A Governess for the Earl: Regency Romance - Clean and Wholesome (Earl Diaries Book 1) Read online

  A Governess for the Earl

  A Clean Regency Romance

  Eleanor Keating

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2020 by Eleanor Keating

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without express written permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  About the Book

  The Advertisement

  The Earl

  The Unexpected Romance

  Afterword

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Delia Campbell takes a leap of faith, answering a personal advertisement from the newspaper. When her day of reckoning comes, she finds herself both pleasantly surprised and confused.

  The Earl in question, a young father of two, is handsome and personable, but Delia cannot help but worry that there is some misunderstanding between them.

  The Advertisement

  Widowed earl, father of two, seeks young lady of quality. The ideal applicant has a patient heart, passing familiarity with the running of an estate, and above all, a love of children.

  Delia hesitated for a brief moment. The entrance to Hawkchurch Manor loomed large in front of her. The house looked sturdy, well-built, and reliable. She could only hope that the man inside would be as promising.

  She stole another glance at the advertisement that she’d clipped from the newspaper’s personals section. Single men or women with the means and inclination would place ads like these in hopes of garnering the attention of a suitable spouse.

  Though Delia reassured herself that plenty of courtships began in this manner, she was still curious about what other sorts of women might find themselves in her shoes.

  Even more than that, she wondered what kind of man would place such a personal advertisement. Perhaps the gentleman could be timid or ill-suited to public life. He may very well have been too busy to court a wife in a conventional manner. There would be some reasonable explanation, she assured herself.

  Answering a newspaper advertisement was hardly the grand romance that little girls dreamt of. But Delia was no little girl. She had no interest in being swept off of her feet by a childless bachelor.

  Delia dreaded the prospect of becoming some gentleman’s broodmare. For years, she had avoided the advances of men in want of an heir. Her sisters’ fates made her even more resolved to avoid resigning herself to the same path. Alone, she would make mistakes, of course, but they would be her own. She had learned a great deal by watching her sisters.

  Her elder sister, Clara, had married a promising young barrister whom she loved dearly. It was only months after the wedding that she became pregnant. Delia watched as her strong sister grew weak and became ill. The baby came before its time, and neither mother nor child survived the horrible ordeal.

  Then there were the letters that came at least once a fortnight from her younger sister, Lenora. She had married a landed knight, who was desperate for an heir. Yet Lenora’s letters dwelled on her sadness and fear. Month after month, she failed to conceive. She worried that her husband might set her aside in pursuit of a woman who could bear him a child.

  Delia, if given all that she wished for, would have loved to be a mother. But, it was not in her character to go down the same path that was so unkind to her sisters. So thus, she had avoided marriage altogether.

  Despite her fears, she had hoped to share her life with someone, someday. She wanted a husband who would not require her to have his children. If that meant waiting until all the busybodies in town considered her an old maid, she would accept that fate.

  Delia did not make a habit of responding to personal advertisements. She would not have read this section of the newspaper at all if not for her father’s retirement. The recent change had pushed her to look for possible futures for herself, marriage being only one of several.

  After all, her father had taught her that she should never settle for less than exactly what she wanted in life. She had combed through over a month of advertisements of both the personal and professional varieties without finding anything that suited. However, this particular gentleman’s inclusion of the fact that he was already a father piqued her interest.

  Would she find the future she was looking for here, at a manor home on such a large estate? She looked over her shoulder down the long unpaved path, which led to the front entrance of the manor. The hackney carriage driver she had hired was long gone. His pair of horses needed tending, after their two hours journey south. Delia did not expect to see him back before the hour was up.

  Rather than allow her nerves to unravel further, Delia took in a steadying breath. She reached up to give the brass knocker a loud thump. A well-dressed manservant of considerable height opened the door. He had not a single hair atop his head but possessed an overabundance of eyebrows.

  “Good afternoon. Miss Campbell, I presume.” His tenor voice was crisp yet polite.

  “Indeed, sir. I corresponded with a Mister Huxley, who advised me to call upon the earl at this time.” Delia felt her heart start racing. She stuffed the newspaper clipping back into her skirt pockets while looking at the man who had answered the door, hoping he would move things along.

  “I am Huxley.” After surveying Delia, he nodded in approval. “You are right on time, miss. This way, Lord Hawkchurch is waiting.”

  “It is lovely to finally meet you, Mister Huxley.”

  “Indeed, Miss Campbell.” He had an almost musical quality about his speech that Delia found somewhat unnerving. Mr. Huxley seemed to be privy to a secret. If she was in for a surprise, she hoped it would be a pleasant one.

  Delia shook off her worries as the product of an overactive imagination. She followed the valet, inside Hawkchurch Manor. Immediately inside was a foyer with an ornate set of staircases on either side of the room. The twin sets of stairs joined at the back wall, where several portraits of various sizes and artistic styles decorated the wall. Delia guessed they were depictions of long-deceased relations of the current earl, or other people of importance.

