Scandal in the Earl’s Library (Preview)

Chapter One

“Now then, children, who would like to go on a splendid adventure today?” Adele Jocelyn asked as she entered the playroom.

Two young girls looked up from their play as Adele entered the room. Their faces lit up to match the bright sunlight flooding through tall windows.

“Me!” cried Marianne, at ten, the oldest of the pair.

“And me!” echoed her sister, Catherine, two years her junior.

Adele stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the scene with hands on hips. She was slender but with the hips and bosom of a mother, which she had never been, though she yearned for it. Her hair was coal black and her eyes a deep shade of brown, flecked with gold in the right light. She pursed her full lips.

“Then what had we better do?” she asked.

The two girls looked at each other reproachfully. They knew the answer to the question, and neither liked it. Marianne took after her mother, with light brown hair and eyes. Catherine had the same features as her older sibling but with her father’s dark hair, mirroring that of her governess, Adele. In fact, she’d realized it had become the source of much jealousy. She had found that Catherine was lording over her sister that she could pretend Adele was, if not her mother, then certainly her aunt.

Adele had put a stop to that before harm could be done. One rainy day, she had taught the girls about their long and much-bifurcated family tree, pointing out the genuine aunts of great worth and standing the girls were related to. Now, both girls looked at the ground.

“What had we better do?” Adele asked again, tapping her foot. “I have tapped thrice. You know what happens if I tap a fourth time.”

“We had better tidy up,” sighed Marianne, getting to her feet.

“But why can’t we just let the maids tidy up for us? That’s what they are paid for. I know because Papa said so.”

“Because, Catherine, your dolls do not want to be put away just any old how, which is how a maid would do it. They don’t want to be stuffed headfirst into a box, crammed in with bears, horses, and spinning tops. Good gracious, no. They wish to be put to bed in their house by their two mamas. Or have I that wrong?”

Her tone was firm but as bright as day. Catherine’s face had darkened at the mention of allowing maids to manhandle her troops of dolls. Marianne smiled to herself, old enough to see the governess’s ploy.

“Certainly not. Jemima and Veronica would not like to be stuffed into a box. Jemima is a princess, and Veronica a queen!” Catherine exclaimed.

“Precisely. So, put them nicely to bed in their rather fine house. Marianne, I leave you to put Dobbin back into his corral. You shall need this; he looks rather wild today.”

She took a length of rope, formerly a curtain tie, which she had fashioned into a lasso. This had been done while teaching the children about the wild frontier of the newly independent nation of America. They had found the notion of such a vast land inordinately fascinating. Marianne roped the wooden rocking horse they had pulled out of its usual place in a corner of the room and dragged it across the floor, whispering to it and coaxing it as she went.

Catherine gathered her dolls, Jemima and Veronica taking pride of place in the crowd that she gathered into her arms. Adele sat in the rocking chair in the middle of the room, the storytelling chair, and gave some additional directions with which to direct the children now that she had them moving. The playroom, where the children had been allowed for half an hour after breakfast, was neat and tidy.

Adele rose, looking about and nodding with satisfaction. 

“Excellent, children. Now then, I did promise an adventure, didn’t I?”

“You did, Miss Jocelyn,” Catherine said, standing before Adele, looking up at her eagerly.

“What is it, Miss Jocelyn?” Marianne asked, skipping across the room to stand beside her sister.

“Well, now that would be telling. It is something that you will have to discover. Would you like a clue?”

Adele felt pleased with herself. She had spent most of the previous evening conceiving the clues leading the girls to various locations through the house. Each clue would be solved using something the girls had been learning that summer. And at the end of the trail, a walk through the sylvan shade of the woods adjoining the Thriftwood Manor estate that was their home, and Adele’s too since she had come to work as governess to the children of the Countess of Thriftwood.

She looked down at the two shining, eager faces and loved them as though they were her own.

That is something I should never have allowed to happen. One day, they will be grown and will not need a governess. Always assuming their mother does not send them away to school as she once had been. It will break my heart to be parted from them.

Nevertheless, Adele did not know any way to care for children other than with love. Detachment was something she had not mastered. 

