Lord Blackburn's Treasure Book One, The Angel Employment Agency

By Kelly Lynn Peters

Just when she thinks she is out of options, respectable Miss Lydia Worthington receives a mysterious letter offering her employment as governess to the three wards of the roguish Earl of Blackburn.

When he thinks he’s about to lose his family’s estate to debt, Aiden Blakely, Earl of Blackburn, returns home to search for the lost treasure of the Blackburns, a fabulous diamond necklace.

Together they search Blackburn Manor for the necklace, but solving the clues left by a feisty ancestress proves easier than fighting the passion between them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Lynn Peters
• Release date: Aug 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311426451

Book preview

Book One

The Angel Employment Agency Series

Book One

Lord Blackburn’s Treasure

Available now!

Book Two

Sir Grantham’s Secret

Coming 2015

A novella of the Angel Employment Agency Series

Lady Lily’s Diary

Available now!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Lynn Peters

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

For my family,

who loved me even when that wasn’t easy.

PROLOGUE

April 12, 181--

Dear Miss Lydia Worthington,

It has come to our attention that you are presently seeking gainful employment as a governess to a respectable family. After careful consideration of your education, character, accomplishments, talents, disposition and references, we would like to extend to you the position of governess to the three wards of the Earl of Blackburn at Blackburn Manor near the village of Guald in Staffordshire. The compensation for this position is forty pounds per annum. If you chose to accept this position, please report to Blackburn Manor no later than May 1. A bank draft has been enclosed to cover travel expenses.

Your humble servants,

The Angel Employment Agency

CHAPTER ONE

Miss Lydia Worthington was at a loss as to how to react upon receiving the letter from the Angel Employment Agency. On the one hand, it offered her the employment she had been seeking with ever greater desperation in the six months since her brother had married. On the other, she had vague memories of hearing that the Earl of Blackburn was one of the most dissipated and disreputable rakes of which tonnish society could boast. She was thrilled at the prospect of the generous salary, but concerned about her ability to manage the education and deportment of three children, especially knowing nothing of their ages or genders.

But mostly she did not know what to do because she could not remember having ever heard of the Angel Employment Agency in her life, much less having applied to them. Lydia sat wracking her brain at her mother’s little writing desk in the sunny corner of the vicarage’s back parlor. She resisted the urge to run her hands through her thick brown hair. It would only need to be tidied again. Tall and overly well-endowed, Lydia knew she tended to be more conspicuous than her petite counterparts, so maintaining perfect grooming was important. Any flaw was sure to be quickly noted and remarked upon, especially by Maud.

Lydia had carefully gone through her notes and desk, looking for some mention of the agency. Neat and organized by nature; years of running the household accounts, the parish finances and the breeding plan of her prized rose garden had honed her systems and habits. But Maud, her new sister-in-law, regularly raided her desk on the smallest pretext, ruining her pens, disrupting her filing and making off with any odd bit of paper she could. Lydia recognized this flagrant violation of her privacy for what it really was, another ongoing battle in Maud’s campaign to assert her rights and privileges as the vicar’s wife and female head of the household.

Lydia was more than ready to surrender. After her mother’s death when she was twelve, all of the household management had fallen on her shoulders. Her father William had been an indolent and lazy vicar, more concerned with his suppers than his sermons. In a short amount of time Lydia ran the household and much of the parish with an appreciable degree of competence. Her duties brought her satisfaction, but her joy was her sprawling rose garden and attempts to breed new roses. Upon the death of her father, the living was offered to her brother Thomas, who was newly ordained and seemed likely to follow his father in temperament as well as profession.

But where their father had been content with widowerhood, Thomas was not inclined to remain a bachelor. At least, his inclination to remain single was no match for Miss Maud Mitteran’s inclination to be his wife. A chance meeting though a school friend of Thomas’ quickly developed into a kind of one-sided courtship. That side belonged entirely to Maud, who understandably would have more respect as Mrs. Worthington than as the fourth of the six still unmarried Miss Mitterans. Thomas’ participation had more to do with his being too lazy to put up any resistance. He was finally stirred to take Miss Mitteran’s many (many) hints for a proposal by the thought that she surely would have to concede matters to her lord and master more frequently than his older sister, who routinely refused his suggestions that the consequence of the vicarage demanded an increase in the quality and quantity of his dinners.

Lydia would have been happy to share the duties of the parish with an intelligent and competent sister. Although it would give her a pang, she would have gracefully turned over the management of the household and dropped back to an advisory position if necessary. But Maud was having none of that. She took over like a force of nature and made it abundantly clear that she considered Lydia’s continued presence under her brother’s roof parasitical and extremely undesirable. The final straw was the death of the roses, but that was too painful still for Lydia to dwell on much.

