Chapter One
London, England, Winter, 1816.
“How I long to hold you in my arms… to bring my lips to yours… to smell your sweet scent… our hands clasped together… how I miss you, Amelia… my darling Amelia… I long for you more and more each day… only a short while, my love, then we’ll be together… together forever…”
Amelia Fairchild folded the letter, brushing a tear from her cheek. It was the last letter he had sent, the scent of his cologne still faint on the parchment, and his voice resounding from the words on the page.
“My poor Rupert,” she said, holding the letter to her breast, as though holding him in her arms.
It was over a year since the arrival of the letter, a year since she had heard anything of The Honore, Rupert’s ship. Though she had not entirely given up hope, in her heart she knew he was gone. She thought back to the day they bid one another farewell. He had asked her to marry him, promising to return in six months, telling her it was not so long to wait when the two of them had a lifetime of happiness ahead of them. She had accepted. They kissed, and she had watched the ship sail out from the docks with a smile on her face imagining Rupert’s return. That had been eighteen months ago. The days and weeks had gone by, and Amelia had busied herself making preparations. Her parents had been delighted at the prospect of her marrying Lord Carlisle, the second son of the Duke of Cumberland, and her family and friends had rejoiced with her. But the letter she held in her hands had been the last, and her response had gone unanswered.
“We believe The Honore to be lost at sea. There was a terrible storm, and local accounts suggest the shipwrecked on a reef off Jamaica three months ago,” the naval official said, sitting in the drawing room in his starched uniform as Amelia had wept.
She had a locket of Rupert’s hair and now, folding the letter and placing it in the drawer of her dressing table, she slipped the locket around her neck, sighing, as she gazed at her expression in the mirror. A knock now came at the door, and Amelia brushed another tear from her cheek as her maid, Elsie, entered the room.
“Good morning, Lady Amelia. Your mother’s waiting for you downstairs. Would you like me to help you with anything before you go down?” she asked.
Amelia shook her head. She had awoken early that morning, disturbed by an unpleasant dream. The dream was about Rupert, and she got up to dress herself, not wishing to lie in bed and dwell on her sorrows.
“No, thank you, Elsie. I’ve managed myself. I’ll go down in a few moments,” Amelia replied, for she did not want her mother to see her upset.
The maid nodded, busying herself with folding Amelia’s clothes from the night before. Amelia rose from the dressing table, glancing at herself for a final time in the mirror. She knew she had to let go of Rupert’s memory, or rather, her attachment to her feelings for him. She still loved him, but if she was ever going to find happiness again, she had to leave her love for him behind, honoring his memory, but allowing herself a future, too. She tried to forget and have a good time at the winter ball at Claringdon House and the dinner party given by Lord Sotheby. Christmas was approaching, and Amelia had been caught up in the pleasures of dancing and merrymaking in what was meant to be the happiest of seasons. But thoughts of Rupert always recurred and guilt in finding pleasure in her own life when he was gone was difficult.
“If you need anything else, Lady Amelia, just ring,” Elsie said, smiling at Amelia, who nodded.
She put on a shawl, for the day was cold, and though the fire burned brightly in the hearth of her bedroom, a bitter draught came from the window, and outside snow covered the garden behind the house. Making her way downstairs, she was met by the pleasant aroma of breakfast coming from the dining room, where she found her mother sitting alone at the table.
“Oh, Amelia, you’re late down today. Your father’s already in his study,” she said, as Amelia sat down at the table.
Amelia’s mother, Baroness Wells, was a tall, elegant looking woman. She had been a belle in her younger days and was still possessed of the same beauty inherited by Amelia–dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a dimpled nose. Amelia sat down opposite her.
“I’m sorry, mother. I was just…” Amelia began, before promptly bursting into tears.
She did not want her mother to see her upset. She had brought it on herself by reading the letters, and it was always the same. Her mother looked at her sympathetically.
“I know it’s hard, Amelia, but it’s been a year now. You can’t live your life through the prism of regret. It can’t be so. You’ll only be unhappy,” she said, shaking her head.
Amelia pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She knew her mother was right, but try as she might, she could not rid herself of the sorrow she felt. She was reminded of it every day as she clasped at the locket around her neck.
