To Marry an Earl

  Cover image Mansion in Garden © Drunaa / Trevillion Images, Regency Woman © Lee Avison / Trevillion Images

  Cover design by Christina Marcano © 2021 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2021 by Karen Thornell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: September 2021

  ISBN 978-1-52441-448-1

  To Benjamin.

  Thank you for loving and supporting me

  and for writing absolutely terrible love scenes so I know what not to do.

  Praise for Karen Thornell

  “Karen Thornell jumps onto the Regency scene with both fists swinging. Her debut novel proves she’s a voice worth watching as she carefully helps James and Kate find love despite the many challenges that riddle their path.”

  —Rachel Fordham, author of A Lady in Attendance

  “Katherine Cartwright wants no part of love, especially after seeing the relationship between her parents. But when two London Seasons don’t produce a husband, her father decides to marry her off to the highest bidder. He needs money to pay off his gambling bills. When the new Earl of Bowcott hears about the deal, James makes sure his bid will secure Kate’s future. But when Kate gets to her new home, there is no Earl. And why is his staff so secretive about him? Who is this new Earl that paid her father off for marriage to her? You will find all of the answers and more in Karen Thornell’s To Marry An Earl.

  I wanted to read this book because I love Regency stories and I find that Karen Thornell does an excellent job of writing a compelling story that will have readers coming back for more. She creates likable and interesting characters that are realistic and believable. I really liked Kate and I hurt for her because of the horrific home life she endured, with a disturbing, despicable father who was just plain mean to her. Thankfully, James is a sweetheart. But I did get frustrated at him because he kept digging himself deeper and deeper into his lies. I was dying for the two to truly meet again. The story is pretty predictable, but it’s fun reading how it all pans out until the end. I thoroughly enjoyed To Marry An Earl and can’t wait to read Karen Thornell’s next Regency book, Pursuing Miss Hall. If you love a good, clean romance read, I encourage you to check this one out.”

  —Readers’ Favorite Five-Star Review

  “Karen Thornell’s debut novel To Marry an Earl is a delight, with strong, empathetic characters and a “will they or won’t they make it work” aspect that keeps you turning the pages. I can’t wait to read more from this talented new author!”

  —Karen Tuft, author of The Duke Meets His Match

  “A delightful debut by Karen Thornell. Prepare to be charmed by this engaging and well-crafted Regency.”

  —Joanna Barker, author of Otherwise Engaged

  “To Marry an Earl, debut Regency novel by Karen Thornell, is an absolutely enchanting tale of unrequited love and unbelievable risk. Especially for our hero, James Fenwick. Katherine Cartwright is a charming heroine, fighting against a world that doesn’t value her as an individual, and fighting her heart when she begins to fall in love. Thornell is a delightful new voice in a beloved genre, and readers will fall in love with her work and find deep satisfaction in the way she draws the threads of this story into a most gratifying and happy conclusion.”

  —Sally Britton, author of A Companion for the Count

  Acknowledgments

  I started this writing journey thinking, “I read a lot . . . That means I can write a book, right?” Wrong. I was wrong. If not for the many amazing authors, teachers, beta readers, editors, and supporters, this book wouldn’t be here.

  So thank you, first, to my husband, for believing I could write this book, even when I didn’t, and for celebrating each milestone with me. And to my daughters for letting me trade bedtime for writing time many a day during drafting and editing. And to my mom for instilling in me a love of the written word.

  Tori Beck, you read this first when I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. Thank you for urging me to finish and for buoying me up when I thought it was terrible. (It probably was, so thanks for lying too.)

  Tori Earl, I truly couldn’t have finished this book without you. Thank you for loving my characters with me, brainstorming whenever I needed it, and being such an amazing support. If you’re reading this, it means I finally mean it when I say I won’t pester you about James and Kate anymore! But I make no promises about future books.

  Rachel Fordham and Esther Hatch, thank you, thank you for reading the beginning of this book. Your thoughts, suggestions, and support were so appreciated!

  Thank you to my amazing beta readers: Krista Schuenman, Amy Schuenman, Robyn Thornell, Shanda Antuna, Krista Thornell, Christina James, and Laura Mahaffey. I appreciate you all more than you know!

  To my critique group: Hollijo, Whitney, and Cindy. How in the world did I get so lucky to randomly be assigned a critique group with all of you? You’re amazing! Cindy, thank you for being one of my therapists while I tried to crawl my way through edits. Hollijo, thanks for answering my hundred historical questions, and thank you, Whitney, for doing a bit of both!

  Thank you to the Writing Gals Facebook group. I gained so much information and so many resources on writing there. It would have been a much slower start if not for them.

  Covenant Communications, thank you for choosing to publish Kate and James’s story. And Amy Parker, I’m so blessed to have joined a team headed by your incredible marketing and kindness. A special thanks also has to go to Ashley Gebert for her incredible editing and insights and for not thinking I was crazy with the many emails I sent while editing.

