Swanage, Dorset 1819
“You definitely cheated!” Lord Hector’s voice followed Henry as they climbed up the hill pass. Together they were riding, well, racing their horses across the track that cut across the green hills, past the cliff edges, and toward the next seaside town.
“I am merely the finer rider,” Henry said in jest, looking over his shoulder to see Lord Hector somewhat struggling with getting his horse up the steep incline. Henry laughed and turned back, facing forward and urging his black steed to canter up the hill. Easily, the horse abided by his wishes, for he was not pushing the animal too hard.
Once he reached the top of the incline he brought the horse to a stop, feeling the wind rushing up the cliff edge and buffeting his face, so that his dark brown hair that normally curled around his ears was strewn behind him.
“I hope the view is worth this ride,” Lord Hector’s complaint came from a little way down the hill.
“You could say that,” Henry chuckled as he caught his breath, looking about himself.
To one side of the hill there were the steep white chalk cliffs of Old Harry Rocks. The stacks of chalk jutted out into the pearlescent blue ocean, with the waves crashing against the rocks with so much energy that even this high up he could hear the spray of each wave. To his right-hand side, the cliffs dropped away, and a seaside town sat in a bay. In front of the buildings, the yellow sand stretched out, with a dockyard and a mini pier nearby. Behind the beach and the promenade were short buildings, renaissance in style with white frontages that the noon-day sun bounced back off.
“It’s worth the climb, believe me.”
Lord Hector appeared at his side, breathing almost as heavily as his poor steed was who hung his nose down to the ground a little.
“You worked the horse too much,” Henry teased, earning a false dark glare from his friend. Lord Hector’s blue eyes narrowed a little before he pushed the coiffed blond hair back on his head and turned his somewhat bulky form to look at the view. Stocky in figure with dense shoulders, Lord Hector had a habit of making a presence in any room he stepped into, even if he was perhaps not the most athletic of figures.
Henry steered his horse closer to his friend’s, comparing the two of them in stature. Whereas Lord Hector was of average height and stocky build, Henry was tall, lithe and slightly broad in shoulders with a narrow waist. Together, the two made quite a comparison.
“Well, you were right, it was worth the view,” Lord Hector said, gesturing to the breathtaking sight before them. Being set so high above the town atop the cliff, Swanage could have been a miniature town built by a modeler for them to peruse, had it not been for the sunshine glinting off the waves that kept crawling up to meet the beach. “I’m not sure it was worth losing another race to you though.”
“I’ll tell you what, last race of the day,” Henry said, holding up a figure.
“Oh, must we?” Lord Hector groaned audibly. “Another one?”
“My aunt will be getting lonely in her carriage,” Henry said by way of an explanation. “First one back to her on the main road wins.”
“What do we win?”
“Pride only, my friend.”
“Shame, I was hoping we win something worthwhile, like an ale being purchased when we reach this inn,” Lord Hector said with a shake of his head. “You’ll have to give me a head start.”
“Very well, off you go,” Henry said, gesturing for Lord Hector to take the lead. As he descended the green bank, moving toward the road that was far to their right-hand side and cambered down the hill, Henry counted just three seconds before he urged his steed forward.
Within a few strides, he had overtaken his friend, much to Lord Hector’s complaint, who happily jested by throwing supposed insults after Henry as he passed him.
“You’ll just have to practice riding more,” Henry said as he overtook his friend.
“What do you think I am doing right now!?” Lord Hector’s words made Henry laugh before he turned the steed onto the road, pulling the reins high up into his hand so that the black steed whinnied in delight. With ease, he pulled up alongside the carriage that was bumbling along across the track.
Ordinarily pale wood in color and painted with white detailing, it was a fine carriage, yet today it was covered in a lot of dirt from their journey across the countryside, in order to be far away from London.
“Have one of you fallen off the cliffs yet?” The familiar voice made Henry slow down the horse to walk alongside the ambling carriage just as a white lace curtain was lifted from the window and a face peered beyond.
