Stealing the Earl’s Heart (Preview)

Chapter One

Charlotte reached down to remove a wet leaf from her shoe, keeping an eye on the group of women weaving their way through the morning crowd. Brommich’s town square was bustling with shoppers of various professions and social status, each keeping a respectable distance between each other lest anyone forget themselves. Servants argued with stubborn produce suppliers, while gentle ladies swished about with their dresses, entering shops that boasted beautiful fabrics, accessories, and tea rooms for those looking for rest and a bite to eat.

Straightening, she adjusted her spectacles, tracking the woman’s movement. That comb should fetch enough money to buy Julia and James a pair of shoes, and perhaps a new bonnet for Mother. Her siblings were growing at quite a speed, and constantly needed an update to their wardrobe. I am certain Lilith has a multitude of combs; she will not miss one.

The young woman she had selected as her next target was a respected and decorated general’s daughter who lacked for nothing. I would have never seen the accessory if not for the sun catching the sheen of its pearls. Her eyes had been drawn to the hair accessory perched prettily in the woman’s yellow hair, torn between keeping her attention on the item and the need to compare her own dark hair to that of the younger woman.
Her hand went to her left temple, fingering the stark white streak that contrasted with her raven-coloured tresses. She had been born with it, seemingly marking her as an oddity from the very beginning. Charlotte had grown up distinctly knowing that she was different, and not necessarily the good different. It wasn’t that she was deformed, or possessed an insane mind, but she could never align herself with her peers. She was a baron’s daughter, and therefore had an image to uphold, but somehow she had always fallen short of attaining the prestige that came with her father’s title. Papa never seemed to mind my idiosyncrasies, but Mother would always sigh and bemoan her lot in life as the parent of such a strange child.

Sometimes, when they would have parties at the house, she would sneak away to play with the servants’ children rather than remain with those of her social standing. Her mother would typically find her on the kitchen floor, warming herself by the fire while she read the younger ones a faerie tale. It was pointless scolding her as she always had a ready answer for every sort of question, baffling her mother. Her father would often smile and praise her intelligence, but warn her to keep it at a minimum in the company of men.

“For the longest time, I assumed that men were stupid” she whispered to herself.

But experience had taught her that men were like the potatoes she regularly picked from her vegetable garden. Some appeared good on one side until you turned it over and realised a worm had gotten a hold of it. Others were misshapen but still good for eating, others seemed perfect but could have a horrible texture on the inside, and others looked knobby and unattractive on the outside, but inside one would find the ideal cooking potato. Mother would shake her head if she knew I was using vegetable analogies again. It was bad enough that the baroness had to put up with borderline poverty, but to have her gently-raised daughter take up the work of servants was almost too much to bear.

“I often tell her that I enjoy it, but she cannot resign herself to accept it.”
Her poor mother knew not what to do about their circumstances despite having lived this way for some years now. Who knew that her father would leave them penniless? He had always been an attentive husband, a loving father, and a respected member of the community. Everyone had loved Arthur Attenborough, the Baron of Dartington, or at the very least respected him. His sudden death had changed all that, even the town’s view of his surviving family.

“Dying in the arms of your mistress has an alarming effect on one’s opinion of you.”
The scandal had circled the town for months on end, leaving her mother to hang onto the last shred of dignity she had left.

“I thought she would collapse when I brought James and Julia home to live with us.”

Charlotte put the thought away when her target moved, changing her position to mimic the woman. Thinking about the tension between her mother and half-siblings would not give her the focus she needed to attain the pearl comb. Adjusting her spectacles again, she began to formulate a plan that would allow her to acquire the comb with no witnesses.

The market area was busy, which could be helpful if she managed to execute a well thought out plan. Of course, the ideal situation would be to never need to steal, but alas, that was not her lot in life. Charlotte detested the act of thievery, but what was she to do? There was only so much that living off the land could do for one. There were still many other aspects of life that had a significant financial bearing on them. I have to pick my family’s need over my own feelings of guilt, I have no other choice.

