A Lady to Save the Cursed Earl (Preview)

Prologue

There was one universal truth in the Notley family: Florentia would always be a dreamer. 

Even at the age of eight, they all knew that she lived in a world of her own. Through her hazel eyes, everything seemed brighter, warmer, and there was no changing that.

However, that had led to very rigid instruction for outings, for she also had a particular talent for disappearing. 

“Remember, Florentia,” her father sighed as they traveled that afternoon, “do not approach any water, and no speaking with strangers under any circumstances.”

“And no climbing,” the little girl added. “I know, Papa.”

Baron Americus Notley nodded, satisfied, and said nothing more. Florentia looked out of the window of the carriage, her little fingers entwined in her long black hair. A maid had tried to tie it up, knowing that they would be walking that day, but Florentia had pulled it undone the moment she was no longer being watched. 

Her hair was her pride and joy, and she loved to hide behind it when she was nervous. Nothing had happened that morning to frighten her, but she could not help but feel as though something would, and she wanted the comfort of her dark tresses if that was to be the case. 

“Will Aunt Margaret be there when we arrive, Mama?” she asked.

“I should hope so,” her mother said with a smile, the small bundle in her arms stretching. “It would not be worth the journey if my sister cannot meet her new niece.”

Instinctively, Florentia leaned in to admire her new sister. Peace had been the perfect name for her; she was a quiet and gentle baby, not at all like Florentia or her older brother Nicholas had been.

Nicholas had been a determined baby, one that grew frustrated when he could not make his little body do what he wanted it to, and Florentia had always been quite absent-minded, her thoughts elsewhere even when she was tiny. 

“All I ask is that you have no more,” thirteen-year-old Nicholas said firmly. “I rather like being the only son.”

“We do not plan to have any more children, dearest. You need not concern yourself there.”

“Peace was enough of a miracle,” their father added. 

Florentia did not know what that meant, and so she stopped listening. She looked out as the carriage rumbled down the road, and imagined a fairy following alongside them. She had long red hair and large blue eyes, and her face was adorned with freckles that glowed when she smiled. 

“Do you think I will like it there?” she asked the fairy in silence.

“Yes,” she replied, “and if you see trees, you should climb them. You know that you enjoy that.”

“I cannot! Papa says that–”

But before Florentia could say anything more, the fairy giggled and flew around too quickly to be stopped, causing the little girl to shiver. She wished that she had better control over her imagination, but she assumed that it would come with time. 

Her Aunt Margaret’s estate in Northumberland was beautiful, and more than worth the long journey. It was pristine, built of stone bricks in a sandy golden color with ivy crawling up the walls. Florentia could see the pale blue curtains in the windows, drawn to let in the sunlight. 

The lands stretched on endlessly, and when Florentia did eventually find the edge of it, she was greeted by a dense forest. It would be the perfect place, she considered, to hide in, or perhaps to search for the fairy in.

Then she remembered her family’s warning and tried to settle herself. 

“My, look how tall you both are now!” her aunt exclaimed when she saw them. “Especially you, Nicholas. Why, you shall be taller than me soon.”

“Thank you, Aunt Margaret,” he replied dutifully. “Father says that I might even be taller than him one day.”

Florentia thought that she was actually rather small, but then she considered that in comparison with her infant sister, she was very big. They received a tour of the household, but with each room Florentia wished that they were in the gardens again, so that she might see the forest once more. 

Fortunately, for as tall as she allegedly was, she was also not the most important of her siblings. Peace was the baby, so she commanded much of the attention, and what was left of it went to the heir. Florentia was aware that she perhaps should have been upset about that, but it proved so useful that she could not complain. 

It was easy to slip away, and to reach the outdoors again while they all sat in the drawing room asking dozens of questions about the new baby. She reached the edge once more and peered through the wooded area.

Then, she saw it. 

Through the trees, she glimpsed a small clearing. Beyond it, a smooth green hillock rose unnaturally from the landscape with an abandoned stone lodge upon it. 

“There you are!” the fairy gasped. “I have been waiting for you.”

Florentia never dared reply aloud, for it had caused her brother to mock her and her parents to exchange worried glances, and so she usually resigned herself to only responding in her mind, but it was different that day. They were alone, and that meant no judgment could be passed. 

“I had to be careful,” she whispered. 

