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

Dear Lydia,

I write to you from my new position at Caldwell Manor, where I have been employed this past week. I am pleased to report that my circumstances have improved considerably since my last letter.

The Earl of Caldwell is precisely what one might expect of a reclusive nobleman—cold, severe, and utterly disinterested in the daily operations of the household. This suits me perfectly, as his detachment allows me to go about my duties largely undisturbed. I confess I find him rather intimidating, with his dark countenance and perpetual frown. Thankfully, our paths seldom cross, and when they do, our interactions are mercifully brief.

He has three wards under his guardianship, and it falls to me to see to their accommodation and welfare. At times, I feel rather like a fish out of water, but do not fret, this is not a challenge I am unequal to.

The elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke, has been exceedingly kind in acquainting me with the workings of the household. I find myself growing quite fond of her and the children, though I must remind myself not to form attachments that will make my eventual departure more difficult.

On a more cheerful note, I have, at last, found a house I am in a position to arrange and decorate to my taste. The gardens here are magnificent. Perhaps the only truly lovely aspect of this otherwise somber place. I have taken to placing flowers in every room, in the hope of bringing a touch of brightness to the dreary manor.

I very much doubt the earl even notices my attempts to enliven his home, as he appears entirely indifferent to matters of comfort or beauty.

Pray write soon and tell me of your adventures in society. Have you made any progress with our plans? I think of our future often, especially on those long nights when this grand house feels particularly desolate. I long for the day when we may leave these shores behind.

Love,

Honor

Caldwell Manor, A week later…

T he days since Honoria’s unexpected hiring had been a blur of introductions, schedule adjustments, and learning the rhythm and cadence of Caldwell House. The housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke, was a kind elderly woman who had made Honoria feel at home. She was happy to pass on many of her duties to Honoria’s hands. It was obvious that she was preparing Honoria to take over, and that made Honoria feel like a fraud.

She would not be staying in this household forever. She couldn’t. She needed to leave England—not now, but eventually. Every day she spent on English soil, she risked being found out. Besides, she’d never planned on staying a servant forever, no matter how kind a household she ended up in. Even if she did, Lydia would not allow that. A maid in her early years, she had promised herself never to return to servant life. And she vowed not to let Honoria get stuck doing it either.

Honoria wouldn’t have minded staying on in a kind and loving household. But since the eldest ward of the earl, Elise, was a few years away from making her debut, Honoria knew that even if her plans to leave England failed, her years in this particular household were numbered.

The least she could do was find the appropriate guidance for the children in the meantime, so when it came time to leave them behind, she could disappear with a clear conscience.

She glanced at Rosie, who was playing on the floor a few feet away, her back turned and hunched over a toy. Her brown locks gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the tall sitting room windows. Smiling, she turned her attention back to the woman she was interviewing for the position of Elise’s governess.

Mrs. Winters, a sturdy woman of about forty or fifty, with kind eyes and a gentle voice, was explaining her views on education and proper deportment for young ladies.

According to her application, Mrs. Winters had a lot of experience as a governess to numerous ladies for the past twenty years. She also had a soft, mothering presence and seemed to be the kind of woman who wouldn’t yell at her ward or punish her for doing something she perceived to be wrong. The pile of letters of recommendation agreed with Honoria’s assessment.

“I believe a young lady’s education should encompass both practical household knowledge and artistry,” Mrs. Winters said, straightening her already impeccable collar. “As a young woman, it is important for her to be able to sing, dance, play the piano or some other acceptable instrument, and display perfect manners, all of which would help her land a suitable gentleman when her time comes to face the ton . But she also should know how to hold a conversation in several languages, should be able to read the papers, and be interested in charitable projects.” She paused. “Needlework, of course, is essential.”

“And you would be able to teach her all that?”

“I am an all-around professional.” Mrs. Winters jerked her chin up. “And I can teach the basics of everything, however I specialize in manners and etiquette. I also hold a firm opinion that music and languages require a separate tutor. If need be, and in waiting for the other professionals to arrive, I can teach all that briefly. ”

Honoria nodded. She agreed. Not only because it was better to find the best professionals in each field for the best education, but also because it could become tiresome spending so much time with one individual. Moreover, having different tutors and mentors could help Elise to develop different interpersonal skills.

