The Earl's Ugly Mistress: The Longleigh Chronicles, #8

By Lynn Shurr

Lady Flora adores matchmaking, the more challenging the better. So, why not pair the newly blinded Earl of Edgemont with tart-tongued Lucia Stilwell, a homely spinster who will allow no pity for his condition, exactly what he needs. When the clever Lucia shows him a few tricks to deal with his blindness, Edgemont asks her to stay at his estate and teach him more. She accepts, regardless of the scandal it might cause. All goes well until the earl appears to be regaining his sight. Loving him, Lucia must flee before he sees her face. Will he follow or let her go?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597054737

Book preview

One

Bellevue Hall

Northern England, August , 1815

Flora Longleigh, Duchess of Bellevue, swiveled her head once more toward the opening doors of her country house. The bewigged footmen offered to take the hats and light wraps of several very dull but invited guests who swept in, accompanied by a puff of humid August air. Even the cool checkered marble floor beneath her dancing slippers failed to relieve the duchess of her discomfort with the weather and the exasperation of waiting. She plied her fan as she inclined her head to the new arrivals, murmured the expected greetings, and passed them along to the duke. The sound of another carriage arriving caused her to look hopefully at the doors again.

Crick in your neck, my dear? the Duke of Bellevue inquired. Once we are rid of this swarm of humanity you insisted upon inviting to dance, I shall give you a thorough rub.

Lady Flora folded her fan and gave her husband a slight rap on the forearm. And that is precisely how we conceived ten children, all the girls on the road of happy marriage and motherhood, all the boys aimed toward respectable professions at last. Nothing more to worry about except poor Trent Heaton.

Just why is the new Earl of Edgemont our concern? He has servants and money galore and no need to light his entire house with expensive candles for a gala.

Flora unfurled her fan with a swift snap of her wrist and began creating a stiff breeze with the accessory. She flushed with the Change again, and perspiration coursed toward her powdered chest, her low neckline, and beneath her costly, close-fitting finery. Thank heaven current styles required a minimum of corsetry, and nothing more than a small buffon tucker held up her small but plump bosom. Another ribbon of sweat trickled down her back and disappeared between her buttocks, but no one knew except her. Surely, she was the most miserable person at her own soiree, and her husband made the evening no easier.

Trent’s late mother was my dearest friend. He played here as a boy with our lads. How can you be so callous when you know he was blinded at Waterloo in the service of our country and sits alone in darkened rooms mourning his mother and brother. The price of candles indeed!

She collapsed the charming painting of extraordinarily clean and lovely shepherdesses and their fluffy white flock decorating her fan and gave her husband another rap with the ivory end panels. T’was all I could do to elicit his promise to attend tonight and simply listen to the music. I have arranged for a companion to sit by his side and engage him in stimulating conversation to prevent any awkwardness.

Lady Flora cocked her head toward the doors, but still caught her husband’s slight sigh. For a big man who loved to tease and bluster, he did tread very carefully around her these days, but she could not change him. He clung to wearing knee breeches with an embroidered coat and vest on occasions such as this, rather than the more modish long trousers younger men had adopted. He’d always been admired for his muscular legs that showed to advantage in clocked white silk stockings, and she suspected vanity as the source of his resistance. At least he had stopped powdering his hair for formal occasions when the jet-black hue of his youth turned an attractive iron gray. She hadn’t urged him to accept a shorter style because in truth, she adored running her fingers through its length.

Are you sure, dearest, that Trent wants stimulating conversation? He looked well enough the time I visited to express my sympathies and assured me he wanted for nothing. Could this be more a matter of you missing our own chicks now that they are all out of the nest? I had hoped to claim even more of your attention and resume an unfettered existence.

He is here at last! Flora interjected.

The earl’s carriage had come to rest several minutes earlier, but Trent Heaton, as might be expected of a man newly blinded, had taken his time getting down and scaling the twelve steps leading up to Bellevue Hall. A tall and impressive figure even out of uniform, he stood in the foyer and relinquished his high hat to a servant, but kept a tight grip on an elegant, gold-knobbed walking stick. Because of his former military career and excessive time spent out of doors, his skin had permanently tanned and possessed more lines than most men nearing thirty, despite these past weeks of sitting in the dark. His deep brown eyes, unseeing, had witnessed scenes of carnage in the Peninsula Campaign. Now, they were hidden behind smoked eyeglasses.

