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Page 1 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

Dear Lydia,

I hope you are doing well among the glittering society and require no further support from me. I know it must be frustrating to receive my messages and be unable to reply. I assure you that I will find a permanent position soon, and we will be able to exchange letters freely.

Please do not worry about me. Although my search for a job is taking a little longer, I have a lot of prospects. I am sure to have a cozy position as a governess to a well-behaved young girl or a companion to a kind-hearted dowager soon.

The countryside here is so peaceful compared to London’s chaos, and I find myself breathing easier with each passing day, especially knowing that he can’t find me here.

I do understand your insistence on staying among the ton , and I do not fault you for that. On the contrary. I wish you all the success. And when you’ve secured enough wealth for us to leave this country behind, do let me know.

Until then, I’ll be living a quiet, unremarkable life here in the country.

Love,

Honor

Caldwell Manor, Devonshire - 1818

H onoria stood before the large oak desk with an equally large earl sitting behind it. The Earl of Caldwell’s study wasn’t small. In fact, it was the largest one she’d ever seen, except the earl had crammed himself into the smallest, darkest corner, forcing Honoria to turn her back on most of the space. As a result, the place seemed cramped, dark, and suffocating. And whatever space was left seemed to be swallowed up by the owner’s imposing frame.

Or perhaps, it was her nerves that made everything feel distorted. Even oxygen seemed to be lacking in this dark, lifeless corner.

It didn’t help that Lord Caldwell was frowning down at her letter of recommendation, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, his expression dark and menacing, as though he could see through every lie she’d crafted to secure this position. The shadow he cast on the wall behind him made him appear even larger, more ominous— devilish even. His open collar, the absence of a cravat, a scruffy beard, and dark, tousled hair only heightened the effect.

And his eyes… there in the shadows they looked almost completely black.

Honoria looked away toward the sunny part of the study. A line of light divided the room, keeping this corner in the shadow while the rest of the study flourished. It was a separate world out there.

A large desk stood by two windows. Even though both were covered by heavy, dirt-brown curtains, a streak of light escaped, illuminating the desk, which was in complete disarray. Piles of papers lay on top of each other in a haphazard manner—journals, pencils, wooden tools, and strange-looking brass equipment. A bit farther from the desk, the cabinets stretched along the wall, reaching down to the corner where Honoria stood.

Her eyes drifted to the part of the cabinet closest to her. She could just make out labels behind the glass doors, lines of neat written words in dark ink. She squinted at one.

Urtica dioica.

She sounded it out in her head. Urtica . It was a Latin word that meant sting . She wasn’t certain of the second word, but together they sounded familiar. It stirred something at the back of her mind. A plant, maybe? She wasn’t sure.

Her gaze moved lower. Another label read Epipremnum aureum —that one she knew.

Devil’s ivy.

She glances back to the man behind the desk. Fitting .

The earl still sat unmoving, his eyes locked on her letter, not even blinking. Was he even reading? Or had he read enough? Had he identified her lies and was just torturing her with his silence? She hoped he was simply lost in his thoughts.

She needed this job, or she would have nowhere to sleep tonight. She’d traveled a long time to get here, and the road back to town was impassable. She was tired, scared, and hungry.

Her stomach rumbled in agreement, and she pressed her hands flat against her belly, as if that would quiet the rumbling.

She also doubted the forbidding earl would take pity on her and offer her any food or a ride back to town if he failed to hire her, although she could not exactly read his expression as he still hadn’t raised his head and hadn’t spoken either. He’d been staring at her letter of recommendation in silence for a long time now.

It did not have that much information on it.

Honoria squinted in the dark room. What if he’d forgotten she was there at all? He had probably spent the previous night drinking to the point of passing out and was now too sleepy to function. Honoria knew gentlemen like that. Too many gentlemen like that.

She fought the shudder.

Should she make herself known? Make some sort of noise to get his attention? Would that hurt her chances of getting the job?

She couldn’t risk that. She had already been turned away from three places. The little money she had saved while working—well, not working exactly, but rather stealing—with her friend Lydia had almost run out.

Yes, Honoria used to be a thief, or at least, a helper of one. But that’s not what she was born to do. She had not chosen the dishonest life out of boredom, but rather circumstance, and that kind of life did not agree with Honoria. She could not go back to it. She just couldn’t.

For one thing, she was a terrible thief. No matter how much Lydia tried to teach her, Honoria failed at many skills necessary to be a thief. What she did have was a talent for copying others’ handwriting, signatures, and forging documents. That’s how she was able to change her and Lydia’s identities after they met.

