Edward and Amelia

  Cover image Woman Standing By Window © Matilda Delves / Trevillion Image. Historical Buildings © Andrea Astes / iStock.com

  Cover design copyright © 2022 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2022 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. This work is not an official publication. 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: June 2022

  ISBN 978-1-52442-107-6

  Praise for Karen Thornell

  Edward and Amelia

  “A witty, rare gem with a delicious slow burn!”

  —InD’tale Magazine

  “A notorious rake, a duke’s daughter, and a scandal that forces them to marry. Ms. Thornell has crafted a beautiful story of redemption and romance that readers will fall in love with from the very first page.”

  —Tiffany Odekirk, author of Summerhaven

  Pursuing Miss Hall

  “This is a charming novella that transports us to a Regency-era house party with all its customs and propriety. The point of view shifts between Meg and Nathan as they struggle to deal with their feelings. In the midst of picnics, dances, and garden strolls, Nathan’s angst and Meg’s confusion are well portrayed. The plot is timeless, as two friends struggle between what they want to do and what society tells them they ought to do. This is a pleasant and endearing love story that Regency romance fans will enjoy.”

  —Historical Novel Society

  To Marry an Earl

  “The story is well written with a well-researched historical background and attention to the societal mores of the time period. The ending is satisfying and exciting.”

  —Meridian Magazine

  “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

  “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 An Accidental Romance

  “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 Silver Dollar Duke

  To my mom.

  Definitely not because you told me I needed to dedicate a book to you . . . but because you’re the reason I love books. Love you more.

  Acknowledgments

  This part of a book is one of my favorite parts to write. It’s where I get to prove that writing a book, though seemingly a solitary endeavor, is really one of those “it takes a village” things. First and foremost, to my family. My husband for supporting me and my girls for loving me even when I’m just sitting at a computer. You guys are my why. And to my dad, who funded my early reading habits and should have gotten a shout out in my last book but didn’t because I’m scatterbrained. Oh, and Grey . . . because I was on TV talking about my book on your birthday, and I didn’t even mention you! How rude am I?

  Tori Earl, you spent hours on this book with me. You made lists, debated scenes, and helped me breathe life into characters. I cannot thank you enough.

  Cindy, you beta read this in its entirety not once, but twice. Your feedback is always pure gold. Thank you for getting me and getting my writing . . . and helping me to elevate it. Rachel Fordham, you are incredible. Thank you for your enormous help in fleshing out my characters and adding depth to this story.

  Megan, another incredible beta reader who read this twice. Thanks for loving Edward and for also helping me polish him and the rest of the story.

  Madi, you always make me do the hard things, but boy is it worth it. I can’t wait for more Facetime calls in the future where you tell me how I’ve botched my latest book (with love, of course)!

  Aubree, thanks for unfailingly catching every typo. I’ll tell readers to blame you if they find more!

  To my wonderful beta readers: Robyn, Tori, and Shanda—I hope you enjoy my books and not just because we are related, since I’m not sure I can stop myself from talking your ears off about them. Thank you for your love, support, and brainstorming. To my critique group, I’m so happy to have you on this writing journey. Thank you, Whitney especially, for taking the time to beta read this book! Heather, thanks for talking things out with me and being excited about my book. Anne and Jill, I adored all of your comments; your thoughts really improved this story. I still go back and look at them when I need to remember I’m not that bad of a writer. THANK YOU!

  To the Lady’s Literary Society. You guys . . . there are no words for how much I love you all and am grateful for you. Each one of you is incredible.

  To Covenant and the amazing team there. Amy, I’m so glad to have you on my side—you are a force to be reckoned with. And Ashley, you are the best editor there is. Thank you so, so much.

  And to you, reader, for taking a chance on this book. I hope you love Edward and Amelia as much as I do.

  Prologue

  October 1812

  “Rot—Utter rot!”

  The dark scowl felt heavy on Edward’s face as he strode from Lord Bowcott’s country home. It pulled on the corners of his mouth and narrowed his eyes to slits, beneath which he glowered at his carriage as it ambled up the drive. His entire purpose in coming to this man’s home was to learn how Miss Cartwright had slipped through his fingers. But instead of even seeing the woman, he’d been kept from any of the members of the house party—the betrothal party, which was not his own—and been chased from the home by James Fenwick and his ridiculous friends.

  He kept his head high despite the knot that now twisted his insides, its grip tightening with each step he took.