“Not yet,” Henry said, teasing his aunt who offered him a despairing shake of her head in reply. Lady Catherine Lamptonshire had always been an impressive sight to behold. Henry could remember even from when he was young how his aunt commanded attention in any room. She not only commanded attention but good behavior and bending to her will too. As a boy, if she told him off, he would always apologize profusely for what he had done, fearful of those large cinnamon-colored eyes narrowing on him. “It is perfectly safe, Aunt,” he said with a soft chuckle.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had fallen to the bottom of the cliff.” She harrumphed with the words and sat back a little. From the view he had of her, the sunlight was seeping a little more into the carriage window now, lighting her features.
The once striking face was now creasing with age, though the smile was almost still always present. After the death of her husband, the Marchioness of Lamptonshire, that smile had not always been seen so often. These days though, the smile was back and the lines in her face betrayed the many years she’d had laughing and smiling, with a good life. Her grey hair that had once been as brown as his own was coiffed perfectly up at the back of her head, and she attended to it now, fussing with it, clearly frustrated at the wind that blew in through the window, threatening to destroy the updo.
“No more racing, Henry,” she said as an order. “We are nearly there.”
“Why are we stopping in this town again?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he turned his gaze forward to the road up ahead. “I have never even heard of it before. It hardly seems a direct route to Exeter anyway.”
“I wish to see the place again. The last time I was here I was your age,” she said with a smile. There was something to that smile, something that suggested there was more behind her sentence, but Henry didn’t have a chance to ask what it was, for she was speaking again. “I shall be glad to see it, and we only intend to stay a little while at the inn before we move on. I shall not have interrupted yours and Lord Hector’s hunting party for too long.”
“Do not worry about that,” Henry assured her, just as Lord Hector appeared on his other side.
“It’s not the shooting I am worried about, it is my betrothed,” Lord Hector pointed out, prompting Henry to chuckle softly.
“You have only just become betrothed; you are not even married yet. Will she really be so angry at you if you are a little late?”
“You have met Dianne, haven’t you?” Lord Hector said and affected a shudder, as though afeared of her. “Believe me, no one wants to get into an argument with that lady.”
“I hope every man fears arguing with their wife the way you do, Lord Hector,” Catherine said from inside the carriage. “We women would win more arguments then.”
“When is it your time to argue with a wife then, Lord Lakefield?” Lord Hector addressed Henry. At once, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest. It was the sensation that he always endured whenever anyone asked him such a question.
“I am a confirmed bachelor, as you well know,” Henry said, losing his laughter as he stared forward at the road ahead.
“But who will give me great nieces and nephews?” Catherine’s voice prompted him to turn back to look at the carriage. “I cannot have grandchildren, so it must be great nieces and nephews instead.” Unable to have children with her own husband, Henry was not oblivious to the hope that his aunt had placed on his shoulders to produce little ones. As much as he liked to see her happy, it was a promise he would never fulfill.
“My apologies, Aunt, but I never intend to marry and therefore children are not possible.” He spoke nonchalantly, knowing they’d had this conversation more than once before. Catherine huffed before she lowered the white curtain back down over the window, clearly ending the conversation with a little irritation.
Lord Hector’s soft laugh urged Henry to turn back to him.
“I love the way your aunt can show how upset she is without any need for words.”
“As do I,” Henry said, smiling a little.
“So, tell me again why.”
“Why is it you will never marry?” Lord Hector said, gesturing to him.
“Look at you. Betrothed barely two weeks and you already think you know the perfect recipe for happiness,” Henry said, pointing at his friend.
“Well, do I not look happy?”
“Sickeningly so!” Henry joked.
“Then you have your answer. So, give me my answer. Why will you never marry?”
Henry looked away from his friend and down at the road ahead, hating having this conversation. In some ways, it had felt so long ago, though in reality two years was not an awfully long time.
“Consider me tainted,” Henry said succinctly, hoping this went someway to explaining his problem. “I entertained the idea of marriage once and I will not make the mistake again.”
“I can’t help but wonder what the lady was like.”
“The one that evidently broke your heart.”
“Let’s not discuss this anymore,” Henry said, sitting higher in his saddle. He was tired of this conversation and desperate to begin something new. “Last one into town buys the ales at the inn, what do you say?”
“You have yourself a deal!”
“It seems to be going well,” Sarah said as she sipped from her teacup and looked around the room. The cottage she and her mother lived in now was hardly a grand affair, though it had a beautiful view over the ocean and the town bay, that made it highly desirable indeed. In their small drawing room, their guests were dotted around, each one smiling and drinking together.