She had become so good at stealing it worried her that one day she would come to enjoy taking that which did not belong to her. That can never happen. To ensure it, she had a journal that detailed every victim and item stolen with the amount procured for it. Charlotte did not do it for penitence, but a need to remind herself that she was doing something against her principles. Her family and the few servants they had remaining knew nothing of her thieving, and that is how it would remain. They believed that the town’s people often took pity on them and either gave her some money, or she did a little work for them. That was already hard enough for her mother to accept. Imagine if she were to hear that her only daughter had been reduced to a thief to provide for her family? The mortification might take her to her grave. Her mother often said that another scandal would kill her instantly, so Charlotte was careful about hiding her thieving ways. I never take more than I need, only what is necessary for the household to survive.

A guffaw caught her attention, startling her. I would know that sound anywhere. Which meant that it was time for her to take cover before Malcolm saw her. Goodness, but the man was persistent! She spied a barrel wide enough to hide her crouching form, quickly ducking behind it as the vicar’s son and his friends advanced.

“How I sincerely hope he has not seen me.”

But the man had an eagle’s eye for spotting his prey and swooping in for the kill. Or rather, he seems to have some sort of hidden antennae that alerts him to my presence. There were times when she would scrutinise his head, looking for any evidence that would prove her antennae theory. She had read somewhere in a biology book that ants possibly used their antennae to pick up information and convey messages. They must be folded in that thick head of hair he has. How else was he able to find her more often than not? Even when I have been hiding away from him, he finds me. He had, for some inexplicable reason, taken an absurd notion unto himself that she was meant to be his wife. She had tried to reason with him on several occasions, but evidently her reasoning had not worked. Why must he always be surrounded by his friends? It made it harder to escape his attention and a challenge to walk away. She was painfully aware of the disapproving looks she received from the town’s people. Thus, she made it her goal to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“Charlotte?” she heard him say. “What are you doing behind that barrel?”

Oh! For the love of roast potatoes! Why did she have such ill luck? I may lose my target if he intends to speak to me for longer than necessary. Well, come to think of it, every moment spent with him is longer than necessary.

She came away from the wine barrel, fiddling with the pocket of her dress as though putting something away. She needed some excuse for being found behind the rotund object.

“Good morning, Malcolm. I lost a hairpin, but I found it behind the barrel. Would you please excuse me? I must get going.”

Please, please, allow me to leave. She avoided the eyes of the five other young men with him as she stepped to the side, narrowly missing a puddle of muddy water. It had rained the night before, leaving everything damp but fresh and new looking.

“One moment, if you will,” he asked, or rather insisted.

Charlotte resisted the urge to purse her lips, pasting a smile on her face instead. I hope Lilith has not gone too far.

“I’m afraid I simply must get going. I have errands to run, and much work to do once I return home.”

“If you were to marry me, you would never need to work again,” he declared, puffing out his scrawny chest.

If she had a pound for every time he told her this, she would never need to worry about stealing to get by. What more can I say to deter him? He refuses to listen to me. His friends all wore broad smiles, their body language telling her that they were going to give her a difficult time today. Oh, for the love of peas! I do not have the will nor the strength for this bothersome lot.

“I am flattered, truly I am, but I’m afraid that marriage is not on my topics of discussion for today. Kindly allow me to leave, gentlemen. ‘Tis not right to keep a lady from her work.”

She grimaced the second she realised she had used the word lady. They are sure to say something about it. One of them, a ginger head, cocked his head to the side, his eyes alight with amusement.

“A lady, eh?” he said.

Gerard never fails to point out precisely what he thinks about me, although he is kinder in Malcolm’s presence. Perhaps she would get away with just a few unsavoury words uttered about her, and then be on their way. May good fortune take pity on me this day and keep the lips of this carrot-top man quiet.

“’Tis but an expression. I truly must go.”