  This should not wound him so. It should not matter. One inconsequential woman was not so different from the next . . . and yet there was an acute pain spreading through him. He broke his stride, for only a moment. A self-proclaimed hardened man should not be so affected. Particularly when the set down came from a woman he neither knew nor cared for.

  With a great deal of force, he propelled a rock from his path, scuffing the tip of his polished Hessian boots. His scowl deepened. How in the blazes did such a man manage to snare London’s incomparable right out from under Edward’s nose? He had been certain—certain—the woman’s father would choose his own suit, with an ample wedding settlement and not insignificant connections, over the new Lord Bowcott’s.

  He was Edward Drayton, the Earl of Norwich, devil take it! It was unaccountable. Ridiculous. Embarrassing.

  With fluid movements, he climbed into his carriage, steam practically pouring from his ears. He was all too eager to leave the Earl of Bowcott’s home—and this utter disgrace—behind as quickly as possible. Surely once the structure and its grounds were out of view, he would be able to go back to his unemotional ways. Would be able to brush off the knowledge that he’d traveled all this way for nothing. After years of being quite literally hunted by various women of the ton, he could never have anticipated this sort of set down. It was humiliating, and it put Edward back a great deal in his plans to find the ideal wife.

  Barton, his valet, cleared his throat from his seat across the carriage.

  Edward cut his eyes to the man, scowling further.

  “Not a word, Barton. I do not wish to speak of this. Ever.”

  Barton closed his mouth and nodded, ever the faultless servant.

  Edward pounded twice on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward. Outside, their equipage made plenty of noise, but inside, silence beat like a drum.

  Edward bounced the heel of his boot, stewing in his anger. Every minute or so Barton shot him a concerned look. It only angered Edward more.

  After several tense moments in which Edward thoroughly bruised his own hand from clenching it so tightly, he gave in to Barton’s continued glances. “What could Lord Bowcott possibly have that would commend him more than me?” Edward ground out the words, piercing Barton with a glare.

  Barton said nothing.

  Edward rubbed his jaw. H
is servant was only a year or two Edward’s senior, if a head shorter, but he appeared far older when he adopted that stony, proper facade. It was one of Edward’s personal vexations when Barton acted so . . . like a servant. It was blasted frustrating, being that the valet was the closest thing to a friend Edward could boast of. But, at times, Edward became all too aware of their difference in social standing. Such as now, when the man refused to speak after his master commanded him not to. But Barton clearly wished to speak—Edward could tell from the slight pulling in of his cheeks and the miniscule lift of his brow.

  “He is entirely new to his title and not in any way worthy of a prize such as Miss Cartwright. How did he manage it? It’s a bag of moonshine—the lot of it.” Edward’s voice rose as he spoke, and he wished for a drink. Perhaps they would stop at an inn early.

  Barton watched him, but still, he said nothing, though his expression continued to reveal he had plenty in his thoughts. Edward sighed, though the sound was far more frustrated than relenting.

  “Go on, Barton. Speak your blasted mind.”

  The man needed no more than that. He folded his arms and pierced Edward with a look. A look heavy with challenge. “Perhaps, my lord, Miss Cartwright’s father took offense with your reputation.”

  Edward swatted away the valet’s words, shaking his head; Miss Cartwright’s father only cared for the financial benefit he would receive from marrying his daughter off. That was the man’s whole point in offering her up for marriage—to settle his many debts. Edward’s reputation as a rake would not have been a factor in the slightest, which made it even more ridiculous that Lord Bowcott was chosen over himself.

  “Then perhaps, my lord, Lord Bowcott was simply the better man for the deal.” Barton sat back, looking out the window after raising his eyebrows at Edward. The man likely only meant that Bowcott had offered more in terms of wedding settlement, but his words struck Edward far deeper than that. Deep enough that they even touched at that part of Edward’s emotions he had not examined since his mother’s death. Suddenly defeated, he sat back against the cushioned seat and massaged the bridge of his nose.

  Lord Bowcott most certainly was the better man, loathe as Edward was to admit it. Not that it would take much to be awarded such a title against himself. Edward was known for the many scandals surrounding his name or, perhaps even more so, for his general disregard of what the ton thought of him at all. It had never bothered him much until recently, but now it was frustrating him a great deal. Miss Cartwright was only one example in his life where he had fallen short . . . and he was not supposed to accept failure. Earls did not fall short of expectation.

  He groaned, letting his head fall backward and his eyes close. He needed a distraction from this latest deficiency.