“That it does,” her mother said, sighing at her side.
“Oh dear, that was a sigh and a half,” Sarah said, smiling at her mother in jest. “For what reason could you be sighing so when we have guests, tea to drink, and the best carrot cake our cook has ever made?” Her mother smiled too before turning a little away from their guests and lifting her teacup higher to hide her lips as she spoke.
“I like our friends here, I truly do,” Anne said gently, “but I miss my old friends too. I cannot wait to someday be back at Brookshire –”
“Mama, no,” Sarah spoke sharply, losing all temptation to jest and occupy herself with light conversation. She placed the teacup down in the saucer in her grasp and turned her body away from their guests too. “You know we can never go back there.”
“But…time has passed,” Anne said, looking hopeful. Sarah could see her mother was beginning to ail a little as she aged. As kind and as optimistic as she had always been, every now and then there was a forgetfulness to her now. More than once did Sarah have to remind her of things, sometimes big things, like why they had come to Swanage at all, and sometimes small things, like she hadn’t lost her spectacles at all, for they were on her head.
“Time does not matter, Mama,” Sarah assured her softly. “People have long memories, and their love of gossip will never fade. We cannot go back to Brookshire.”
Anne’s red lips pursed together in disappointment. Sarah had inherited the trait and found herself biting her own red lips, saddened to cause her mother any pain.
“What is wrong with Brookshire?” the familiar voice made Sarah wince a little. She turned slowly to see her friend, Miss Rebecca Hampshire, standing nearby. Her strawberry blonde hair had wisps that were falling out of her updo, and her freckled cheeks were spread into a smile, clearly intrigued as to what she had heard. “You said you cannot go back to Brookshire, whatever for?”
“Yes, why can’t we go back?” Anne asked. Sarah’s heart sank as her mother had clearly forgotten the reason again.
“It does not matter now,” Sarah said, affecting a smile she could not feel. “Mama, go sit with the Miss Tilneys, they have been dying to ask us about the recipe for our carrot cake all day.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Anne said and tottered off on her slim heels, heading straight for where the two Miss Tilney sisters were sat together on a divan, fighting over the carrot cake.
“I was about to ask how your mother is today, but I think I just saw a little of how she is doing,” Rebecca said gently as she tapped Sarah’s arm and moved to stand beside her so the two of them could look out over the room of ladies together.
“Some days are better than others,” Sarah said, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did. “As long as she is happy, that is what matters to me.” She lifted the teacup back to her lips, trying to busy herself with drinking.
“Of course. What did she mean when she was speaking of Brookshire?” Rebecca asked. Sarah was so startled by the topic being brought up again that she choked on the tea. She coughed heartily as her friend patted her back, helping to clear her airways. “Good lord, you’d think I’d said something awful.”
“You might as well have done,” Sarah mumbled to herself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Sarah lied and lifted her eyes to her friend once more.
“Why can’t you go back to Brookshire, Sarah?” Rebecca said, pursuing the matter even more.
“It hardly matters,” Sarah said, placing the teacup down on the sideboard. “I think some fresh air would do me some good today. The sun is shining, and the sea is practically glistening, what do you say we take a walk together after tea?”
“I would love that,” Rebecca said, “if you tell me why you cannot return to Brookshire?”
Sarah looked at her friend, seeing the keenness of Rebecca’s hazel eyes she knew she would not be able to escape this conversation forever. Rebecca’s friendship mattered more to Sarah than any other these days, so she hadn’t told Rebecca the truth of her past, for she feared it could damage that friendship. Yet clearly Rebecca was not going to give up. Sarah had to find a way to satisfy her friend with an answer and close down the conversation for good.
“My heart broke once whilst I was living there. I cannot risk it breaking again by going back.” Her words had achieved her aim. Rebecca was saddened and placed her teacup down too.
“For that, I am sorrier than I can say. Let me apologize to you for pressuring to tell me by going on that walk.” Rebecca took her hand and began to lead her toward the door. Sarah appreciated the kindness, yet the damage was already done.
By Brookshire being mentioned, the heartache she sought to ignore every day for the last two years was back again. It was as though someone had laid a wound to her chest and left it open, bleeding, unable to heal.