“Your letter of application indicates that you have experience with grieving children,” Honoria continued.

Mrs. Winters’ expression softened. “Five years with the Harrington family after they lost their mother. They had five children, and I was working with three of them at the time, aged fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen. I guided them all through this difficult time, successfully sent them off to the marriage mart, and watched them marry into beautiful families.”

“How wonderful.” Honoria smiled, although a bit of sadness clutched her chest. She wished she would be able to watch Elise brave the marriage mart. Perhaps, it was best if she didn’t become attached to the children at all. “Elise lost her parents about two months ago. She and her siblings came to live here with their uncle soon after, so the wound is still fresh. Would you take a different approach to teaching Elise based on this information?”

Mrs. Winters sat a bit straighter. “Grieving young ladies need structure and routine just like everyone else, perhaps even more so. I learned working with the Harrington girls that they needed some sort of stability in their lives, and they found it in their studies. And in this case, where they have lost both parents and have moved from their home, this might be the only stability they have left. Although at times, the youngest girl became maudlin and cried in the middle of the lesson. She needed a gentler approach. So I allowed her to take breaks and spend time doing something else for a while. I believe children express their grief differently. So I would not alter my approach with Elise at first. But there are always ways to find the approach that works.”

Honoria shifted in her seat. “What if one of her siblings becomes overwhelmed and upset while Elise is in the middle of a lesson? Would you allow Elise to comfort them?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Winters seemed almost offended by the question. “One of the hallmarks of a great mistress is her capacity for empathy. When the young lady grows up and runs her own household, she will be responsible not only for her children, but also for her servants and tenants. It is essential that she learn, from a young age, how to understand and tend to the needs of others.”

“Elise is very nurturing and protective over her siblings,” Honoria said.

“That is understandable.” Mrs. Winters nodded. “Losing one’s parents at a young age often turns the older sibling into a protector. It is important to realize however, that she is not the parent, and the burden to rear her siblings falls on her guardian and not her.”

Honoria winced inwardly. The earl was certainly willing to provide for the children financially, but he didn’t act as their parent, nor did he know how. That, of course, was the very reason he had engaged Honoria—to see that the children were surrounded by the finest staff, who might assume the responsibilities he was unwilling, or unable, to bear.

Honoria closed her ledger, satisfied. “I believe you’ll be a wonderful fit for Elise, Mrs. Winters. If you’d like to begin tomorrow morning, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you very much.” Mrs. Winters stood. “I would be delighted to work with dear Elise.”

Honoria rose from the chair and turned toward Rosie. “Rosie, would you like to take a walk?”

Rosie continued silently playing with her toys, offering no sign that she had heard her.

Honoria rounded the child and crouched before her. Rosie immediately raised her head and smiled. “Nory!” She was unable to pronounce Honoria’s name properly, and Honoria quite liked her new nickname.

“Would you like to continue playing, or do you want to go see Mrs. Clarke?”

“Clarke!” Rosie jumped to her feet and ran toward the door without waiting for either Honoria or Mrs. Winters to join her.

“Does she have hearing problems?” Mrs. Winters inquired as they exited the room.

Honoria glanced at her in surprise. It took a few days for Honoria to realize that, and as for Rosie’s previous nanny, she had always interpreted her failure to answer when asked as defiance, rather than physical limitation.

“Yes. I believe it’s a complication from the scarlet fever, which took her parents’ lives.”

“Oh, poor child. But it’s a blessing she managed to recover. She will grow up to be a strong lady. I am looking forward to seeing her do just that.”

Holding onto the banister, Rosie slowly made her way up the stairs. Honoria grinned. Me too.

After depositing Rosie into Mrs. Clarke’s capable hands, then escorting Mrs. Winters to her new room, Honoria set off to inform Lord Caldwell of the new hire.

She had hoped to have more news on varying hires in a week, but it was difficult to find competent help so far from London. She was still unable to find a proper nanny for Rosie, and in the meantime, she and Mrs. Clarke took turns looking after her during the day. Honoria even slept in a room adjoining Rosie’s nursery so she could respond to her needs at night. The nanny, of course, would take that room once hired.

