Regency Romance: The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame (CLEAN Historical Romance) (Fire and Smoke) Read online

  The Earl’s Unforgettable Flame

  Fire and Smoke

  Charlotte Stone

  ShermanBrooks Publishers

  Contents

  Copyright

  Find Out More

  Personal word from Charlotte Stone

  Dedication

  About The Author

  The Earl’s Unforgetabble Flame

  .

  Prologue

  .

  1

  Old Wounds

  .

  2

  Dinner with a Lord

  .

  3

  A Help in Times of Trouble

  .

  4

  The Question

  .

  5

  Homecoming

  .

  6

  A New Point of View

  .

  7

  Hope for a Second Chance

  .

  8

  Asked, Answered, Aching, and Arson

  .

  9

  Finding a Wife

  .

  10

  The Dance

  .

  11

  Jealousy and Gossip

  .

  12

  The End of it All

  .

  13

  The Intervention of Siblings

  .

  14

  Reaching Out

  .

  15

  An Invitation and a Question

  .

  16

  The Duke and Lady Julia

  .

  17

  Scorched Earth

  .

  18

  An Unexpected Visitor

  .

  19

  Letting Her Go

  .

  20

  Blooming Time

  .

  Epilogue

  .

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  Publishers Notes

  Copyright © 2016 by

  Charlotte Stone

  and

  ShermanBrooks Publishing House LLC

  All Rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * * * *

  Sign up for Charlotte Stone’s New Releases mailing list and you will be automatically get notified as soon as her future series is available.

  Click the yellow Find Out More link button below to get started

  * * *

  PERSONAL WORD

  FROM CHARLOTTE STONE

  * * *

  Dear lovely readers,

  The characters of my writings are women who have a strong mind of their own, women who know what they want to pursue in life. It is their tenacity to finding true love that drives them to overcome the challenges which they may face while waiting for the man of their dreams.

  Will such tenacity of their believing bring them true love in spite of the societal-standing challenges one will face in an era such as that of Regency.

  Read on to find out the answers!

  Thank you once again for your strong support in my writing journey!

  Much Love,

  * * *

  DEDICATION

  * * *

  “A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

  Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Specially Dedicated to you, my Dear Reader!

  It is with a heart of gratitude that I wrote this message of dedication to you.

  Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share with you my writings.

  I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

  It is support like yours that keep authors like us going and striving to write even better novels for you!

  Have you checked out my other historical romance book series?

  Click the link below to get started

  *** Amazon US ***

  * * *

  Got something to share?

  I would want to hear from you!

  So please do get in touch with me:

  https://www.facebook.com/charlottestonebooks

  [email protected]

  * * *

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  In a near cynical world which we are currently living in, Charlotte finds comfort in the readings of Regency Romance writings, one of her favourite would be Laura Kinsale’s Flowers from the storm where the female character loves and saves the male lead character who is a stroke victim. It was such writings which inspired her to be an author herself.

  In Charlotte’s writings, the characters are able to see beyond the imperfections of each other and to accept and love one another, just the way one is.

  Isn’t this true of our inner self? To be able to find someone who is able to see the beauty in us, in spite of all imperfections we might have.

  Isn’t this true of what love really should be? Ever accepting, ever loving, ever seeking.

  May you find love and acceptance in Charlotte’s writings.

  * * *

  THE EARL’S UNFORGETTABLE FLAME

  .

  FIRE AND SMOKE

  .

  * * *

  by

  Charlotte Stone

  and

  ShermanBrooks Publishing House

  * * *

  .

  “I saw the way you looked at my scars when we first met,” Catherine began as her voice trembled. “So, you know that I am…not damaged but certainly not fit for the likes of you. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “But it wasn’t the first time we met,” Benjamin finally blurted. “I saw you on the night of the fire. We spoke. When I saw your scars again, I was just putting together a memory that I have never been able to forget.”

  “Because you never forgot my deformities,” she assumed. Her voice lacked any self-pity. It was as if she was just stating the facts. “How could you?”

  “No,” he cried. “It was your bravery that stayed with me.

  “There is nothing I can say to change your mind? No compliment I could give, however true in my opinion, will convince you of your beauty to me or how much I esteem you?”

