The Heiress's Convenient Husband Read online

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  The Heiress’s Convenient Husband

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  By Regina Scott

  Grace-by-the-Sea, Book 2

  Smashwords Edition

  © 2020 Regina Lundgren

  License Note

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people unless it is part of a lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for lending, please delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work and livelihood.

  To Kristin, who is rockin’ her new adventure, and to the Lord, who walks beside us through all our adventures.

  Contents

  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

  Dear Reader

  Sneak Peek: The Artist’s Healer, Book 3 in the Grace-by-the-Sea Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Grace-by-the-Sea, Dorset, England, June 1804

  Whoever was using his castle was in for it.

  James Howland grimaced as he rode up onto the headland. He might serve as magistrate for the village of Grace-by-the-Sea and local steward for the mighty Earl of Howland, but the castle he approached now was hardly his. Everything he had, everything he’d accomplished, was a result of his distant illustrious connection to the Howland family. Well, almost everything.

  He glanced down the slope beside him to the village. As the sun neared the horizon on the warm summer evening, lamps were beginning to glow. A few couples strolled arm in arm, heading home from some event at the spa that nourished the local economy with the hundreds of visitors it attracted each year. Among those thatched-roofed cottages lived the men he had recently organized into the local militia to save them from conscription. His smile tilted up. He’d almost forgotten how good it felt to defy his lordship.

  That feeling wouldn’t last, of course. Once the earl heard James had refused his direct order to stay out of the king’s preparations to defend the coast from Napoleon’s impending invasion, James would have to pay the cost. Perhaps it would come as a tithe on his income. Perhaps a refusal to summon him to London for some event. He could only hope it wouldn’t take the form of a slight to his mother, who served as companion to the earl’s wife. At least his lordship likely wouldn’t remove him as magistrate. It came in too handy that the man enforcing the law was in the pay of the Howland family.

  In the end, he would have to accept whatever punishment amused the earl. The cost was a small price to pay for ensuring the safety of his neighbors, his friends, and his village.

  And there he went again claiming ownership he could never have.

  He clucked to the roan, and his gelding, Majestic, obligingly broke into a canter up the graveled drive. Majestic was becoming accustomed to the trip. James usually checked the earl’s hunting lodge of a castle quarterly, but a strange light had appeared in the window twice recently. Ghosts, Mrs. Tully in the village claimed. Rubbish. Someone was sneaking inside.

  He’d thought it might be his old friend, Quillan St. Claire, who was using the caves beneath the castle proper, but the former naval captain had disclaimed all knowledge. Quill had his own battles to fight. James did what he could to help. It was the least that might be expected of any Englishman with Napoleon massing his troops just across the Channel.

  Then there was the recent unpleasantness with a smuggling gang. Try as he might, he had found no connection between them and the mysterious light. So, to determine who might be lighting that beacon, he had been stopping by at various hours every day for the last week. He’d never spotted anything out of the ordinary.

  Until tonight.

  He reined in to stare at the turreted stone castle as it came fully into view among the trees that circled it. Light blazed from a dozen windows. Even the stables to the east were lit up. What affrontery! Blood roaring, he put heels to Majestic and galloped to the entry.

  He leaped to the ground and looped the reins over the balustrade that edged the stone steps. Pulling out the pistol he’d brought with him as a precaution, he cocked it and took the steps two at a time to the terrace and the front door. His free hand was on the latch when it was yanked from under him.

  The manservant in the doorway blinked as if just as surprised to find someone on the other side of the portal. He was tall and thin, with a thatch of black hair threaded with grey and a nose pointed enough to skewer apples. He didn’t seem to notice James’s weapon as he drew himself up.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  James pushed past him into the house, setting the fellow to sputtering like a wet teakettle on the hob. “Who are you, and why are you in my castle?”

  The servant’s bushy black brows came down. “Your castle? This moldering establishment belongs to the Earl of Howland. I have met his lordship, and you are not he.”

  “No, indeed.” The warm voice came from above and danced with merriment. James glanced up the wide stairs that ran along one side of the great hall to the landing across the back. A lady was starting down the stairs. Her dark-brown hair was piled up at the top of her head in a loose pile of curls. Her ears dripped sapphires that caught the light as she moved. The simple blue gown showed off a slender figure.

  She could not be called beautiful with that long nose and unruly hair. But as she reached the flagstone floor and started toward him, he felt the ridiculous urge to take a step back.

  He held his ground. “Why are you here?”