“I miss him, Mother. I know it’s foolish. I know he’s not coming back, but I still hope for him to do so,” she said.
Her mother shook her head.
“He’s not going to, Amelia. And if you don’t accept that… well, you’re going to live a sad and lonely life. What about your new friends, Clara and Isobel? Can’t they do something to cheer you? It’s nearly Christmas, after all. I hate to see you like this,” the baroness said.
Amelia took a deep breath, signaling for the footman to pour her a cup of coffee. She knew her mother was right. She took out the invitation from her pocket she had been mulling over for several days. Her mother looked at her in surprise as she passed it across the table.
“This arrived for me, Mother. I’d like to accept it, but you’d need to come with me,” she said.
Her mother raised her eyebrows, peering at the invitation, as Amelia waited nervously. It had arrived unexpectedly. Amelia suspected Clara and Isobel Turner, the daughters of Lady Turner Turner whom Amelia had met at the winter ball at Claringdon House had something to do with it. It was an invitation to a Christmas party held at the Devonshire estate of the Earl of Amhurst, Nicholas Ashworth. Lady Turner was the earl’s paternal aunt, and her daughters had spoken at length of the annual gathering at the ancestral home on the Amhurst estate.
“It’s quite an occasion. He invites all sorts of people. We don’t have a choice; mother’s in his debt. It’s kind of him, though. He’s an interesting figure,” Isobel had said, raising her eyebrows.
Amelia had been intrigued. She was a naturally curious person and had learned some interesting things about the Earl of Amhurst since the arrival of the invitation. Her mother narrowed her eyes.
“Well, it’s rather short notice, Amelia. Your father…well, I suppose your father doesn’t care much for the Christmas celebrations, but…” she said, as though trying to find an excuse to refuse the invitation.
Amelia could not go alone, and though thoughts of Rupert held her back, she knew the Christmas party was just what she needed. It would be a chance to escape her memories and make new ones, too. She looked pleadingly at her mother, hoping she would agree. Clara and Isobel were both delightful young women Amelia’s age, and she had found an immediate affinity. But the earl intrigued her. Discreet inquiries had revealed a question over his legitimacy.
“Oh, please, Mother. Can’t we go? You said yourself I need something other than my memories. It’s very kind of them to invite us. They hardly know us, but I like Clara and Isobel. They’re such fun,” Amelia said. In the company of her new friends, she had found herself looking to the future, rather than dwelling on the past.
Her mother nodded, though she still looked somewhat skeptical.
“Well…yes, I suppose so. But think of the journey…all the way to Devon, and the weather is not great for traveling. What if we get trapped in the snow?” the baroness replied.
Amelia’s face fell. She had not thought about that and now realized it would be an arduous trip. She had been caught up in thoughts about the estate. Clara was told it was one of the oldest estates in Devonshire, with views spanning vast tracts of moorland towards the sea.
“I’m sure we could find a reliable driver,” Amelia said.
Her mother looked at her sympathetically.
“And do you really think it would help…to go there, I mean? Would your sorrows not just be waiting for you here on your return?” she asked.
Amelia did not know. She would carry the locket of Rupert’s hair with her, but as for the memories…
“I need to do something, Mother. And it really is very kind of the earl to invite us. He invites all sorts of people, apparently. And he’s an interesting character in his own right. They say he’s illegitimate and a recluse. He never comes up to London. He never leaves the estate,” Amelia said.
Her mother looked slightly taken aback by these rumors, even though Amelia sought to reassure her there was no scandal involved. Rumor had it he was the product of a liaison with a maid, though no one had ever been able to prove as much.
“It would certainly prove an interesting diversion for you, Amelia. Very well. I’ll write to the earl and express our gratitude for his invitation. But, I’m not looking forward to the journey,” she said.
Amelia smiled. She was glad to have something to look forward to and distract her from her thoughts of Rupert. She knew he was not coming back, even though she was not ready to let him go.
“I’ll write to Clara and Isobel. I’m sure it’s their doing. As far as I know, we’ve never met the earl, have we?” Amelia said, feeling a sudden excitement at the prospect of the house party and all it might bring.
Her mother shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, sounding somewhat vague. Amelia felt certain she had never laid eyes on the earl, even as her discreet inquiries had revealed some interesting facts about him.
