A Simple Lady

By Carolynn Carey

Winner, 2016 Maggie Award of Excellence, Historical Category

When her parents, the Earl and Countess of Ravingate, inform Elizabeth that her father has made arrangements for her to marry the embittered Marquess of Kenrick, she knows she must try to explain to the marquess that she is not the person her father has portrayed her to be. In other words, she is not simpleminded. But unforeseen events not only prevent her from enlightening the marquess but also conspire to convince him that she is, indeed, a simpleton.

Following a horrendous betrayal by his late wife, the Marquess of Kenrick has vowed never to wed again. And he would not have done so had his father not reached back from the grave to force his hand. Facing a deadline not of his choosing, he agrees to marry and provide for the Earl of Ravingate’s simpleminded daughter after being assured that she will never make any demands on his time.

To Kenrick’s disgust, his new wife turns out to be anything but a simpleton, leaving him with no alternative but to assume she’s a liar and a manipulator. Furious, he installs her in a small cottage in the country and tells her he never wants to see her again. To his chagrin, his mother has other ideas.

Forced to spend time in each other’s company, Kenrick and Elizabeth discover a growing regard for each other. However, misadventures, misunderstandings, and the machinations of Kenrick’s cousin and heir presumptive threaten the tenuous trust that has been building between them. Can their fledging love survive when each is asked to believe the very worst about the other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolynn Carey
• Release date: Jul 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386455882

Carolynn Carey

Carolynn Carey is the award-winning author of twenty-five books. In addition to her contemporary novels, she writes Regency romances. Several of her books have won or finaled in national contests such as the HOLT Medallion, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Maggie, and the International Digital Awards. Carolynn lives in Tennessee where she spends her days writing, reading, knitting, and watching for text messages about the amazing exploits of her only grandchild. To receive notification when she has a new book coming out, sign up to receive her newsletter. For more information or to contact her: www.CarolynnCarey.com [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

Elizabeth Ashford sighed contentedly as she settled down in her favorite chair by the window looking out onto the small herb garden near the back corner of her father’s country estate. She’d managed to finish her chores by midafternoon and although she was tired, she looked forward to spending a quiet hour with one of her favorite authors.

Today she’d decided on a re-reading of Shakespeare’s Richard III and had just opened the book when a quick tapping at the door of her small study announced a visitor. She suppressed a sigh and looked up.

Mrs. Capes, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway, her arms folded in front of her as though she was girding herself to face an unpleasant task. She moistened her lips and pulled in a quick breath. Lady Lizbeth, ’tis sorry I am to interrupt you, but... She stopped to clear her throat. My lady, yer mother and father are here.

Elizabeth slammed her book shut. My parents? Here? Are you certain?

The housekeeper’s shoulders slumped. Yes, my lady. They arrived not ten minutes ago. Pulled up at the front door in their traveling coach, they did. When Mr. Barton saw who it was, he took it upon himself to escort them to the front drawing room. Of course they didn’t remember him even though he’s been the butler here for twenty years, but that didn’t surprise him. What is setting poor Mr. Barton on his ear is the fact that they are demanding to see you immediately.

Elizabeth placed her book on a side table and stood, unconsciously brushing at the wrinkles along the sides of her third-best muslin gown. What on earth could they want with me? she asked.

Mr. Barton reports that his lordship is looking rather cheerful, my lady, so perhaps they won’t be as unpleasant to you as they usually are.

Elizabeth started gnawing on the fingernails of her left hand, a habit of long standing when her parents were present. Then, suddenly aware that she was reverting to old habits, she curled her fingers into her hand. I suppose I’ll start stuttering again, too, she muttered grimly. She’d been twelve years old when she’d begun stuttering every time she’d had to face her parents’ disappointment in her. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, she had given up hope of conquering that unfortunate habit.

The housekeeper tried to smile but it faded quickly. Perhaps this time, your stutter won’t come back, she said, opening her eyes wide in an obvious attempt to appear hopeful.

I don’t know why this time would be different, Elizabeth said. Oh well, my stutter merely reinforces their belief that my wits have gone a-begging, which may not be a bad thing. Is my hair presentable?

It’s fine, Lady Lizbeth. In fact, that short style with the pretty curls around your face is most becoming. It was nice of the squire’s wife to share the skills of her lady’s maid with you.

True. Elizabeth patted the curls on either side of her head, then decided she’d best not delay any longer. She sighed. I suppose I’d best go see what Mother and Father want. It’s been close on to a year since they were here last, as I recall.

Yes, milady. It was about this time last May when they stopped off on their way to visit that estate where they thought someone had discovered something of interest to them. I never half understood what they were talking about. Mrs. Capes wrinkled her nose.