“I know,” she smiled. “Come, I have much to show you!”

She followed her into the forest, passing trees and flowers that she did not know the names of. Everything felt more colorful there, but then Florentia knew that she saw brighter colors than most people. They referred to it as childlike wonder, and if that was the case then she was quite convinced that she never wanted to be a lady. 

Florentia followed along happily, but then there was a sudden and sharp hold on her arm. She squealed, turning to try and pull away only to be met with a familiar face. 

“What are you doing?” her governess, Miss Thurwell, asked. 

“I am going to see a queen,” she replied without thinking. 

“Miss Florentia, there is no time for you to run away with your imagination. Come, we must return you to your family. Your mother is terrified.”

“But I–”

“At once.”

They left, her governess marching her along far more quickly than she deemed necessary. The woman’s blonde hair had been pinned perfectly, and even with their movements it did not come undone. They returned to the grounds, and at last her governess softened. 

“I am fortunate to have found you when I did, for had you been too close…”

“What is it?”

“It is nothing. I should not say.”

“Oh, please? That is not fair!”

Miss Thurwell sighed, knowing that she did not stand a chance. She pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, brown eyes soft. 

“That is Stanworth Hall,” she explained. “It is a beautiful home, but… it is cursed. I cannot tell you anything more than that, only that you are not to approach it again. Do you understand?”

“Yes Miss Thurwell.”

“And it is for the best that you do not say where you were. You know how your mother can be. She worries about you.”

Florentia did not think that of her mother at all. Her mother had been preoccupied with Nicholas, and then Peace, which had led to Florentia having to entertain herself. She was pleased to have the imagination that she did, otherwise she would have been alone. 

As expected, she was not spoken to very much once they were all made aware that she had returned. As they all discussed matters that she did not understand, she slipped back to the forest in her mind, remembering the smell of the trees and the draw of the lodge. 

While trying in vain to sleep that night, Florentia imagined the curse as a black smoke, meandering through the trees, approaching the household, and she felt a chill. Without thinking, she felt her feet touch the cool floorboards and she left her room. The stone steps were cold against her skin, but she hardly noticed. All that she cared about was reaching the servants’ quarters, so that she could see her governess. 

“Miss Florentia?” Miss Thurwell asked, her eyes half-closed. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“I cannot sleep. I know that you do not want to tell me more about that household, but I simply must know.”

“It is terribly late. It is better that you rest.”

“How could I possibly rest knowing that the curse could come here?”

“No, it… very well, do come in before you wake the others.”

Satisfied, she quickly entered the room, and her governess closed the door behind them. 

“I should not be telling you this,” she sighed. “I could make you feel even worse.”

“You will not. I am a brave girl, Miss Thurwell.”

“Very well, if you insist. Generations ago, the Earl built a hunting lodge here on Elf Knowe. Despite warnings from an old cunning woman who lived at its base, he evicted her and completed the building.”

“How cruel!” 

“Indeed. Shortly after, the woman appeared once more at the gates, raised her hand in curse, and vanished into the moors forever. It was a punishment for what the Earl had done, though he did not know it at the time, and he never saw her again. Some say she was taken by the fairies, others say she was one of them, but that hardly matters now.”

“But she could have been pretending. How do we know there is truly a curse?”

Her governess bit her lip, glancing around as if they were being watched. Florentia knew that she was afraid of getting into trouble, but Florentia would not allow that to happen; she simply enjoyed stories, even frightening ones. Not only that, but there was so much that she wished to know. 

“We know it is real, for within a year that Earl was dead. He was thirty-seven years of age, and his heir was also dead before his fortieth birthday. Ever since, the heirs rush to sire another heir before the curse catches them, and the lodge stands abandoned on the estate grounds, the curse unbroken.”

“And can it ever be broken?”

“I do not know, nor do they. They are all far too preoccupied with finding a lady that is willing to lose her husband before he turns forty.”

“I see…”

“Now, are you satisfied enough to sleep?”

Florentia nodded. She had more questions, but she knew it was late. There would be time to ask more things, and she wanted to be wide awake when she did. Miss Thurwell walked her to her room, and she climbed into her bed prepared to sleep. 

That night, she dreamed of the hill bathed in moonlight. Beside it, figures danced in vivid, unearthly colors. They were a mix of silver, gold, and spring green, and though she did not dare join them, she felt them drawing her in. Suddenly, the old woman appeared.

