Loving A Forsaken Earl (Preview)

Prologue

Abigail Staton stood beside her weeping mother as her father’s coffin was lowered into the grave. She sniffed back tears, lifting her chin to try and maintain a brave front. Her brother, Joshua, stood on their mother’s right, holding her elbow should she faint. Abigail glanced over at him, seeing his face set in a somber frown. Joshua and her father had never been particularly close. His demands over her brother’s life had been too constricting to allow any warm feelings to blossom between them.

It had been the same for her and her father. As a doctor who treated the county’s high-class citizens, Doctor Elias Staton had rarely been home. Even when he was, Abigail and Joshua found that they could never live up to their father’s exacting expectations. He had always pushed Joshua to better himself, and the family’s standing, by distinguishing himself in the political arena. For Abigail, he had had plans of a triumphant marriage to an earl, or maybe even a viscount.

Abigail turned away from the grave, steering her mother down the stone path leading back to the church. Joshua followed a few paces behind, his head hung low. Neither of them had accomplished their father’s visions for their lives before he passed away. The memory of his last words to her haunted her dreams and dogged her every waking hour.

“You should have married when you had the chance. And now you and your mother will live in squalor for the rest of your days…”

The disappointment in his eyes was worse than his cruel words. Fear for an uncertain future, combined with her mother’s grief, had made the last few weeks of her father’s life nearly unbearable. If not for Joshua, she would have distended into madness by now.

“Don’t worry about us, Father.” She had tried to comfort him during his last hours, “Joshua will look after us.”

He had given a derisive laugh. “I can’t trust that boy to put one foot in front of the other, let alone make a name for himself in politics. No. It will be up to you, Abigail. You must marry well and save the family from ruin. Promise me…”

She had promised to help put his mind at ease as he drifted from their world and into the next. However, she doubted a man of means would be tempted to take her as a bride: untitled, a modest dowry, the sister of a lowly politician.

“Come, Mother. We should get out of this weather. I believe it is going to rain.” Abigail turned her towards the coach, and Joshua helped her in. Their mother seemed hardly able to walk on her own, drifting through the days like an apparition. Despite all their father’s shortcomings and coldness towards his children, their parents had loved each other.

Climbing in and sitting down alongside her mother, she grasped her mother’s icy hand. Her mother glanced over at her after several seconds, as if seeing her for the first time that day. “Your father loved you,” she whispered, barely audibly. Abigail met her brother’s gaze, who wore the same pained expression. Why could her father have not said it when he was alive? Why had he been so cold towards them, if what her mother said was true?

“I know, Mama.” Abigail gave her a weak smile. Now was not the time to voice her questions, not with her mother so frail. Why did people always wait until it was too late to tell those closest to them how much they loved them?

***

The next few days were a whirlwind for Abigail. She oversaw preparations for their moderately large home to be rented out. With the stipend her father had set aside for her mother, the larger house was no longer within her means.

“We shall be perfectly comfortable living with my sister at her seaside cottage,” her mother had explained. Her nose and eyes were still red from the constant onslaught of tears.

Abigail had rebelled against the idea, though. A quiet country life was not to her liking.

“You may come and stay with me, sister, if ever you have need of some excitement.” Joshua had raised an eyebrow at the idea of her living in the country. He knew her temperament, knew that she would go mad twiddling her thumbs while their aunt prattled on endlessly about her ‘dear, departed Francis’. Their uncle had died nearly fifteen years before. Their aunt had yet to stop talking about the funeral or relay what ‘dear, departed Francis’ would have said. Oh, no. A country cottage was the last place she wanted to be.

“You would not mind me going to live with Joshua, would you, Mother? I could help him run his home and play hostess for his parties.” Her brother was as yet still unmarried. At three and twenty, he had plenty of time to find a bride. However, Abigail did not. At one and twenty, her father had made her out to be an old maid, a veritable spinster in the making.

Her mother had looked up at her surprise. “I would not mind at all, my dear. Joshua could benefit from a woman’s touch around his house.” It had become immediately apparent in their few visits to his London home that he was not the best at hiring servants or ordering meals. “He will need to make a good impression on his guests if he is to gain any clout as a politician.”

