I regret breaking the news today, but I remain convinced it would have been more cruel to wait. If things were different then we would marry.”

He stood, calm and contained and then bowed to take his leave. The tiny toy spaniel jumped from its cushion and, sensing the emotion in the room, growled at the baronet.

“Farewell my dear, I wish you well.”

He turned on his heel and left her, not looking back. 

Olivia’s world collapsed around her. She had lost her family, her fiancé, and it seemed her inheritance. Sobs wracked her body as Marguerite jumped onto the sofa and buried its head in the folds of her gown. Her hand reached down to ruffle its soft, long ears. 

You need me little friend, Jocelyn needs me. I will be strong. 

Outside the wind howled and the window pane rattled. Gray clouds released icy rain, which struck the glass with force. The young woman on the sofa did not look up, she was lost in her memories, wondering if this is how it felt when your heart was broken?

Chapter One

Swanbourne Place, London

23rd September, 1816

Her quill pen darted across the page as Lady Olivia Sherwyn recorded her memories of another day. In this journal, she shared her inner thoughts about life at Swanbourne Place. Only on these secret pages could she pour out the emotional turmoil she felt about her changed circumstances. 

She remembered describing the harsh days of the previous winter, when snow transformed the city, covering everywhere with a thick, icy blanket of sparkling white crystals. She remembered times when her fingers had been so cold it had been difficult to force them to form words on the page. 

This house, which had once been warm and welcoming every day of the year, had become so cold that ice formed on the inside of the window panes. Her uncle only allowed fires during the day, in those rooms where he personally spent time. Olivia could bear frozen fingers, wrapping herself in a warm woolen shawl in her room. She knew that she could always find warmth in a corner of the kitchen by Cook’s fire. 

I can cope with the cold. No, it is the emotional emptiness I struggle to accept. If I could leave I would, but I can’t leave Jocelyn alone in this ice house. I will never accept his cold, harsh attitude to life. 

Olivia looked across her room at Marguerite, sitting on her cushion. You have more warmth, little friend, than my Uncle Harold. While my brother lived Swanbourne Place was a warm, loving family home. 

She had learned to accept her uncle’s manner and not cross him. In the early days she had argued with him, but as Earl, and her guardian, he always prevailed.

Olivia gazed out of the window across the skyline of the city of London. The tall spire of St Mary Abbots church in Kensington stood proudly on the horizon. She drew in a breath, shuddering for a moment as she remembered a quiet country churchyard near the family estate in Bedfordshire, where she had said her farewells to her brother Frederick and his wife Mary. 

How long before this pain of grief eases? I lost my family and my fiancé. Each day is marked with a scar of sorrow for their loss. I miss them, so very much. 

She noticed the trees in the small park in the center of Swanbourne Place were changing into a blaze of autumn colors. The maple trees were bathed in shades of yellow ochre and burnt orange. 

How beautiful. There is always something in the world to be grateful for, she thought to herself. 

A memory of a walk through Green Park with Jonathan, the autumn before the tragedy, made her clutch the window sill, and she felt the crisp frost crunching under her boots as they walked to look at the frozen lake. Jonathan had offered her his arm and tucked it neatly under his, as they made their way through the park, marveling at the colors of the trees. They shared so much in common. 

I must stop this, she told herself sharply. The trouble is I still wish he would walk through that door, and tell me he loved me, and didn’t care about my lack of fortune. She almost felt his cool lips kissing her forehead and the tip of her nose, and telling her that he loved her. 

Jonathan, I still miss you. I miss our conversations and shared laughter. She looked down to see large dark eyes staring up at her. She reached down to stroke Marguerite between her ears and the dog began to lick her hand. Well I know that you care, she laughed. No one is more loyal and affectionate. 

As she looked at the display of autumn colors, she drew her hand through her hair, wishing she could ask Ellen, her maid, to put her hair into a high updo with sparkling crystals, rather than the low hairstyles, with several ribbons, which she had needed to adopt to hide her scars. 

A sharp knock on the door drew her away from the window. She turned to smile at Ellen as she entered, immediately aware that something was wrong. 

“Ellen, whatever is the matter?” she enquired gently.

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s his lordship, he’s been in an agitated mood all afternoon. Mrs. Jennings had to go in there herself when he rang the bell, as he had spoken to little Millicent so sharply that she was in tears.”

“He has these dismal moods, that’s not unusual,” Olivia responded. “I’ll speak to Millicent myself. She’s an asset to this household, and we couldn’t manage without her.” She paused, “Is there something else?”

