Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans Read online

  Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans

  The Contrary Fairy Tales: Book 3

  Em Taylor

  Copyright

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, [email protected]

  Cover Art: Verónica Muñoz Fernández and Em Taylor

  Dedication

  To all my convention buddies but most especially to Joanne, Sara and Caroline. You guys keep me laughing when things get tough. You’ve been there for me through thick and thin.

  To the Castle Creatives – Michelle, Suzy, Lucy and Abigail. You girls make Wednesday worth getting up for..

  To Jen who did a magnificent job as always.

  And lastly, I can’t miss out the ever-brilliant Suzie. My favourite unofficial cousin.

  Chapter 1

  R obert walked out of the tavern, tripped, and nearly fell flat on his face.

  He looked down to see what he had fallen over, and found a child looking dazed and frightened. Her mouth was set in an ‘o’ shape but no sound came out.

  “Devil take it child, look where you are going,” he snapped, as he straightened the hat that had nearly fallen off his head.

  “I am terribly sorry, My Lord. Eleanor would not have heard the door of the tavern opening. She is deaf. But I should appreciate it if, for the sake of the other children, you would moderate your language. I do not want them to speak in such a manner because they have heard Lord Whitsnow of Aelton Manor use such vulgarities.”

  He looked at the owner of the voice. A pretty thing with bright red hair, neatly tucked inside her bonnet, freckles adorning her face and a mouth that was a tad too wide. His mind immediately turned to thoughts of things she could do with that mouth and it wasn’t giving him the scolding she was currently relaying to him.

  He recognised her from his infrequent visits to church. She was the sister of Baron Melvin Butterworth. Their father had received a baronetcy from the king, probably before Miss Butterworth was born, but Robert could not remember the reason why. Her father had died just a few years ago and her brother had succeeded to the title. A modest estate and country house which had been lying empty for years before her father had been elevated to the peerage had been entailed with the title. Robert did not like the incumbent Baron Butterworth. For a fellow with a mere baronetcy, he was rather full of his own importance. The sister, on the other hand, was a different matter.

  “Miss Butterworth. Do you always scold your betters in the middle of the street? Perhaps it would serve you better to ensure that the child is well.”

  “We all come into the world naked, My Lord. No one is better than anyone else. However, it is fortuitous that Eleanor bumped into you. I wanted to discuss the orphans in my care with you.”

  “You did? Miss Butterworth, I give to charitable causes. I head to London in a couple of days, so am afraid I cannot host any balls or other events to raise funds for your charges. I have no wife to help with such an endeavour. Perhaps when Lady Rose-Reid is visiting with young Lord Rutherford you could bother… I mean, approach her. Good day to you.”

  Hurrying over to his coach, he made sure not to trip over any more ridiculously small people, before the young lady could gather her wits. He was not in the mood for another lecture on his responsibilities, even if it was from a luscious, ample-bosomed young woman who, by her mere presence, had made him so hard he could use his prick as a carriage axel should the damned thing fall off.

  Getting to London was becoming imperative so that he could procure himself a mistress. He had been in the country for well over a year now and it was becoming obvious. His body was making its needs known. He adjusted himself in his breeches but found no relief to the ache. Perhaps when he got home, he may just take himself into his study, lock the door, close the curtains, drop his breeches and imagine Miss Butterworth and her very nice mouth.

  Damn, there was a very good chance he had become depraved.

  Chapter 2

  Miss Lucy Butterworth had never been so angry in her life. She had been bitterly disappointed, ashamed, horrified and desperately sad, but angry? No. This was a new feeling for her.

  And she was furious with Robert Beresford, the Earl of Whitsnow. He was supposed to be a gentleman, a man of honour and decency, He had been rude, condescending and downright dismissive of her. He had spoken to her as though she was some horse droppings he had accidentally stepped in. And he had done it in front of six young boys whom she was trying to raise to be gentlemen. Of course, no one would ever treat them as such, given that they were either orphans or unwanted bye blows of aristocrats, but she tried so hard to instill good manners in them. Rounding them all up and ushering them back to the pony and trap, her cheeks had burned with the humiliation of Lord Whitsnow’s set down.

  Now, one day later and her embarrassment had not alleviated. She was still as upset as she could be. His haughty gaze from those beautiful brown eyes, the slight sneer of his wet lip which he had licked just before speaking, and the rasp of his day-beard as he rubbed his glove across his face all annoyed her more than anything else because for some ridiculous reason, she kept thinking about those things.

  She was irritated with herself and her traitorous body. She had not even felt these reactions to Edward—Edward whose sweet promises still haunted her nights. She hated that his face had faded from her mind and she now could not conjure an image of him.

  Last night in her frustration she had tried to remember his face and all she could see was Lord Whitsnow. But he was laughing. She never saw the Earl laugh. She only ever saw him at church and he always looked somber.