She gave Lydia the identity of a wealthy magnate’s widow with connections to the ton . And to herself, an unassuming lowly cousin of an impoverished baron.

All in a bid for Lydia to infiltrate the ton. That would allow Lydia access to the richest homes in London and steal from them without inviting too much notice. Once she stole enough, Lydia and Honoria would be able to leave England for good.

As much as Honoria appreciated the plan and believed in its merit, after getting Lydia a few forged invitations to the social events, she had to continue helping her friend from a distance. She could not live by Lydia’s side.

The ton and the social whirl connected Honoria to her past—the past she was determined to run away from. While Lydia thrived as the center of attention, Honoria needed to hide in the shadows.

Honoria glanced from the sunny part of the room to the shadowy corner where she stood. Perhaps, this household would be a perfect match for her.

She’d applied to work for the earl precisely because he was known to be a recluse who rarely if ever left his country estate. The previous jobs she had applied to also fulfilled this requirement. Whether the companion to an elderly lady or a governess to young girls, the locations of those jobs were far from London. Except she’d failed to secure either job so far.

This place was her last resort.

The advertisement stated that the earl was looking for a housekeeper, which was not exactly within the narrow scope of her skill set. Not to mention that at six and twenty, she would be too young to qualify. But she hoped the earl would overlook all that and that her forged recommendation letter and her work ethic would be enough.

If not, she was prepared to beg Lord Caldwell to hire her in any other capacity. She didn’t know him to have any children or an elderly relative in need of a companion. He did have an aunt, but she was a rather spry and active member of the ton .

But she could be—Honoria glanced around the unorganized study, at the desk filled with unanswered letters—a secretary?

No, being a female secretary was unheard of. Even if he’d hired her, that would invite gossip and draw too much attention to her person. And that was the last thing Honoria needed.

Perhaps… Heavens, she was ready to work as a maid at this point, as long as she had shelter over her head.

With winter’s fast approach and no more leads, she was bound to starve to death if she wasn’t hired.

From somewhere upstairs, a child’s shrill voice rose in protest.

A door slammed, and the sound of running feet thumped across the ceiling, followed by a woman’s stern reprimand and more screaming. The earl’s frown deepened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he pointedly ignored the disturbance, his eyes still fixed on her letter.

Honoria cocked her head. Was she wrong about the children in this household? To be fair, the last edition of Debrett’s didn’t indicate that the Earl of Caldwell had any heirs but it was published in 1814. And Honoria hadn’t been in the loop with current gossip for quite some time. Perhaps, the earl had married and had managed to beget an heir already. The voice she’d heard sounded very young. Perhaps this house was in need of a nanny?

I can be a nanny. Even though she’d had no interaction with children since she herself was one.

“You do not have much experience as a housekeeper,” the earl pointed out, still not lifting his gaze off the paper. His remark was so sudden, the voice so deep, Honoria jumped a little in surprise. The earl didn’t seem to notice or care for her reaction.

Honoria licked her lips. She had no experience as a housekeeper—the made-up ones notwithstanding—although she knew what their duties entailed.

She opened her mouth to defend her made-up record, but he spoke again.

“And you were born into the gentry.”

According to my false documents, yes. “Which would tell you that I know a lot of things about running a household,” she said.

“It would also tell me that being a housekeeper is way below your station,” he noted.

She swallowed. “I don’t believe so.” Of course, it was below her station, more than he knew. But she had set aside her pride a long time ago. After everything she’d been through, some may even consider it above her station, too.

The sounds from upstairs escalated. A girl’s voice—older than the first—shouted something indecipherable, followed by a crash and a loud thump. The earl’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk, but he maintained his rigid composure.

Unruly guests?

He finally placed the paper on the desk and looked Honoria up and down before removing the spectacles from the bridge of his nose and setting them down. “However, I don’t require a housekeeper. I already have one.”

Honoria’s heart sank, her fingers curling into fists by her side. He didn’t need a housekeeper. Was she too late? Had he hired someone else? I can do anything else! She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but he spoke again.

“Not a regular housekeeper anyway. Mrs. Clarke has been the housekeeper of this estate for about thirty years and has worked here in some other capacity for a lot longer. I am not looking for anyone to replace her.”