Abigail let out a sigh of relief at the memory. Thankfully, her mother and aunt got along well. Her mother listened to her aunt’s endless reveries about Francis without complaint. And her aunt coddled her mother in her ‘nervous complaints’ and random crying spells.

It would be a pity to see the old house go to renters. She had grown up in this house and had shared some wonderful childhood memories with Joshua. They had practically raised themselves since the luxury of a governess had not been something their parents could afford.

She now walked the halls, ensuring that every room was cleaned to perfection and the essential family heirlooms were packed away. All her father’s paintings and books would stay with the house. Sighing, she sat down heavily in one of the chairs in the library, relishing the smell of the musty books and the memories of the many happy hours she and Joshua had spent there. She stood and went to a poorly lit shelf near the back of the small library, dug behind a few large volumes, and brought out her secreted copy of ‘The Rights of Man’ by Thomas Paine. Had her father known she had been reading such a book, he would have burned it immediately and forbade her from ever reading such ‘rubbish’ again.

She clutched the book to her chest. Her father had tried for years to make a politician out of his son. However, it was his daughter who had been given the passion for government and its many intricacies. “You should be the one running for office,” her brother had stated on several occasions.

Abigail exited the library, holding the precious volume at her side. If only women were allowed to compete in the political arena.

A few days later, the house had been closed up and readied for the tenants that would arrive the following Saturday. Abigail took one last look at the home before climbing into the public coach. Her mother wept as they pulled away, their trunks weighing down the carriage.

They traveled nearly non-stop until they reached their aunt’s cottage near the Devonshire coast. The cliffs were breathtaking, and for a moment, Abigail felt at peace. Exhausted from having to oversee all the preparations for leaving the house, she fell into fitful snatches of sleep throughout the journey.

“Oh, my dears! How good to see you all have arrived in one piece! My nerves have not given me a moment’s peace since learning of your departure. As my dear, departed Francis used to say, one should avoid travel in the winter at all costs! I was afraid for your lives every minute!”

Abigail’s aunt met them at the coach’s door and did not stop to take a breath until they had all reached the door of her cottage.

“It is so good of you to allow Mother to stay with you, Aunt Beatrice,” Abigail interjected during a slight pause.

“Oh, my dear, think nothing of it. It will be good to have someone to pass the time of day with. Since dear Francis passed, I have been wanting the companionship of another fellow human being. My sister will be quite comfortable here, I am sure. Just like the old days when we were girls, won’t it Caroline? Now, do come in before we all catch our deaths of cold…”

Aunt Beatrice continued talking, rattling on about the improvements she had made to the cottage over the years. Joshua allayed Abigail at the door and rolled his eyes. “Are you sure we need to stay? Aunt Beatrice will make sure Mother settles in.” It was no secret that Joshua did not care for their aunt.

“Joshua, we cannot leave her now. We have promised to stay for a few days to see that she is settled. Besides, I am weary from the journey. And so are you. A few days at the coast will help bolster us before we continue on to London.”

“Very well,” Joshua said tersely and followed her into the cottage.

In time Joshua saw that she was right in breaking their journey to London. They spent most of their time walking along the cliffs just a mile from their aunt’s cottage or ambling along the seashore.

“Write to me often, my dears,” their mother requested as they said their goodbyes. Three days was more than Joshua could take, and Abigail was eager to be on her way as well.

“We will, Mother,” Abigail promised for both of them. She gave her brother a sideways glance, and he stepped forward to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“Goodbye Mother. Do let me know if you are in need of anything from London.” She hugged him awkwardly and nodded.

“Thank you, my boy.” Her mother turned when their aunt came out onto the front stoop.

“Really, Caroline, I cannot believe you are allowing your only daughter to go running off to London. It is improper for an unmarried woman.”

“She is going under my care and protection, Aunt. It could not be more proper for her to do so.” Joshua turned as the public coach was seen coming down the road. He waved down the coachman, who slowed the carriage and came to a stop in front of the house.

“Goodbye, Mother.” Abigail hugged her mother one last time as the trunks were loaded onto the top of the coach. Joshua waited by the open door to help her in. She hugged her aunt, who kissed her on the cheek despite her disapproval.