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. The servants didn’t like her parents, and she certainly couldn’t blame them. While the Earl and Countess of Ravingate could boast two of the most brilliant minds in all of England, they possessed not one iota of either common sense or congeniality between them. And while the servants at Ravingate Hall had reason to resent their treatment at the hands of their employers, for the most part their dislike of the earl and countess was a result of the way they treated their only child.

Although the earl and his countess had been ten years conceiving Elizabeth, neither had grieved. The earl had been too involved in researching the Chansons de Geste to give much thought to siring an heir for his estates, while his countess had preferred translating mediaeval Celtic stories to planning a family. In addition, both tended to believe it was their duty as intellectuals to investigate any and all scientific discoveries, so they often traveled to distant sites when word came down that something new had been detected.

Thus, when Elizabeth was born, neither parent was particularly pleased, but they had agreed to curtail their travels and devote their energies to raising their daughter, a pursuit for which they were totally unsuited.

The countess, apparently believing that their efforts might benefit future generations of less intellectually gifted parents, had kept a diary enumerating their efforts and what she considered to be their colossal failures where their daughter was concerned.

She recorded that in less than a year after giving birth to Elizabeth, she and her husband had begun to fear that their daughter’s intellectual advancements were not what they should have been. Elizabeth was eleven months old before she formed a complete sentence, and six more months passed before she learned to count.

Still, according to the countess’s diary—which Elizabeth found and read when she was eight—her parents had retained some optimism about their child’s intellect until their deepest fears were reinforced by Miss Fedman, the governess they hired when Elizabeth was three.

The child simply could not learn, that lady had complained, suggesting that her wages be increased since she was having to deal with such a slowtop. Dismayed, the earl and countess had put Elizabeth to the test themselves. Both were dismayed at the results. At thirty-seven months of age, Elizabeth could read only simple books. Her father distinctly recalled that he had been conjugating Latin verbs at that age, and the countess was sure she had been reading Homer no later than the age of four. The dismayed couple increased the governess’s salary, begged her to do what she could for their unfortunate child, and disappeared back into their world of travel and research.

A year later they returned to find that Elizabeth had progressed only to simple mathematics and was doing poorly in French. In addition, she was growing quite chubby. Miss Fedman complained not only of Elizabeth’s sloth but of her tendency to slip away to the kitchen to visit with Cook and the other lower servants when she should have been applying herself to her lessons. Miss Fedman’s salary was increased yet again, and again the unhappy parents dashed away to immerse themselves in their studies.

Annual visits to check on Elizabeth became a penance for her parents. They knew each time what they would find—a child who grew more plump, more sullen, and less intellectually promising each year. Although neither admitted it, each was relieved when they were forced to skip their annual visits during Elizabeth’s eighth and ninth years so they could continue their research on the flora and fauna of the South American countries.

When Elizabeth was ten, Miss Fedman ran off with a groom and the earl decided not to replace her. After all, he reasoned, the governess had not been able to teach Elizabeth very much, and the generous salary he had paid her could be better spent on a trip to Greece. The earl did, however, contract with the local vicar to see to Elizabeth’s spiritual needs, never dreaming that the vicar would derive great satisfaction from tutoring a young mind he found to be unusually bright and inquisitive.

Elizabeth was twelve when her parents saw her again. She was no longer chubby, but she had developed a disturbing tendency to stutter. Although physically the child was fetching, the earl and countess found little else in which to rejoice. Elizabeth indicated no pleasure in their company and said little while in their presence. The earl and countess cut their visit short and had returned but three times since, including the present.

And while their current visit was unexpected, Elizabeth knew better than to keep them waiting. They had an unfortunate tendency to read any of her actions as proof of her poor intellect.

Thus, she hurried out of her study and down the corridor, taking care not to catch a toe of her slipper in the badly frayed hall runner. Falling on her face would no doubt serve as just another example of her inability to cope in the modern world of 1818.

Barton stood outside the drawing room, obviously waiting on her. The instant she arrived, he flung the door open and announced her: Lady Elizabeth to see you, my lord and lady.

Elizabeth paused just inside the room to get her bearings. Her mother reclined on one of the overstuffed chairs, the one that was losing the least of its stuffing, while her father stood in front of the empty fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. He actually smiled at her but her lips were far too stiff to respond. Instead, she dipped a quick curtsy. Papa, she said, inclining her head. Mama.

Her father’s smile widened. "Elizabeth, my child, your mother and I have arrived with some excellent news. You are to be married. Just three days from now, as a matter of fact. You are a most fortunate girl. Not that we expect you to fully appreciate your good fortune, but I shall tell you anyway. You are to marry the Marquess of Kenrick, one of the wealthiest and most presentable gentlemen of the ton. And he’s just half a dozen years older than you. I’d feared for a while that we wouldn’t be able to... Well, never mind that. The important thing is that you’re to be married."