Honoria’s confusion deepened. “But your advertisement stated—”

“You see, up until a few weeks ago,” he interrupted hastily, “my house was run like a clock. Smooth. Perfect. Exact.” His gaze flickered up. “Quiet. I didn’t have to deal with a single thing. Mrs. Clarke and every other servant in the house knows my routine and preferences. However, six weeks ago, our quiet life was disrupted.” As if to underscore his point, the screams got louder. “My sister died of scarlet fever, and her husband followed soon after, making me a guardian to their three lost, confused, grieving, unruly children. I have no idea how to take care of children or what they require. Mrs. Clarke is… not spry and agile enough to keep up with their demands and needs either. They have come with their nanny and a governess, but the children don’t seem to be listening to them, and vice-versa. I personally don’t find them effective in dealing with children, but I am afraid I am not qualified to judge either way.” The screaming intensified, the wail of a little child getting louder and louder. “Plus the children need additional supplies, schedules, tutors. And I need help to—”

The earl’s composure finally broke. He jumped out of his chair, startling Honoria and rushing out of the door with a curt, “Excuse me.”

Honoria hesitated before following him into the corridor where the sounds of the conflict made her shudder. The screams, the reprimands of someone in authority, the defiant arguing of younger children and the wail of a poor baby made her heart squeeze, at the same time bringing some of her worst memories to the surface.

It wasn’t the same as what she had gone through, but the cries of helpless children while they were being screamed at made her blood run cold. Didn’t the earl say they’d lost their parents recently? And now they were treated this way?

No! If there were children in danger in this house, Honoria wouldn’t let the cruelty prevail, even if it compromised her chances of being hired.

Honoria dashed after the earl, slacking behind while his long legs quickly ate up the distance. Honoria clutched her skirts, hurrying toward the crying children.

As she reached the first floor, the scene that greeted her was one of complete chaos.

The youngest child, a girl of no more than three, thrashed wildly in the arms of a harried-looking nanny. Her little dress rode up from all her frantic attempts at getting away, showcasing the angry red lines on her soft baby skin where she must have been skelped. There was a switch still in the nanny’s hand with which she must have hurt the child. The little girl’s face was contorted with fury, tiny fists beating against the woman’s chest as she kicked and writhed against her. “Mama! I want Mama! Help!” she wailed, her voice raw with desperation.

A boy of about seven or eight hung on the nanny’s arm, his own face streaked with tears as he pleaded, “Let go of Rosie!”

Across the hallway, the eldest girl—not more than fourteen—was engaged in a heated argument with a stern-faced governess who blocked her path. “I have told you before, if you interfere with Rosie’s schooling, she will fail to grow into a proper, obedient girl,” the governess reprimanded her coolly, her tone clipped and disapproving, yet too calm and collected among the madness.

The older girl waved a hand toward her little sister, eyes flashing, her cheeks red. “Obedient? She is being thrashed for no reason!”

“There is always a reason, and you should never undermine an adult’s authority.”

“She probably couldn’t hear—”

“What is the meaning of this?” the earl barked, and everything went still for a moment in a chaotic tableau, like a scene from a Jan Steen painting. Even little Rosie’s wails subsided momentarily as all eyes turned to the imposing figure of Lord Caldwell. The silence lasted only seconds before Rosie’s face crumpled again, and she resumed her crying with renewed vigor.

That’s when the boy pulled on the nanny’s arm, and when she didn’t relent, he bit her. The nanny yelped and kicked him away like an unwanted pup.

The earl seized the boy by the shoulder, his grip firm as he pushed him behind his imposing figure.

“Release that child at once!” he commanded. The words emerged as a low, dangerous growl. His previously unaffected, bored mask was replaced by one of barely contained fury. Even Honoria took a step back, her reflexes commanding her to run.

The nanny’s arms loosened instantly, and little Rosie scrambled away, stumbling in her haste.

“Explain yourself,” the earl demanded of the nanny, each syllable clipped and precise. The boy in his grasp made a step toward the baby, but the earl maintained his grip on the boy’s shoulder.

As the nanny stumbled over her words, Honoria’s attention shifted to little Rosie who instantly dashed toward her sister only to be blocked by the tall form of who Honoria assumed to be the elder girl’s governess. “No. You need to ask permission—” she attempted to reprimand the poor child who looked at her with wide, frightened eyes, but Honoria swept past the governess and scooped the youngest child into her arms.

The little girl didn’t protest, momentarily stunned by this unexpected intervention. Honoria quickly crossed the corridor while the child was compliant and deposited Rosie into her sister’s waiting arms. Rosie immediately burrowed into her neck, small fingers clutching at her dress as she continued to sob quietly.

The governess’s eyes widened in outrage. “Who are you and what business is it of yours to interfere in my teachings?”

“Your teachings?” Honoria let out a huff. “Don’t you have eyes? Or perhaps your vision and your hearing are so compromised that you fail to recognize a child in distress? What teachings can you possibly be speaking of at a moment such as this?”