  Huxley led the way through an arched doorway between the staircases, then down a long hallway. The sound of Delia’s footsteps on the manor’s hardwood floors echoed from the walls of the otherwise quiet corridor. Delia looked on as Huxley opened another arched, white door.

  She took another deep breath to settle her nerves before following the valet into a high-ceilinged parlour.

  The walls were painted in cheerful yellows and whites. Instead of portraiture, the room was adorned with tapestries, depicting scenes from the legends of King Arthur and his court. One showed the magical lady of the lake, presenting the young king with his famous sword; Excalibur. Another featured a hunting party gathered in search of the great questing beast, which peaked its single-horned head out from the wooded area where it hid.

  Delia caught herself getting lost in the artwork and the stories they told. Only after prying her attention away from the tapestries did her gaze fall upon a wooden kneehole style desk, positioned out of the way of the rest of the room’s furnishings. Behind this sturdy-looking mahogany desk, a bespectacled man sat studying the contents of a leather-bound notebook.

&nb
sp; “My Lord,” Huxley started, drawing in his employer’s attention.

  The gentleman set his eyeglasses atop his head, then stood from his desk to greet them. Delia tried to hide her surprise. She had expected someone quite a bit older. He looked no more than thirty-five and more likely, he was closer to Delia’s own twenty-six years. He was dressed handsomely in a dark blue tailcoat with a perfectly suited cut for his tall, broad-shouldered frame.

  Tall windows let an abundance of sunlight into the room. Had the parlour been more dimly lit, Delia might have doubted her eyesight or wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. The earl was young enough that the sun reflected fiery reds and golds in his mess of chestnut curls rather than betraying any strands of grey. The earl was no elderly widower looking for a nursemaid; of that, she felt assured.

  “My lord, I present to you Miss Adelia Campbell, the lady who so kindly responded to the advertisement you had me place in the newspaper. Miss Campbell, may I introduce you to my employer, Josiah Howard, Earl of Hawkchurch.”

  Delia gave a quick curtsy. She was only a solicitor’s daughter, but she felt confident that her manners were refined enough for any earl, even a young and good looking one with an intimidating valet.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Campbell. Do have a seat.” He gestured to the beautifully upholstered chair, which was positioned adjacent to his desk. He had the kind of low, self-assured voice that people couldn’t help but acquiesce to.

  “Thank you, Huxley.” The earl nodded, giving Huxley leave to go.

  “Lord Hawkchurch, it is my pleasure,” Delia spoke all at once, without much breath, or thought, to back it up.

  As the earl sat behind his desk, she wondered how much of his time was spent there, and what sort of work he engaged in.

  Delia watched as Lord Hawkchurch opened the top drawer of his desk, looked through its contents, then shut the drawer unsatisfied. He appeared to be looking for something.

  “Where could they have gone? I was wearing them only a moment ago.” Delia heard him mutter to himself, as he continued to check his waistcoat pockets fruitlessly.

  A warmth crept up from Delia’s chest onto her face in the form of an amused smile. She continued to watch, for a moment, as this dashing young nobleman looked high and low for a pair of eyeglasses, which were in fact, sitting atop his head.

  “Beg your pardon, my lord. Were you searching for your eye-glasses, perhaps?” Delia asked with polite hesitation.

  “Indeed. Have you seen them?”

  Delia could not muster the courage to utter the words. Instead, she nodded her head and looked pointedly up towards the spectacles. The earl responded with silent confusion. It took a fair amount of effort to fight off the urge to laugh.

  “It’s um…,” failing again to tell him out loud, Delia gestured to the top of her own head.

  A look of realization washed over the earl’s features. Delia smiled apologetically, while Lord Hawkchurch grabbed his eye-glasses, then buried his face in his hands.

  “How utterly, embarrassing. I hope you will not judge me too harshly, Miss Campbell.” He set his glasses back on his face before looking up to meet Delia’s gaze. His cheeks still betrayed a flush, which Delia found particularly endearing.

  “Tis no worry, my Lord.”

  As she considered the situation, Delia found herself delighted that the earl seemed to possess an interesting character. He had the manner of a learned man, but she also noted the minor disarray of his hair and the misplacing of his quill pen as signs that there was more to him than his good looks and fashionable dress.

  “Alright, then. Let us get straight to business.”

  Delia coughed to cover her embarrassed laughter. There were several ways in which one might have interpreted his statement. Delia could not think of a single one, which seemed particularly romantic.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, trying to keep an open mind. There may have been some sort of misunderstanding.

  “Have you much experience with children?”

  Delia opened her mouth, hoping that an appropriate answer would somehow flow forth.

  “Well, I have three young cousins. I have spent considerable time helping my aunt care for all of them. I have always loved children.”