She looked between the men’s bodies, adjusting her glasses as she searched for Lilith. Do not tell me that she has left already?

“Who are you looking for?” Malcolm asked.

Charlotte’s gaze swung back to him, her brown eyes meeting his corn-blue ones. He was rather handsome in that boyish manner that attracted most women of their town, but he had never appealed to her. She had always likened his hair to wheat, a mixture of brown and yellow wavy locks that covered his head with astonishing thickness. I would not be surprised if one found a bird’s nest in there. My hand would disappear under all that. Malcolm was proud of his hair and tooted it as his best feature after his thickly lashed eyes. It must be a mystery to all as to why I refuse his proposals. It was as though she were committing a crime when all she wished to do was look after her family.

Marrying him would entail leaving them to fend for themselves as no one wished to take on the financial burden of caring for her family and remaining servants. The vicar’s son was not the only one to have asked for her hand, but he certainly was the most persistent. It was a marvel that men still wished to marry her despite the rumours about her lack of honour and dignity circulating Brommich. I have been called shameless more than I have heard my name spoken by the town’s folk, but I cannot do much about it.

Taking in her father’s illegitimate children had come with side effects that went beyond her mother’s disdain of the twin’s existence. Some people had assumed that the children were her dirty secret that she could no longer hide, and mistreated Charlotte for it. Not only am I poor, but I am considered a woman without morals as well. She was five and twenty, unmarried, and a thief. This was her reality. Any scintillating drama and scandal that people managed to cook up without evidence were not any of her concern. Although it certainly hurts one’s feelings.

“Charlotte,” Malcolm called again. “Who are you looking for?”

Why must he stick his nose where it does not belong? “I am wondering about which shop I should enter first.”

“Indeed?”

That one word was pregnant with so much meaning, and as a woman did not know whether she would have a girl or boy until the birthing process, so she did not understand what he truly wished to say. Surely he did not see me tracking Lilith’s movement? Charlotte prided herself on being a discreet, nimble, and cautious thief who did all she could to avoid discovery. Perhaps prided is not the word I would use, not when I feel nothing but disgust for my actions.

“Yes. Please, do not keep me any longer, or my mother will start to wonder where I have gotten to.”

To her surprise, he stepped aside, motioning for his friends to do the same thing. My, my, that did not take much convincing at all. Perhaps good fortune has smiled down on me after all.

“Enjoy your…shopping, Charlotte,” he said, smiling.

That is the smile of a man who knows something he should not. What is he hiding? She wished to ask him, but that would only mean Lilith would get further away from her. And I have not yet decided on how to get that comb out of her hair.

“Do you not wish to go?” Malcolm questioned. “I am more than willing and happy to keep you company while you shop.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. She certainly did not need anyone’s company, let alone his.

“My apologies, I seem to have retreated into my thoughts again. Please, excuse me.”

The men parted down the middle, watching her as she walked away. She needed them to look away before she could renew her stealthy chase of her victim, but what could she do? Enter a shop! Surely they would grow bored and walk away once they could no longer see her?

Walking a couple of paces forward, she stopped just outside a watch shop. Were they still watching? Perhaps they have stopped looking. She placed a foot on a large rock that had been somehow included in the creative design of the storefront.

“Mr Plume always seems to find a way around any problems.”

The watchmaker had been fooled into buying a piece of property fraught with spacing issues, misshapen floors, and jutting rocks, but he had managed to turn all the negatives into a positive.

Bending down to ‘dust’ her shoe, Charlotte was acutely aware of her unladylike position, but it was the least obvious way she could think of to see if the men still had their eyes on her.

“Mother would have much to say, but what she does not know cannot harm her.”
Besides, she had ceased to be a lady in the eyes of most town’s folk come years ago.
Very carefully, she turned her head to the side, pleased to see that the men had turned away and were talking to a man with a cart. What a bothersome lot they are!

“I should find Lilith before they think to look for me again.”