Honoria knocked on the door to the earl’s study but received no answer. She knocked again and pressed an ear to the door. Sometimes the earl became so preoccupied with his work that he didn’t hear anything going on around him.

That didn’t seem to be the case right now. Everything was quiet. Perhaps the earl was not in the study.

With a shrug, Honoria made her way down the stairs. “Mr. Clarke,” she addressed the butler. “Have you seen the earl leave the house?”

The elderly butler smiled. “He is down by the stream, Miss Hartwell.”

“The stream? At this hour?” Honoria glanced out the window at the setting sun.

“Yes, Miss. He often goes there in the evenings.”

Huh. Perhaps he was hunting for a new specimen for his collection. She’d noted not only plants in his glasshouse, but also insects. Either way, Honoria decided to catch the earl on his walk or on the way back to the house. If she didn’t talk to him now, she might not see him until tomorrow morning, and she wanted to notify him of the new hire before bed.

In order to reach the stream, she had to make her way through the estate’s rich gardens. She followed the worn path, mentally rehearsing her report on Mrs. Winters.

The weather was beautiful. It was no surprise that the earl was outdoors at this time of day. Although, if she were him, she would not go as far as the stream and rather sit on the bench right here, she thought as she walked past a stone bench surrounded by daffodils.

She loved this garden. It was the most beautiful she’d ever seen with a variety of flowers occupying the dense flowerbeds. And it smelled divine.

Curiously, aside from a few specimens that the earl had worked on in his study, the rest of the house was bare of any plants. Or rather had been bare of any flowers until Honoria made it her mission to liven up the place.

She’d made a concentrated effort in the past few days to fill every vase in the house with flowers.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful scent, before leaving the garden and skipping down the winded path toward the stream.

So far, the earl had been as transparent as a rock—that is to say, not at all. She could never tell what he was thinking even when they were in the middle of a conversation. He had barely looked her in the eye much less said anything indicating his feelings toward her work. Did he approve of her? Did he dislike her for some reason?

It’s only been a week, but she made it her mission to provide daily reports to him about everything she’d done, so that he’d know she wasn’t just slacking around this entire time.

She followed the faint track into a copse of trees, the sound of the running stream growing louder and louder with her every step.

A few more steps, and there was the stream. She walked along it, wondering where exactly the earl might be. Perhaps she’d made a mistake seeking him out. He could be anywhere along the stretch of the stream. It wasn’t like he would just stand there—

She paused, a few feet away from the small waterfall, where the stream spilled gently into a shallow pool. In that still pool, Lord Caldwell stood waist-deep in the water, his powerful body gleaming wet in the setting sun. He moved toward the bank, water cascading down his broad shoulders and muscled chest, tracing the contours of his abdomen. His dark hair was slicked back from his forehead, droplets clinging to his beard.

Honoria froze, transfixed. She had never seen a man so magnificently made. His arms and shoulders were corded with muscle, his chest broad and tapering to a narrow waist. Dark hair dusted his skin just under his belly button, and lower until—

She hastily looked away just as his powerful thighs peeked out from the water.

She couldn’t look—that was highly inappropriate.

Should she announce herself? No, she couldn’t! Better she retreat and pretend she had never seen that —him. But her feet seemed rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her chest, her gaze finding its way back to the earl’s slick, naked form.

He emerged fully from the stream and turned his back to her, moving toward the clothes neatly stacked on the boulder. As he bent to collect the clothes, Honoria finally broke free from her stupor. She spun around, heart hammering, and hurried back the way she’d come, praying he hadn’t noticed her standing there gawking at him.

Honoria ran up the path, through the garden, and then the front door of the house, mumbling something to Mr. Clarke when he asked whether she’d found the earl.

Her breathing was so ragged she feared she might pass out, she finally reached the safety of her small bedroom. She pressed her back against the door and bent at her waist, letting the ringing in her ears subside.

Her face burned with mortification—and no doubt from the mad dash from the stream—yet the image of the earl’s body refused to leave her mind. Never in her life had she imagined that beneath his formal attire lurked such a masterpiece of masculine form—all lean muscle and perfect proportion, like a classical statue brought to life.

