To Heal an Earl Read online

  To Heal an Earl

  Soldiers & Soulmates

  Book 1

  Alexa Aston

  © Copyright 2020 by Alexa Aston

  Text by Alexa Aston

  Cover by Wicked Smart Designs

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

  Happy Reading!

  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  King’s Cousins Series

  The Pawn

  The Heir

  The Bastard

  Knights of Honor Series

  Word of Honor

  Marked by Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Bold in Honor

  Love and Honor

  Gift of Honor

  Path to Honor

  Return to Honor

  The St. Clairs Series

  Devoted to the Duke

  Midnight with the Marquess

  Embracing the Earl

  Defending the Duke

  Suddenly a St. Clair

  Soldiers & Soulmates Series

  To Heal an Earl

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Rumford Park, Kent—1800

  Lady Charlotte Nott stood at the graveside of her beloved father, a terrible numbness spreading through her. The cold, gray February day already chilled her to the bone but it was the complete sense of isolation that now overwhelmed her.

  She was alone in the world.

  Her mother had died when Charlotte was barely two and she had no memories of her. She’d come to know her mother through the miniature her father kept on his desk. Every night, Lord Rumford retrieved the painting and brought it upstairs with him, placing it on his bedside table so that he could see his late wife’s face first thing each morning. Charlotte remembered sitting in his lap when she was young and he’d be working at his desk. She’d hold the miniature in her small hands and wish that, somehow, her mother would come back to her.

  Those wishes had never come true but she’d had the next best thing in one loving, attentive parent all these years.

  And one very cruel, conniving half-brother.

  Barclay was her father’s son from his first marriage. He was a dozen years older than Charlotte and had never said a kind word to her in all her eighteen years. In fact, he’d been rather awful to her from the time she was a small child. Pinching her. Screaming at her. Even locking her in the cellar once. When she’d been found a day and half after she’d disappeared, she saw the warning look he gave her and so she never told on him.

  She was still afraid of the dark.

  Barclay resented that his father had wed again. The fact that Charlotte so closely resembled her mother gave him reason enough to hate her. Fortunately, he’d spent most of her life away at school, only home for short periods, and after university, he lived in the Rumford London townhome year-round. She and her father only went to London for brief periods and so even when in residence, she rarely saw Barclay. The most she’d been around him was last year when he’d wed Lady Leticia, who was a year older than Charlotte. She’d hoped during the various social events before the wedding that she and Leticia might become friendly if not true friends but Barclay had poisoned his fiancée against Charlotte.

  And now the new Lord and Lady Rumford were her only living relatives.

  Thunder grumbled in the distance and she looked to the skies, now darkening.

  “Lady Charlotte?”

  She turned and saw Reverend Bixby standing behind her, sympathy written across his broad, plain face.

  “Yes, Reverend?”

  “It looks like rain. You need to head home to Rumford Park.”

  Sighing, she said, “I know.” She glanced back at the fresh grave. “It’s just so hard to leave Papa.”

  He came and put an arm about her shoulders. “Your father was the best of men, my lady. He will be sorely missed by friends, family, and servants alike.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “Thank you. I should go.”

  The clergyman took her hand. “Send word if you have need of me, my dear. Mrs. Bixby and I would be happy to keep you company or share memories of Lord Rumford with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate your wise counsel, Reverend Bixby. Good afternoon.”

  Charlotte left the graveyard, the winter wind pushing against her back as she walked the two miles home. She’d told Barclay and Leticia that
she wanted to stay a while with Papa and had assumed they would send the carriage back for her. Their thoughtlessness aggravated her but she knew to hold her tongue. Barclay had quite the temper and she didn’t want to anger him in any way. Charlotte hoped they would return to London soon and leave her to her mourning.

  It disappointed her that Papa would never see her wed. Charlotte was supposed to make her come-out this spring when the Season began and she’d so looked forward to all of the parties and gatherings. She’d known that she would seek her father’s advice on which man to marry. Papa had always known what to look for in others. Now, he wouldn’t be here to help her make the most important decision of her life. Her children would never know their grandfather. It was enough to rip her heart in two yet again.