  She bit her lip. “You are very kind, Lord Benjamin. And well meaning, too. But you deserve someone worthy of the title countess someday. And that is not me.”

  There was nothing left to say. …

  * * *

  Prologue

  .

  Pritchford, Yorkshire

  1809

  On the night her family’s home burned to the ground, Catherine Watson was dreaming of a knight on a handsome silver horse traveling from a faraway land to rescue a beautiful princess. She slept on as the fire crept its way up the walls, blissfully unaware.

  She finally woke to the terrible heat, her head already dizzy from the smoke. Her blue eyes, large in her tiny face, blinked in confusion at the hellish sight that surrounded her. Could this be a dream, too? Or perhaps a nightmare? Still halfway dreaming, she thought at first a roaring dragon was responsible for the flames.

  After a few moments of confusion, a high-pitched scream echoed from the direction of the nursery, and she scrambled from her bed. Think
ing of those brave knights and the love she bore her little sister Jane, Catherine stumbled toward her bedroom door, tripping on her coverlet. Though she was wanted to be courageous, a part of her knew that she should be scared. Her belly coiled tightly as she began to run, her nightgown flapping against her heels. She had to make it to the nursery. She had to save her sister. Dread and panic mixed together in her throat as she breathed in the smoke.

  But once there, she could not find her sister. She began to cough, and once she started, she could not stop. Her eyes watered, but still she looked for Jane. Catherine could not find her in bed nor near the toy horse they both loved.

  Once again, she heard someone screaming, but suddenly Catherine was more tired than she could ever remember being. She tried to move, but her limbs were sluggish, as if the air was the quicksand Nanny had told her about in one of her bedtime stories. She fell to the ground, but it did not hurt. Nothing hurt anymore, not even her burning lungs. Her cheek rested against the floor as she watched fingers of red and orange reach up the walls. Her eyes slowly shut.

  When she woke up, she was on the ground. She thought grass was beneath her, but she was so confused it was hard to tell. Was she in her nightgown? Had she had a nightmare? Where was Nanny or Mama? They would make it better. They always made it better.

  Then the pain hit her so completely and strongly that the very air burned her skin. Seeking refuge from the torment, her mind shut off completely as her body continued to quake in pain. She lost consciousness just as her parents rounded what had been the side of their home, screaming her name over and over again. Certain she had died in the fire, they let out a relieved breath as they reached her. But upon seeing her injuries, her mother fell to her knees.

  It was as if the skin of her neck and arm had simply melted, layers scraped off by the fire, every nerve exposed.

  “My girl, my girl,” her mother sobbed, rocking on her knees, afraid to touch her daughter for fear she would cause more pain to the mottled flesh.

  Would Cat survive? There was no way to know.

  * * *

  Catherine looked so tiny in the bed, Benjamin Frederickson thought, with soot clinging to her plait of blond hair. She was just a little girl, squeezing her eyes shut as the doctor tended to her arm. She looked younger than his twin sister but not by very much. From his vantage point, Benjamin could see no visible injury, which made him cross that his father had pulled him out of bed. Then he heard his father, Lord Wembley, speaking with Mr. Watson.

  “She should be screaming in pain,” Benjamin’s father said quietly. “Poor thing. What will we do? How could this happen?”

  “Catherine would never want to worry us, Lord Wembley. She could never bear anyone else’s pain but her own. She’s keeping quiet for my sake,” said the girl’s father, Mr. Watson, his voice trembling as he anxiously watched the scene in front of him. He was smaller than Benjamin’s father and covered in black grime. He was a gentleman of some means, but did not look it now. “We have no idea where the fire started or how. We are very conscientious, and for it to become so awful so quickly? My wife went to the nursery to rescue our youngest daughter, Jane, and I went for Catherine at the other end of our home, but she wasn’t there. I thought my wife would have both girls when I exited. She thought I would have Catherine with me. We were inconsolable as the house began to collapse. None of the servants had seen her either, so we thought she must be still inside. Until we heard her scream around back, we thought she was dead.” His voice croaked over the last words. “We are so blessed that she is alive, but we have no earthly idea how she made it out the house. She has explained, as best she can, that she went to the nursery looking for her sister but remembers nothing else. There is no way she left the house on her own two feet. So, how did she escape?”