Stunned, Elizabeth dropped into the straight chair just inside the door and looked to her mother, hoping for some clarification. As usual, her mother regarded her with a mixture of distaste and distress clearly written on her face. She pulled in a deep breath, then spoke.

I’m not sure you will understand, my dear, but I will try to keep this as comprehensible as possible. The Marquess of Kenrick is willing to marry you because you are simpleminded.

Elizabeth gulped. Surely she had misunderstood. What are you saying? she asked, her tone sharp.

Her mother’s brow pulled into a deep frown, and her father stepped forward. Dear God, can the child not understand anything?

I said, her mother began, speaking slowly as though giving the words time to sink into Elizabeth’s brain, that the Marquess of Kenrick is willing to marry you because we have explained to him that you are simpleminded.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a few seconds while fighting to retain her composure, but she could feel herself slipping back into her old reactions to her parents. But why would the M-M-Marquess of Kenrick wish to m-m-marry me when he thinks—that is—eh, to marry a female who is simpleminded, ma’am?

The countess grimaced as though the question was one she would have preferred not to answer. Sighing once and then again more deeply, she peered about the room as though seeking some suitable response from the outdated window coverings or the thick layers of dust coating every flat surface in this little-used salon.

Her gaze finally settled on the face of her husband and her expression softened as it always did for this one human who could command her respect.

The earl looked into his wife’s eyes and seemingly read there her plea for assistance. He immediately rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. You will never make the child understand, he said, impatience clear in his tone. But if you wish to try... With a shrug, he turned and strode to a window where he stood staring through dirty panes at an unkempt garden.

The countess sighed yet again before attempting to answer Elizabeth’s question.

The marquess does not wish to marry at all, my child, which is hardly surprising when one considers his first wife. But that is neither here nor there, because he has no choice. He must marry—and soon. When your father heard of the marquess’s dilemma, he suggested you as an appropriate bride.

Why?

Why what, Elizabeth? I do wish you would attempt to make your meaning clear when you speak.

Elizabeth had hoped to avoid speaking whenever possible, but obviously her mother was not going to settle for one-word sentences. Why did P-P-Papa suggest me as an appropriate b-b-bride?

The countess frowned but then squared her shoulders as though determined to get this unpleasant task behind her. Your father and I will not always be here to care for you, Elizabeth, and, as you should be aware, we have no close family members who could be expected to watch over you in our stead. You will need a husband to provide for you as you grow older. The Marquess of Kenrick has agreed to make provisions for your future. In return, he will have the wife he needs without feeling any of the responsibilities a man generally—

Ha-umph! Elizabeth’s father regarded her mother with raised eyebrows. I believe, my dear, that you have gone into quite enough detail. ’Tis doubtful the child can comprehend what little you have told her.

It is true I s-s-still do not understand, Elizabeth said. None of this made sense. A marquess—particularly one as desirable as Kenrick was reputed to be—did not marry a simpleminded girl he had never met.

The countess tightened her lips. I have already told you, Elizabeth. Kenrick is marrying you because you are simple. He does not wish to be burdened with a wife who will make demands on his time. He was quite pleased when your father explained that you would hardly be likely to do so.

But why does he m-m-marry at all if he does not w-w-wish to do so? Elizabeth persisted.

Because his father specified in a codicil to his will that if Kenrick does not marry by the age of thirty, a particular estate that is not entailed will immediately pass to his heir presumptive—a cousin, I believe. That codicil was divulged to the marquess only last week, and he turns thirty in less than two weeks.

Then he must be married soon, Elizabeth murmured, beginning to understand at least a portion of this strange situation.

She states the obvious well, the earl remarked to his countess.

Elizabeth chose to ignore him. Did you say the marriage is to take place in just three days? she asked.

The marquess arrives here the day after tomorrow, her mother replied. You will be married the following day, after which the marquess will take you to your future home. You are not to live at Oak Groves, his principal seat in Surrey, for he will wish to entertain there occasionally and would not want to be embarrassed by your presence. He will be taking you to a house only thirty miles from here. He assures us it is very secluded. You should be happy there.

The earl had moved to stand beside his wife and now addressed Elizabeth in firm tones. Pay attention, Elizabeth, for I do not wish to repeat myself. You are a very fortunate young lady. Had I not heard about Kenrick’s problem and approached him in White’s with my suggestion, you might never have found a husband. The marquess was quite pleased with this solution to his dilemma, and he has been extremely generous. Not only is he providing a home for you, but he has also agreed to ensure that you are kept comfortably for the rest of your life. I was pleasantly surprised, I can tell you. I had heard the man was high in the instep, but he has been quite amiable about this venture. He is even bringing his own chaplain to perform the ceremony, and—so you need not fear being exposed to too many new experiences at once—he has suggested that the wedding take place in this house.