Instead, she firmly put self-pity behind her and did what she always did when confronted with a difficulty, whether it be replacing the church’s leaky roof or seating both of the crotchety Mrs. Banks at dinner without offending either one. She made a list and considered her options. Sadly, it was an extremely short list: marriage or employment.

Marriage was so unlikely as to be laughable. The neighborhood had been lamentably short on rich, handsome, single young men for years. It had also been short on reasonably well-off, middling looking, middle-aged men, at least of the single variety. She had never been more than ten miles from home and, though Lydia was solely responsible for any savings her father had amassed, he had left everything to his son. Lydia had no portion beyond the one hundred pounds left to her on her mother’s death.

Pushing down a spasm of regret that she would never have a household, much less children of her own, Lydia quickly moved on to the next option: employment.

Her brother, as much as he did not hold his profession in any great esteem, was anxious for everyone else to do so. Appearing to countenance a sister, and so popular a sister, going into service that would surely take her far away from the friends who had depended on her for so many years would paint him in the worst light. He absolutely forbade Lydia from applying to any of the greater families of the neighborhood for character references.

Lydia obeyed the letter of her brother’s command, but persisted in applying to every position advertised in the papers and sent query after query to any agency she could find. She had all but run through her pin money in postage and paper. The rare replies all stated unequivocally that without a character she could never hope to find a position.

So how could this unknown agency offer her a position with no character and no application? Lydia considered that maybe one of the hints she had dropped in the Mrs. Banks’ ears had reached the right person, but then dismissed the thought. If she had been referred to the agency, why not mention the person’s name in the letter? And who were these wards of Lord Blackburn? A quick check of the Peerage showed he had not married and neither had his late older brother. And how was she, a (very) respectable, (relatively) young woman, to be a part of his bachelor household without setting tongues wagging from here to London? To say nothing of her personal safety.

No, Lydia decided with some regret. She could not accept the position. She scanned the letter for a return address in order to send a reply and return the advance money, but there was none. Well, that sealed it, Lydia thought. There was obviously something off about the whole business. If her conscience bothered her too much about it, she could always drop the bank notes in the poor box. The Angel Employment Agency would just have to write it off as a business loss.

Lydia Worthington’s memory had not deceived her when she thought of Aidan Blakely, Earl of Blackburn as one of the most dissipated and disreputable rakes of which tonnish society could boast. Had she been in the way of fresher and less censored news from London she would have removed the qualifiers and just declared him the most dissipated and disreputable rake of which tonnish society could boast, as evidenced this day.

Aidan rolled over and hid his emerald green eyes from the single ray of light coming through the heavy velvet curtains of his London rooms. He didn’t like early mornings. Or late mornings. Or even early afternoons. But it must be afternoon. He would never be so foolish as to choose an east-facing room for his bedchamber.

He groped for another pillow under which to hide his head, and instead met warm flesh. Annabella. Or was it Clarabella? Isabella? It was Something-a-Bella, of that he was reasonably certain. He had thought she would be long gone by now. But when he won her from Douglas on that last hand of cards he hadn’t thought to ask for how long the old roué had engaged his redheaded ladybird.

Cool air touched his sleep-warmed flesh as What’s-Her-a-Bella drew the sheets off him. Cool air was replaced with warm breath and a hot tongue. Aiden purred low in his throat, anticipating a reprise of last night’s performance. Roué or not, Douglas’ taste was spectacular. She closed her mouth over his member and Aiden relished the first tug of suction. Afternoons were starting to look better.

Under Lydia’s management, family dinners had been informal affairs. Maud, however, insisted on a level of formality, one that had her resources allowed would not have been out of place in a ducal palace. So the three were freshly washed, dressed and coiffed as Maud led the way into the dining room that evening. She smiled over the table as Lydia and Thomas took their seats. Are we all here? she asked, as if the table stretched into some misty distance and accommodated dozens.

The little bell she jealously guarded was rung, dishes placed and the covers removed. Chicken again? mourned Thomas.

Yes, dear. There wasn’t a bit of mutton to be had today. Heaven knows, I do my best… especially with so many to feed. She slid an unpleasant glance at Lydia. I had Mrs. Jennings take special care to prepare the turnips as you like best. Not for the first time Lydia noted she had a remarkably small nose, severely pointed. It gave her whole face a pinched look.

Thomas uncovered the turnips with an Ah! of contentment and addressed himself to the serious work of dining.

Well, I for one, Maud began, implying that she was the only one, had a very productive day. We came to an agreement on the color of the buntings for the village fete next month.

Blue, thought Lydia. The buntings were always blue because the same buntings were used year after year.

I finalized the plan for the kitchen garden. I hate to criticize, dear, but you had it laid out awkwardly. Very awkwardly.