“Take care, my girl,” Aunt Beatrice whispered. “As my dear, poor Francis used to say, where one door closes, God opens another.”

Nodding, she took a step back and took both of their hands. “We’ll make you proud, Mother. I promise.”

She then turned and walked to the coach, tears threatening to stain her cheeks. Perhaps her aunt was right. Maybe this would be a whole new start for her. She imagined what it would be like to find a husband, to start a family of her own. She would not be cold and unfeeling towards her children, as her father had been towards her. All her life she had strived for his approval, to know that he loved her. How differently she would do things with a family of her own.

Waving as the coach lurched forward and started down the road, Abigail wondered if she would ever be happy again.

Chapter One

One year later

Lord Thomas Brampton, Earl of Harborough, entered one of the private meeting rooms in the gaming house, finding a haze of pipe smoke hanging in the air. This is not how he had envisioned his day going. As one of the members in the House of Lords, he had been called into the hastily gathered meeting by his superiors.

Prime Minister Spencer Perceval had been shot a few hours earlier as he entered the House of Commons. Thomas’ political party heads had called an emergency meeting to discuss what was to be done. However, since the authorities had already taken the perpetrator into custody, Thomas did not see what else could be done. A merchant by trade, John Bellingham, had not tried to escape after shooting Perceval in the chest.

“He says he acted alone. I do not think we need fear that a conspiracy is afoot. Perceval was not popular with the poor classes, with his unlimited spending to win the war against Napoleon. Even so, Bellingham swears that he acted alone, bringing retribution to the government.” Lord Elinger puffed on his pipe nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the horse races’ latest outcome rather than a man who had been murdered in the front hall of the House of Commons.

“I agree. John Bellingham is a man redressing a grievance, or at least what he believes is a grievance. He says he was wrongly imprisoned in Russia and that the British government should compensate him. I hardly think him intelligent enough to lead a rebellion, though,” another of the older gentlemen chimed in.

Thomas shook his head. He was sure that Bellingham had acted alone, but it would be foolhardy not to investigate further. There was talk of an inquest being held the following morning, at the Cat and Bagpipes Public House. If his inclinations were correct, the man responsible for the Prime Minister’s death would soon hang. Better to be sure that he had acted of his own volition, without aid, than to risk more unrest by not catching others involved. Still, it was not his decision to make.

Thomas said nothing, preferring to listen to the arguments than give forth his own input. The liquor flowed freely, and a card game soon started. Although he did not indulge in strong drink as heavily as some of the other patrons, Thomas joined in the gaiety. Sitting down with a few of his friends and colleagues, they started a game of poker. All was going well until a man Thomas detested decided to interrupt and insert himself into the game.

“Good evening, old chap,” Harold Withesby greeted Thomas. Thomas gave a cursory nod and went back to studying his cards. “You don’t mind if I join, do you?”

Thomas did mind but said nothing.

“Of course not; please sit down,” one of the other gentlemen replied, scooting his chair over slightly so that Harold could participate.

Harold wore a strange expression as if he knew something that Thomas did not. Trying to ignore the hateful man, he turned to his good friend, Frederic Bauer.

“How are the improvements coming on your new abode, Fred?”

“They are coming along quite nicely, now that we have had a break in the weather. I only hope it will hold…”

“Have you heard the latest about this new chap, what’s his name? Sir Ezra Filmore?” Harold asked loudly, interrupting Thomas and Fredric’s conversation. Thomas did his best not to roll his eyes and huff. Harold was a shameless gossip, his tongue lacerating his enemies and leaving them in humiliating heaps for all to see. Moving in circles with the nobility and the commoner, Harold had a way of charming secrets out of people. His stories gained more venom at each retelling until the information hardly resembled the original facts. This did not matter when it came to the London gossip mill, though. Harold seemed to gather a sick enjoyment from other people’s misery and downfall.

As for the gentleman in question, Thomas had not heard much about him. Although he had met him once at the gaming club, they had not spoken in depth. Sir Ezra Filmore was new to the capital. Like so many of the men sitting around the table, he was trying to distinguish himself through a political career. And it seemed that he was winning over the people very quickly.