Still, the manservant inherited from his brother had made certain that Edgemont’s black trousers clung snugly to his muscular legs, his dusky, long-tailed jacket and waistcoat fit perfectly, and his snowy cravat remained a wonder to behold. His dark brown hair, shorter than that of the young bucks already trolling the ballroom for eligible misses, was almost Napoleonic in style, a practical cut for the battlefield, a bit out of place at a party. Lady Flora did hope he would have let it grow out now that the war lay behind them. One did not need daily reminders of violence and tragedy.

I say, over here Edgemont! her husband bellowed in a well-meaning way, causing heads to turn as his greeting bounced off the high ceiling of the foyer.

Trent Heaton turned and began to make a slow and painful traverse of the vast open entry way in the direction of the shout. Those standing nearby fell silent, and the tap of his cane on the marble flooring rang out like chimes. Someone opened the door to the ballroom. Music and laughter spilled out. Losing his bearing in the burst of noise, Edgemont hesitated. The duchess rushed forward, seized his arm, and drew him along as she chattered away.

My dear boy, I am so delighted to have you here. You were very naughty to refuse the invitation to my musicale last week, when I know you shared a love of music with your sainted mother. We have a fine orchestra tuning up for the dancing tonight, and I have reserved a seat for you near the terrace doors where you might catch some of the breeze as well as enjoy the playing. Here is the duke to welcome you.

Trent executed a slight bow. Bellevue bobbed his head, then realizing how ridiculously he had greeted the blind man, slapped the younger man on the back and shouted into his ear, Good to see you out and about, Edgemont. We must get up a shooting party, eh?

I am afraid my shooting days are over, and I would beg you to remember that I am blind, not deaf. I fondly recall you could summon all your sons, myself, and Tarry from the deep reaches of the gardens with one hallo and a few sharp whistles.

Indeed. Better times, those. Enjoy the music, Bellevue replied in nearly a whisper.

The duchess hurried Edgemont away, waving for doors to be opened before them. Neighbors from his childhood, sometimes remembering to identify themselves, greeted Trent as Lady Flora steered him across the ballroom and settled him in a high-backed chair fit for an invalid and out of the way of dancers who might trip across his cane. When an elderly woman seemingly oblivious to his altered condition stopped to inquire after his grandmother’s health, the duchess stepped away to instruct a nearby servant.

The vacant chair beside Lord Edgemont is to remain free. Your future employment depends upon it. Understood?

Yes, Your Grace. The footman’s eyes grew wide as he watched old Lady Arbuthnot begin to lower a skinny rear covered in black bombazine onto the indicated gilded petticoat chair. He rushed forward, pulled the seat aside, and caught the widow’s arm before she tottered.

Madam, that chair is—ah—soiled. Allow me to show you to another closer to the dance floor where you may better observe the festivities.

The duchess nodded her approval and gave Trent a pat on the hand before leaving. I have arranged a charming companion for you this evening. She is a delightful conversationalist and here by the doors, you will be able to speak over the music. I know she will arrive at any time now.

Edgemont, too much of a soldier to show his thoughts, did attempt to escape a long and boring evening with some chit too ugly for the marriage market by saying, I am quite well as I am. Do not feel I need to be entertained.

Nonsense. Miss Stilwell will enrich your evening with her wit. I must return to welcoming the last of my guests. Remain where you are.

As soon as Lady Flora’s dainty footsteps tripped out of hearing, he released a gustier sigh than her husband had. His mother’s best friend had always fancied herself a matchmaker, and he knew he had a duty to produce an heir for his dwindling family—but not so soon after Tarry’s death and his mother’s. Perhaps he could be rid of the girl quickly and savor the music instead.

REAPPEARING AT HER husband’s side, the duchess inquired, Have the Stilwells arrived yet?

Lady Appleton’s family? She provided Sir Guy with his heir some weeks ago. Haven’t they returned to Ferry Grange now that Bella is safely delivered? Sweet girl, Bella, but I suspect her father cheats at cards in a small way. And the mother, always trying to push her homely elder daughter on our young men or gain some advantage for her son.

A look of understanding crossed his face. You plan to match poor Trent with Miss Stilwell because all cats look the same in the dark. Is that it?

He received another rap of his wife’s fan. What a vulgar thing to say. Am I the same as any other in the dark? No indeed.