“I’m not sure, miss. We think he threw a crystal glass at the fire, as there was a terrible crash, about a half hour ago,” Ellen continued, hesitating, and clearly holding something back. 

“And …?” persisted Olivia. 

“His lordship opened the door just now and demanded to speak with you immediately. I’ve to tell you to go to his study directly.” She smiled at Olivia, chestnut curls escaping from her mob cap. “I’m sorry to tell you about his mood, but it is best to be cautious when he’s like this.”

“Don’t worry Ellen, I’m quite used to uncle Harold when he is cantankerous. It won’t help if I keep shillyshallying here, and it’s always best to get these things over and done with as soon as possible.”

Despite her confident words she felt a slight sensation of discomfort. Since she had been forced to live with her Uncle Harold, now Earl of Riversmead, she had become used to his irascible temper, often directed at her. She was always glad if that meant his anger was deflected away from her niece, Jocelyn. 

Smoothing her hair and arranging it neatly around her face, Olivia made her way down the oak staircase, clutching the carved bannister as she made herself walk with grace and confidence. 

When she reached the hall she saw Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper, waiting for her. “He’s asked if you will join him immediately, my lady,” she said, smiling weakly, with affection in her gray eyes. Mrs. Jennings had been with the family since her father’s time as Earl of Riversmead, and had known Olivia since she was a little girl. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. I’ll join his lordship immediately,” Olivia replied, smiling.

Mrs. Jennings knocked on the door, and bobbed a curtsey, telling her uncle she had arrived. There had been a new level of formality at Swanbourne Place when her uncle took the title of Earl, after her brother’s death. It still felt strange to be announced within her own home. 

Forcing her feet forward she entered the room, smiling warmly at the Earl of Riversmead. “Uncle, I believe you wished to speak with me?” she said brightly. 

The elderly man, with dull gray hair and a stooped posture, took his time in raising his head to acknowledge Olivia. When he did, he looked at her as if she was a crumb which had fallen on his frock coat sleeve. 

“I did send for you, but it has taken so long for you to join me that I have forgotten the matter about which I wanted to discuss,” he said sarcastically.

Olivia, who had become used to these games, simply stood and waited for her uncle to speak again. Would he make her stand here, or ask her to be seated, she wondered? 

“Ah yes, I remember,” he drawled. “I have been considering the accounts for this house in town and the re-construction of the damaged wing of Silverton Hall.” He fiddled with his papers, almost as though he had forgotten she was there.

“How long since you came out Olivia?” he enquired.

This is intolerable, she thought.  She looked her uncle directly in the eye, “Uncle, may I be permitted to sit?” she asked, not answering his question directly. 

“Erm.” He seemed to be considering his answer but he could not refuse her request. “Pray be seated Olivia, we have much to discuss.” He finally answered, as he gestured to a hard back chair across from his desk. 

Olivia continued to ignore her trembling legs and made her way to the chair with all the elegance of a young lady of quality. 

“Thank you,” she said. “You wanted to know when I had my first season?” 

“Indeed, I believe you are now twenty-three years of age?”

“I am indeed twenty-three and..” she paused, very briefly, “I’m very aware of the passing of time, and my situation as an unmarried lady. You may recall, sir, that I had my first season at eighteen, before becoming engaged, and was due to be married at twenty. However, because of the change in my circumstances, of which you are fully aware, and I find it difficult to speak about …” 

Her voice cracked, but she would not let this odious man see the level of her distress, and taking a sharp inward breath she continued. “After the tragedy, and the end of my engagement, I withdrew from society. I did attend two balls and several recitals last year, but I have no wish to return to the ton and attend society events.”

“I noticed some dressmaking invoices in the accounts, but they are reasonable and not of concern.” He turned to his papers and began sorting through them, as if searching for something specific. “Ah here, however, are the accounts for Lady Jocelyn’s seamstress, and those appear to be astronomical.” He pushed his fist down on the table. 

“I do not believe Lady Jocelyn’s gowns and accessories are any more expensive than other young ladies of her age and station,” countered Olivia. “If anything, I thought she was prudent in her choices.” 

“Well it can’t continue!” he said, Olivia could see the rage in his eyes. 

He has the family fortune now, master of this house and the estate in Bedfordshire. He withdrew my allowance when he became Earl and resents every penny which is spent. My uncle is a miser. 

“She must be married,” he continued. His words echoed around the room. Stark and devoid of any emotion. 