After breakfast, the baroness broke the news to Amelia’s father. The baron was unperturbed, seeming to relish the prospect of a Christmas on his own.
“Don’t worry about me, Beryl, I’ll be quite all right. Brandy and plum pudding is all I need for a happy Christmas,” he said, and it seemed the matter was settled.
Amelia’s mother sat down to write a letter of acceptance to the invitation, and Amelia did the same to Clara and Isobel. They knew of her sorrow over Rupert and the tragedy of her loss. It seemed they had taken it on themselves to help alleviate her melancholy. Even if it’s only a distraction.
“It’ll be cold in Devonshire with the sea winds and moorland snow,” Elsie said, as she helped Amelia choose which dresses to take with her.
“Oh, I think it’ll do me a world of good, Elsie. The fresh air of the countryside will be nice. London can be so stifling,” Amelia replied.
She was looking forward to getting away from the capital, and the thought of doing so gave her a renewed sense of hope. She had been fearful her mother would say no, and though the baroness had seemed reticent at first, Amelia was glad to have persuaded her.
“You’ll need plenty of warm clothes, Lady Amelia. And what about formal clothes? Will there be dancing? Dinners?” Elsie asked.
Amelia did not know. She had never attended a house party before, let alone a Christmas one. Her parents, though titled, were not part of the landed aristocracy. Her father owned a small estate in Hampshire, where he was patron of the living for two parishes, and their house in London was modest, though comfortable. At her coming out, Amelia had found it hard to compete with those women whose whole lives had been steered towards the acquisition of a husband and the elevation of their rank. She had met Rupert at a dinner hosted by a friend of her mother’s, and it had been love at first sight.
“I hope so. I’m sure we’ll be well entertained,” Amelia replied, imagining what it would be like to dance with the earl, or find herself in the company of aristocratic gentlemen.
London was not the place for a new start. It held too many memories. But in Devonshire, in the company of new and interesting people, Amelia hoped she could find a respite from her memories, and the chance of a new beginning.
“I’ll finish packing for you, Lady Amelia. I’ll make sure everything’s ready,” Elsie assured her.
Four days before the house party was due to begin, Amelia and her mother set off for Devonshire. They had hired a larger carriage than their own for the journey and an experienced drive and escort. The roads could be treacherous and Amelia’s mother feared the threat of bandits.
“I’m sure no one would dare rob you, my dear,” Amelia’s father had said, as he had waved them off.
“You can’t be too careful, Clarence,” the baroness had replied. With fresh snow lying on the ground, Amelia and her mother set off for Devonshire, excited at the prospect of the gathering to come.
“I wonder who else will be there. Clara didn’t mention any names when she wrote back. There’s bound to be quite a crowd,” Amelia said, as they drove through the snowy London streets.
“The Devonshire aristocracy, I suppose. Relatives from London, Clara and Isobel, and their mother. We’ll find out when we get there, I suppose,” Amelia’s mother replied, and Amelia imagined what the gathering would be like.
She pictured soirees, dinners, parlor games, and walks on the estate. Perhaps she and the earl would ride out together, or perhaps he would remain aloof. The invitation she had received had been formal in tone, though the earl had signed it with a flourish. “I do hope you deign to accept my invitation,” he had written.
As they took to the road leading west, Amelia could not help but feel intrigued as to what lay ahead, and glad to have left some of her more painful memories behind.
Chapter Two
Devonshire, England.
“She’s pretty; beautiful, in fact. I saw her at Clarington House. She was wearing a peacock blue dress with a matching hat. I think you’ll like her,” Harry Amesbury said, raising his eyebrows at Nicholas, who rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure she is. But I’m not interested in London society, Harry. You know that. It was Clara who suggested I invite her. She’ll be company for her and Isobel,” Nicholas replied, dismissing his friend’s words with a wave of his hand.
They were walking on the cliff tops, the waves crashing on the rocks below, and the sky brooding with snow, a blizzard having just passed over them. Harry paused, turning to Nicholas and sighing.