Lydia only smiled and took a tiny bite of chicken. Maud didn’t know beans from belladonna. Their tough cook/housekeeper Mrs. Jennings, veteran through three vicars, had come to her nearly in tears. Maud’s plan was truly extraordinary in that it all but ensured not a single plant would be able to survive, much less thrive. Lydia had corrected it and handed it back to Mrs. Jennings, assuring her that Maud would never know the difference, assuming she ever deigned to set foot in the garden at all.

And I settled with the elder Mrs. Banks to take on Sarah.

Lydia froze with her wineglass to her lips. 14-year-old Sarah served as their scullery, maid and kitchen helper. She was bright and competent, but so shy that when startled or under pressure things had an alarming tendency to be dropped, shattered or otherwise ruined. Grouchy, snappish Mrs. Banks was the last person who should be her employer.

Dear, mind your brother’s cellar, Maud stage whispered and motioned to the wine glass still at her lips. Lydia put the glass down.

Are you unhappy with Sarah’s work?

Unhappy? Not at all. I could hardly recommend her to one of our oldest friends if I was unhappy with her work. But with Remington arriving next week we needed the bed space and the money from her wages… Well, it would hardly cover the services of that such as Remington, but it will not come amiss.

Remington? Who is Remington?

Why, my lady’s maid, of course.

Lydia stared at Maud as if she had lost her mind. Which perhaps she had. A lady’s maid in a vicarage? It was absurd. It was offensive. She could only imagine what their well-off neighbors would say about Maud putting on such airs. And it truly was a slap in the face to the parish’s less fortunate who once could have relied on the generosity of the vicarage to help them through illness or hard times.

It’s past time, really, continued Maud. My clothes are growing quite passé and Remington is very clever when it comes to fashion. Her brother married a French lady and she was five years as the dresser to the very elegant Lady Anjelica Yessum, a baroness, mind you. Not just some knight’s lady. She will save us a fortune just by refurbishing my poor gowns. And the things she can do with hair are a marvel. When I come out of confinement…

Here Maud dropped her head and tried to blush, as if a married lady had anything to do with maidenly modesty. Lydia considered letting the moment pass unremarked, but good breeding won out. I am overjoyed to hear of your expectations, Maud. Congratulations, Thomas.

Thomas only grunted and reached for another helping of turnips.

In light of this joyful news, though, perhaps it would be more prudent to hire a nurse for your child, rather than a lady’s maid for your clothes.

Why, my dear? That is what we have you for.

I will be happy to help, but—

I know you will. This will be as close as you ever get to being a mother. It’s not really the same, of course. You can never really know the joy of fulfilling your destiny as a woman. To be a wife and the bearer of children. But it is something. I’m sure you are up to the work. It’s only one child yet. You will not mind helping Mrs. Jennings with the dusting and the washing and the kitchen, as well.

Lydia’s jaw dropped. Helping in the care and raising of a beloved niece or nephew was one thing. But to be reduced to the role of the lowest servant—no! A servant could at least leave and seek employment elsewhere. To the role of a slave. In the very house where she once was mistress. While Maud wasted precious funds playing the lady. It was not to be borne. And it wouldn’t be.

Lydia looked Maud right in the eye as she drained her wineglass and poured herself another large helping.

Dear—the wine—

I’m afraid that won’t be possible.

What? What do you mean?

It won’t be possible for me to help with the dusting or the washing or the kitchen. Or the baby.

Maud smacked her silverware on the table. Really! The cheek on you, Lydia, quite takes my breath away. Living here as you do, on your brother’s generous charity. I won’t have an ungrateful spinster old maid under my roof if she refuses to do the smallest part to help the family that has taken her in and clothed and fed her.

That won’t be a problem. The wine had hit her blood, giving her a warm glow.

Maud stopped ranting. Thomas suddenly looked up from his plate. What do you mean?

Thomas was not stupid. He was just very, very lazy. It took him only weeks after his marriage to realize the majority of his comforts would still be laid at Lydia’s door. He had no confidence in Maud’s ability to run a pleasant and well-fed household without his sister smoothing her way.

Lydia held her wine up to the light and admired the ruby color. I have been offered the position of governess to the wards of Lord Blackburn. It’s forty pounds per annum. I’ve decided to accept.

She drank down the wine and rose. Maud, you will excuse me from tea, won’t you? I need to see to my packing. Lord Blackburn is expecting me by May first and I do not want to disappoint my noble employer. She swept to the door and paused in the frame. He’s an earl, mind you. Not just some baronet. She had a delicious glimpse of surprise and panic swamping the faces of her nearest relations before completing her exit and running gleefully upstairs.

Just because he slept the day away, Aiden believed that was no reason to miss out on the pleasures of breakfast. He had dismissed Douglas’ soiled dove prior to sitting down. As a bed companion she had a lot to offer, but as a conversational partner she was useless.