  “I see.” The earl paused in thought before continuing. “What led you to answer my advertisement?”

  “I started searching through the papers only recently. I am my father’s only child left at home. He has retired and has no need for a large estate. He is getting on in years. The upkeep has become burdensome. I believe that it would please him to accept the offer he’s received to sell our family home. My younger sister and her husband have plenty of room for him. I am the only thing standing in his way.” Delia sighed, looking down at the ornate rug on the floor of Lord Hawkchurch’s parlour. “Though he would never say so.”

  “Does your father know that you are here now?” he asked, with a hint of concern colouring the rich low tones of his voice.

  “No sir, he does not.” Before the earl could object, Delia qualified. “He would not chastise me, my lord. He has raised me to be the independent-thinking woman you see before you. He is likely to fret over it anytime I have travelled alone. I thought I ought to save him the trouble.”

  Lord Hawkchurch let out a gentle laugh that made Delia’s heart flutter. He had no right to be so charming, she thought.

  “What about you, sir? What led you to place the advertisement?”

  He bristled at the question at first, but then relaxed into a more contemplative posture.

  “I suppose you mean, why now?” He paused, perhaps expecting her to have some meaningful response. Delia only nodded, hoping he would share more of himself with her. She felt an overwhelming pull to make sense of this puzzle of a nobleman. “I suppose that we are not so different, Miss Campbell. My reasons are like yours, in that we both have family whom we love, who we would rather not see sacrifice their happiness for our sake.”

  “Do go on, Lord Hawkchurch. I find your observation on these similarities most interesting,” Delia encouraged.

  “My lady sister, Cassandra, has recently married. I walked her down the aisle myself, and then dried my daughter’s tears when the woman who had cared for her since birth rode away, to start her own life.” Lord Hawkchurch looked away for a moment.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord. That must have been difficult.”

  “Indeed, but it was what was right for us. Cass deserves a chance at her own family. I even encouraged it. She was only twelve when my father died, and I came into my title. His last will and testament named me as her legal guardian. My wife and I were happy to have her here with us as she came of age. Then when Lady Hawkchurch died of childbed fever after delivering our Josie, Cass was here for us.”

  “I see. So, you found yourself at a loss, without your lady sister,” Delia stated. Everything he’d shared seemed to validate the trepidations she’d had in getting involved with a widower. An uneasiness grew and twisted in the pit of her stomach. He appeared to seek a wife of pure convenience who would run his household and raise his children. He spoke nothing of any sort about being lonely or hoping to love again. Could he be swayed? Would she be strong enough to walk away if she thought that he could not?

  “Perhaps we came to depend on her more than we knew. We feel her absence in many ways, Miss Campbell. My man, Huxley, had a full head of hair before he took on the task of disciplining my son, William.”

  Delia barked out an undignified laugh, which could have been embarrassing, but Lord Hawkchurch seemed amused by her mirth. She hoped that he would find a cause to keep smiling at her.

  “How old are your son and daughter, my lord?” Delia asked.

  “William will turn nine in the spring. Josie is just newly four years of age. They are everything to me - my whole world. So, you see, Miss Campbell, why I had Huxley place that advertisement.”

  Delia was no great expert in romance, but she felt confident in her
abilities to spot a loving father. She had, after all, been raised by such a man. There was no doubt in her mind that Lord Hawkchurch loved his children with all of his heart. Perhaps that propensity towards love meant that he could find room in his heart for her, in time.

  “I believe that I do, my lord.”

  The Earl

  Josiah Howard felt as if the floor was spinning underneath him as he scrambled to find steady footing.

  When he’d tasked Huxley with advertising in the newspaper for a governess, he had an image in his mind regarding the sort of woman who might respond. Josiah had expected that the subject of his interview would be a plain-looking and stern old maid. He imagined the governesses of his youth. His breath was thoroughly knocked out of him when Huxley introduced the stunning young Miss Campbell.

  She was anything but plain nor old. Her blonde curls hung freely down about her shoulders, and a healthy pink blush painted her freckled cheeks. He took a brief moment to reorient to the reality in front of him, then found the resolve to carry on with the interview. He reminded himself that he was capable of keeping a professional manner.

  Quickly, Josiah realized he had his work cut out for him. It was going to be an uphill battle to recover from the embarrassment of misplacing his spectacles on top of his own head. The fact that Miss Campbell seemed amused by his forgetfulness was of little comfort. Every smile on the woman’s face felt like it could push him closer to embarrassing himself again. Josiah wondered when he had become the type to lose his wits in the presence of an attractive young woman.

  He should cut his losses. How could he maintain any degree of decorum, when he had already proven himself to be a bumbling idiot? He knew that it would have been wiser to think of some polite excuse to dismiss her then and there. Yet he did no such thing. He continued this farcical interview because he could not bear to turn her away.