Where was the woman? Putting her foot down on the ground a little more heavily than needed, she gave the town’s square a sweep with her eyes. One side was dedicated to fresh produce and other food items, while the other was solely for clothing and household items. It wasn’t large by any means, but it provided Brommich with what it needed.

“Lilith came out of a fabric shop not too long ago, and I am certain I saw her walk towards the Sweet Shoppe.”

Could she still be there? I cannot go in there as Mrs Freeman does not like me in the slightest. She was one of the many women who assumed that James and Julia were her illegitimate children, and that was why her fiancé left her. Charlotte felt a little stab of pain in her chest at the thought of the man who had so cruelly broken her heart over five years ago.

Lucas Winterton had been the man who had simultaneously stolen her heart and breath away. The breath part quite literally as he had knocked her down on the very first day they had met. She had been nine and ten, and he was one and twenty. He had apologised profusely, insisting that he buy her a new dress to replace the one he had muddied. I do believe that I was love-struck that very day, how could I not have been? The handsome man had charmed her with his humour, kindness, and intelligence, so when he had asked for her hand in marriage a mere two months later, she had readily accepted. How was she to know that he would leave her soon after the banns were read? Not only had she been heartbroken, but she had had to deal with the rumours and pitying looks for years to come.

“There is no use thinking about him. Keep your mind on what you need, and not on what you lost.”

With that resolve, she moved back into the shadows, keeping her eyes on the Sweet Shoppe.

Charlotte’s effort was rewarded twenty minutes later when Lilith emerged with her friends, each carrying a little parcel of sweets. If only I had enough money to buy some for the twins. If Cook has enough sugar, I’ll make boiled sweets with a little orange and lavender for flavour. She had become rather accomplished at making her own sweets and pastries, learning them from Cook herself.

“Now, where is she off to now? I hope she does not mean to leave.”

The young woman was walking away rather quickly, giving a tinkle of laughter that sounded more practised than sincere. ‘Tis always for show, never in truth. She pitied women who felt that their very laughter had to be altered to be favoured by others.

The women left the food section of the town’s square and moved closer to where Charlotte stood in between the watch and flower shops.

“Let them not see me,” she muttered under her breath. “Or they will find something to mock.”

The last time she had had the misfortune to be noticed by them, Lilith had mocked the patched parts of her dress, likening it to a poor woman’s quilt. She had not been far off in her description, but there had been no need to publicly humiliate her.

“I suppose ’tis justice that I shall take her comb, but that is not any way to think.”

Charlotte felt a shiver travel up her spine as she felt something slither over her right foot. She screwed her eyes shut tightly, covering her mouth to muffle the helpless scream that escaped her. With one eye open, she looked down, her shoulders dropping when she noticed a harmless green snake making its way to the little bush behind the flower shop. I think I may have found a way to get that comb. She followed the snake, scooped it up and promptly deposited in her pocket.

“I know this snake is harmless, but I do not think they know that.”

Smiling, she inched towards the front of the shop, enjoying the smells of the flowers currently in bloom. I do not want them to see me just yet, not until I am ready to unleash my new friend. She patted her snake pocket, feeling it wriggle about.
“Not yet, little friend, but soon.”

Mr Bloom—a very apt name, she had to say—came out to his storefront to speak with the women, his balding head shining in the mid-morning sun. They all seem preoccupied, now is my chance. Charlotte noiselessly moved forward, bent as though to smell the flowers, and deposited the snake near the women’s feet. It took about ten seconds for them to realise that a snake was in their midst, kicking up such a raucous that people about them stopped to observe the noise.

Charlotte watched in fascination as some people fainted dead away, while others screamed and pushed people over in a mad scramble to get away from the snake. The unfortunate thing is likely as bewildered as they are. Moving closer to Lilith, she almost smiled when the woman bent over a fallen friend. The comb was now at the perfect level to snatch away without notice, making her job easier. Charlotte simply walked past the woman, her nimble fingers making short work of gently removing the hair accessory from Lilith’s hair without the slightest disturbance to the elaborate plaited bun. Pocketing the item, she gave a brief glance at the chaos she had helped create, and disappeared into the panicked crowd.