“Your first clue lies in the pages of the royal book bearing your grandfather’s name,” Adele said with a smile.

Catherine furrowed her brow, but this first clue was directed more towards her older sister. However, the younger of the Thriftwood children made the first deduction.

“James! Grand-papa was called James!” she cried in excitement.

Adele clapped her hands in delight, beaming approval, then looked at Marianne, who was looking up at the ceiling and biting her lip, as she always did when thinking hard.

“Royal book … royal book … what books do we have that are royal …” then the light dawned, and she hopped on her toes, “the Bible! The King James Bible! It is on display in the library!”

“Well, there is no time to waste,” Adele replied, turning on her heel, “remember the rules. We do not run. We are ladies. We shall walk … but walk quickly.”

With that, she led her charges from the room at the quick march. The rest of the morning passed pleasantly. The children followed clues, and Adele used each to impart some knowledge to them on various subjects. They visited the stables and the kitchens before their quick marching feet took them to the woods and the pond, where Adele had noticed a set of ducklings had just been born.

The sun was past its noon peak when Adele sat with her back to a weeping willow at the edge of the pond. The June day was warm but not oppressively so. The children had dined on a picnic and then fallen asleep on a blanket by the water. Adele watched them fondly, unlacing her shoes and stripping off her stockings to dangle her feet in the cool water. From a satchel that she carried about her shoulders, she produced a notebook and pencil and began to write lessons she had given today and what the children had learned.

“Hello. Not disturbing you, am I?” came the voice of Harriet Merritt, Countess of Thriftwood.

She whispered not to disturb the children as she ducked under the willow’s trailing branches. Without ceremony, she sat on the ground beside Adele, folding her hands in her lap.

“Not at all. Just writing up the children’s work this morning,” Adele said.

“My my. You are so very thorough. I have always admired that quality. I have tried a number of governesses over the years, and none have captured the children’s imagination like you or been so diligent either. You give me weekly and monthly reports, evaluations, and assessments. And over and above it all, the children adore you. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I adore them. It makes my job easy,” Adele replied, “there are some in my profession who see themselves as little more than nursemaids. Or else sergeant majors whose task is to instill discipline and stamp out joy or fun. I would show them how a professional conducts herself.”

Harriet nodded, craning her neck to look over at her children for a moment. She was a matronly woman, short of stature and plump. Her face was round, and her smile motherly. Ever since Adele had come to Thriftwood at the age of twenty, she had embraced Adele as a part of her family. That was six years ago.

“Admirable, my girl. Admirable,” Harriet said, taking Adele’s hand, “now you know that I regard you as one of my daughters. And you always will be. Do not ever doubt that. But …”

There were sudden tears in Harriet’s eyes. She looked away, still holding Adele’s hand, and wiped her eyes.

“Oh, dear. This is terribly unseemly, isn’t it? I do so hate having to say this, but …”

But Adele knew what was coming. The shock of it hit her like an ice storm in her heart. The water suddenly felt cold, and she found that her mouth was dry. 

I did not expect this so soon. I thought I would have longer with them!

“It is my wretched husband!” Harriet said with enough venom that Marianne stirred in her sleep, murmuring.

Harriet reduced her voice to a whisper. “He has secured places for the girls at the same school he attended. It is in Wiltshire and … they are to start there in September. They will board, so, I’m afraid, there will be no further need for a governess.”

Adele nodded slowly, taking in the revelation. She held back her own tears or tried to. It was not easy nor completely successful. The prospect of being parted from the girls forever was like a bereavement. She knew that both would struggle with the discipline of a boarding school as well as being away from home from everything they had ever known. She grieved for them as well as for herself but kept it locked up inside.

“September?” she said, voice wavering slightly. “that gives some time yet …”

But Harriet was shaking her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “They are to attend early to settle in. They will be leaving in two weeks.”

“Oh.”

Adele could find nothing else to say. The wetness on her cheeks was a surprise. She had not realized that she had begun to weep. Harriet hugged her impulsively.

“Do not fret. You will write to me and the girls, and I will ensure they write back. And you will not be left without employment. I have secured a position for you. The confirmation came through this morning. You are to be governess to the daughter of the Earl of Ravensmere in Buckinghamshire.”