The duke leaned in. I would recognize your body in the midst of a thunderstorm, anywhere, in fact. Forgive me.

You will make it up to me tonight. Yes, Trent can do far better than Miss Stilwell, even without his sight. However, I did observe at our musicale last week that Lucia Stilwell listened avidly to Lady Arbuthnot’s tales of her youth in the Colonies and her narrow escape from the rebels, questioned her, and laughed at all her stale anecdotes. Actually, Miss Stilwell is not nearly as plain when she is animated in conversation, but that is neither here nor there. Trent can regale her with military tales, and she will be an enthusiastic audience, a first step toward making him feel at home in society again.

I suppose that might work.

My schemes always work.

I think I remember a few that went bad. For instance, the time—

Here come the Stilwells. Be a darling and divert the father to the card room. I shall see the mother is occupied before I place Miss Stilwell next to Trent.

Whatever you wish, dearest, but I shan’t let him take me for twenty pounds again.

Mrs. Stilwell hurried across the entry and dropped a curtsy so deep and fast her ample breasts bobbled under a transparent embroidered fichu, and the duchess feared one might pop out. Dorothea Stilwell’s beaming smile doubled her chin, buried her pale blue eyes in flesh, and made deep dimples in a round and florid face. Pale blonde curls fading to white corkscrewed around her face and escaped a high lace cap from the rear. The current fashions made her body look rather like a pig stuffed in a poke. Flora had a fondness for Lady Appleton, but greatly feared the petite and nicely rounded Bella with her wide blue eyes and sweet smile might come to resemble her mother in the future.

So good of you to have us again. We shall feel bereft of your company once we return home, will we not, Mr. Stilwell? Dorothea gushed.

Her lanky country squire husband shambled up beside her and executed a deep bow, the tails of his double-breasted, bright blue jacket springing up behind him. Absolutely. Will there be cards this evening? he inquired, his long nose fairly quivering in anticipation above a wide mouth and strong jaw.

Of course. Feel free to repair directly to the card room. I will join you there once we start off the dancing. Must win back my twenty pounds, eh? the duke replied.

Reuben Stilwell left after another deep but hurried bow. His elder daughter took his place rising and still rising from her curtsy—a very tall young woman who unfortunately took after her papa in looks—the long nose, wide mouth and strong jaw, all somewhat softened by womanhood, but very homely put together on a feminine face. On the positive side, Lucia Stilwell possessed her father’s thick brunette hair and her mother’s light blue eyes and generous bosom. With her coiffure done up in some antique style bound with ribbons and wearing a high-waisted Greek sort of gown, she might have posed for a statue of a very plain Athena or an unmarriageable Amazon.

Poor child. Lord Bellevue smiled benignly at her, very glad none of his own daughters had taken after him in massive size, each one having a fine form like his lady wife, though they did blame him for their black hair and dark complexions, sure signs of the Shawnee blood in the family. They would have much preferred to be fair and light of eye like Flora. One glance at Miss Stilwell and his girls would be grateful for what looks they had.

Ladies, please feel free to refresh yourselves after a long and stuffy carriage ride, and then I do want to introduce you to some very special acquaintances, the duchess suggested.

As the Stilwell women moved off, Lady Flora struck the duke again with her fan. I saw you peering at Miss Stilwell’s bosom.

How could I help it? She has not nearly enough trim covering her chest. The way women thrust themselves out these days and men must pretend not to notice or even say the word ‘breast’—ridiculous. Too bad about her being horse-faced. If she were a mare, I’d say she was deep in the chest, long in the limbs, wide in the haunches, and ripe for breeding a winner. She has potential.

Lady Bellevue swatted her husband again, hard enough to leave a bruise. When will you cease living in the last century and being so crude? I suspect one of Bella’s old gowns was let down for her sister and still the seamstress had to add that wide Greek key border to the hem to cover her decently. She filled in the neckline with the remnant. Not nearly enough remnant, in my opinion.

Jealous, my darling? Not to worry. Everyone knows the old mare gives the best ride. He jumped back before his wife could savage him once more with that fan. I say, you will leave me too bruised to satisfy you tonight. I have half a mind to take that thing, throw up your skirts, and paddle your derriere with it.

Is that a threat? his duchess answered, rising up on her toes to be more on a level with her huge husband.

A promise, he said, grinning in a way that reminded Flora of their long-ago youth. In truth, the Change had made her more randy than ever, and Pearce Longleigh, Duke of Bellevue, was no laggard when it came to filling her womb.