Chapter Two

Francis liked nothing more than to take a breather between his never-ending duties by enjoying a cup of steaming tea. However, the tea could have tasted like seawater for all the good it was doing him that afternoon.

“My son, you cannot know how strongly I feel about this,” his mother whined. “Your father and I—bless his loving soul—believed that by this age you would have settled with a lovely wife, and given us grandchildren. At least a grandson to continue the family line. You cannot be the Earl of Totnes for the rest of your life, you must pass the title to a son. A legitimate son, mind you.”

He coloured at his mother’s words. He was a rake on paper, sure enough, but that was hardly his modus operandi.

“Mother, I feel insulted that you would assume I would impregnate a wench.”

She didn’t bat an eyelash. “Dear me, I never did mean a wench! I do not take you for the type to consort with the likes of them unless you do? If that is the case—”

“I assure you it is not!” he insisted.

His mother smiled, reaching forward to pat his knee. “Good, good. You father would roll in his grave if his own son was to stoop below his station. Now, I do not mind if you were to…” she coughed prettily, giving a sheepish smile. “Well, if you were to give your amorous attention to a woman befitting your standing, but I hope you are wise enough to avoid any surprises of the nine-months later sort.”

Really, his mother was just too much. “This is hardly the kind of conversation I wish to be having with my mother.”

“And yet it is necessary, Francis. I can no longer ignore the fact that you are three and thirty without a wife or child in sight. I am not getting any younger, and I wish to hold a grandchild in my arms while I am still able.”

“You are four and fifty, Mother, and yet you do not look a day over forty. You have many more years before you become a frail being.”

Her countenance changed, taking on the look of a woman with great regret. She is thinking about Father, I know it.

“Your father was but two years older than I am now when his heart failed, and he fell from his horse. His accident proved that life is fickle, and even the healthiest and most virile of men can fall victim to the cruelties of fate.”

“But father always had a heart condition, Mother,” he reasoned. “And you know very well I do not believe in fate. Life is what you make it, and your future is what you say it is. Fate is merely a construct people created to explain their own laziness in not taking charge of their lives. You would be better off not speaking of it.”

She shook her head, her eyes sad. “Only a fool would say such a thing. Your course in life was decided upon before you were born. Perhaps you may take a few turns before you get to your destination, but you will reach it nonetheless. It was fate that took your father away from me when it did, and I have yet to know why. However, I am certain that everything happens for a reason. Everything.”

Francis decided to remain silent. Saying anything further would only progress this ridiculous argument and spoil what little of his day he could still enjoy. His motto was to live life to the fullest, carpe diem, and talking about fate was not the way to do it. His mother’s reasoning would mean that it was fate that had dictated his wife to cheat on him and break his heart. Ophelia had been the love of his life, and his greatest mistake.

“Amelia is pregnant once again,” he heard his mother say. “I expect it to be a girl.”
“Poor woman,” he muttered.

This would be her fifth child in the space of seven years, a torture for any woman. Why William insists on impregnating his wife, I will never know. His cousin was probably doing so on the instructions of his interfering mother, but that was hardly a reason to put his wife through so much trouble just to bear a son. They should be happy with their daughters.

Stretching for a scone, he caught his mother’s pinched look about her mouth. Oh no, not this again. If she is not complaining about my unmarried status, then she is complaining about her sister.

“I do not wish to hear it, Mother,” he warned.

“But Francis, ’tis not fair.”

“Mother.”

“If I do not speak of it to you, then who?”

He sipped his tea, ignoring her. “Ugh, it has grown cold. I suspect the pot is cold as well, and I cannot abide by cold tea.”