 

Chapter Two

Molten gold spilled over the ridge. It was bare of trees with rocks that jutted from the earth like broken teeth. A stream bustled from between rocks to wind a deep path through the moss-covered ground between the trees. Standing proud atop that ridge, bathed in the golden light of sunset was a stag. Luke counted the points, twelve, a rare beast even on his lonely hilltop estate. It snorted and then raised its head to bellow. 

The sound was deep and challenging, coming from an animal soul of such strength and nobility that a human observer could only look on in awe. Luke lay amid bracken, elbows on the ground before him, and a telescope steadied against a rock. A long, oiled overcoat covered him from shoulder to feet, which were bare. His hair was long, falling in straight, yellow lines to his shoulder blades. The lower half of his face was swathed in a thick beard, cut square, and combined with straight brows giving him a look of the ancient Vikings that had once conquered this land.

Beside him lay a young woman. She, too, wore a coat oiled against inclement weather and coloured to match the greens and browns of the landscape. She had a head of spun gold and the clear blue eyes of the man beside her. She, too, was barefoot and watched the stag with entranced eyes while her hands moved in a blur of charcoal across a sheet of paper on a pad in front of her.

Something startled the stag. Its head swung, and its ears twitched. The girl made an exasperated sound, throwing down the charcoal as the beast bounded away down the far side of the ridge.

“Come on, Father,” she said with excitement and determination, “we can still catch it.”

“Admit defeat, Lydia. We have hunted this king of the woods for hours. He gave us all we will get,” Luke replied, lowering the telescope.

“Defeatist!” Lydia called back with a laugh.

She was already skipping up the slope through heather and bracken. Luke grunted and pushed himself upright, beginning to stride after his daughter. He lengthened his stride when she too disappeared over the ridge, a sudden fear putting a chill in his heart.

It happened as suddenly as that. One moment in my sight and the next …

When Lydia cried out in pain and fear, Luke flew.

“Lydia!” he bellowed as his long legs ate the distance to the hilltop.

Cresting the rise, he scanned the slope on the far side and saw a stag bounding into the trees at the bottom. A road divided the foot of the hill on which he stood from the woods beyond. Lydia had stumbled as she tried to pursue the stag and was tumbling down the hill head over heels. Luke’s decision was instant. Rather than risk broken limbs trying to run down the almost vertical slope, made more treacherous by the heather that concealed ruts and holes while snagging on unwary feet with its woody limbs, he jumped feet first.

Landing on his back, he slid down the slope, leaning back to avoid going head over heels as his daughter had done. Tearing a wounded swathe of heather from the hillside, he reached the bottom with a torn coat, bruised feet, and hair of a golden bird’s nest around his face. Lydia was on her hands and knees in the road, shaking her head dazedly. Luke saw the dark drops staining the hard-packed, parched earth of the road, coming from a wound on her temple. 

The sound of danger reached him almost the same moment the carriage rounded a nearby bend in the road.

The bloody stag heard it coming a mile away. We should have been more observant.

Luke staggered to his feet, sprinting for his daughter, and snatching her up about the waist, whirling to spin her out of the road. The coach flew past, driven too fast and without care. Something snatched at the coat on his back as it hurtled along, mere inches from him. He looked over his shoulder, a mat of long hair falling across his face. Staring through it, he saw a pale female face staring back from the carriage window.

Then it was gone. 

“Are you hurt?” he demanded of his daughter, falling to his knees beside her.

“My head hurts,” Lydia replied, putting a hand to her temple.

Luke could see the cut and the stream of bright red painting the side of her face.

“You deserve worse for a fool stunt like that. Even the bloody stag wouldn’t leap over a ridge like that without seeing what lies beyond. If the fall didn’t kill you, the carriage would!” he snarled, tossing his hair out of his face.

With large, strong hands he deftly pushed her hair away from the wound to examine it. Stooping, he tore a handful of large-leaved ferns from the ground, matted them together, and pressed them against the wound.

“This should help staunch the bleeding. Head wounds always look worse than they are,” he said, moderating his tone.