“She?” Olivia queried, knowing full well that he meant Jocelyn, but disliking the way he spoke about her dear niece, who was just nineteen years, and only now emerging from her own grief at the loss of her parents. 

“Of course I mean Jocelyn. The chit needs to be married. You may consider me a rich man, but I can’t afford to keep the two of you forever. You must begin to prepare Jocelyn for a season in London, in the spring, and l will expect her to find a husband within months.”

He really means this, thought Olivia. Although she knew that Jocelyn would be delighted at the prospect of coming out and having a season in London, the motives of her penny-pinching uncle were misguided.

“Very well, uncle. You realize there will be considerable expense? Every young lady of the ton must have a ball and a suitable wardrobe, including a dress for presentation at court.”

“I have included that in my calculations,” he retorted. “Much as I hate to see such a waste of a good shilling, I know it is necessary to get the girl out of my house.” 

Olivia nodded. However, her uncle hadn’t finished. 

“The same goes for you too. You’ve been moping about long enough. You might be penniless, but you are the daughter of an Earl. You’ll find somebody to offer for you, if you make an effort.”

“But uncle, surely in view of…” she hesitated and didn’t know how to proceed. She felt tears welling up and forced them back. She would not let her uncle see how much his words were hurting her. 

“I can’t return to society,” she said. As she replied she realized her hand was rising to touch the side of her face so she pulled it back down, clasping her hands together tightly. 

“Nonsense. You can and will return for a season, indeed you must accompany Jocelyn to all events. You can’t stay under my roof forever, and you must make a match. There is no other way for a lady of your station in society.” 

“I could perhaps find a position as a companion, or governess,” she suggested, almost inaudibly. 

This time he banged the table so hard that the quill pen flew off the table and ink scattered across his dress shirt. 

“Damnation!” he snarled, “now look what you have made me do”

Olivia gasped. She sat still, rooted to the chair, hoping this would soon be over.

“The daughter of an Earl cannot be a governess or companion, don’t be so ridiculous. You will find a husband. There must be someone who will have you.” He began to dap at the ink with a piece of paper, but the stain on his desk only grew worse.  

“Now get out of my sight. Ask Jennings to call for my manservant as this shirt is covered in ink.” 

“Very well, sir.” She paused, reluctant to continue.  “Might I remind you that I leave tomorrow to visit my friend, Lady Arden, at Leighton Manor, and that I will be gone for several weeks. However, as soon as I return I will ensure that Jocelyn is prepared for her first season, and if you insist I will join her at events.” 

“If you meet someone while staying at Leighton Manor that would be excellent,” her uncle mused, speaking to himself. “It will save me the cost of a season.” 

Suddenly, his mood changed and he looked calmer. He had a plan and he had put it into action. “Please convey my regards to Lady Arden. I hope she will visit with us at Silverton Hall, when the restoration is completed in the spring,” he said gruffly.

“Of course uncle, I’m sure she would be delighted,” Olivia said, relieved at the change in mood.

“Enjoy your visit, niece,” he said, almost grudgingly. Olivia smiled, knowing how difficult it was for her uncle to say pleasant things. It was his way, there was generally no malice in his actions, though recently he had become obsessed with household expenses.

She stood up, curtseyed, and made her escape, feeling the weight of the heavy oak door as she pushed it open. She could see Mrs. Jennings, hovering in the hallway and smiled wearily at her. 

“I’ll bring you a nice pot of tea. There’s a fire in the small morning room,” said Mrs. Jennings, returning the smile.

Olivia nodded her thanks and found sanctuary in the elegant room, which her sister-in-law, Mary, had decorated in pale blue and silver, her exquisite taste evident throughout the townhouse. The window looked out onto a quieter part of the garden where it was pleasant to sit and take tea on a summer’s afternoon.  

She made herself shake off the mood of despondency at the idea of having to endure a season in London. It was several months ahead and entirely possible that her uncle would change his mind. Maybe she could attend a couple of balls and recitals and then fade away from society again. It had been her choice to live quietly at Swanbourne and she did not regret it. 

Olivia had accepted her changed status, and the loss of her inheritance on the death of her brother. It had resulted in her losing her beloved fiancé Jonathan, with his family estate deep in debt, his mother had ordered him to end their engagement. 

Within a few weeks Olivia had lost her older brother Frederick, her sister-in-law and friend Mary, plus the man she loved and had expected to marry. 

In the midst of coping with her own grief and disfigurement, she threw herself into caring for her sixteen-year-old niece, Jocelyn, who had lost both her parents in such a sudden and untimely way. 