  Well, he would listen to her now. The boys were singing an old folk song in the back of the trap as Lucy turned the pony into the long private road leading up to Aelton Manor, the principal seat of the Earl of Whitsnow.

  The man would at least grant her an audience if she was on his property.

  Eleanor sat wide-eyed looking at the surrounding countryside. She had never been out of the village as far as this. She was only five and, because of her deafness, she tended to become easily distressed in strange situations. So, Lucy was careful to keep things as routine as possible for her. The boys looked out for her—all having a nurturing and protective spirit when it came to the only girl in their group.

  They rounded a bend in the road and Eleanor patted Lucy’s arm and pointed, looking up. “Yes, it is big,” said Lucy. The little girl was learning to read lips and over the years they had fashioned their own rudimentary language using signs, but it was basic, and Lucy wished she knew better how to help. She was saving her money, waiting for an opportunity to go to Town and purchase books on deafness and communication, if such volumes existed. She knew of a school in Edinburgh for deaf aristocratic boys and wondered if any of the masters had written books. Sadly, Lucy had not been to Town in many years.

  She’d not had her come-out season. Not that she really regretted it. She was a little sad, perhaps but Lucy’s life’s work was looking after orphans. Her Great Aunt Agnes had helped her for years until the elderly woman had taken a fever in the late autumn of 1816 and died. Lucy missed her terribly. Aunt Agnes left Lucy enough money to live on but not enough to continue to feed the orphans in her care.
That was why she was on her way to see Lord Whitsnow and she would dashed well make him listen this time if she had to tie him to a chair and recite her petition to him.

  Chapter 3

  Robert settled into the seat at his desk and used his letter opener to break the seal on the missive. He recognised his sister’s handwriting and smiled at the thought of its contents.

  He usually acted morose and annoyed around her, but he loved the very bones of the clumsy, adorable chit. And now she was expecting a happy event soon, he was delighted. Her letters however did often contain too much information of a personal nature for Robert’s taste.

  My dearest brother,

  Gideon and I extend to you our warmest wishes and we look forward to your arrival in Town.

  Honestly, I do wonder what can be keeping you in the country so long. The Parliamentary Season is in full swing. All the best debutantes shall be spoken for and you are not getting any younger. It is time to set up your nursery. The future of the earldom is at stake.

  I heard from Mrs Stevenson that Mrs Agnes Butterworth died. I am very sorry to hear that. If you are in church this Sunday, please pass on my condolences to Baron and Miss Butterworth. I do not know what will become of those orphans now. I hope Miss Butterworth is able to maintain their education and a home for them. If not, I would be obliged if you could intervene.

  This is why you need a wife, dear brother. I know you do not go to Aelton much, but a wife would keep up with all the village news and make sure you were doing your duty as the highest-ranking landowner in the area, especially now not even a Lord Rutherford is in residence.

  I did not write this missive to lecture you, however. I just wished to beg for your attendance in Town, so I may dance with my brother at a ball or two before this baby makes it impossible to walk, never mind waltz with a gentleman.

  Honestly, women and their meddling. He’d had a missive from his Great Aunt Gertrude just the other day saying he ought to hurry to London before the cream of the debutantes were snapped up by the eligible bachelors. She had wasted one piece of paper extolling the virtues of Lord Langley’s daughter and another reminding him of his duties to his title and that it was time he set up his nursery.

  And if that was not enough, his best friend, Lord Jason Rose-Reid had also written to him, commending married life to him and promising that a leg-shackle to the right woman was not at all onerous. Honestly, the man had become a woman through matrimony.

  Robert did not want to find a wife on the marriage mart though. The very idea left him chilled to the bone. All those hopeful mamas watching his every move. All the simpering young ladies wondering if she was the one who would ensnare the Earl of Whitsnow.

  Why could he not just find a nice girl here in Cumberland. Someone with a vague title whom the ton would accept. He did not need love. His mother and father had been in love but that had been an aberration. The aristocracy did not do love. They matched purely to procreate and make more little earls and dukes and viscounts. The fact his sister and his best friend had found love, or so it seemed, was pure happenstance.

  If he found someone he could tolerate, someone pretty that he wanted to bed, someone who did not repulse him, someone who kept him on his toes, someone like…

  The noise of hoofs and some rattling old carriage wheels made Robert look up from the letter in his hand and cease his wool-gathering.

  He placed the missive on his desk and craned his neck to see what the Devil was going on outside.

  A pony and trap had drawn to a halt and a group of boys sat in the back talking and laughing. He recognised the woman who was struggling to climb down from the trap, despite her skirts wrapping around her ankles and getting in her way. Sitting on the top seat, quietly and without fuss, sat little Eleanor. He rushed out of the house in time to see Miss Butterworth stalk up the front steps and approach the butler.

  “Please tell His Lordship that Miss Butterworth would like an audience with him,” she said to the butler with a haughtiness he doubted even Prinny could muster.