  And to my Heavenly Father. I felt His support in starting this book but especially in editing it. Words cannot express my gratitude and love.

  Chapter 1

  Oxfordshire, 1812

  A crash echoed through the silent manor home, practically setting it shaking. Katherine startled, her gaze jumping to the door.

  “Where is she?” The loud, slurred words reached her bedroom easily, and she tentatively stood from her chair, setting her book aside. Her hands shook slightly with the movement, but she stilled them in an instant. Father was home weeks before expected and apparently in a terrible mood. Though, by this point in his life, perhaps it would be more appropriate to simply consider such moods his character.

  “Eleanor! Eleanor, come here now!” Glass shattered, punctuating the sharp command. Mama really ought to stop furnishing the front hall with breakables.

  “My lord, we did not know you were arriving. Lady Harcourt is . . . she is in the drawing room, my lord.” The butler’s voice was placating, and Kate could imagine his stiff, rickety frame attempting to calm Father.

  “Blast you, Winston. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

  Winston responded to Father’s drunken words, but Kate could not hear him clearly, presumably because they were traveling farther into the house.

  Absently, she fingered her green day dress, staring at the door as if it could tell her why Father
was here and what it would mean for her. Her lips pressed together. She ought to go down to Mama and provide support against Father’s latest frenzy, but then she would have to move from the safety of her bedchamber. A summons would come for her within minutes; was it so bad to enjoy a last second of peace?

  Rather unkind of me to leave her alone.

  She loved her mama—she really did—but the fact was that the woman possessed not an ounce of backbone and required Kate to possess enough for both of them. But it had been months since Kate’s backbone had proved enough against Father’s anger. She was beginning to wonder if it were better to simply submit and hide as her mother often did.

  She took a deep breath.

  Yes, she should go down.

  Full of good intentions, she straightened her shoulders, but still her feet wouldn’t move. All she managed was a half-hearted shifting of weight. Perhaps she was secretly a coward. She’d never considered that.

  Quick, light footsteps sounded in the hall. Right on time.

  “Miss?” Betsy’s timid voice and soft knock were nearly indistinguishable. “Your mother has requested you attend her in the drawing room . . . The viscount is with her.”

  Well. That settled that. “Of course, Betsy, I will be down directly.”

  Propelling herself forward, Kate exited her sanctuary and descended the main staircase. Her hands twisted in front of her before she forced them to her sides. She wiped clammy palms against her dress. Raised voices, or, more accurately, one single, male voice, reached her before the sitting room door came into view.

  “—failed yet again! You have had one job—to get the girl married, and yet here she is, draining my resources! And meanwhile, Markson has called in my debt, and the others won’t be far behind. Yet you wish the girl to have another Season?”

  Kate reached the entrance but rocked back on her heels, listening. They must be speaking of her and her upcoming Season in London. It would be her third. And, if Kate could manage it, her last.

  “Yes, I am certain that one more Season will be enough to . . .” Her mother’s faltering response provided the motivation needed to spur Kate into action. Quickly, she checked that her dress was smooth and her hair still contained in the knot behind her head lest she give Father something to reproach. Then she pushed the door open before she could change her mind.

  Mama stood in the middle of the room facing the door with her back to Father, who was pacing the length of the back wall. She met Kate’s concerned countenance with a strained smile. “Katherine. Dear. Your father has returned home. Wonderful news, yes?” Then Mama lowered herself to the nearest chair and did her best to blend in with the upholstery. Kate walked just past her helpless form.

  “Welcome home, Father. I trust your journey was pleasant.” She lifted her chin, preparing for the onslaught his drunken anger generally offered. His usually immaculate gray hair was mussed, and his cravat was loose.

  Father stared at her for a moment, and Kate counted backwards from ten, willing herself not to look away. A bead of sweat dripped from his hairline, borne of angered exertion. She was used to such glares. Her father only ever met her eyes when he was attempting intimidation. Otherwise, he ignored her completely. Somehow, that made returning the stare easier; it was nearly habitual.

  He broke the contact first, his expression appearing almost shameful. The peculiarity struck Kate. Shame was not one of Father’s several emotions as of late. Anger. Resentment. Pride. Never shame. Before she could do any more than consider the odd occurrence, his gaze returned to her and hardened.

  “Pleasant?” A muscle worked in his jaw. “What would have been pleasant would have been remaining in London, enjoying the company at my club. Pleasant would not include countless bills for ridiculous dresses. Pleasant?” he scoffed, looking not at her but through her. He never looked at her anymore. “Blast it all, why couldn’t I have had a son?” The words came out muttered, and his large form paced away from her, hands clenched at his sides. His distress was so great she might have felt sorry for him . . . were he not bemoaning her very existence.

  Her eyes slid toward Mama, seeking some sort of ally, but Mama’s head was bowed and her hands fisted in her lap. Kate bit back a sigh.