  Her eyes were the color of a perfect summer sky. They tilted up at the corners as she tsked. “I was banished here, sir. No need to introduce yourself. You must be James Howland, the earl’s watchdog. I recognize that chin. I’m Eva Faraday, his prisoner.”

  ~~~

  He didn’t respond. How very dissatisfying. But then, Eva could not say she had ever had a satisfying response from any of the Howlands.

  He certainly seemed typical of the breed. He had the same golden-blond hair waving about a firm-jawed face, the same cold blue eyes that could spear her in place. His physique was as good as that of the earl’s heir, Viscount Thorgood—tall, broad-shouldered. His many-caped great-coat swirled about long legs that looked ready to stomp on someone. Not that she cared. She’d refused to do the viscount’s bidding, and the earl’s, and she had no intention of doing this man’s.

  “I wasn’t notified his lordship intended to house a prisoner in the castle,” he said, watching her. Then he glanced at Yeager, her manservant. “Complete with jailer, it seems.”

  Yeager sniffed. “I’ve had the honor of serving Miss Eva and her late father since she was a girl.”

  “Thank you, Yeager,” she said with a smile. “Would you see how Patsy is doing with the unpacking, then determine what’s to be had for victuals?”

  “Aye, miss.” He cast Mr. Howland a narrow-eyed look before heading for the stairs.

  Mr. Howland uncocked his pistol and put it away, jaw looking even harder. Did he eat rocks for breakfast? “Exactly how many people
do you intend to house?”

  “Five at the moment,” she allowed. “I have a coachman and groom in the stables. We’d hoped we could hire additional help once we settled in.”

  Was that noise his teeth grinding? “I have received nothing to indicate any of you are allowed here.”

  “So you said,” she replied. “But it’s only to be expected, really, when you go off in a fit of pique. The earl, that is. Not you personally. I don’t imagine you have the luxury.”

  Oh, but those eyes snapped fire. “Tell your maid not to bother unpacking. You’ll all be staying at the Swan until I can confirm matters with his lordship.”

  Eva shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. I have no money to pay for an inn.”

  He nodded toward the upper story. “You’re paying your staff.”

  “My father’s will left funds for their wages,” she informed him. “My portion is held in trust until I reach the age of five and twenty.” Or she married, but she refused to dangle that worm. The earl liked to use it far more than necessary already.

  He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Nevertheless, I must insist that you leave.”

  Was every Howland this pig-headed? If only she could wash her hands of the lot of them! But the earl was trustee over her funds, and he would give her nothing unless she bent to his will. This man might find it acceptable to live like that. She didn’t.

  “And I must insist that we stay,” she said. “I promise to disturb as little as possible. I’ll need a bedchamber, a withdrawing room, the dining room and kitchen, and quarters for the staff. From what I can tell, that’s less than a quarter of the space in this pile.”

  She thought she caught a sigh. “The castle hasn’t been used as a long-term habitation in years. You’ll need coal, candles, food. How do you intend to pay for them?”

  She smiled. “I intend to put them on the earl’s credit. He sent me here. He can pay for the privilege.”

  “No,” he said, tone as solid as his chin. “The budget here doesn’t allow for such expenses.”

  She waved a hand. “Then send the bill directly to the earl.”

  He caught her hand mid-air and held it, gaze fastened on hers. “Have a care, Miss Faraday. I’m only trying to protect you. This castle is more dangerous than you can know. It isn’t safe for you here.”

  If he was trying to frighten her off, he was doing a good job. She could almost believe the concern in his voice.

  But the earl could sound concerned too, even as he tried to steal her future.

  She yanked her hand from his grip. “Then make it safe. Tell me what dangers to avoid. This is apparently to be my home until I earn my inheritance in ten months. Help me survive my imprisonment.”

  He eyed her a moment, and she steeled herself to keep fighting. Truly, what else was she to do? If her father had guessed the depths to which the Earl of Howland would sink to get his hands on her inheritance, he would never have made the man trustee and expected him to care for her. In the last six months since her father had died, she had learned to fight for what was best for her and her servants. James Howland would simply have to accustom himself to the fact.

  “Very well, Miss Faraday,” he said. “I’ll help you. You may stay in the castle until I hear from the earl.”

  Best not to let him see her relief. “How very sensible of you.”

  He inclined his head. “But you must allow me to do my duty as well. I am responsible for safeguarding the earl’s interests in Dorset.”

  And she would try not to despise him for it. “Of course. Shall I send you a report each week of what furniture I’ve moved? Which dishes we used?”

  That smile could have frozen the waves on the Channel. “No need. I’ll be able to verify all that on my own. I’ll be moving into the castle with you, Miss Faraday.”

  Chapter Two

  Her eyes went wide, then narrowed at him. “No. I will not have my reputation called into question because you want to count the silver.”

  James met her gaze full on. “And I will not allow the earl’s property to be disturbed.” He stepped back. “However, I will give you a few moments alone to consider your position. I’ll return shortly with my things.”

  He turned his back on her scowl and left.

  Easy to put her and her so-called servants down as scheming opportunists, but he’d had too much experience with the earl’s machinations. His lordship could readily consign those who defied him to some unsavory penance.

  “Eva Faraday,” he mused aloud as he retrieved Majestic’s reins. He didn’t recall hearing the name before. Of course, he hadn’t been invited to London in nearly two years. That was plenty of time for the earl to have acquired himself a ward or two. Strange, though, that his mother had never mentioned her. They exchanged letters monthly. Or had the earl kept Eva away from the rest of the family? Why? Was she a threat of some kind? Or an advantage he didn’t want to share?

  The thoughts ran through his mind as he rode back into the village and down Church Street to the residence he had been given. It was an impressive house—the earl would have allowed nothing less to be associated with his name—though nothing on the order of the castle. Built of rough pale stone quarried from the area, Howland Cottage boasted two stories, with attics behind dormer windows in the pitched roof. As if determined to add a dash of formality, the earl had decreed that the front door and trim around the windows be painted black. There was a tiny yard between the house and the black, wrought-iron fence along the street. In his mother’s time, it had been filled with flowers. Now it was mostly evergreen shrubs that tended to scratch against the windows when the wind blew. He had no time or inclination to change the arrangement.

  He rode around back to the stables and remanded Majestic to the care of his groom, then went to tell Pym about the change in plans.

  “Ooo, a mysterious lady,” his manservant declared with a twinkle in his grey eyes. Short and fine-boned, with a way of looking out from under his heavy brows as if he was up to mischief, Pym had seemed ancient for as long as James could remember. But as his cooking was every bit as good as the inn’s, he navigated the stairs with ease, and his eye for fashion had never failed, James had felt no need to retire him.

  “I must pack your best waistcoat,” he declared now, hurrying for the stairs.

  “Clothes for five days should suffice,” James called after him. “We should hear from the earl by then. And send for Priestly.”

  He turned for his study to the left of the entryway. He had a letter sanded, sealed with wax, and ready before his secretary arrived from his flat above Mr. Carroll’s Curiosities in the village. Samuel Priestly had also followed in his father’s footsteps. The senior Mr. Priestly had been secretary to James’s father for years. Light brown hair carefully combed to hide the growing bald spot at the top of his head, Priestly bowed himself into the room, tugging his coat about him after being hastily summoned.

  “Was there something you required, Magistrate?”

  James held out the letter. “You’ll be traveling to London first thing in the morning. Arrange for a horse from Mr. Josephs at the livery stable. Ride as fast as is practical. Deliver this note into the earl’s hand, and don’t leave until you have an answer.”

  Priestly swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “But what if the earl declines to answer?”

  A strong possibility, given his lordship’s capricious nature. If he had learned about the militia James had raised, he could well prefer to keep James waiting for an answer.

  “Appeal to Viscount Thorgood,” he told his secretary. “At least he can be counted upon to be reasonable.”

  “I’ll pack now, sir.” He bowed himself out.

  One last task to accomplish. James glanced at the ornate ormolu clock on the mantel. Half past nine. Most of the village would be abed. A shame his task could not wait until morning, but Eva Faraday was right. They could not share a roof without a suitable chaperone. And he knew where his best hope l
ay of procuring one.