He was beautiful. Like art.

Her fingers twitched at the urge to draw him, and also… to touch him, while a certain warmth pooled low in her belly.

She shook her head. Honoria, what are you thinking?

The only other man she had glimpsed in such a state of undress had been a person whose soft, pale body she’d rather forget. She shuddered involuntarily at the memory. It had been nothing like the earl’s magnificent physique.

“This is most improper,” she whispered, peeling herself from the door and starting to pace around the small room. “Most improper indeed.”

She fanned herself with the leatherbound journal in her hand.

She needed to compose herself before facing the earl again. What if he had seen her? What would he think of her character? She paused by the window, pressing her journal to her chest, the frantic thumping of her heart loud in the quiet room.

The grounds spread out below, and she found herself scanning the path from the stream, wondering how long it would take for the earl to return and dress. She would need to give him ample time before attempting to deliver her report about the new governess.

And she needed to do that without imagining him in his naked form. Oh, fiddle!

“Think of something else,” she commanded herself, resuming her pacing. “Anything else.”

But it was of no use. The image of water streaming down his muscled form seemed permanently etched into her mind’s eye. After several minutes of restless pacing, she turned once more to the window, the darkness now having swallowed the last vestiges of daylight.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She started, whirling toward the door and staring at it as if it might sprout horns.

Was it the earl? Why would he come to her room? Perhaps he’d seen her staring at him at the stream, and then he must have seen her undignified retreat. Mercy me!

Another knock.

Honoria smoothed her hair and went to open the door only to find Lucy, one of the housemaids, bobbing a quick curtsy. Thank God!

“Begging your pardon, Miss Hartwell, but the earl is asking for you in his bedchamber.”

Dread overtook her entire body, her limbs freezing in place. “H-his… bedchamber?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy answered airily, probably not suspecting anything untoward. Why should she? It wasn’t an odd request. The earl often asked the servants to come to his chamber if he needed anything. “Right away, he said.”

“D-did he say why?” Honoria couldn’t stop the stutter.

“No, ma’am.” Lucy bobbed a curtsy and skittered away.

Honoria’s heart leapt to her throat. Switching her journal between her hands, Honoria smoothed her apron with damp palms, trying to compose herself.

He had seen her. Of course, he had. Now he would dismiss her for such impropriety, and she would be back on the streets.

No . She would not think of that. She would face him with dignity, apologize, and accept whatever consequences came. Clutching her leather journal like a shield, she made her way toward the earl’s chamber, each step bringing a new wave of mortification.

When she finally reached his door, she drew a steadying breath and knocked.

“Enter,” came his deep voice.

Oh, Lord. Honoria quietly stepped into his chamber, the warm air instantly rushing at her cheeks and making them burn even more than they were before. The fireplace crackled happily, as if mocking her trepidation.

Lord Caldwell stood by the window, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his hair still damp but combed neatly. Honoria couldn’t help but see the outlines of his well-muscled body beneath the thin fabric. How had she never noticed that before? A part of her wished she didn’t notice it now.

The earl turned as she entered, his expression as unreadable as ever as he took in her appearance.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could speak, he asked, “Why are there dead flowers in my room?”

Honoria blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unexpected question. Her eyes darted to the vase of bright yellow daffodils on his dressing table.

“Dead flowers?” she echoed. “They are not dead. They are freshly cut.”

“Perhaps, but they are not getting their nutrients from the ground, so they are deprived of the opportunity to grow further. I concede they are not yet dead, but they will be in a few short days,” he countered, his tone matter of fact.

She frowned, stumbling over her words before finding her voice. “T-they are beautiful. They bring color into your dark bedroom.” And every other room in the house. “And once they wither, I will replace them with—”

Lord Caldwell stared at her as if she was talking about killing puppies. Without finishing her sentence, Honoria walked to the dressing table and lifted the vase into her arms.

“Anything else?” she asked, confused, but slightly relieved that this was the reason he’d called her into his room.

“No.” He shook his head, already turning back to the window.

