The Legend of the Earl (Heirs of High Society) (A Regency Romance Book)
Eleanor Meyers
April 21, 1790
London, England
But, oh! What would our world be were there not a father to the fatherless? And how I have been blessed to be a mother to the motherless. Each child who comes into my home is a gift from God. I thank Him every day for the chance to bring light into their world and lead them in a path that will hopefully make them builders of their communities.
But truly, my heart aches for them, for it seems that my time and my love are not enough to take away their pain. Each passing face leaves an everlasting impression on my heart, and today a new face arrived.
With this being the twenty-first of April, I have named the orphan girl after Saint Alexandra, the wife of the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who stood on her faith and died because of it. A woman who left this world with dignity.
That is what I saw in sweet Alexandra as I held her today—dignity. Her clear gray eyes shined like the purest diamonds and her beautiful black curls glittered like obsidian stone.
She looks just like her father, the Viscount of Wint. How unfortunate for them both that they’ll never know each other.
Alexandra’s mother left her with little other than a clean blanket. She had nothing else to give and left to resume her duties as a maid in a great house.
But I will give Alexandra something.
I will give her my love and pray that if she learns but one thing from me, it will be how to love.
Without reason.
Without condition.
Without end.
Sweet Alexandra, grow to love.
— From the Diary of Mary Elizabeth Best
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1
CHAPTER
ONE
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May 1815
London, England
Alexandra Smith looked at the men and women who sat around her, keeping her gaze low so as to not draw attention. She sat stiffly in her chair and listened to the countess, who’d been asked to make a speech about a woman she'd likely never met.
There was much weeping from the ton. The very best of Society had come out in grand numbers, the likes of which Alex had never seen.
It was a rare day of clear skies, and the air was warm with the smell of heavy perfumes and grass.
Everyone from the king and princes to the lowest of the lower class were present, the latter, of course, standing far back by the trees. Only the wealthy and titled sat in the chairs that faced the stage, with less than twenty people like Alex, who was from the lowest order of the world, taking the final row.
A thought came to mind.
“She would have loathed this,” Alex whispered.
Nash, who was sitting on her left, grunted, jousting her slightly when he did so. Nash had a few grunts. Alex knew this one meant she should be silent, but she simply could not.
They were sitting close—Nash was practically sitting on her. She was sharing her space with him because he’d be bumping the woman on his other side if she hadn't.
Nash was a big man, brutishly built like a Viking. Muscular, tall, fit, and needing more space than the common gentleman, thus she gave up some of hers.
But if she was going to share her chair, she would also share her mind.
“I feel as though they made a committee, because you know how much they love their committees, and asked themselves what the thing Mary Elizabeth Best would have loathed more than anything in the world was and then decided,” she snapped her fingers, “…that’s what we’ll do.”
“Be silent,” Nash hissed without looking at her.
“Why?” Alex looked up and over at his stony face. “It’s not as if anyone up front can hear me from the farthest row in the park. I mean, really, I only knew Ms. Best for the first five years of my life, no one in the entire first row ever even met her, much less cared about her.”
But it was the way of London. Ms. Best had done something worth recognizing, and the Anglican Church had decided to acknowledge it. The Beau Monde were simply there to make a show out of being good followers of the faith.
If only the world knew the truth.
Rose, who was sitting on Alex’s right, reached out and grabbed Alex’s hand, drawing her attention. “These people supported Ms. Best’s homes.”
“No,” Alex whispered. “These men and women are the reason the homes exist.”
Rose closed her mouth and looked away because she knew Alex was right.
Another woman in the next row turned around to glare at her. Alex simply stared until the woman turned back around. Alex turned back to the front just as another person went to the podium, a woman dressed in enough red silk to feed an entire schoolroom in one of Mary Best’s homes. She was a duchess. Alex fought not to roll her eyes.
She turned to Nash. “Why are we here? We should have our own celebration. We should all go down to the main house and have dinner tonight. What say you?”
“I like that idea,” Rose whispered on her right.
Nash moved swiftly, turning and leaning toward them both. His blue eyes settled on Rose first. “Do not help her, Rose.”