“You deny yourself these pleasures, Nicholas. And for what reason? She’s pretty and unattached, and she’s coming to your house party. Why not take advantage of the fact? Allow yourself a modicum of enjoyment. Are you going to be a recluse for the whole festive period? What is the point in inviting all these people if you won’t be sociable? I’ll have her for myself if you’re not careful,” Harry said, and Nicholas laughed.
His intention in inviting Amelia and her mother had not been amorous. He had done so at the suggestion of his cousins, Clara and Isobel. They had written to tell him of their new friendship with the daughter of the Baron Wells, whose betrothed had perished in a tragic accident at sea. His cousins had gone on to suggest it would do Amelia good to be invited out of London for the Christmas festivities, and Nicholas had been only too happy to oblige.
“Do as you wish. You know my motivations for the gathering have nothing to do with Lady Amelia,” Nicholas replied.
His friend narrowed his eyes, glancing back towards Ashworth House, resplendent on the headland above.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea, Nicholas? This house has enough ghosts. Are you sure you want to summon more?” he asked.
Nicholas sighed. He had thought long and hard about the house party. It was an annual occasion, but this year, his motivation had been somewhat different. He knew the rumors about him and the question of his legitimacy and lineage. He was determined to discover the truth once and for all. A house party had seemed the ideal way of doing so, the invitations issued to those people whom Nicholas believed might hold the key to the truth.
“I want to know, Harry. I told you so. I want to know the truth about myself,” Nicholas replied.
His friend shook his head.
“And if you discover a less than palatable truth?” he asked.
Nicholas shrugged. It was a risk he was willing to take. There were those who considered him illegitimate, even as he had no siblings to challenge the inheritance of his father’s title. He was the Earl of Amhurst, and whatever the truth is, it wouldn’t change that.
“Then so be it. I want to know if my mother’s my mother. And if she’s not, who is?” Nicholas replied.
The woman he had always thought of as his mother, Lady Eleanor, died shortly after his birth. Now his father was dead, so there was nothing holding him back from discovering the truth. His father had taken the secret to his grave, but Nicholas hoped to discover it for himself. The arrival of the guests for the house party was the means by which he hoped to do so.
“Then I hope we can find the answer. But don’t deprive yourself of pleasures, Nicholas. You spend all your time here on the estate with no one for company but Branston and the maids. It’ll do you good to mix with others. I’m sorry, I’ve had my own distractions of late. But it’s good to be here, and I’m sure we’ll discover the truth in due course,” Harry said.
Nicholas was grateful for his friend’s words, even as he had no romantic motivation in making his invitations. His goal was to find the truth about himself. All else was secondary.
“We should be getting back to the house. I wonder who’ll arrive first,” Nicholas said, wondering what Lady Amelia would make of the Devonshire moors, the striking setting of the house.
***
“Can you see anything at all?” Amelia asked, pulling down the carriage window and peering out into the whirling snowstorm beyond.
Her mother looked from behind, leaning forward, as Amelia called out to the carriage driver.
“What’s happened?” the baroness asked.
“It’s the wheels, my Lady. They’re stuck. We’re in a rut. I can’t get the horses to move,” the carriage driver called back.
Amelia and her mother looked at one another in alarm. The journey from London had been perilous. They had encountered heavy snow, and the carriage had twice become as it was now. On the road to Winchester, they had been set on by bandits who had mistaken them for a mail coach. The escort’s quick thinking (and pistol) had averted something far more serious. They were cold and uncomfortable and had been looking forward to arriving at Ashworth House before nightfall. By the driver’s estimation, they were just a few miles from the earl’s estate. But a few miles felt like a few hundred without the carriage to carry them.
“Send the escort on and get them to send a carriage from the estate. We can’t spend the night out here,” Amelia’s mother called out.
The escort, who had ridden doggedly at the side of the carriage since their departure from London, nodded.
“I’ll go ahead, my Lady. There’s no danger here, but we won’t be able to move the carriage any further in this. Stay in the compartment and keep warm. I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said, and Amelia watched as he rode off into the snowstorm.
She turned to her mother, who tutted.
“All I want is a hot cup of tea,” she exclaimed, and Amelia smiled.
“He’ll be back soon, Mother. Hopefully, with a couple of stable boys and a carriage to bring us the last few miles,” she said.
There were blankets in the compartment, and the two women wrapped themselves up as best they could, huddling together to keep warm.