  “His Lordship knows Miss Butterworth wants an audience thank you, Lang. His Lordship objects to his servants being ordered around like naughty school children, however, so you do not need to do anything, Lang.

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Do you think the cook may have something in the kitchen that these children might enjoy sampling?”

  “I am sure she will, milord.”

  “Take the children to the kitchen. Please take care with the little girl. She is deaf. Take her hand and guide her. Then bring tea to the drawing room.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  Miss Butterworth, to her credit, recovered well, ordering her charges from the trap and crouching to explain to Eleanor what was happening and that she was fine with the boys and Mr Lang. Eleanor gave her a beatific smile and took the butler’s hand despite it not being offered. Lang grunted, straightened, then seemed to be quite happy to have made a friend.

  Robert guided Miss Butterworth to the drawing room and offered her a seat.

  “I apologise, I had the butler take the children away before he could offer to take your pelisse. If you wish to remove it, I could have a maid take it. You will not get benefit of it once outside if you wear it now.”

  “Thank you.”

  She removed it and he called a maid in to take it and give it to the butler.

  Once they were seated, he crossed his legs and studied her. She bit her lip as if nervous. She was beautiful and curved in all the right placed. His prick twitched.

  “You wished to speak with me, Miss Butterworth. You have my full attention.”

  “It is about the orphans in my care.”

  “I had a feeling.” His tone was dry, and she frowned. He was used to sparring with his sister who never took offence. Or rather he had always assumed she did not take offence. That was until last summer when she arrived at the estate with the intention of marrying Lord Beattie in Gretna Green. He had found out that his words had been hurtful, and she was lacking in confidence as a result. Beattie gave him a verbal thrashing which he had deserved. Now looking at the indecision etched on Miss Butterworth’s features he regretted the way he had spoken. “Please, explain your business.”

  “You may be aware that my great aunt, Mrs Agnes Butterworth died recently.”

  “I am. My sister Emily wrote to me and asked me to pass on her condolences. I offer my own, of course, as well. I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. You may also know that she and I looked after the orphans in our care together with her own money. She only had a modest sum which she left to me, but it was dwindling fast and would not have lasted much longer. Living rent-free in that lovely mansion did help enormously. However, my brother married recently and wants to come and live back in Cumberland. He has made it known that he and his new wife have no wish to share their home with orphans.”

  “So, you need a home and money.”

  “That is a good summary of the situation, I suppose, though I am not sure I would have stated it quite so baldly.”

  “I am a plain speaker, Miss Butterworth.”

  “I had noticed.”

  So, she was willing to try and match him. He liked that. She reminded him of Lady Rutherford in that way. He had not felt a tendre for the blonde beauty who had been rescued from the snow by his best friend during a winter snow storm a few months back, which was just as well since Reid had fallen head over ears in love with her himself, but he had admired her courage and her willingness to stand up for herself.

  “And do you expect me to supply these?”

  “You are the most high-ranking landowner in the area, My Lord, and people look to you as a moral leader.”

  “They look to the Church for moral guidance, not to the aristocracy.”

  A footman brought in the tea at that point and Robert asked if she minded pouring. She assented to carrying out the task.

  “The Church cannot provide a home. You do not pay
the Vicar enough to house and feed seven orphans, My Lord.”

  “And if I did?”

  “I do not think Mrs Weatherby would be happy to raise seven extra children.”

  “That is not very charitable of a Christian woman, is it?”

  “Be that as it may, My Lord, that is the way it is.” She handed him his tea.”

  “So, you expect me to give you a house and a yearly allowance to raise children that are not my own. Ma’am. Many in the aristocracy do not even make those arrangements for their own bastard children.”

  Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink and she placed her tea cup on her lap.

  “I am well aware, My Lord. Those children may be classed as orphans but a few of them are not true orphans. Their noble fathers chose not to acknowledge them.”

  “They are bye blows?”

  “Three of them are, yes.”

  “Whose bye blows?”

  “I am not at liberty to say. I shall not sully the names of their mothers.”

  “Their mothers allowed themselves to be tumbled by nobility.”

  “One was taken by force and the other two were caught up in the moment. It is not just men who have feelings of lust, My Lord. Pray tell, why, when two people are responsible for the act of procreation, is it just the woman who is in the wrong? Are you a virgin?”

  Robert nearly choked on his tea. “What sort of question is that?”

  “I merely mean to show up your hypocrisy, My Lord. Every act of fornication may lead to procreation. Unless you are a virgin then you have no right to judge these women.”

  Damn, he liked her.

  “Are you?”

  “That is none of your business. I am not the one being a hypocrite.”

  Her cheeks were scarlet now.

  “We seem to have strayed from the point of the conversation.”

  “I need money and a home for these children and you as…”

  “Yes, yes.” He stood and walked over to the windows. He stared out over the parterre gardens, absentmindedly watching two gardeners as he considered the problem. Really it was ridiculous for one man to live in such a huge house and grounds.