Very well then. Come to my chamber after the ball and see if you can take my fan. Expect resistance.

I will anticipate it. His broad, and to her, still very handsome face, radiated pleasure. His wicked black eyes sparkled.

But first we must lead off the dancing and settle Miss Stilwell at poor Trent’s side.

Two

M iss Stilwell, may I present Trent Heaton, Earl of Edgemont?

Lucia Stilwell dropped into her curtsy again as the earl pushed up from an armchair. He had a handsome, craggy face, the affectation of wearing smoked spectacles in a brightly lit ballroom, and extremely poor manners. Most men at least looked at her while trying to wiggle out of a dance. This one continued to stare straight ahead as he gave a curt nod and a slight bow.

Poor Mama would be so disappointed again. She’d been sure when the duchess implied she had someone special for Lucia to meet this evening a match had been in the making. Flora Longleigh did have a reputation in that regard, but a haughty earl? The woman was losing her touch. Maybe a desperate widowed vicar with six children might have her, but one of the peerage? Never. Here she was decked out like some antique Roman statue with her hair trussed up and the huge space between her long neck and bodice ornamented with Bella’s best cameo on a velvet cord, and the man could not spare her a glance.

She did not bother to keep the sarcasm from her voice. So pleased to meet you, Lord Edgemont. A vast honor, I am sure.

The duchess’s gray eyes widened with alarm. She mouthed the word blind and quirked her head at the man who had turned toward Lucia’s icy voice.

A pleasure to meet you, Miss Stilwell, he replied flatly.

Lady Flora hurried to intervene before her plans fell apart. Miss Stilwell enjoys hearing tales of exotic places and derring-do. Is that not so, Lucia? Why, do sit down, both of you, and Edgemont will tell you all about his experiences fighting Bonaparte. I must start off the dancing.

The young couple sat on command as the duchess hurried away. Lucia saw her own flush of embarrassment had spread across her chest. She tried to make amends. So, were you with Wellington?

I served in the Coldstream Guards.

At Chateau Hougoumont?

I would rather not discuss the war. Shall we listen to the music instead?

They sat in silence as the Duchess of Bellevue and her duke walked through the steps of the first quadrille. So many couples had formed up, the dance was sure to last an eternity. By the time it ended, she certainly would have thought of a good excuse to leave Lord Edgemont’s company. He spoke.

Are people staring our way?

A glance or two. Most are dancing. The others watch. One woman with unfortunate red hair stares whenever the wizened old man she is partnered with turns her this way.

Has she breasts the size of teacups and a bewitching smile?

So that was his game, to drive her off with lewd comments. She might leave of her own accord, but she would not be harried off like a doe by a hound. The flush on her chest deepened, but he could not see it. She answered coolly enough. I would say your assessment of the size of her bosom is correct. As for the smile, she has none.

That would be Lady Anne Garnet. She chose an old lord over a captain in the military and now perhaps regrets her decision. Why are you not dancing, Miss Stilwell? Too ugly to do any service but hold up the walls and talk to a blind man?

I am plain, very plain indeed. Quite on the shelf. His insults made her want to be rude to the sightless. How awful. She braced her feet against the chair legs to keep herself from fleeing.

And very tall for a woman. I can tell you sit only a few inches below me by the sound of your voice. He seemed so very pleased with himself.

How clever of you. All the sarcasm had returned to her voice.

I am doing my best. Your sister is Lady Appleton, is she not? She snagged that noddy, Sir Guy, during her first season—the duchess insisted upon telling me. Not bad work for a country miss—snaring a baronet on her first outing.

Whether Bella snared him, snagged him, or leg-shackled him, Sir Guy appears to be very happy with his choice and has an heir in his nursery during his first year of marriage. He is a kind and considerate man very much in love with this wife and—and—is much younger and more pleasant than you. Not the barb she had intended. Her face grew hotter, but if she dared to fan herself, he would know he had made headway in being rid of her.

What? No pity for a blind man, a veteran wounded at Waterloo? He smirked with those stern, arrogant lips of his.

You have a title, wealth, education, and a hundred pair of eyes in your employ to see for you. And in case no one has mentioned it, you still have your looks. Back at Ferry Grange, I assist our vicar who has gone blind with age. He dictates his sermons to me. I read them back until he has memorized his speech. He goes forth on my arm to visit the sick and comfort those in need. He still councils any of his congregation who need his wisdom without a word of complaint about his own condition. He has not turned to insults or rudeness. If I saw a blinded soldier selling laces on the street corner, he would have my sympathy. But pity you—not a jot!