“I wish we hadn’t come, Amelia. What would your father say if he saw us like this? He’d be horrified. But never mind, we must make the best of things, I suppose. We’ll be there soon…I hope,” she said, and Amelia nodded.
The snow was falling thickly, but earlier, through the carriage window, Amelia had glimpsed the sea stretching out below the cliffs, the road running parallel to the edge, before turning along a horse lined track and into woodland, the trees bare and overhanging. It was a wild and lonely place, and Amelia could not help but be caught up in the romance of the earl’s estate, with its vast tracts of moorland and towering cliffs. She imagined horse rides across the heathers, and roaring fires in the house.
“It’ll be all right, Mother. I’m sure the earl won’t leave us out here alone,” she said.
Amelia knew no more about the earl than she had in London, but she allowed herself to form a picture of what he would be like. Clara had told her their cousin was something of a recluse, a man who had shunned society in favor of his own company. She pictured a shy man, retiring and reticent, without any of the conversation one might expect from a member of the aristocracy.
“One would hope not. It’s hardly the way I wanted to arrive…rescued from a snowstorm. Whatever will he think of us?” the baroness said, and Amelia smiled.
She did not think the earl would think any less of them, even as she was curious to know what he would think of them. The invitation had been unexpected, and while Amelia was glad of the change, she was uncertain what the coming days would bring, or how they would be received.
“There’s a carriage approaching, my Lady,” the driver of their own carriage called out an hour or so later, and Amelia’s mother let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, at last, thank goodness,” she exclaimed, throwing back the blanket and beckoning Amelia to follow her.
The sound of voices came from outside, darkness now falling, as bobbing lamps appeared through the falling snow.
“Baroness Wells? Lady Amelia? Are you there?” a voice called out, and Amelia opened the compartment door to climb out.
“We’re here, yes,” she said, assuming their rescuer to be a stable boy or groom sent to their rescue by the earl.
But as she emerged from the compartment, Amelia was surprised to find herself face to face with a well-dressed man, in a frock coat and cloak, holding up a lamp. He was handsome, perhaps a few years older than she, with black hair and bright green eyes. He smiled at her, offering her his hand.
“Lady Amelia? Nicholas Ashworth, at your service. I’m so sorry about what’s happened. These roads can be treacherous to the uninitiated,” he said, taking her by the hand.
A shiver ran through her, and not because of the cold. This was the earl himself, and it seemed extraordinary to think he had come to their rescue. Amelia’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, for he was nothing like she had imagined him to be. In her mind, a recluse was hunched, pale faced, reticent in his gaze. But he was none of those things. He had brought several others with him. Servants proceeded to dig the carriage out of its rut while the earl helped Amelia and her mother to his carriage.
“It’s really very kind of you to come yourself, my Lord,” Amelia’s mother said, and the earl smiled.
“When your escort arrived, I couldn’t very well remain in the warmth of my drawing room while you suffered out here. Please, won’t you climb inside? It’s far warmer there. Perhaps a little something to drink? I’ve some plum brandy here,” he said. From a box on the seat, he produced a bottle and two small glasses.
The drink was warm and reviving, and Amelia smiled, catching the earl’s eye, and feeling only grateful to him for his chivalry.
“You must think us to be terrible fools—damsels requiring rescue,” she said, but the earl shook his head.
“Not at all. I’m only glad to be of assistance. You’re here at my invitation. It’s the least I can do,” he replied.
As he held her gaze, another shiver ran through her, despite the warming effects of the brandy. There was something about him, an unexpected attraction. Amelia was surprised at herself. She had not experienced such thoughts since…
“And we’re very grateful to you,” Amelia replied, clasping at the locket around her neck.
To think such thoughts seemed like a betrayal of Rupert’s memory. She did not mean to feel this way, to be caught up in such strong feelings. Perhaps she was tired, or cold, or…
“Please, you must stay warm. We’ll get going shortly. Stay in the compartment. There’re blankets there to wrap around yourselves. I’ll go and see how they’re getting on with digging out your carriage. We’ll be at Ashworth House soon enough,” he said.
There was a quiet calm about him, a reassuring presence, and Amelia was entirely caught up in this first encounter, taken aback by the thoughts running through her mind.