Here? Elizabeth asked, frowning. But I would prefer being m-m-married by the vicar in the v-v-village church.

Her father scowled. Nonsense. Kenrick went to a great deal of trouble to obtain a special license, and he has requested a secluded ceremony. You will be married here by the marquess’s chaplain.

I want to be m-m-married by the vicar in the village church, Elizabeth repeated, softly but firmly.

The vicar? the countess interjected. Do you refer to that gentleman your father hired to oversee your spiritual instruction?

Yes, Mama.

I’d forgot him, her father said. I never could remember his name.

John Smythe, Elizabeth said.

Yes, yes, her father replied, shrugging. In any case, his name is irrelevant. You will still be married here in this house by the marquess’s chaplain.

Very well, Papa, Elizabeth said, dropping her gaze. I’ll t-t-t, instruct Mrs. Capes to prepare the k-k-kitchen for a wedding ceremony.

The kitchen? her mother exclaimed. Why would you think a wedding service would be conducted in the kitchen?

There is no other room in g-g-good enough repair except my bedchamber. Would you prefer I be m-m-married in my bedchamber?

Blast it all, her father yelled. What have the servants been doing for the past several years? Why has the place been allowed to go to rack and ruin?

I helped as much as I could, but still there were not enough of us to do the work, Papa, Elizabeth said. Nor was m-m-money supplied to replenish those things that decayed with time.

A slight flush darkened her father’s cheeks, but only for a moment. Bah! Then it will have to be the village church, I suppose. But the marquess’s chaplain will perform the ceremony.

I prefer the vicar.

No! The earl’s shouted response ruffled the nearby draperies, raising a miniature cloud of dust.

As you wish, Papa. I was m-m-merely thinking of how embarrassing it will be when I am unable to repeat my v-v-vows.

What do you mean? her mother asked quickly.

That the presence of a stranger such as the m-m-marquess’s chaplain will surely make me so nervous I shall never be able to repeat the m-m-marriage vows. I do not stutter around Mr. Smythe. But of course I would never go against your and P-P-Papa’s wishes.

The countess glanced at her husband and grimaced. I suppose we must let Elizabeth have her way in this.

The earl sighed. Very well, he said, then turned to Elizabeth. You can have the vicar. I shall explain to Kenrick somehow.

Thank you, Papa.

The earl looked into Elizabeth’s face searchingly, as though looking for some sign that she had been manipulating him, but her bland expression provided no hints that she was feeling any satisfaction or happiness or any other emotion.

May I be excused now? she asked.

When the earl nodded, Elizabeth stood and walked to the door. She then paused and turned to face her parents. One more thing, she said with a degree of firmness that caused both of her parents to raise their eyebrows in apparent surprise. I shall be taking Mattie with me.

After the earl and countess had nodded their acquiescence, Elizabeth, her head high, turned and stepped into the corridor. She paused right outside to compose herself and thus heard the brief conversation between her parents.

Who’s Mattie? her father asked.

Her mother responded with a sigh. Lord knows. Probably one of those dolls the child used to be so fond of.

Chapter Two

Elizabeth hurried up the stairs, aware that when she reached her bedchamber, she would find Mattie, half sick with worry, waiting for her. Dear, kind, motherly Mattie, who had been hired as Elizabeth’s nurse and had stayed on to become her treasured companion. A tiny smile momentarily banished the frustration from Elizabeth’s face as she visualized Mattie sitting rigidly in her straight chair near the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her ears straining for the sound of Elizabeth’s footfalls. Elizabeth approached her bedchamber softly, pausing for a second to compose herself before she opened the door.

Mattie was already jumping to her feet when Elizabeth lifted the latch. Well, Miss Liza? she demanded as soon as Elizabeth had stepped inside the chamber and closed the door behind her. How did they treat ye this time?

As usual, Elizabeth said, forcing a smile as she struggled to subdue her emotions. As though I were naught but a sapskull. She had tried for a detached air but immediately realized her distress had been reflected in her tone. Blast! she muttered to herself.

Ah, me, Mattie said, shaking her head morosely. It’s hard to understand how two people so smart can be so lackin’ in wisdom.

True, Elizabeth said, sighing softly. She looked into Mattie’s concerned gaze and quickly turned away, blinking rapidly as she hurried to sit down at her dressing table and begin straightening her mussed curls. It was an exercise, she admitted to herself, designed to avoid any more of Mattie’s questions for a moment. After all, she could not explain, even to herself,

Reviews for A Simple Lady

[oldschoolstyle · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Really 3.5 stars. I like the premise and the writing, but the bones need more flesh on them. Too many situations were touched upon and addressed in only a sentence or two when paragraphs more of conversation and detail were needed.

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a fantastic book! Very well written .Elizabeth and Jeremy are great main characters .