He reached for the tasselled rope beside him, pulling on it. It was connected to the bell that perched on the kitchen wall, a perfect instrument for summoning a servant. Francis did not like his servants to hover about him, neither did he wish to shout for them. Unlike Aunt Mary, who thinks nothing of screaming for a maid’s attention. His mother’s younger sister was quite the character, to put it lightly. Although the sisters shared their pale blonde hair and violet eyes, features he had himself, that was where the similarities ended. Aunt Mary was tall and thin, where his mother was short and plump. The older sister was the life of any event, while the younger had a perpetually sour look on her face. She must store lemons in her reticule and suck on them when she feels her expression is fading away.

Twenty minutes later, he had both a fresh pot of tea and a new plate of treats and finger sandwiches. Mrs Ferguson, his housekeeper, was of the opinion that the food stuffs must match the tea in freshness and taste. I cannot argue with that. Francis helped himself to another scone, slathering it with plum preserve and butter.

“Will you continue to eat and ignore me?”

Resisting the urge to smile at the petulant tone in her voice, he glanced up to find her arms crossed over her ample chest, her tiny foot tapping on the floor. She did make a rather comical sight as she had had to slide to the edge of her seat for her foot to reach the floor.

“Would you have your son go hungry?” he countered.

Her pout fell, as he knew it would. “You are hungry? Then these little treats cannot do. Pull the rope, I shall have Mrs Ferguson bring something with more sustenance.”
“I assure you this is ample food for me. I shall have a heavier meal during dinner. Cook has promised me a mutton pie with mashed potatoes, honey carrots, and braised cabbage. She still has to choose between a syllabub or a peach-lemon ice cream for dessert.”
His mother pulled her face. “Peach-lemon ice cream? What an odd combination.”

“‘Tis a scrumptious concoction she created quite by accident. I had the pleasure of tasting it some days ago. Something about the tartness of the lemon, balancing the sweetness of the peaches.”

“I shall have to take your word for it. Do you know what I also wish to take your word for?”

The need to look heavenward was strong. “I’m sure I know.”

He watched her push back into her armchair, her feet dangling in the air. For such a tiny woman, she has a commanding presence about her. People could not help but take note of her.

“And yet you deny me the right to speak of my sister’s awfulness,” she complained.
“That is because I have heard it all before, Mother.”

“Impossible! Mary does something new every day to simply annoy me. Do you wish to know what she said to me just the other day?”

“No, I do not wish to know, but you will nevertheless tell me, won’t you?”

She nodded. “Quite correct. She said she is thinking about starting a group, but it would only be for grandmothers. Can you believe her nerve? She would exclude her own sister!”
The argument sounded as though it came straight from the schoolroom. Surely, adults do not behave in this manner for all their lives? God forbid. Thank the heavens he was an only child, although at times it had been lonely.

“Why do you fret over such a little thing? Let her have her group, and you can start another for strictly countesses. She is a viscountess; thus, she cannot be a part of it.”
Francis meant this in jest, but his mother’s eyes lit up. Oh dear, I fear that I have given her ammunition to use against Aunt Mary.

“Oh, Francis! That is precisely what I shall do! Why did I not think of it before? Mary shall spit venom when she hears about my group. Mind you, I do not wish to quarrel with her, but she does do her best to hurt my feelings. As her older sister, I only wish to show her the error of her ways by giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

I should learn to better hold my tongue, or I shall find myself in the middle of yet another sibling spat. In his family, his aunt represented France, and his mother, England. France was bound to lose eventually, although she would give England a run for her money just as Napoleon was currently doing. That man has yet to learn his place in the hierarchy of countries, just as Aunt Mary needs to realise that a countess will always trump a viscountess where it matters.

“Surely an older sister should lead by example? Creating a group would have you stoop to her level.”

His mother scrunched up her face. “You were the one to give me the idea, dear. And I would hardly be stooping to her level if I do things better than her.”