Her arm was covered in thick gold bracelets that clinked together as she approached, and she looked directly at Florentia with a smile of recognition. 

She whispered something that Florentia did not understand, and then it was morning. 

Florentia awoke at dawn with the dream already fading, though she tried desperately to cling to it. She ate her breakfast in silence, and when the family went into the village, she did not dare look around. She did not want to fall into her imagination too much.

They were set to leave that evening, and she wished to spend the day investigating the area, but she had promised not to go to it again and she had to keep her word.

And though she was not especially afraid of the cunning woman that had allegedly cursed the lodge, she was aware that if she came too close, it might all affect her too. That was a risk that she did not dare take, and so she stayed with her family. 

“What is it, Florentia?” Nicholas asked. “You have been out of sorts this morning.”

“I do not know what you mean,” she replied. 

“Of course you do. You have barely said a word, and you have not wandered off to daydream. It is unlike you.”

“Yes, well… well maybe I have to grow up.”

Her brother was taken aback by that, and he looked at her with his mouth open in surprise. 

“But you are only eight!”

“Yes, and one day I shall have to marry, just like you. I must be a proper lady.”

It was not at all what she thought, but it was what she needed to say to make Nicholas leave her alone. She did not want to answer his questions about why she was different, for she knew that even if she did explain what had happened, he would call her ridiculous for believing it all. He never had time to play her games, and so he would not care. Even if it was serious. 

And Florentia truly believed that it was, and that there was a curse next to her aunt’s estate and that there was nothing that could be done to remedy it. It was how it was, and she could not change it. 

“Did you enjoy your visit?” her mother asked once they were traveling home. 

“I did,” Nicholas said first. “I think that when I am a baron, I will have a home like Aunt Margaret’s.”

“And not like ours?”

 “There is nothing wrong with ours, but I like Aunt Margaret’s a bit more.”

They all laughed softly, and Florentia thought that she would be forgotten, but then her mother turned to her expectantly. She wanted to talk about the fairy and the cunning woman, but she knew that nobody would listen. Though her family were loving enough, they never found anything in her stories beyond light entertainment. 

“I liked it all too,” she replied dutifully. “Will we… will we be going again?”

“I do not think so, no. It is a long way to travel, and when there are three of you to bring, it will be easier for your aunt to come see us.”

Florentia did not know how to feel about that. It brought a sense of comfort to her to know that she would not need to see the strange forest again, but there was no denying that she was drawn to it, fascinated by the story. 

But if she was never to see it again, she would find another distraction easily enough. She always did. 

Chapter One

Owen Stanton hated attending events. 

If anyone looked upon the Earl of Stanworth—his tall and muscular body composed, his smile easy—they would have assumed that there was nowhere else that he would rather have been. One glance at his laughing, dark brown eyes and they would have been convinced that he was very much enjoying himself. 

But he was not. An evening party in particular was the perfect place to have your every flaw studied, every action scrutinized. It was all nothing more than performance, and as Owen refrained from raking a hand through his dark wavy hair, he wondered if everyone else felt the same way.

They all seemed to enjoy it far more than he did, but then were they all pretending too? He could not be certain, which meant he had to continue as he was. 

“Ah, no bruise today,” a gentleman that Owen did not know commented when he saw him. “No matches recently, My Lord?”

He was of average stature, dark green eyes searching Owen for what he could only imagine was gossip of some sort. Owen might not have known the man personally, but he knew precisely who he was; brown hair styled too perfectly, clothing placed just so. He wanted people to believe he was of a high class, someone to pay attention to. 

The trouble was, he was truly of very little note. He had to have been for Owen to not recognize him. 

“Ah, no. Well, it is not the best thing to do during the social season.”

“No, a lady would not be keen to see her suitor injured. I assume you plan to take a wife this year?”

“Yes,” he lied. “That is why I am here, of course.”

“Good, for time is running out for you.”

He left before Owen could say anything more, and it infuriated him. He would have much preferred to be boxing, the one thing he knew he was good at, but he had practically been forbidden to do so. It was too dangerous, according to his uncle, and if anything were to happen to him then his uncle would become the earl, and given his age and the fact that he had no wife or heir, it was better that Owen maintained his position. 

Not wanting another interaction like that, he excused himself and stepped outside onto the terrace for air. 