  ~~~

  “Magistrate.” Jesslyn Chance, the current hostess of the spa, blinked big blue eyes at him when she answered the door of her little stone cottage along the shore. Her nightgown was covered by a voluminous charcoal-colored cloak, but her blond curls clustered around her pretty face as if she was ready for her next dance partner.

  “Miss Chance,” he said, inclining his head. “Forgive me for coming so late, but I have urgent need of your services.”

  She opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him enter. He hadn’t visited the cottage for years, not since the constable had given it up for better quarters, but he knew it contained only two rooms and a loft. She had added landscape paintings to the white-washed walls, a braided rug near the hearth. He caught the scent of warm stew and lavender, a combination both surprising and welcoming.

  “Is it the trolls?”

  Her aunt, Mrs. Tully, had come out of the bedchamber on the far side of the hearth. Her grey hair was wrapped in paper curls, and her red flannel nightgown billowed about her figure.

  James inclined his head in her direction. “No trolls, alas.”

  She put her nose in the air. “You ought to be glad of that. They leave quite a mess. Don’t expect us to clean up after them.”

  He managed a smile and leaned closer to her niece. “Is there somewhere we might have a private word?”

  Miss Chance spread her hands. “My home is as you see it, Magistrate. I fear there is little opportunity for privacy, especially at this hour of the night.”

  She was also careful of her reputation, and he was trespassing.

  “Of course.” He straightened. “You recall the light that has been seen in the castle recently.”

  She paled. “Yes, but we caught the smugglers who put it there.”