  Abruptly, Father stalked toward her with his finger raised in accusation. Kate flinched but did not move. Instead, she began her counting again. 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .

  “I refuse to foot the bill for you to trounce around a hundred more ballrooms.”

  7 . . . 6 . . .

  “I refuse to allow you to thanklessly drain our resources a moment longer.”

  5 . . .

  “No!” He pounded the back of an armchair, and Kate sucked in a breath. “You must marry and remove yourself from my home before I have to waste another crown on you.”

  The breath whooshed out of her, and Kate blinked dumbly, her counting cutting off as Father spun and paced away from her. He is drunk. He is merely drunk. It was a baseless threat. One she’d heard before.

  And yet, she felt a heavy weight drop into her stomach and make itself at home.

  “You received numerous offers last Season and the Season before that. We will simply hand you off to one of them.” Father paused, considering his own words.

  He could not be serious. Not after all Kate had done to dissuade him from each of those offers. Not when she was so close to freedom. Kate glanced again at Mama, who only raised her head, appearing just as wary and confused as Kate felt.

  “Yes,” Father spoke again, ignoring them both. “That is it. That is the thing. We will have the banns posted—better yet, the poor fellow will retrieve a special license, and we will fix all of this in a few weeks. Less if I can help it.”

  Kate’s mouth nearly fell open as her eyes searched his face, attempting to discern how much sincerity lay in his words. But Father appeared oddly unfocused, a desperate gleam in his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Silas—”

  “Father—”

  His nostrils flared with annoyance as both Kate and Mama began speaking simultaneously. Mama’s mouth clamped shut, eyes averted once more. Kate would be fighting this battle on her own. She met his drunken eyes even as her hands shook. When Father raised a brow at her, she even forgot her counting. Pretended courage would not serve her here, not when the stakes were suddenly so high. Kate straightened, utilizing every inch of her slim, five-and-a-half-foot frame.

  “Father,” she began again, cautiously, “last Season you indicated that none of those men were good enough to align with our family.” Or rather—she’d convinced him of such. “Several did not even have titles.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Indecision? She could only hope.

  “You also said none had offered a—a settlement worthy of your attention.”

  That something flashed again before his blue eyes narrowed to slits, the lines about them stretching to his hairline like spiderwebs. Her stomach tightened.

  “We will simply open the option to more notable men,” he said with finality.

  No. Kate felt her throat collapse in on itself. He was decided, and when Father decided something, nothing could sway him otherwise.

  “But, Silas, how . . . that is . . . what do you mean to do, precisely?” Mama had found her voice at last, but it seemed too late.

  The entirety of Father’s six-foot, bulky frame turned to Mama, defensiveness twisting his steady gaze. “I will put it about that the daughter of the Viscount Harcourt is in need of a husband and the best offer will get her. I have enough report in Town to manage it. And with how many marriage proposals I have received the last two years, it will be easy enough.” He flicked a disgusted look at Kate. “At least she is pretty. Even if she’s not good for anything else, I ought to fetch a good price for the girl.” He winced, as if recognizing the harshness of these words spoken as if Kate were not there, but he did not take them b
ack.

  Frankly, Kate felt as if she weren’t there. Her body was rooted to the spot, but her mind seemed to rise above her, unconsciously taking in the faded opulence of the room. Once beautiful, it was now a threadbare version of itself, rather like Mama. It had not been redecorated since she had come to live here as a new bride some twenty years ago—the drapes were fraying, and the furniture showed wear.

  Father stormed toward the door, breaking her odd trance.

  “Wait!”

  He did not even turn, but he did pause long enough for Kate to abandon her careful austerity.

  “My dowry. Father, if . . . if you will only give me my dowry, I will leave. I will go and not bother you any longer.” The words which she had planned on presenting for years now hung empty in the room. She did not dare turn to see Mama’s reaction; it would only further Kate’s guilt at wishing to abandon this stifling home.

  Finally, Father moved. He looked slowly over his shoulder at Kate. His expression was . . . defeated. But then it hardened.

  “There is no dowry.”

  A choked gasp flew from her, but the sound was swallowed in the slamming of the door behind her father’s exit.

  Everything in her sagged. She wished to run after her father, demand an explanation, but something told her there would be none. There would only be more yelling and accusations and pain. There was nothing Kate could do. Turning, she almost apathetically took in her mama—black hair and tired eyes, a woman reduced to a shadow of her former self by a brutish husband. A brutish husband whom she had loved, likely still loved in some inconceivable way.

  When Mama said nothing beyond a miserable sort of whimper, Kate slipped from the room, leaving her broken mother behind. That was what love did: it broke where it should build. It caused heartbreak in the wake of its all-encompassing devotion. Kate wanted no part in it.

  Almost unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her middle as she ascended the stairs, holding her emotions in place.