Sibling rivalry at its finest. Francis knew that his mother loved her sister, but an outsider looking in might think differently.

“I spoke of the group in jest, not that you should take it seriously. Why do you fret so over such trivial matters? Why does it matter what Aunt Mary decides to do?”

He was fascinated by how her cheeks suddenly puffed up at the same time she sat up straighter in her chair, sticking her bosom in the air.

“I would have you know that her antics do not bother me in the slightest, but ’tis her motive behind the antics that concern me. Do you have any notion how I feel whenever she speaks of her four grandchildren and proceeds to pity me for my lack thereof? I cannot stand by and allow her to repeatedly insult me with her carefully masked words…”

Francis mentally reduced the volume of his mother’s voice and sipped his tea. He had heard this argument before, and consequentially, it did not need his full attention. He listened with half an ear as he settled into his chair, resting one leg oover the other. Aunt Mary and his mother were alike in their tendency to whine and moan about any situation they did not have control over. William had to put up with his mother complaining about his lack of a son, and Francis had to deal with his mother complaining about his lack of a child. To have a baby, one required a woman, and he was not of the mind to commit himself to any woman for years to come.

Discovering Ophelia’s cheating ways had ruined his innocence of love and greyed his outlook on life. Love had made him turn a blind eye to her faults, but when his heart was ripped from of his chest in the worst possible way, his view about life became jaded and one-dimensional. Finding out about her infidelities had been bad enough, but the three-year wait for their divorce had been the frosting on the worst cake he had ever eaten. Parliament had only granted the divorce as he had been able to produce ample evidence of her wrongs, making him shudder to think what may have transpired had he not been able to present it. Once Ophelia realised that she would no longer be a countess and have access to the Devereux money and prestige, she had tried everything possible to make him change his mind about their divorce. Seduction had been her first trap, but when that didn’t work, she had begged for his forgiveness. She didn’t understand that once my trust was broken, there was no turning back.

***

When Francis sat down to dinner that evening, he still had his ex-wife on his mind. The last he had heard about her had been a year ago when he was informed by a supposedly well-meaning friend that she had remarried, and had settled in the north of England. He never bothered to ask who she had married, whether it had been the man she had committed her adultery with or another poor sap with no clue to her treacherous ways.

“It is none of my business. I only feel sorry for the man.”

“What is that, son?” his mother inquired.

“I am remarking on the marvellous flavour of this pie,” he lied. “Cook has outdone herself. I think she has mixed a bit of offal in here as well.”

“Yes,” she grimaced. “I bit into what I can only assume was a piece of heart or liver. I am not the greatest lover of offal, but I must say that Cook has a knack for masking that terrible bitter taste I tend to experience. Do you recall when your aunt invited us to lunch last year? She had that terrible terrine of offal mousse and insisted that we take the recipe home. I have never thrown away such an offending recipe quicker in my life.”
Francis chuckled, remembering the incident. “I recall it perfectly. You decided to have Cook create our own offal terrine recipe and sent it to Aunt Mary for comparison. If I remember correctly, she ceased to give us invitations to her home for several months.”
His mother smiled, shaking her head. “She was always a sore loser. I suppose Father was to blame for having us compete against each other for everything as he believed that only the strongest of people could survive in this world.”

His grandfather had been one to hold by odd views about most things, but Francis had respected him immensely. Both eccentric and traditional, the old man had imparted many a wise word to him that he still held by today. One of them being ‘never allow a pretty woman to butter both sides of your bread for it’ll slip out of your hand and drop on the floor.’ Simply put, ‘never let a beautiful woman know all there was to know about you, for she will use it against you.’ It had sounded odd at the time, but when Ophelia had cheated on him, he had known what the old man had meant.

“Grandfather was a man ahead of his time.”

“Quite right,” his mother agreed. “Now, tell me: what do you think of a ball for the London Season? Parliament has just opened, and the Season is due to officially start in mere days. I wish to host the first ball as it will set the tone for the other hosts and hostesses. What do you suppose? No more than five hundred people, mind you.”