“What an odd place to stop,” Lord Hector said at Henry’s side as they followed the carriage through the town. Henry had once again won their race and then waited for both Lord Hector and the carriage to catch up. They were now riding behind the carriage, looking about at the promenade on one side and the Palladian-style buildings on the other. “It’s a quiet place. Why did your aunt wish to stay here again?”
“She just said she had been here before,” Henry said, though he had to agree with Lord Hector. It was a quiet place and so far off the beaten track, he found it hard to understand why his aunt had ever been here before.
“There are barely any people out! Are they all hiding indoors?”
“In this heat, could you blame them?” Henry gestured to the sun above them. There was not a cloud in the sky today and though he had already thrown off his jacket, looping it through the reins of the horse, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, it had done little to abate the heat. He pulled at the cravat around his throat instead, desperate for some relief.
His eyes danced about the few people that were wandering up and down the promenade. There were some working gentlemen, clearly hurrying to their business, a group of ladies too, two couples walking together, and two ladies walking alone, arm in arm. One of the ladies caught Henry’s eye.
It was the hair. He had known someone with such striking dark auburn hair once. He could remember vividly stealing a moment alone with her, away from their chaperone and curling one of the locks of auburn hair around his fingers. It had been an intoxicating moment with one stolen and brief kiss. It was a treasured memory, even if it was a thing that he could never relive.
The lady before him turned a little as he moved down the street, following the carriage and drawing more level with her. He couldn’t yet see her face, but he could see the way she moved clearly. There was something familiar in it too, right down to the way she brushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. He had seen the lady from his past do such a thing many a time. Then she laughed, the tinkling sound was melodic, the exact same sound he could remember.
“It can’t be,” he muttered, bringing the horse to a sharp stop. He couldn’t dare hope it was her. She had practically disappeared off the face of the earth, refusing to see him ever again, could she really be hiding in such a seaside town as this?
Then she turned her head slightly, speaking to the lady who she had looped arms with, and revealed her face for him to see.
“God’s wounds…” he muttered, tensing up on the horse and pulling on the reins. It is her.
Miss Sarah Kingston was standing a short distance away from him on the promenade. She had grown up a little more, grown in height and her high cheekbones were even more noticeable than they had been before, but there could be no mistaking her identity. She bore the same bold green eyes, sharp and sometimes piercing. The nose sloped down in the way he remembered clearly, and her red lips, not quite as red as her hair, were parted in laughter. He could remember placing that stolen kiss on those lips, loving each second of it.
He tensed up so much on the horse that the steed became restless. It whinnied loudly into the air.
Henry was startled by the sound and pulled at the reins, looking round himself enough to see the whinny had caught Lord Hector’s attention and was riding back toward him.
“Is all well?” he asked with evident concern.
Henry couldn’t answer. His heartbeat was thudding so loud that he could hear it echoing in his ears. His palms were clammy too, not because of the heat of the day, but because he was struggling to believe the proof of his own eyes. Rather than answer Lord Hector at all, he turned his head back to see Miss Kingston.
She looked up from her friend, apparently having heard the whinny of the horse too, and she looked straight at him. He didn’t move. It had been two years since he had last seen her, two years since she had quite literally run away from him. He wanted to see what she would do next.
She backed up. She clutched at her friend’s hand and drew her back with her, so close to the edge of the promenade that she was in danger of falling onto the beach a fair few feet below her. Henry felt a leap in his chest, concerned for her safety, but her friend was not going to let it happen. Her friend tugged Miss Kingston away from the precipice, back onto the main part of the promenade.
Miss Kingston glanced her friend’s way and said something hurriedly before turning her eyes back to Henry again.
She backed up from me.
He felt the same pain that he had suffered when she had run from him at that ball. Unable to keep suffering it, he looked away. He did not nod his head to her, bow above his horse, or acknowledge her presence in anyway, he couldn’t out of fear of how she would react. Instead, he grabbed the reins of the horse and urged them forward, until he caught up with Lord Hector. Together, they raced after the carriage, eagerly catching up to it.
“What was that about?” Lord Hector said as they came to a trot behind the carriage once more. “Who was that lady you were staring at?”
“I wasn’t staring,” Henry said quickly, fidgeting in his saddle.
“Really? You’ve stared for less time down the barrel of a gun when we go shooting,” Lord Hector said with a smirk. Henry’s dark glare did nothing to abate that smirk. “Who was that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? She seemed in so much shock to see you that she nearly fell off the promenade. That can hardly not matter, can it?”