Lucia unfurled her fan and cooled her face. Let him be damned. His smirk turned to a vicious smile rather than the frown she expected.

But I cannot do any of the things expected of a lord—gamble, shoot, fence, ride around Rotten Row, go whoring at the best houses. My brother did all of those activities so well. The only vice left to me is drinking myself senseless. He appeared to wait eagerly for her reply.

That would be a waste of good liquor. You could care for your tenants and hear their concerns, build your wealth by investing in worthy projects instead of spending it, and serve in the House of Lords for the good of our country. As for the rest—if you put your mind to it, I am sure you could manage each and every one of them. I believe I need some fresh air.

Lucia unlocked her feet from the chair legs and stood, her skirts rustling. Lord Edgemont rose with alacrity and offered his arm. Incredible. She was about to refuse his company when he gripped his cane and said, Tell me how I might accomplish any of these, and I will give you a crown.

Oh, I would not take money from a blind man, my lord.

Edgemont laughed with his head thrown back as if he hadn’t released any mirth for a very long time. People did stare. She cocked her head and considered, then placed her gloved hand on his arm and unobtrusively led the way through the open terrace doors. Well-lit with torches, the area was largely deserted with the dancing newly begun. After the couples worked up a sweat, the flagstone surface would become crowded with those trying to cool off—or seduce their partner in the darker corners of the gardens.

I sensed some hesitation on your part. Afraid to venture into the gardens beyond the view of a falcon-eyed mother who surely must be somewhere about?

Mama is occupied in trying to convince a man with a living in his power to make my brother his vicar. The duchess introduced them this evening. John is not yet finished at Oxford and as far as I know, has no leaning toward the Church, but she will not give up as long as she has breath. As for my being afraid, have you not told me you cannot—whore? She choked out the last word, determined he would not get the better of her.

If I compromised you in the gardens, you could land a lord. Your mama would be so proud.

Ecstatic, I imagine. However, I believe I would have no trouble escaping you. They came to the edge of the terrace. Lucia counted the steps and murmured, Ten down, as she would have for her old pastor.

I should know that. I played here nearly every day as a boy, but we never count our steps until we must.

You know these gardens then?

Every nook and cranny.

They reached the graveled walk and strolled along as if in perfect concord from pools of torchlight into shadows, then back into light.

We are approaching the fountain of Triton. I can hear the water. Don’t step too close. There is a trick valve buried in the gravel. The sea god will spray you with his horn if you step on it. Tarry, my brother, the Longleigh sons and I used to set it off on purpose on hot summer afternoons until we were drenched.

Then we should stay on the other side of the path. My gown is borrowed.

From the beauteous Bella, or so I’ve heard.

Bella is all that I am not—small and fair, lovely and—sweet.

I’ve never had a taste for sweets. Bella she is, and you are Lucia, the lady of light. Someone in your family has a penchant for the Italianate. I half imagined your brother would be called Guido or Giovanni—his middle name, perhaps?

He is John George William Edward James Stilwell. Papa put his foot down when it came to his son. It is my mother who is enamored with all things Italian. The infant who came between Bella and me but passed away was named Francesca.

His lordship mocked her family. Her mother could be very aggressive socially, but only to benefit her children. She came of finer stock than the Stilwells, but an overabundance of daughters in the family had left her with a tiny dowry. Her father, well, he was a good man who had done all he could by hook or crook to see that she and Bella had a season in London with their better placed Aunt Henrietta, and John an education at Oxford. Her face burned with anger, not embarrassment. If these aggravations continued, she would burst a blood vessel. Slowly, Lucia edged them closer to the fountain. The torches threw a deep shadow over a slight depression in the ground that would have been unnoticeable in sunlight.

As Edgemont stepped down on the hidden valve, Lucia leapt aside. He caught the spray from the trumpet full on his face. Water dripped off the end of his strong, straight nose and dribbled along the lines by his mouth and into to a deep cleft in his chin. From there, the moisture spread down his fine linen to the front of his breeches. While dandies prided themselves on the tightness of their trousers, Lucia doubted if Lord Edgemont would be pleased with what he now had on display. The