Honoria cleared her throat, her emotions leveled out by the odd conversation that had nothing to do with her seeing him naked just a few minutes ago. Did she have to remind herself of that? “I’ve hired a live-in governess for Elise,” she said, before she lost her nerve again. “She is starting tomorrow morning unless you say otherwise.”

“Did Elise speak to her?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Did she like her?”

Honoria thought the question over. As much as one can like a person after a twenty-minute interaction. “It seems so, although it is hard to determine within a short interview. Mrs. Winters seems very knowledgeable and compassionate.”

“I suppose we can give Elise time to figure out whether she likes her. It usually becomes obvious within a month.”

A small smile touched her lips. She liked that he considered the children’s feelings when making decisions about their lives. And then a tiny dread found its way into her chest. It usually becomes obvious within a month. Was that the same time period he had given Honoria? Was she still being observed?

She nodded and turned to leave, the vase clutched to her chest.

“Hart,” he called as she reached the door.

Hartwell . She didn’t correct him, just tensed, worried this was when he would finally remark on her behavior by the stream. “Yes?”

“In your opinion, are the children settling well?”

Honoria paused by the doorway, millions of thoughts rushing through her mind. Did the earl not interact as much with the children? Or did he worry about them and wanted to have another’s thoughts? “In my opinion, they are settling as best as they can considering the situation.”

“What can we do to make it easier for them?”

Warmth bloomed within her chest. That little show of kindness didn’t help the physical infatuation she was already developing toward the earl. “Just give them time, my lord.”

The earl frowned at that. It was obvious he was hoping for a different answer. Which one? Honoria couldn’t guess.

“Thank you, Hart.” He turned away, dismissing her.

Hart . She could get used to that.

* * *

The next evening, Jacob, the Earl of Caldwell, sank into the armchair by his fireplace and loosened his cravat with a weary sigh. He had never felt so drained as he felt every night after dinner.

It didn’t used to be like this. Most of his life, he’d had dinner in his study, behind his desk while reading a book, working, or going through his correspondence. He hadn’t needed to change his attire or pause his activities when Mrs. Clarke had come in and brought him his plate.

Now it was different. And it was his own fault.

In his misguided attempt to make the children feel at home, he had invited them to share dinner with him, with the exception of the youngest. And he’d quickly found out it was a mistake.

He didn’t know how to talk to children. They definitely didn’t feel comfortable enough to initiate the conversation either. So the dinners were filled with tense, awkward silence.

Perhaps he needed to turn one of the guest rooms into a children’s dining room. Yes, that would be infinitely better. That way, they’d be able to share dinner with their youngest sibling if they wished.

What if that made them think he didn’t want to have dinner with them? Would it make them think they weren’t welcome or that they were a burden? That was the last thing he wanted them to feel.

It wasn’t easy having them in his house. He’d never felt as uncomfortable in his own home as he had in the last few weeks since the children had moved in. But it wasn’t their fault.

Jacob just wasn’t used to sharing his space with anyone. For years, he had spent his days in complete silence. Monthly check-ins with his tenants, the occasional conversations with his business partners, and brief exchanges with his servants were enough for him to not crave further human connection.

Now, most of the day, there was chatter around the house, musical instruments playing, the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and even crying. It overwhelmed him.

More painful than his dwindling comfort, however, was the awkwardness and tension that filled the air whenever he and the children shared the same space.

With a sigh, Jacob took off his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. The room swam before his eyes as he sank deeper into the comfort of his chair.

How had his sister managed these children? Louisa had made motherhood look effortless. He had seen her, and the children, no more than once a year, but the chaos of her household had never troubled him. She had always seemed entirely in command. He, on the other hand, felt like a man drowning.

A dark-green blob caught his attention on the other side of his room. Jacob leaned forward but failed to identify the foreign object. He put on his spectacles and was surprised to see green leaves peeking out of the clay pot on his dressing table. Jacob frowned. He didn’t recall placing it there.

He stood and approached the alien object.

Epipremnum aureum.

A plant that infamously didn’t flower and thrived in the dark. Known better by its common name—Devil’s Ivy.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. He had never thought of having a potted plant in his room. Interestingly, he didn’t mind being there.

At least, this one was alive.