Page 3 of The Earl's Heiress
“How could anyone forget?” Temple replied, his voice edged with bitterness. “Her lack of social grace and endless faux pas made her unforgettable.”
“Yet, over time, she became the darling of society. Nobody remembers her mistakes.”
“Oh, I remember,” Temple said sharply. “She was described as vulgar and uncouth. A social climber, plain and simple. How quickly do you forget, Mother?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, frustration mounting. “I would prefer to marry a British noblewoman with proper manners and a genteel upbringing. On that, Mother, I will not compromise.”
Anger flared in the countess’s eyes. “And I would prefer not to see this family retrenching. As you know, preferences mean very little when faced with reality. Let’s not be hasty. You should meet the heiress before you decide she is unsuitable.”
Temple stared at her, unyielding but silent.
Another look of pleading softened her stern features. “I know you suggested to your father that he diversify his investments. I know he didn’t listen, and now we suffer for it.”
“We are notsuffering, Mother,” Temple said tightly, though he wasn’t sure he believed his words.
Her chin lifted, defiant. “Perhaps not yet, but you could turn it around if you marry well. You could make the estate the success you’ve always envisioned.”
Temple’s jaw tightened as her words settled over him. A cold marriage. A contractual obligation. This was not how he had imagined his life. He knew many men who married not for respect or admiration, much less warmth or affection, but for necessity and gain. He wasn’t searching for love—he was no fool swept up by romantic drivel—but there should be more to marriage than pure transaction. The deep misery of a close friend who endured such a union had shown him the folly of sacrificing too much for pragmatism.
His own parents had been no different. His father’s mistress was an open secret, and his mother had endured the cold marriage with a stoicism Temple found equally admirable and tragic. She seemed to think that life was acceptable. He did not. He felt something for Lady Helena, even if faint. A flicker of connection, of possibility. He wanted the chance to explore it, however unlikely the outcome.
“Does your silence mean you are considering it?” she asked, hope softening her voice.
Temple pressed his lips into a thin line. The Andersons had no doubt come to England with the sole purpose of securing a title for their daughter, flaunting their wealth to purchase her way into the peerage. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, his mother’s pleading gaze pulled at him.
“Will you at least think about it?” she asked.
Temple sighed, his voice firm but not unkind. “I don’t believe I’m out of options yet, Mother. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a ride.”
“You rode only a few hours ago!”
Temple bowed, then left the library, his steps purposeful. The thought of another ride, of the wind rushing through his hair and the open fields stretching endlessly before him, was the only solace he could imagine. He needed to think, to weigh his options, and to remind himself of his duties—to the estate, to his dependents, and, reluctantly, to his nagging mother.
He reached the stables and quickly mounted his horse. With a firm nudge, he urged the animal forward, galloping toward the open countryside. As the estate receded behind him, so did the weight of its expectations, if only for a fleeting moment. The fields blurred past him, a sea of green and gold. His duty to his family was inescapable, but the farce of thehaut ton—the endless scheming, the performative respectability—wearied him beyond measure. The best way forward remained unclear, but for now, he let the ride carry him away from the mounting pressure of it all.
CHAPTER 2
Saville Manor, Nottinghamshire
Miss Arabella Anderson sat atop her horse, enjoying the sunshine and the light breeze that swept her hair. She was grateful that the rain had stopped, so she could venture outdoors. She turned to look at the beautiful Gothic manor as it faded in the distance. Arabella wanted to hate Saville Manor in the very same way she said she would hate England, yet she couldn’t. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she loved the old place, but she was drawn to its rather quaint and impressive history, having been in the family for over a hundred years.
The manor seemed ancient in comparison to the newer houses in America, and she was left open-mouthed to find a housemaid needed to make five trips from the kitchen, carrying jugs of hot water to fill a bath.
What a production!
While the houses in the English countryside were grand and stately, they were often dark, dingy, and terribly cold. The coldness reverberated through her bones, and she found it quitedifficult to stay warm. How was she going to make this country her home?
Arabella wanted to explore more of the manor but had left it behind this morning to join the hunting party. Hunting in England tended to be quite different from back home because they were going to hunt on the grounds of the estate, and they weren’t going to hunt large animals. Instead, they would hunt foxes. It should prove interesting. Most of the hunting party had gone ahead of her because she refused to go out in that dreadful weather and catch her death. Two of the grooms from Saville Manor were escorting her to the hunting lodge, where she would catch up with the others.
Her family had journeyed across the ocean from Boston to this cold, damp place called England. Arabella was the oldest sibling, and when she turned eighteen, Papa decided it was time for her to be torn from the bosom of her homeland. She would miss her sisters, Winnie, Elsie, and Lottie, as well as her brothers, Edwin and Martin. While her dearest friend, Sarah, promised to write to Arabella often, she was not reassured.
Then, there was Mr. Stephen Cartwright, a young lawyer who had started to woo her. She had always hoped to meet the perfect gentleman with whom she would fall hopelessly in love. They would marry, and she would have a large family very much like her own. Love was important, and she truly wanted a love match. She had found Mr. Cartwright pleasant and charming, and with each moment spent in his presence, Arabella had thought him a man she could love.
Her father had been outraged at the idea that she would settle for someone so mediocre. Arabella’s heart twisted upon recalling his insistence that they werebetterthan the Cartwrights. Henry Anderson was a self-made man who acquired immense wealth from mining gold in California before moving their family to a more prestigious area in Boston.Arabella lived a life of privilege, and she always thought her father had a soft spot for her. However, it seemed that the social image he wanted for them was more important than her happiness in life.
He was driven by ambition to improve their family’s standing back home and solidify their position on the social circuit. American socialites coveted what they saw as the higher social status of British aristocracy and royalty members. Arabella didn’t think it was necessary to ingratiate herself into British society, as her family had already amassed a great deal, and she was quite content with everything the way it was.
She sighed and lifted her face to the overcast sky. “Oh, Papa, why do you not understand me?”