Aiden began to dig through his plate piled with bacon, eggs, toast and kippers when he was saved from the monotony of his own company by the entrance of his cousin, Jamie Farris. Hullo, coz. Care for a plate? I can recommend the bacon.

No thanks, old boy. I dare say you have something stronger about?

Aiden motioned to the sideboard. His bachelor rooms were not extensive so the morning room doubled as the dining room and the drawing room. It was all Aiden could afford, but he had no need of a more extensive establishment when he was the only one in residence. The estate did have a town house, but after decades of neglect it was uninhabitable and in a now unfashionable area.

Jamie poured himself several fingers of whiskey, which surprised his cousin. Jamie almost never drank and even then only on occasions when he felt social pressure did not leave him a graceful way to refuse. Aiden felt a twinge of foreboding. Jamie was Aiden’s right-hand man when it came to his business affairs. He had always been good with letters and correspondence and when Aiden had unexpectedly inherited his title and estate it was clever Jamie to whom he turned to sort out and keep track of the tangled mess his brother had left. Aiden hadn’t had to do a single sum on paper in three years and would dearly love to keep it that way.

Taking a closer look, he saw Jamie’s round face had a greyish cast and his fuzzy brown hair that had started thinning when he was still at school was in greater disarray than usual. Something very bad must have happened. Spit it out already, man. You look like death warmed over.

"It’s The Carolina."

What about it?

It sank. In a storm. No survivors.

Aiden relaxed slightly. It was bad news, but not a disaster. That is a shame. It would have been a nice return on our investment. But buck up, coz. It was only one ship. We should try to do something for the families of the men lost, though. Do you think—

"It was the only ship, Jamie interrupted. It was the last ship. And the last investment. Which means it was your last chance."

Aiden stared at Jamie. The last one?

The last one, he confirmed.

But how? There was the canal and the cotton plantation. And several investments in India, I don’t recall exactly what. The Welsh mines. How could they all—

There’s more news.

More? How could there be more news than this? Aiden was still trying to process what Jamie had told him, trying to remember what other investments Jamie had suggested and he had signed off on.

Merchant’s Bank is calling in the note on the estate.

That’s not possible! We made all the scheduled payments—

Until last month.

What!

"There was not enough ready cash. I was able to put them off because we were waiting for The Carolina to return and she had been delayed by weather. But when news came in today that the ship was lost, three of their trustees showed up at my door, demanding payment. And now that word is out about the note being called in, all your creditors are going to come looking for their money. Everyone from the bank to your butcher."

Aiden’s mind raced. He would have to change his evening’s plans. Lady Kennelly’s ball was out. He would have to find the highest stakes game he could. But did he have enough ready coin to get into that kind of game? No hell would take his vowels with the news circulating and it would look shabby and desperate if he tried it with one of the other gentlemen. He may have to start out at a lower level until he built a big enough stake. It would waste valuable time, but he couldn’t see another way.

How much do I need to make the payment on the note? If I get the mortgage back in good standing in a day or two and pay off a few of the louder creditors that should calm everyone down enough for us to start again.

When Phillip and their younger sister Fiona died in a carriage accident three years ago, Aiden had suddenly found himself encumbered with a penniless estate in dire need of repair, Fiona’s three children and a seemingly bottomless stack of debts.

Aiden had used his prowess at the gaming tables to amass enough money to keep things going until he could secure a loan of forty thousand pounds. Half of that he put into improvements in the estate and the other half Jamie had invested for him. At first the investments had shown good returns, even great returns, and Aiden had relaxed. Secure that Jamie would handle the day-to-day needs of the estate, he had returned to the carefree rakehell lifestyle he had previously enjoyed. True, with a title he now had a few more marriage-minded mamas to dodge, but all in all it was a jolly life. Now he was going to have to start the process all over again. But what he had done once, he could do again. That he was sure of.

You don’t understand, Aiden. It’s not just the payment. They’re calling in the whole forty thousand.

Forty thousand pounds! Under normal circumstances it would take him months to raise that much at the tables and then only if luck was on his side.

They can’t do that!

They can. You know what you have to do.

I guess I am going to have to enter the marriage mart. It would be unfair to deny some unsuspecting woman of so much, her money, her freedom, her chance to have children. But Aiden was a pragmatist and he would do what he had to.

NO!

Aiden jumped, startled.

Jamie gulped, recovering himself. Think about it. How many women actually come with a dowry of that size? And would be willing to marry on a moment’s notice to a man everyone knows is a fortune hunter?

I am an earl after all, coz. There must be someone.

"I did make a few inquiries, discreetly. People who are in the know. There are three young ladies who fit the bill, well dowered and with parents ambitious enough to marry their daughters off to the devil