The governess straightened, taken aback, but not by Honoria’s words, it seemed, rather by the noble accent that had a way of coming out of her when Honoria was most cross. She had to always remind herself to speak more plainly, but she was too preoccupied with the children’s plights to control herself now. The governess studied Honoria’s clothing, now silent, no doubt trying to figure out what kind of authority Honoria possessed.

Taking advantage of her speechlessness, Honoria turned to the young girl cradling the little Rosie in her arms. “Miss…”

“Elise,” she murmured, adjusting her little sister in her arms.

“Elise, let’s walk to the other room while your guardian deals with this situation.”

Honoria scanned the long corridor and noted a room with an open door on the other side. Tiptoeing around the thundering earl, Honoria led the girls toward the room. She stepped over the fragments of a delicate porcelain vase scattered across the polished floor and skirted the side table that lay overturned on the floor. Honoria hadn’t even noticed the full scope of the disarray in the corridor in her fit of outrage. What had happened here before they arrived? They must have missed quite a scene.

“I have endured enough of your interference with my disciplining the children,” the nanny declared loudly as they moved past her, her voice trembling with indignation. “They are the most disobedient and impertinent bunch. And if you prefer to keep them wild, you should have told me from the beginning, and I would have declined continuing my position with the family on the spot! The late Mr. Stephenson understood the importance of discipline.”

Honoria flinched at the nanny’s words. She herself had a very strict nanny and even stricter governess who would concur with this woman’s words. Yet where did that lead her? To years of servitude to her family first and then—

“I’m so sorry!” Elise stepped on Honoria’s hem, making them both stumble as they continued their escape. “I can’t see very well with Rosie in my arms. And she’s heavy.”

Honoria reached for the little child. “Would you mind if I hold you?”

Rosie’s teary eyes widened as she looked from Honoria to her sister, then back again, before hugging Elise tighter. That’s a no, then. “Right, let’s just get inside.”

Hovering over Elise to make certain she wouldn’t drop little Rosie, Honoria led the girls into the empty room and helped them settle into the armchair by the fireplace. The youngest girl sat cradled on her sister’s lap, still crying, albeit softer now, interrupted by occasional hiccups.

The boy peeked his head into the room, his gaze uncertain.

“Robbie, come!” The eldest girl motioned for him to join them. Honoria stepped away from the chair, giving Robbie an opportunity to reach his sisters unimpeded. She looked around and carefully settled onto a settee across from the girls.

Robbie dashed toward his sisters and plopped onto the floor, hugging Elise’s knees, his face red and streaked with tears.

Poor children. They had lost their parents, then had been shipped off to a random relative to live in an unfamiliar place. And now they were being mistreated by the very people who were supposed to protect them.

Honoria didn’t know if the earl was a fair man. So far, at least, it seemed he cared enough about the children to worry about their education and well-being. Cared enough to realize he wasn’t qualified to cater to all their needs and to hire someone just for that purpose.

“She won’t stop crying,” the oldest girl whispered, her own eyes filled with tears. She seemed so confident when taking her little sister into her arms or guiding her brother toward them. But she was just a frightened child herself.

Honoria smiled softly, while her mind frantically grasped for a solution. How do people calm their children? She wrinkled her nose, trying to remember how she used to soothe herself during trying times by singing herself to sleep. Right, a song. “Do you know a lullaby?”

“I don’t remember.” Elise’s voice was high, her eyes liquid—she was on the verge of tears.

Honoria turned away, her gaze falling onto the gardens outside the window. “’Winter Rose!’” she exclaimed. “Do you know the old lullaby, ‘Winter Rose?’”

Elise nodded. “I think so.”

“Let’s sing it, shall we?” Honoria encouraged and started to sing slowly. “Hush my wild, winter rose, Thorns and petals softly close.”

“All the secrets earth can keep.” The girl’s shaking voice joined the verse, and Honoria smiled. “Lie in roots that dream too deep.”

“Sleep, my wild, winter rose, Safe until the morning shows.” Honoria started swinging in place, encouraging the girl to rock her sibling in her arms as they continued to sing.

After a moment, Robbie joined in with his sister, his voice slightly hoarse from crying.

As they sang, little Rosie’s sobs gradually subsided. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her breathing deepened and slowed until she was nestled peacefully against her sister’s shoulder, fast asleep.

“Keep singing,” Honoria encouraged. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure standing in the doorway and turned toward it, surprised to realize they had an audience.

Lord Caldwell stood watching them, one shoulder propped against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and the severe frown still creased his brow, but something in his dark eyes had softened as he observed the tableau before him. How long had he been standing there?

“You’re hired,” he said softly, then pushed away from the doorframe and walked away.