He had nearly forgotten about the Season. Soon London would be filled with hopefuls all looking to be married by the end of the year, or in the very least betrothed. Narrowing his eyes, he observed the fake innocent look she was so desperately trying to maintain. Oh, I see.

“Would having this ball have anything to do with the conversation we had earlier this afternoon?”

Two bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “Why must you see a motive behind all my actions? I simply wish to throw the first ball.”

“Are you strong enough to take on such a mammoth task? Has the chill left you completely?”

His mother had suffered from whooping cough and fever for two weeks, seldom leaving her room lest she infect anyone else.

“The physician has assured me that I am free of any illness, although, from the amount of blood-letting he performed, one would think I would be weak.”

From the slight manner in which her hand had shaken this afternoon, he wasn’t altogether confident of that statement. I did not say anything then as I know that she is healing, but throwing a ball might hinder a full recovery.

“I would rather you lessen the number of people you plan to invite and give a grander ball later in the Season.”

She flicked her hand to the side. “Pish, posh. Five hundred is not a large number, dear. We have the capacity for perhaps a thousand people, but I shall not reach such heights yet. Should I make it a themed ball?”

Francis’ lip curled. “Definitely not. I do not like dressing to fit the theme, Mother. I prefer to keep with my black or dark blue evening suit, and that is it. Heaven forbid someone should decide to have a masked ball.”

The last time he attended one had been in the previous Season, an event he would rather not repeat. Something about wearing masks had made the women bolder, and they had surrounded him like a pack of wolves, each trying to get him into a scandalous situation in order to force him to marry one of them. Francis had high-tailed out of the ball, leaving his mother to return home with his aunt.

“This shall be a simple ball. Well, as simple as a Devereux can make it.”

As his mother continued to discuss the ball, he found himself nodding to everything she said. Experience had taught him that it was easier to do so than to interrupt her and thereby prolong the conversation. Although his mother refused to admit it, he knew that the ball was for his benefit. I do not believe that I shall ever find a woman who will attract and hold my attention for longer than a span of two minutes. They are all far too alike, lacking in mystery and natural allure. He was known to be quite the flirt, but it was solely done for his amusement. It would be far more concerning to others if the ‘Most Beautiful Man in England’ did not flirt with a woman or two, sometimes more. Francis didn’t like the title he had earned due to his pale golden hair, violet eyes, sharp features, and lithe body. Neither did he like the attention he received wherever he went. Women and men alike admired him openly, often falling over themselves just to be near him. He had grown used to it over the years, but he often wished to come across a woman who would look beyond his physical appearance. If I did, I might just marry her.

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Charlotte Attenborough has had more than her fair share of hardships. Scorned by the town’s people and forced to steal to provide for her family, she encounters yet another obstacle when her mother racks up a large gambling debt. Desperate, she sets out for London to steal a priceless necklace, only to be caught in the act. When her captor doesn’t hand her over to the authorities but proposes another harmless way to pay for her crime, she readily agrees. It all seemed straightforward until her feelings got in the way…

Francis, the Earl of Totnes, cannot believe the audacity of anyone attempting to steal from him, let alone a woman. He sets out to teach Charlotte a lesson, but instead, finds himself drawing closer to the intriguing woman. A big lie corners him into making Charlotte his temporary fiancée to save face- a foolproof plan by any means- until the tables are turned, and she steals his heart. Will Francis manage to trust Charlotte despite his hurtful past and fear?

Charlotte and Francis come from two greatly different worlds and meet under the most unfortunate circumstances. Their pasts haven’t been easy and over their joint future lies the shadow of a prejudiced society. Will they prove everyone wrong and defy their class differences by surrendering to their powerful feelings? Can their budding love truly overcome it all, or are they doomed to become victims of their hurdles?

“Stealing the Earl’s Heart” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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