Page 1 of Gambling with the Earl
Chapter One
Year of Our Lord 1296. A remote fishing village on the wild north-east coast of England.
Moonlight spilled throughthe open window, illuminating the shabby furnishings in the once beautiful parlour of Shoreston Manor.
When Kitty was a child, her mother’s titled relatives had gathered here twice a year to eat sweetmeats and try to convince the stubborn Lady Isabella to return home to Answick Castle. Back then, candlelight had sparkled in the looking glass, making everything appear bigger and brighter than it really was. Now the rug had been half-eaten by moths, and a thick layer of dust coated everything. There was no coin to spare for a fire in the grate of such a large room and so the door was usually kept closed. Only the tall, dark wood dresser remained unchanged. One cherished heirloom from her mother’s past.
With a steady hand, Kitty placed her candle on the dresser and surveyed the row of tiny drawers which nestled beneath the larger cabinet doors.Drawers for secret things, her mother had laughingly told her.
If only her mother was here now, to see her prophecy brought to life.
“Are the jewels still there?” Rosalind whispered, twisting her long fingers together nervously. Her pale face was puckered with an anxious frown which Kitty longed to dispel.
“Patience, dear sister,” she admonished gently.
The central drawer was smaller than the rest. You could be forgiven for not noticing it at all. Her mother had shown her how to apply just the right amount of pressure to the engraved cross on the front panel to pop it open. Kitty held her breath and steadied her trembling fingers. In another moment, they’d discover if their worst fears had been realised.
She pressed the cross, and the little drawer sprang out. She held the candle closer, struggling to make anything out in the darkness. From beyond the window came a distant shout and a roar of laughter. Rosalind flinched and drew her woollen shawl tighter over her slender shoulders.
Kitty reached into the drawer and breathed a deep sigh of relief when her fingers encountered a familiar cloth bag. She traced the line of hard edges beneath the softness of the cloth, releasing a faint trace of her mother’s scent into the air. She closed her eyes and shook her head, dispelling the fancy. Mother had been dead for ten years now. Her fragrance had long since disappeared from Shoreston, along with the silver and the sweetmeats.
“They are still there,” she said, her pronouncement echoing against the bare walls.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Rosalind clasped her hands with relief. “I knew Lizzie was wrong. Father would never be so reckless as to gamble away the last of our inheritance.” Her voice shook with the indignation of youth as she flicked back the neat braid of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
Kitty shot her a look. Her little sister had seen fifteen summers. How could she still be so naïve? A shaft of moonlight fell on Rosalind’s upturned face. With her delicate features, fair hair and pearly skin, she was a younger, slighter version of their beautiful mother, whereas Kitty had inherited her long limbs, red hair and freckled complexion from her father’s side of thefamily. Years ago, the difference had bothered her. Now she had more important things to worry about.
“I’m not sure about that,” Kitty said carefully. “When Father goes to the tavern, the very devil comes upon him. There’s no telling what he might do.”
Rosalind tossed her silvery blonde head. “I know. But I don’t worry as much as you do, because I have you to worry for me.” Her unswerving loyalty made Kitty’s lips curl into a smile. Meanwhile, Rosalind stifled a yawn. “Can we go back to bed now?”
“Yes, we can,” Kitty said, closing the drawer and standing back from the dresser, disliking the way the shadows dipped and flickered around them. She wished there was some way she could secure the jewels further, but this was the best hiding place in the house, and it had served them well until now.
Lizzie, one of just two remaining servants at Shoreston, was waiting for them in the hall. Her greying hair was neatly pinned under her cap, but her apron bore the stains of a long day’s work.
“Is all as it should be, miss?” she enquired, as soon as the two sisters appeared.
“All is well,” Kitty assured her, knowing how the older woman fretted. “But you did right to wake us, Lizzie, thank you.”
“I’m that glad.” The old woman put a hand on the simple cross-shaped pendant she always wore around her neck. “Alfred brought back some terrible tales from the tavern.” Her voice shook with a mix of nerves and almost feverish excitement. “He’s gone back there now to keep an eye on things.”
Rosalind stiffened and Kitty laid a comforting hand on her narrow shoulder. Kitty and Lizzie did everything they could to shield Rosalind from the hardships that had befallen Shoreston Manor. Rosalind had the choicest vegetables from their garden, along with the warmest woollens, but her bones still jutted outwards. Despite all Kitty’s hard work and efficient savings,there simply was no longer enough coin to go around. Especially when their father, Owain, was determined to gamble away everything he could get his hands on before drinking himself into a stupor every night.
“Hopefully Father will fall into a ditch and sleep off the worst of it before morning,” she said. The sentiment was harsh but deserved.
Lizzie met her eye over the flickering flame of the candle. “God willing, he will stay away tonight,” she said. “But you should know this. The menfolk of Rossfarne won’t let any harm befall the two of you. They remember your mother and the kindness she showed them when she first came here.”
Reassured, Rosalind yawned loudly, making the candlelight jump. Kitty’s own response was more complex. Her body was strong, her mind was sharp and she was still young at just twenty-two years of age. She didn’t want charity from the people of the town.
“Let’s go up.” She raised her candle to illuminate the bare wooden stairs. “Thank you again, Lizzie.”
The servant bobbed into a small bow which made the corners of Kitty’s mouth twitch once again. On most days, Kitty could be found working side by side with Lizzie to scrub the floors, peel the home-grown vegetables and beat the fading rugs. She had long since abandoned the airs and graces associated with her birth. Yes, she was a blood relative of the Duke of Answick, but she was also the child of a fisherman. She had always fancied it was the lowly side of her lineage that showed the strongest.
This was why she had put away Mother’s jewels for Rosalind.
She stood back to allow her younger sister to go ahead of her up the stairs. Pretty Rosalind would not befall the same fate as she. Of that, Kitty was determined. Her sister’s hands would stay soft and white. She would learn her lessons and make a suitable match when the time came. Mayhap not with anyone from thetitled gentry, but Kitty hoped a local farmer or landowner might express an interest in the beautiful and ladylike Miss Rosalind Alden—helped, of course, with a dowry from Isabella’s jewels.
If things had been different, if Isabella had survived the difficult birth of a poor, ill-fated third child, Kitty would have hoped for more for herself. She had fond memories of a magical childhood spent riding horses and playing happily in the grounds of Shoreston. A singing tutor had come twice a week, and Kitty’s voice had been highly praised.