Lydia wavered, putting her hand on the makeshift dressing. “Was that Nat Tyler from Foxley? It looked like him,” she said, wincing.

“Who else would drive so recklessly. I’ll bet he was drunk. I’ll have him in the bloody stocks by the morning,” Luke replied.

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you. The locals are frightened enough of you already. I never get invited to the fetes and the dances,” Lydia said.

Luke only grunted. He looked towards the setting sun and then back up at the ridge.

“The most direct route back to the house is up there. Or we could follow the road, and we will back well after nightfall.”

“I don’t much fancy the climb. Let’s just follow the road for once,” Lydia said, beginning to walk down the middle of the lane in the direction the carriage had gone.

Both had discarded boots and stockings at the beginning of their hunt, so the better to move silently through the dry summer woods. Now, without a sign of discomfort or thought of oddity, they began to walk barefoot along the road. 

“Where do you think Nat was going in such a hurry,” Lydia asked, in between whistling tunelessly as she walked.

“I hope your new governess can teach you how to hold a tune,” Luke grumbled, “I saw a woman in the carriage. Looks like he was carrying a passenger.

“I don’t need a governess, Father,” Lydia said with a pout that gave Luke a pang of loss.

That pout was the mirror image of her mother, as was the look Lydia gave him from beneath lowered brows.

Lord help me, but when she is determined to be stubborn, it is as though her mother is looking out at me from her daughter’s eyes. Oh, Gwen, how I miss you.

“You need a governess if you wish to learn how to behave in polite society. I can teach you how to stalk a deer or navigate by the stars, but I cannot teach you the quicksand they call polite society. If you want to be part of it, then you need a society education. This Miss Jocelyn comes highly recommended.”

Lydia scowled, putting her tongue out at him. Luke grinned when she wasn’t looking. Too much indulgence led to bad behaviour, but there had been times when he had fought to hold in laughter while young Lydia tried to stare him out, throwing daggers with her eyes after being denied something she wanted. He watched her walk with brisk, energetic strides. Despite the head injury, she was looking around curiously, taking in everything.

Miss Adele Jocelyn. I sincerely hope that you are as good as the Merritts say. Lydia needs to learn how to function in society, or she will become a recluse like me. She is too bright and fiery to be contained in one small place. The world should be hers. But she must speak its language, its motivations, and how to move it to her will.

He lengthened his stride to catch up with his daughter and put a powerful arm about her shoulders as he drew level, pulling her to his side. She smiled as she looked up at him and leaned into his shoulder companionably.

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“Scandal in the Earl’s Library” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Adele, a governess of unwavering selflessness, has sacrificed her own chances at love to tend to her ailing mother and the children entrusted to her. However, when fate aligns her path with the alluring Earl of Ravensmere, who seeks a governess for his daughter, lust and duty meld into an intoxicating union. As Adele dances between desire, class, and duty’s grasp, secrets linger within the hallowed walls of Ravensmere Abbey, unveiling the sultry depths of her master’s past.

Can she overcome the grim reality and society’s necessities to pursue her flaming passion?

Luke Huntley, the mysterious Earl of Ravensmere, stands devoted to his daughter while trapped in the grip of grief for his murdered wife. Consumed by hate, he withdraws from the world, trying to unearth clues about his wife’s untimely demise and unmask her killer. When Adele enters his shadowed realm though, the flame of longing ignites within his heart. Burdened by his noble heritage and haunted by the past, he struggles to break free and succumb to his tantalising feelings for the alluring governess.

Can he conquer guilt’s weight and embrace the fiery yearnings within?

From the very moment their paths meet, Adele and Luke are drawn together, bound by an irresistible force. As their worlds stand at stark contrasts, intrigues deepen, entwining the dutiful Lady and the wicked Earl in a scandalous game. Lost in Ravensmere’s labyrinth, a haunting spectre of his late wife and a relentless, jealous rival threatens to shatter their fragile passion. Will their love become their ultimate salvation or their ultimate demise? Will their forbidden union conquer darkness, or will it crumble beneath the weight of their untamed romance?

“Scandal in the Earl’s Library” is a historical romance novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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