“No, what is it you’ve heard, Harold?” Charles Chancellor asked. He was a funny little man whose face was contorted into a constant squint even though he wore glasses. It gave him the look of a weasel. In reality, he was a man who held no opinions of his own, merely going along with whatever anyone else was saying so as not to rock the boat. Charles and Harold were inseparable, with Harold acting as a host and Charles a parasite in the relationship.

Thomas did not like either of the gentlemen. Harold was a vain, greedy little man, with pudge that flowed over his trousers like a cake overflowing its tin as it baked. Charles was his complete opposite, standing tall and thin like a beanpole, blown about by every changing opinion. Herald smiled at Thomas wickedly and continued.

“I saw a certain lady coming out of Sir Ezra Filmore’s home the other day. She was quite flustered when I made myself known. Quite a guilty look about her, if you ask me.” Herald placed his cards on the table, revealing a straight flush. “Hah! I think I’ve taken that hand, chaps!”

Thomas laid his cards on the table, having collected nothing of worth throughout the game. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Why was Harold pointing the gossip towards him? A terrible suspicion dogged his mind. Could the lady have been his fiancé, Lady Sarah Thorne? Sarah had danced with Sir Filmore at the opening ball of the season a month prior. But he did not know of any further correspondence between them.

“Who was the woman?” one of the other gentlemen asked testily. Harold had a way of drawing out news for effect, so much so that Thomas was sure it would make a nun swear.

He met Thomas’ gaze and smiled. “It was Lady Sarah Thorne. I’m sure she was making a regular house call on the gentleman’s mother or sister. But of course, that would not account for her nervousness, would it?”

“Ezra Filmore has no family,” Frederic replied through clenched teeth. He, too, had not taken a liking to Harold.

“I did not know that.” Harold feigned innocence to the fact that Ezra lived alone. Thomas saw right through his game. He was a terrible liar, although he guessed he was making no real effort to conceal his knowledge. He was enjoying this, all the while twisting the knife into Thomas’ heart.

“You’re a liar and a cad, Harold Withesby.” Thomas stood, shaking slightly. He would not allow his anger to come to blows with the odious man, which was precisely what Harold wanted. Banning him from the club was his main goal, no doubt.

“What reason would I have to lie about this? I would think that if I was marrying a young lady and she had been unfaithful even before the wedding night, I would want my friends to tell me.”

Thomas’s face went pale. “Excuse me.” Turning his back on the gentlemen at the table, he started to walk away.

“I feel for you, Lord Brampton. And with your wedding only a few weeks away.” He tsked and sighed. Harold’s lips dripped with honey, but his words came with a poisonous bite. “I am sorry if I have spoken out of turn, Lord Brampton.”

Thomas turned, his fury all too apparent. However, before he could say something that he would regret, Frederic stood and grabbed his arm. “Good evening, gentlemen. Harold,” Frederic spat. Harold lifted his chin with the pointed insult and huffed as Frederic led Thomas out of the meeting room table.

“Don’t believe a word he says, Tom. I’m sure he was just trying to goad you.”

“No. He knows something. He would never say that unless he had actually seen Sarah with Sir Filmore.”

Frederic pulled him into one of the vacant gaming rooms. The shadows cast odd shapes on their faces as they talked in hushed tones. His emotions were swirling, making him feel like he was stuck in a whirlpool. Which way was up? He couldn’t catch his breath.

“He never said he saw her with the man. He said he saw her coming out of his house…” Frederic tried to reason the situation out, thinking that there had to be a logical explanation for her behavior.

“Yes! And what am I to make of that?” Thomas exploded, raking his hands through his dark blonde hair. Pacing in front of the fireplace, he tried to get his emotions under control.

Frederic drew back slightly. “I apologise, my friend. I am not trying to make light of the situation. But when have you ever trusted a word that Harold Withesby said?” Frederic came to stand by his side, his face filled with compassion.

Thomas shook his head and met his gaze. “I have never trusted anything he says. But I have to be sure.” Staring into the flames for a moment, he let out a breath. A part of him wanted to rush to her house and see if it were true. Another part wanted to stall as long as possible, just in case it was. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Frederic gave a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it, old friend. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do. Not until I know the truth.”