  Benjamin had never seen a man look as exhausted or downtrodden as Mr. Watson. Though he’d never met the man before, he knew the house, or what had been the house, several hours earlier. It had not been a great estate, nothing like Pritchford Place, but a nicely situated manor house.

  “Papa, I am all right,” Catherine croaked from the bed. Benjamin wondered if it was the smoke she’d inhaled that caused her voice to be so hoarse. Had she cried for help for a long time? How frightened had she been? Had she seen the fire eating the walls? Though he was twelve, nearly thirteen, and wanted to be brave because that was what his father, the Earl of Wembley, would expect, he shuddered. His uncle, the younger son to Benjamin’s father and one of Benjamin’s heroes, was the bravest man he knew. He had bought a commission in the army as soon as he was of age to fight Napoleon. Still, Benjamin could not imagine waking in the middle of the night to a fire on the great estate of Pritchford Place. He would not know what to do. Would he think of saving his sister as this young girl had? Or would he be selfish, in the way that fear makes most people, and think only of getting out himself?

  Benjamin always worried he would fall short, both in terms of Uncle Robert’s bravery and his father’s expectation of responsibility, but this Catherine had exceeded both of those expectations. A girl! And younger than him, too!

  Honestly, when his father woke him in the middle of the night, Benjamin had complained over going to see this family. “What does this have to do with me?” he’d asked. But his father had insisted that they had a responsibility to the people of Pritchford, and that this responsibility would one day be Benjamin’s as the future Earl of Wembley. It might not be as large of a city or as connected to London as Ripon, but the majority of the land was owned by Benjamin’s family, the Fredericksons. Duty ran in his father’s blood—passed down by grandfather and beyond. His father expected it to be in Benjamin’s blood as well, but Benjamin feared he was lacking some essential element that would make him the great earl his father was. More and more, conversations with his father left Benjamin feeling like there was a giant weight around his neck.

  His father wanted him to care about the land and the people, but how could he care about what he didn’t know, especially when he was sent to boarding school at Eton in a few days? He had friends here and lessons. He was focused on withstanding the pranks and teasing from the older boys, not the land he would someday inherit. All the while, his sister watched him in between lessons with her governess, and Benjamin knew she was thinking what a better job she could do someday of running the place. But she was a girl, so none of this actually belonged to her. It all fell to Benjamin.

  But now that he was here with this family, the Watsons, now that he could see the little girl and the people who loved her, he realized his father was right. It was not about owning the surrounding land or even responsibility. It was impossible to see his fellow man, Mr. Watson, lose so much and not care. It was impossible to think of an injured girl and not consider how he could help. Perhaps some of what made his father such a great Earl of Wembley had been passed to him after all.

  For the first time, Benjamin’s world grew to include the needs of others. He would never forget this night as long as he lived. He knew the Watson family would not forget either, but for very different reasons.

  “They said she was trapped,” Benjamin murmured aloud. Having seen the wreckage of her home, the way the fire had eaten it alive and devoured it, the destruction complete and absolute, he had to wonder how a girl of no more than eight could escape that. “If she was trapped, how did she get out?” The mystery would confound him whenever he thought of it, but for now, his attention was on the area of the room where the little girl lay prone and suffering.

  The local doctor stood from his place at her bedside. Lord Wembley had already sent his carriage to Ripon for the doctor there, but the roads this time of year were rough, and the horses and livery had a good thirty miles to travel. The current country doctor was the same man Benjamin saw years ago when he took a tumble from his horse, but at that time, the man had been gregarious, making Benjamin laugh to keep his mind off of the pain. Now, he was incredibly tense. A line of worry appeared on his already sweaty
brow. “I need more laudanum to manage her pain. And I need to speak to you, Mr. Watson. We need to discuss her options. I fear this is beyond my expertise.”

  Benjamin’s fingers twitched, wanting to be helpful but having no idea how to begin to be of service.

  “I will find you some laudanum, Doctor.” If it was odd that the Earl of Wembley would be the first one to offer help, no one said so as the doctor took the girl’s father aside. Benjamin could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, words like “burns” and “scarring.” Without realizing it, he moved away from the voices and toward the bed. Could she hear them? She must be terrified. He felt as if a magnet was drawing him nearer to her. He could not turn away from the pull of it, even knowing there was nothing he could do.