“He’s quite charming, isn’t he?” her mother said, as the earl returned to the digging.
“What? Oh, yes…he certainly is. Unexpectedly so,” Amelia replied, hardly daring to think of the earl, whose appearance had had such an unexpected effect on her.
She was flustered, guilty even.
“Don’t be so foolish,” she told herself, taking a deep breath and peering out of the carriage window to where the earl himself was helping dig their own vehicle out of the snow.
A lamp burned in the compartment where they were sitting, illuminating the plush interiors. Cushions, embroidered with the earl’s coat of arms, rested on the red upholstered seats, the interior lined in walnut wood, comfortable and cozy.
“I just want a hot cup of tea,” Amelia’s mother repeated.
“I’m sure we’ll be on our way soon enough,” Amelia replied.
Despite herself, she could not take her eyes off the earl, who had now taken off his overcoat and was helping with the shoveling. He was magnificent; strong and agile. She imagined him without his shirt, the ripples of his muscles taut and defined.
“What’s got into you?” she asked herself, for he was hardly the first man she had laid eyes on.
But since Rupert’s loss, Amelia had denied herself the possibility of romance. There had been potential suitors, men who had shown considerable interest in her. But her own feelings had held her back. London had reminded her too much of what had passed, and whenever a man showed his interest in her, it felt to Amelia like a betrayal in the very place her love for Rupert had blossomed. But here, in the wilds of Devon, rescued by their host, Amelia had found herself unexpectedly disarmed, her guard let down, revealing her immediate feelings.
“Pour me some more of the plum brandy, Amelia. I’m starting to shiver,” the baroness said, and Amelia did as she was told, still watching from the window as their own carriage was now pulled free from the ruts.
“They’ve done it, mother. We’ll be on our way soon,” Amelia said, her heart skipping a beat as the earl now approached the carriage they were sitting in.
“I’ll have my men see to things here. But we should be getting back. You’ll want to get properly warm. Even plum brandy has its limitations compared to a fire. Come now,” he said, climbing into the compartment.
He sat opposite Amelia and her mother, smiling, as he called out for his own driver to set off.
“You’ve done us a great service, my Lord,” Amelia said, blushing, as he met her gaze.
“Nonsense. I’m only glad to see you both in one piece. You’re very welcome here,” he said, smiling at her, and as the carriage set off towards Ashworth House, Amelia could not help but think just how glad she was to be there in his company as she wondered what the coming days would bring.
“An Earl’s Christmas Seduction” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Amelia Fairchild, still mourning the loss of her beloved one at sea, dreads Christmas alone. Yet an unexpected invitation to a mysterious Christmas party soon leads her to a world of sin and scandal. Hosted by the enigmatic Earl Nicholas Ashworth, beneath the sparkling ornaments and mistletoe, Amelia finds herself hopelessly allured by his wicked charm. As the festive night sparks as bright as her desire, a snowstorm traps the guests in a never-ending Christmas mase where hidden truths and passions unravel beneath the glittering surface.
Can Amelia’s ignited passion shutter by a withering past?
Earl of Amhurst, Nicholas Ashworth’s life is shrouded in scandal and lies. Determined to untangle the web of rumours that encircle him and his bloodline, he orchestrates a special Christmas gathering. As he seeks the truth he gets irresistibly consumed by Amellia’s bewitching presence but external forces are trying to extinguish the fire burning within him. However, among the walls of his Devonshire estate, the raging storm enflames not only his growing attraction for Amelia but also his troubled past.
Will the unforeseen revelations turn his white sinful Christmas into chaos?
As the snow falls and passions rise, Amelia and Nicholas navigate the holiday’s unexpected path of love and betrayal. In the gilded corridors of the merriest estate they must confront the ghosts of their histories, discovering that the path to happiness is often obscured by the storm. Will their love be a beacon in the night, guiding them through the blizzard of uncertainty, or will the promise of a kiss beneath the mistletoe remain an elusive dream? Will this be a happy Christmas, or will the storm of emotions leave them longing for a love that seems elusive?
“An Earl’s Christmas Seduction” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
Hello my dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek! I will be waiting for your comments below. Thank you so much! 🙂