Henry was so irked by his friend’s incessant questions that he found the truth falling from his lips.
“Her name is Miss Sarah Kingston, daughter of Lord and Lady Kingston. Lord Kingston is a lawyer and MP. Well, he was, up until two years ago, when the family…they retreated from London.” He sought to explain himself as quickly as possible. One glance at Lord Hector showed the fair eyebrows were arched in curiosity.
“None of that explains why you were staring at her so intently.”
Frustrated, Henry moved his horse closer to his friend’s, enabling him to whisper quietly, in case any passersby in the street could hear them.
“You wished to know a few minutes ago who had spoiled my idea of marriage?” he said, watching as Lord Hector’s mouth parted in surprise.
“Ah…Miss Kingston would be the reason for it then.”
“You could say that, yes,” Henry said, looking forward again and trying to fix his gaze upon the carriage, yet he could not focus on it. His mind was elsewhere, thinking of the young woman he had just seen, how she had changed, yet was still very much the lady he remembered. It made him yearn to turn around and ride back to her, something he could never do.
“Well, maybe it was fate you saw her again.”
“Fate?” Henry scoffed.
“What? You do not believe in fate?” Lord Hector said with a smile. “I’ve always quite liked the idea.”
“Oh, it’s a wonderful idea,” Henry said with sarcasm. He despised the thought that all the heartache he had gone through thinking of Miss Kingston had been planned for him, it was just not possible. “Fate is an idea only. It does not exist.”
“You cannot know that for sure. What if you have seen her again for a reason? Maybe she’ll be pleased to see you?”
“I doubt that,” Henry said, scoffing once more though there was no humor in it. “You saw her reaction just now.” He didn’t need to add what he already knew. She had run from him once before, he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to do it again.
“Sarah, cling onto my hand much tighter and you’ll snap off my fingers!” Rebecca cried with a yelp of pain.
“Oops, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly and released her friend. She stared after the horse that had just hurried off down the road and the carriage it followed too. “Rebecca, tell me I imagined that.”
“Imagined what? You nearly falling off the promenade? No, that definitely happened. For one second, I thought I was going to have to run down the steps and pull you out of the sand,” Rebecca said, shaking out her sore fingers.
“No! Not that. That!” Sarah pointed down the road at the horse that had left them far behind. “The gentleman on the horse?”
“Which one? The stocky one with the happy face? Or the brown-haired one with the brooding face?”
“The brooding one,” Sarah said before realizing that Rebecca had seen him too. “Oh, good lord, for a minute I thought I was going mad.” She paced up and down the promenade, gripping her red hair to her hair.
“I’d like to reserve judgment for now on whether you are or not,” Rebecca said with a laugh. “What has gotten into you?”
“He’s here. Oh god, I didn’t imagine him, he’s really here.” She turned and took Rebecca’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “He cannot be here!”
“Well, he is here, whoever he is. Care to tell me who that was before you shake all the stuffing out of me?” Rebecca’s jest made Sarah release her friend and turn back round again.
“He is the Earl of Lakefield, Henry Stewart,” Sarah said, feeling her hands tremble as she turned to look along the road down which he had disappeared.
“An Earl? Oh my. We do not get many dignitaries in this sleepy town. You know an Earl?”
“He wasn’t Earl when I knew him,” Sarah said frantically, unable to settle. She felt all aquiver, with her hands trembling, her lips unable to stay still and her gaze frantically darting up and down. “His father was Earl then, but I read in the papers last year the father had died, so he must be Earl now.”
“And this Earl is important because…?” Rebecca left off clearly hopeful Sarah would fill in the gap.
“Because he cannot be here!” she cried with insistence. “He’s not supposed to find me here, no one is, but least of all him.”
“Right, you’re not making any sense at all, Sarah, but I think it best we take you home now.” Rebecca took her arm and began to lead her off down the promenade.
“Home? What? No,” she said, walking away with Rebecca though she glanced back down the road where Lord Lakefield had gone.
“Where do you want to go? Running after an Earl on his horse?”
“Of course, not. I cannot see him again,” Sarah said quickly.