“Well, I’m here if you find you do need anything. Hopefully Harold is just running his mouth as usual, making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Thomas tried to smile and put his friend at ease, wishing that his unease was not so apparent. He trusted Sarah, although she was a bit naive to the ways of the world.

“Come on, let’s call for some drinks and we’ll talk it over.” Frederic stuck his head out of the room and summoned one of the waiters. “Scotch and two glasses please.”

Thomas was retreating within himself. He had built up so many hopes for his future with Sarah. What if it was all crumbling around him?

When the drinks came, they sat down in the chairs before the hearth. Thomas was aware that Frederic was studying him closely. Usually a laid back, pleasant fellow, it was not like Thomas to be sullen and introspective when in company.

“Is there any foundation in Harold’s rumors?” Frederic asked, trying to draw Thomas out of his dour contemplation.

Thomas swirled his glass in a circular motion, watching the amber liquid slosh gently around the bottom. “They have met. He asked her to dance at the opening ball of the season. It’s possible that she has been seeing him behind my back, I suppose. I’ve been so busy with meetings at the House.”

“Sarah doesn’t strike me as someone who would do that, though.”

Thomas would never have thought her capable of betraying him until Harold had placed the seed of doubt in his mind. Sarah was the most beautiful lady in London. However, she was very impressionable as well, prone to trusting anyone who petted her vanity.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore…” Thomas tipped his head and drained the rest of his drink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk home with you,” Frederic offered, placing both their empty glasses on the side table for the waiter to collect later.

“No. Thank you, Fred, but no. I want to be alone for a while.”

He walked out of the gaming club, angry with himself for allowing Harold to get a rise out of him. A ball of fear settled in the pit of his stomach. He had to be sure that Sarah was alright and that there was no foundation for Withesby’s lies.

Chapter Two

Abigail stared out of the window at the busy street below her bedroom window. Sighing, she allowed her maid to tighten her stays and then climbed into her dress to go down to dinner. Her gowns were not lavish by any means, but they were pretty nonetheless. She smoothed the satin fabric of her skirts down and turned in the full-length mirror once more.

Knowing she was not a classic beauty, she sighed with disappointment at her reflection. Her hair hung in dark, semi-straight stands down her back, tied back with a simple ribbon. They could not afford expensive silver combs or other such luxuries. Her jaw was square and strong, like her father’s. Her brown eyes were nothing special, in her opinion. Her one crowning beauty was her full lips and unblemished complexion. The bloom of youth was still apparent on her cheeks, enhanced by her high cheekbones. Her father had always called her plain. Joshua had encouraged her that there was more to life than being beautiful, remaining true to men’s insensitive and unwitting ways of putting their feet in their mouths.

Although she was pretty, she would never have classified herself as beautiful. Even so, her brother’s attempts to help encourage her had stung. No young lady wanted to be told she only had her intelligence to recommend her. Her mother had often told her in her letters that she was getting old and needed to hurry and find a husband if she was to have any hope of security. It did not help that her dowry was small. She would be lucky if a young farmer took pity on her and asked for her hand.

Oh no. She would rather die an old maid than live in the country. A woman of refined taste and aspirations, she longed for a life of adventure in the political arena. It was too bad that she had been born a woman, she thought, and not for the first time. Why was it that boys were allowed to go off to war, vote, own land, and a plethora of other things that women were not allowed to do? The injustice of it all turned her stomach.

Several times during the year following her father’s death, her mother had pleaded for her to come and live with her at the cottage. She was a mild hypochondriac and railed on and on about the unhealthy conditions of London. The air was terrible, the smells were enough to drive one to delirium, and the food was too rich. Abigail tried to allay her mother’s fears as best she could, glad that she was many miles away from her mother’s nagging voice and her aunt’s woes. Thankfully, her aunt indulged her mother’s every whim, and her mother listened to her aunt’s endless prattle. They were the perfect pair.