  Of course, now that she was in mourning, her come-out would be delayed until next year. She would take a year to mourn the greatest man she would ever know—and then hope fate would bring one just as good and kind into her life and allow her to marry him. She would appreciate a year of quiet at Rumford Park, knowing Barclay and Leticia would spend the bulk of it in London with their friends. It would allow her to mourn Papa in her own way.

  The mist turned to drizzle and then a heavy downpour when she still had half a mile to go and by the time Charlotte reached home, she was wet, cold, and tired. And hurting. The ache within her was as physical as any pain she’d ever known. She didn’t know how she would get through the rest of this day—much less all of the days ahead. Still, Papa would want her to not only go on living, but he’d want her to be happy. She decided in that moment that she would name her firstborn son after him, to honor the memory of the man who was kind and generous to all.

  She burst into the house and quickly closed the door behind her, now so thoroughly chilled that her teeth chattered noisily. Graves, their butler, hurried toward her.

  “Lady Charlotte, you’ll have caught cold,” he chastised. “You’re soaked to the skin. I’ll order a bath for you at once.”

  “Th-thank you, Gr-Gr-Graves,” she said, allowing him to remove her sodden cloak.

  “Go upstairs at once,” he urged, his eyes darting to the staircase and back to her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He frowned. “You were to see Lord Rumford in the drawing room when you returned but, right now, you need to get in a hot bath.”

  Her stomach twisted. “I can quickly visit with him. I don’t want you in any trouble.”

  “Just hurry,” Graves said. “I’ll see to the hot water.”

  The butler scurried away and Charlotte headed toward the stairs. She caught a movement but didn’t see who it was until she reached the top and saw Barclay’s valet hovering.

  “I’ll take you to Lord Rumford.”

  She sneezed violently and decided it was better to change before she did so. Being sick was a nuisance and she hated when others had to wait upon her when she was ill. “Thank you, but I’m going to get out of these wet clothes first. Please tell my—”

  “You’re to see Lord Rumford now,” the servant insisted. “Follow me.”

  Charlotte did as requested, deciding to get the visit over with quickly. She clamped down on her teeth so they didn’t chatter. She hoped whatever Barclay wanted wouldn’t take long.

  “Lady Charlotte,” the valet announced as he led her into the drawing room and then closed the door after she’d stepped inside.

  She saw Barclay and Leticia sitting on the far side of the room, close to the roaring fire, and made her way toward them, hoping to soak up some of the warmth from the blaze.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” sniffed Leticia as Charlotte approached.

  “I’m very sorry. I got caught in the rain as I walked home,” she apologized. “I can go change and come back,” she offered.

  “No,” the new earl said firmly. “This won’t take long.” He set the newspaper he’d been reading aside and frowned at her.

  Charlotte waited patiently for him to speak, though she started to tremble. She longed to move closer to the fire’s heat but stood since he hadn’t invited her to sit and likely wouldn’t want the furniture stained with water.

  “We need to discuss your living arrangements,” he began.

  She decided to help him since it was taking forever and she was dripping all over the carpet.

  “I know I was to come to London for the Season this year with Papa. Of course, that can’t happen now with us being in mourning. I realize I will need to put off my come-out for a year and I am fine with that. I’d actually prefer staying at Rumford Park until next spring.”

  “There’s to be no come-out,” Barclay said firmly.

  “Yes, Barclay, I just said that. Mourning makes it impossible—”

  “You’ll address me as Lord Rumford,” he demanded.

  Charlotte knew that when younger family members assumed their titles that others in the family often changed the way they addressed them. “Of course, my lord.”

  “And I said there’s not to be a come-out.”

  “I agree with you. I understand the need to mourn Papa.”

  He pushed himself to his feet. “You don’t understand a bloody thing,” he snapped.

  She took a step back. “I . . . don’t?” Apprehension filled her.

  “There will never be a come-out for you,” he hissed. “I wouldn’t spend a farthing on you, much less on fancy ball gowns to clothe you.”

  “But . . . Papa . . .”

  “Your precious papa isn’t here anymore,” he said harshly. “He coddled and protected you all of these years. You . . . the daughter of some third-rate opera singer. You’re no better than the daughter of a whore.”