Olivia sank wearily into a high winged chair, close to the fire, feeling the warmth on her fingers. She had clasped her hands so tightly together that there was a red mark where her thumbs had pressed into her skin. 

She felt the soft brocade of the chair wrapping around her and closed her eyes, telling herself to relax and imagine a woodland walk, next to a stream, where she could smell the scent of pine trees on a warm spring day. This was her escape, her way of dealing with the reality of loss and the unpredictability of her Uncle Harold.

After a few minutes, Olivia opened her eyes and looked towards the gray clouds, as they moved across the darkening sky. The pull of the past was always strong and she felt it now. Faces of her family and happier times. 

We celebrated Christmas here, just days before the tragedy at Silverton Hall. There used to be so much laughter and love in our family.  

Jocelyn, less than four years younger than Olivia, was a sister as much as a niece. Mary, Jocelyn’s mother, had become a friend to her and was as much a mother to her as she was to Jocelyn. Silverton Hall had been a happy place, with a staff who had stayed with them for many years. 

Her brother had been devoted to the Silverton Estate, and the crops which brought prosperity and helped maintain the cottages of the farm workers. 

How I long for those days. If only I could turn back the clock and be with my family again. I miss them every day with an aching sadness which is never far away.

As memories of that early January night crept into her thoughts, she pushed them away. It was no use, the tears which she had forced back in her uncle’s study welled up and streamed silently down her cheek. She wiped one away with her fingers and felt the edge of the puckered, scarred skin on her cheek. That night had taken away her family and changed her appearance forever. 

I would have endured more scars, across my face, if it meant I still had my family. 

That loss made the loss of her beauty insignificant in comparison. Then there was Jonathan. He loved her, she knew in her heart that he loved her, but he had been forced to put family obligation and duty before love.

I’ll never marry. I’ll never have a man look at me in the way that Jonathan did, that night when he told me he loved me, and asked me to marry him. She lost herself in memories of an idyllic evening, after a ball at Silverton Hall, with the stars twinkling in the sky, when she lost herself in his eyes of Jonathan.

The shadows grew darker and the silver thread in the curtains sparkled brightly in this special room, which had become her sanctuary. She truly believed that Uncle Harold did not even know this small morning room existed. 

The truth in his words had struck a chord. He’s right. I can’t stay at Swanbourne Place in town, or even live in the great house on the estate at Silverton, without his consent. Everything belongs to my uncle now. 

She was practically penniless, her expected inheritance lost in some legal complications. Jocelyn had fared a little better. Her brother had ensured that his daughter had a substantial settlement which would come to her on marriage or at the age of twenty-three.

The prospect of marriage dismayed her. Who would want a scarred bride? Was it fair for any children of a marriage to have a mother who caused comments from strangers when they saw her face?  It would be best if she simply disappeared into obscurity. 

Tomorrow she would leave Swanbourne Place for a long awaited visit to her friend, Marianne, Lady Arden, whom she had met during her first season in London. 

I’ll talk to Marianne about the future. She might have an acquaintance who needs a companion. 

Despite what Uncle Harold had said, she needed to find a way to earn her own living. As soon as she had supported Jocelyn through her first season, she could look to her own future. 

Once Jocelyn has found a husband I can find a position as governess or companion and leave. I’ll go in disguise if necessary. 

A gentle rapping at the door brought her back to reality. She opened it to find Mrs. Jennings carrying a tray with a teapot. 

“A pot of tea and some of Cook’s special lemon cookies,” said Mrs. Jennings, with a look of concern. “I thought you needed something to cheer you up. I know it isn’t easy, with everything changed.”

Olivia took the housekeeper’s hand and pressed it gently. “Thank you, you always know when it’s difficult. He doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just his way.”

Mrs. Jennings snorted and moved to pour two steaming cups of tea. “I still miss Lady Mary too. This morning room was her favorite place in the house. I don’t know what she would make of the way your uncle has behaved.”

“You know I can’t discuss it,” said Olivia quietly. “He is my uncle.”

“Of course. Now tell me about your visit to see Miss Marianne, I mean Lady Arden,” she asked, keen to know about Olivia’s visit to Leighton Manor.

Olivia looked towards the window, seeing the rivulets of rain make patterns as they ran down the glass panes. She wished it was summer. As the days grew darker, leading up to the Christmas celebrations, the memories which haunted her grew stronger. She was glad her niece was staying with a friend in the North and would not return until November. 

I don’t think I could have left Jocelyn here with Uncle Harold and I do so long to see Marianne again. 

---

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