Her mother’s last letter had been particularly hurtful, although it had been unconsciously so. I beg that you would put forth an effort, my dear, and settle down. Tending to one’s family is the greatest joy a woman can find. I would remind you of the promise you made to your father to marry well and save the family. It is up to you now, as I doubt Joshua’s political career will amount to anything…

Abigail had not shown the letter to Joshua. He was already insecure about his campaign to be elected to a place in the House of Commons. He did not need the added pressure of his mother’s lack of faith in him.

It was in her brother’s weaknesses that she had found her place to thrive. She had identified her calling; to help her brother with his campaign and see him elected to the House of Commons. He had not the political bent for the post for which he was running. Joshua was too docile, too bent on pleasing everyone, and frightened out of his mind that he would offend people. As a politician, he would need to grow thicker skin and trade in his soft-spoken nature for a more commanding presence and speech.

Abigail liked to think she had helped him to that end over the last year. Although he had not been elected the previous year, she hoped that this year’s campaign would change that. His biggest problem was staying in tune with the people he hoped to represent.

She was jolted out of her reverie when she heard a hackney carriage pull up in front of the house. Glancing out of the window once more, she saw her brother climbing down from the small carriage. He held an umbrella over his head as he made a dash for the front door. The rain had begun in earnest as the sun descended behind the westward buildings on the opposite side of the street.

Abigail went downstairs to meet her brother. Handing the umbrella to the maid, he shook the water off his light jacket. The maid, Mazzie, placed the umbrella in the stand near the door to dry and waited for Joshua to hand his coat to her. Joshua huffed, handing over the coat with a frown.

“Abominable weather!” he panted, and slammed the door before Mazzie could do so. She stepped back in surprise and lowered her head.

Abigail recognised her brother’s foul temper and met him at the door with a smile. She linked her arm through his and led him away before he could take out his frustration on Mazzie. “It is not a cold rain is it? It is mid-May after all.” Abigail looked over his brother’s shoulder to Mazzie. “A towel for Master Staton, please, Mazzie.”

Mazzie disappeared down the hall and came back with a towel for Joshua to dry his face and hair. “No it is not too cold, but being drenched on the way into the house has put me in an even worse temper than I was before.”

“Are you in a temper, brother? Whatever for?” Abigail led him into the parlor where a cheery fire was blazing, and had him sit down to warm himself. “Mazzie, please bring tea and refreshments for us,” she instructed the maid, who hurried off to do as she was bid.

“It was a terrible day at the House. No doubt you’ve heard of the Prime Minister’s assassination? And never mind, Mazzie! Bring the bottle of Scotch and a glass.”

Mazzie glanced at her mistress as if to confirm that this was alright. Abigail nodded, and the girl went to the study to retrieve what her brother had requested. She placed a hand on his arm and tried to calm him. The last thing he needed was to drink himself into oblivion. He had a debate the next day. “Tell me what happened.”

Joshua stood and edged closer to the hearth, holding his hands palm out to soak up the warmth. “It’s that darned Sir Filmore. He has a way with the people that I will never have.”

“Don’t say that. From what I hear, Filmore is a cad and drunkard. You are twice the man he is.”

“That may be so, but he charms his voters with fancy speeches and gifts. He’s bested me for the third time in a debate. And I’m sure he’ll take the next one tomorrow.”

Mazzie appeared with the Scotch and set the bottle and glass down on the side table for him. She quickly left the room, feeling the tension bristling in the air. Joshua was not unkind by nature, but the last few months had put such a strain on him. He was becoming more sullen as of late, lashing out at the servants and even at her at times. Abigail gave Mazzie an apologetic glance before she disappeared from the parlor.

“You will just have to learn his weaknesses, brother.”

“You don’t understand, Abby. If I don’t win this election, we are ruined! I’ve spent most of Father’s inheritance on the last two campaigns, and what have I got to show for it? Nothing! We’ll both be living with Mother and Aunt Beatrice by year’s end if I can’t turn this around.” Joshua sat down and poured himself a drink, taking a long swig before he continued.

“I don’t think I have what it takes to be a success in the political arena. I’m not like you.”

Abigail knelt before her brother and took the drink from his hands. His depressive moods only became worse when he drank. She set the glass on the side table and took both his hands in hers. “Joshua. I believe in you. And you know I am here to help you in whatever way I can. We will figure it out together, I promise.” He smiled down at her and gave her hands a light squeeze.