“Tell that to your feet and make them walk in the same direction as me then, for you are fighting me all the way,” Rebecca’s quip made Sarah realize just what she was doing. It was as though her body had a mind of its own and was indeed trying to extricate itself from Rebecca to follow Lord Lakefield. She gave up and walked alongside Rebecca instead.
They hurried along the promenade. In the heat of the day, the fast pace they set was cloying and practically unbearable, prompting Sarah to pull at her short sleeves, desperate for some relief from the temperature. As they walked, she could feel Rebecca’s gaze repeatedly turning to her with worry.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Rebecca said as they climbed off the promenade and began to ascend a short, inclined path, up to where the cottage was set into a hill, overlooking the bay.
“This is bad, Rebecca,” Sarah said, feeling the threat of tears.
“Why is it bad?” Rebecca said with worry. “He seemed to be quite a handsome man. Is he in actual fact a monster?”
“No! No, nothing could be further than the truth,” Sarah said hurriedly as the path leveled out into a road. “He is…” she faltered, unable to say the words aloud. The best man I have ever known.
“He is what?”
“I cannot explain it now,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “I need to talk to my mother.”
“Very well, I shall leave you then, though I have to say I hate leaving you in such a state.” Rebecca released her arm as they reached the gate that led up the small path to the cottage. Sarah hurried up it, hovering in the doorway just once to wave at Rebecca who stood beside the view over the sea, waving back at her. “I will come to see you tomorrow,” Rebecca said. “Once you have got over what is clearly a shock!” Despite Rebecca’s jest, Sarah could see the concern and fear in her friend’s eyes.
“Until tomorrow,” Sarah said, trying to smile to reassure her friend, but it felt false and did not last long. She hurried indoors, searching the rooms as quickly as she could. “Mama? Mama!”
She found Anne in the end in the drawing room, helping one of their two maids to clear up the spent teacups and saucers.
“Sarah, what is the matter?” Anne said, about to take one of the seats. Sarah didn’t let her. She grabbed her mother’s arms and towed her out of the room, through the back door and into their rear garden. She couldn’t let the maids overhear the conversation she wished to have. Gossip had destroyed her once; she would not give it the chance to do so again. “Slow down, Sarah, my old bones cannot keep up with you.”
“Mama, he is here.”
“Who is here?”
“The Earl of Lakefield. He is here!” Sarah said in a harried whisper, drawing her mother so that they could hide between the wisteria bushes in the garden.
“Lakefield…is that the one with the horse business?”
“No, Mama, that is Lakeshore,” Sarah said, a little irked by her mother’s forgetfulness. “The Earl of Lakefield is Henry Stewart. He is one of the reasons we are here in Swanage, Mama. He is the one who…” she broke off, unable to say the words. She watched as her mother’s green eyes widened, the memory coming back clearly suddenly.
“Oh, my dear,” she cried and opened her arms. Sarah fell into them, needing the comfort of her mother. When the tears came, she barely realized, not until her mother patted her back and stroked the hair back from her forehead. “Tears are good things, Sarah. They let the pain out.”
It didn’t feel like a good thing, it just felt like even more pain.
“An Earl’s Eternal Destiny” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Following an unfortunate event that compromised her reputation, Sarah Kingston was forced to retreat to a small seaside town. When Henry Stewart, the Earl of Lakefield and the man she once loved, comes back to her life, Sarah struggles to deal with what is in her heart. Even though she feels the spark still burning for him, she knows better than anyone that nothing could change the past. Will Sarah find the strength to go against the odds and change her ill fate?
A broken heart and a righteous Earl…
After Sarah ran away from him two years ago, Henry decided to live in solitude, until the day he crossed paths with her again. From that moment on, he cannot stop daydreaming about his old love, but his deep scars do not let him trust her again that easily. To make matters worse, he knows that a relationship with her would tarnish his status forever. Will Henry be strong enough to turn away from the only woman he has ever loved? Or will he risk it all and give love a second chance?
A love that could never be buried…
As Sarah and Henry’s fate brings them together again and again, they will not only have to face their repressed feelings, but also their past that keeps emerging and reminding them of what they could be. As if this was not enough, a heartless rake will threaten to tear them apart once again. Will Henry save Sarah from the man who scarred her life with his capricious whims? Will the two soulmates defy everyone opposing their love?
“An Earl’s Eternal Destiny” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.