  Chapter One

  March 1813

  “Would you prefer the red or yellow tonight, my lord?”

  “Neither, Barton. The black will do.”

  Edward’s valet stared at him in shock, the two proffered clothing items suspended from his frozen hands. Edward chuckled. It was not wholly unexpected that he would choose to forgo a brightly colored waistcoat for the evening, even though he hadn’t made such a choice in nearly three years. He’d given it a great deal of thought, and tempering his wardrobe seemed the best option to accomplish his plans for the Season. Plans that were now much more settled than when he’d attempted them at the end of last Season.

  “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.” Barton turned for the requested waistcoat.

  Edward scoffed. “Enough with the bowing and scraping. You know I do not condone it. Tell me, how is your mother faring these days?”

  With quick, brusque movements, Barton brushed out the black waistcoat, his back to Edward. “Not well, my lord. My sister writes that our mother continues to have failing strength, and her headaches have increased in intensity. They feel they must call for a doctor, but the village’s physician retired last year, and a new one has not replaced him. I do not know how she will recover in such a situation.”

  Edward watched his friend attempting nonchalance. Both men were without fathers, and now Barton stood to lose his mother as well.

  For a moment, Edward thought of the death of his own mother—but only a moment.

  “You must go to her,” Edward said as his valet helped him into the waistcoat.

  “Lord Norwich, you know I cannot. My position—”

  “Will still be here when you return. I can make do with a footman in the interim. Go. I will not sway in this, Barton. You ought to see your mother. Really, I should have sent you earlier. Take all the time you need.” Edward took the proffered cravat, to tie it himself as always. “And the coach. Take my traveling coach; I’ve no need for it at the start of the Season. I don’t plan to go anywhere.”

  Barton watched him with a furrowed brow, his inner battle clear. The man was unfailingly loyal to Edward, but he also dearly loved his mother, and her health had been struggling for some time.

  “Very well, my lord. I thank you. But I will take the mail coach.”

  “You will not. You will take my coach and be gone as long as you need. You may write when you have an idea of your return. And that’s an order.”

  Barton fought a smile—the first he’d shown in this conversation. “Well, I certainly cannot disobey a direct order. Wouldn’t want to lose my job.”

  “The devil you wouldn’t. I imagine you’d be far happier as a farmer with not a person in sight to bother you with idle talk.”

  His valet looked affronted. “I am perfectly happy with my position, my lord.”

  Edward clapped him on the shoulder. “I know, man. One day you will learn to recognize a jest. Now, go prepare for your travels. If you leave immediately, you may get as far as Chelmsford tonight. I will see you when you return.” He turned to the mirror, then began to tie his neck cloth.

  The fact that Barton did not put up any more of a fight was a mark of how dire the situation must be. “Would you like me to order your phaeton before I depart?”

  Edward waved his elbow distractedly, his hands busy attempting to polish off the cravat. “The Haddingtons’ home is not far. I will walk.” At seeing Barton’s widened eyes, he chuckled.

  The man paused in the doorway. “Are you certain you are feeling well, my lord?”

  “Better than ever, Barton. Now off with you. And take the better of the two carriages or I shall dock your wages!”

  Finally alone, Edward stared at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the emptiness that filled the room with only him there. His shoulders sagged. He had no desire to attend a dinner and ball this evening. He had no desire to evade the ton’s games any longer. Which was rich, coming from him; Edward had, after all, created many of the games himself. Yet now instead of wagers, his mind was full of plans. Three years spent mocking the institution of Society had proved distracting, but it had left him with a horrible reputation.

  He sighed and was pulled to the door only by the amusing thought that Society would find his transformation shocking. Being perceived as a rake and a scoundrel had lost its entertainment. It was time to face his future on his terms. Should he be successful—he must be successful—then perhaps he could shake this blasted loneliness.

  He rolled his shoulders, stepping out of his bedchamber. This Season, London would be getting a surprise of the sort it reveled in. Lord Norwich—infamous flirt and indisputable bachelor—planned to return to the marriage mart as a changed man.

  And for the first time in his adult life, he was in honest pursuit of a wife.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia Kennington crept up the servants’ staircase, avoiding that one squeaky step she’d found within a day of being in her family’s London home. Now, two weeks later, she was able to successfully navigate the home undetected, despite never having visited in all of her nineteen years.

  She reached the first floor, about to turn to the right to take the servants’ stairs all the way up to her bedchamber, but voices in the drawing room froze her foot in midair.