  Anger filled Charlotte. “Don’t say that about Mama,” she cried. “She was the most famous singer of her day. She loved Papa and he loved her. She gave up everything for him.”

  “Singers. Actresses. They’re all trollops,” Rumford growled. “And you’re the mongrel she bore.”

  She tried to still her trembling, which had spread to every limb, whether from cold or fear, Charlotte didn’t know. Still, she put on a brave front.

  “I’m no mongrel,” she declared. “I’m the daughter of an earl. A lady.”

  Leticia sniffed. “You don’t have a coin to your name. And we are afraid our sons and daughters would be hurt by their association with you.”

  “How? I am a member of this family. I would never do anything to hurt my future nieces or nephews.”

  “You won’t have a chance to know them—much less hurt them. Your reputation, thanks to your mother, is enough to see the Nott family totally disassociate themselves with you,” Rumford said. “I want you gone from this house by morning.”

  Charlotte looked blankly at him. “Wh-wh-where am I to go?”

  “You will be given funds for the mail coach that passes through the village. I suggest you travel to London and find work there.” Her half-brother sneered. “If you can.”

  “I can’t believe you would totally abandon me,” she said, her voice wavering. Then Charlotte looked him in the eye and asked, “What would Papa say?”

  He cackled like an old woman. “I don’t care what that bastard would say. He stopped being my father the day he married your mother. I’ve had to put up with your presence all of these years—but no more.”

  “So, you’ll turn me out into the cold?” she asked, her chin high, daring to keep looking him in the eyes.

  “Gladly.”

  Rumford turned to the table and lifted up a bank note and handed it to her. “This is all you’ll ever get out of me. As of this moment, you are dead to me. I never wish to see you again. Now, get out!”

  Charlotte clutched the note, crumpling it in her hand. She turned and fled the room, hearing Leticia call after her, reminding her to be on the mail coach tomorrow morning.

  Fleeing to her room, she saw servants toting buckets of hot water into the bedchamber. The last one dumped the bucket’s contents into the bath and left.r />
  From the doorway, she heard a throat clear and saw it was Graves. Charlotte burst into tears and ran to him, flinging herself at him.

  “Tell me, Lady Charlotte,” he said, stroking her hair.

  The butler had always seemed more family than servant. Quickly, she told him how she was being removed from the family home—and the family.

  Sorrow filled his face. “I feared something like this would occur. I tried to warn Lord Rumford but he wouldn’t believe anything so drastic about his flesh and blood.” He released her. “Your maid will bathe you and then I’ll have a tray brought up for you. We’ll talk,” he promised.

  Graves left and Charlotte’s maid arrived, stripping the wet clothes from her and scrubbing her from head to toe as if she were a small child. Once dressed, her food arrived and she did her best to try and eat but could only pick at it.

  A knock sounded and her maid entered again.

  “Mr. Graves wishes to see you in the kitchen, my lady. I’m to bring you there now.”

  “All right,” she said shakily and followed the girl downstairs.

  They went through the kitchen to the servants’ dining room, where she saw the room packed. Footmen. Maids. Scullery workers. The head groom. All eyed her with pity.

  Graves stepped forward, a pouch in his hand. He handed it to her and said, “Lady Charlotte, you have always been a favorite with the staff, full of a gentle spirit and kind words for all you encounter. We have taken up a collection to help you once you reach London.”

  Tears blinded her and she blinked rapidly. “I cannot accept this,” she protested, knowing what a sacrifice the entire group made on her behalf.

  The butler placed a hand over hers. “You must, my lady. You’ll need every prayer we send and each coin in that bag in order to survive.”

  Overwhelmed, she looked out at the people she’d known her entire life. “Thank you,” she whispered and then wheeled and left before she broke down in front of them all.

  In her room, she counted the contents of the pouch so she would know what she had. Not having any idea about how much things cost, Charlotte wondered how long she would be able to make it on the sum. She didn’t know what a room’s lodging might cost per night or how much a meal would be. She’d only used her pin money to buy ribbons and the occasional book over the years and hadn’t a clue about the world around her.