“I have always known I can count on you. I’m sorry for my temper. I know it must be beastly for you, with all the stress of running the household and trying to help me keep my career afloat.”

“I would not want to be anywhere else. You know that. Through thick and thin, I am with you, brother.”

He sighed as she let go of his hands and sat down in her chair again. They stared into the flames crackling away in the fireplace for a moment, a companionable pause stretching between them. The rain started coming down even harder, pounding on the rooftop. It was one of her favorite sounds in the world.

“I should never have listened to Father, no matter how he railed at me. I’m not cut out for this life,” Joshua whispered. Abigail’s heart broke for him. He had always dreamed of going into the church, a profession for which he would have been much better suited. He was much more concerned with people’s spiritual needs than gaining their favor so they would vote for him. Politics drained him of his energy, rather than exciting him as it did for Abigail. They had both disappointed their father, their personalities not matching his expectations. Joshua was the quiet, docile one, where she was passionate and headstrong. It was too bad they could not switch places.

“Everything will be fine. You’ll see. We will transform you into a first-rate politician if it’s the last thing I do!”

He laughed. “My sister. Ever the optimist.” Shaking his head, he stood. “I should change for dinner. Thank you, Abby, for trying to cheer me up. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

She nodded as he left the room. She called for Mazzie and had her take the unfinished glass of Scotch to the kitchen. Abigail took the liquor bottle back to the study and replaced it on the drink cart. If only she could run for office in her brother’s place, then all would be well. Knowing that the stress of losing the house and their livelihood weighed heavily on her brother’s shoulders, she had taken to making small economies here and there. Their financial status was not looking good, although she tried to keep this fact from her brother as much as possible. He did not need even more bad news to worry him. With the election looming only six months away, the prime minister’s assassination, and the upheaval of the war with Napoleon, Joshua was in for a bumpy ride.

Abigail went back out into the parlor to tidy it up before dinner. Joshua soon rejoined her, and they talked about his day at the office. “You’ve heard about the Prime Minister, no doubt?”

“Yes, how awful! His poor family, they must be devastated.” Abigail’s heart went out to Mrs. Perceval and their twelve children. She could not imagine raising twelve children on her own.

“Everyone is reeling. The government wants a swift trial and an end to it all. With the war still on, we need to set in the new Prime Minister as soon as possible.”

“Perhaps you can run for the post. That would solve all of our financial difficulties,” Abigail teased.

Joshua laughed. “Only in our dreams would I become Prime Minister, sister.”

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“Loving A Forsaken Earl” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Miss Abigail Staton leaves a quiet country life behind and travels to London to live with her brother after their father’s tragic death. As an inexperienced politician, her brother has struggled in running for a seat in the Commons. Abigail, however, is exceptionally astute and has a particular knack for politics. When a stranger shows up on their doorstep asking for assistance with an unusual scheme of revenge, Abigail’s life is turned upside down. Despite her misgivings, she is unable to resist the opportunity to work with this handsome stranger and possibly save her brother’s career and livelihood. With powerful feelings overwhelming her, will she manage to navigate this precarious situation without ending up with a broken heart?

With a wedding to his childhood sweetheart just a few weeks away, Lord Thomas Brampton feels he has found love and is on his way to having the family he has always dreamed of. When his fiancée suddenly leaves him for another man, Thomas’ world falls apart and he decides to make this man pay. Setting out to accomplish his plan, he finds himself working alongside a hopeful politician and a captivating young woman who surprises him every step of the way. Will Thomas choose to stay focused on his goal or will his heart unwittingly open up to entirely new, wonderful possibilities?

As Abigail and Thomas are thrown together by fate, she starts to see what a caring and kind man he really is, and he can’t help but be drawn to this extraordinary young woman. Feeling they are in an impossible situation, neither of them dares to hope for a chance at something unimaginable… With all their plans gradually taking shape, will this risky plot succeed, or will it turn out to be the ruin of them all? Will Thomas and Abigail ever allow themselves to see each other in a new light and go after what their hearts truly want?

“Loving A Forsaken Earl” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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