All that he was seeking was a brief moment away from the scrutiny and expectations. He would inevitably return to the others, and continue with his facade, but in that moment all that he wanted was to enjoy the night air.

He thought about what he had said; that he was in search of a wife, and he wondered why he could never find it in himself to be honest. Marriage was the last thing that he wanted, which was not unusual for a man. But declaring it as others did felt wrong. 

And now that he had proclaimed that he wanted a wife, he could hardly change his mind. 

Suddenly, he was alerted to the turning of a page nearby. It was a strange thing for him to notice, but he read often, and it was quite a bizarre thing to hear at a party. He followed the sound, and when he found the source of it he was speechless for the first time in his life. 

The young woman before him was beautiful, the light from the ballroom illuminating her black hair in such a way that it was as though she were an angel. She had not noticed him, continuing to read her book as though he were not there at all. She was unchaperoned, and as he studied her he saw that she did not wear a wedding band. He was intrigued in an instant, but he did not intrude. 

If she were anything like him—and given what she was doing she most certainly was—she would not want to be interrupted, and Owen was not a hypocrite. If it was solitude that she was seeking, then he would let her have it. 

But it seemed that another gentleman did not have such intentions. 

“Miss Notley,” the man called out. 

He was not yet visible, but whoever it was, she was not comfortable. Her expression shifted, showing wariness, and she quickly tucked her book under her arm. In her haste, it slipped away from her and landed in the dirt below, and she looked from the book to the gentleman approaching. 

And so, Owen knew he had to move. 

He dashed forward, taking the book before she could, and he looked up to see a man walking away. He had rescued her from whatever she had wanted to avoid, but that was at the cost of him also interrupting her. He looked at her, but she was avoiding his gaze. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“It is no trouble. Might you have something for this?”

She nodded, handing him a handkerchief to wipe the cover. He did what he could, but he knew that the moment he handed it back to her, she would make her escape, and for the first time in his life, that was not what he wanted.

And so, he marveled at the cover instead. It was intricate, and he quickly leafed through it and read it. He swore that he could hear the lady almost squeak something out as he glanced at it, and as some of the words settled in his mind he realized why. 

It was certainly no book to be read in public. 

“Do you make a habit of this?” he asked. 

“Of dropping my books?” she asked, avoiding what he was truly asking. “Not especially. They are rather expensive.”

“I mean reading at parties, especially this, and especially out on a balcony alone.”

“I am hardly away from everyone. Anyone can see me simply by looking out of the window. As for your question, yes, I suppose that I do. I like my own company, and thus far this evening I am yet to find someone that I prefer.”

There was a softness in her voice, and she continued to not look at him. It was not in an arrogant way, as though she thought herself above him, but in a way that made him wonder if she thought highly of herself at all. 

“I understand,” he replied. “I also came out here to be alone, which… well, which I assume you would like to continue to do.”

“It would be impolite to say yes to the man that picked up my book for me.”

But, he reasoned, that was what she was thinking. 

“You may say as much if you wish. I will not take offense to it.”

“Gentlemen always say that. They always claim to be immune to my frank unkindness, but then once they receive it they always seem to change their minds.”

“Are you unkind?”

He had not thought it to be the case for a second. He knew that beautiful ladies could have the sharpest tongues and the quickest wits, but that was not how she had seemed. For a start, she could not even look him in the eye, so he doubted that she could have the confidence to speak her mind.

“Only to the men that deserve it,” she clarified. “I do not like being accosted any more than you gentlemen do, but it would seem that many of you deem it your birthright to intrude.”

“My apologies for that.”

“I do not mean you,” she smiled softly. “You are my rescuer, after all. Consider the man that asked me to dance with him, though. I told him that I did not wish to, and then not fifteen minutes later he returned, saying that he had seen that my dance card was empty. How had he seen my card from far away?”

“I do not know.”

“I will tell you. He knew it was empty for he saw it when we spoke, and then he watched me all the while, and saw that no gentlemen wrote their names.”

“How bizarre. Not that you are unworthy of watching, of course… I mean, if a gentleman were to be like that, which I am not.”

He stopped, his brow furrowed. This was not at all like him; he knew how to converse with a lady, and how to flirt if he wanted though he rarely did, but with her he did not know the first thing to say. His clever words abandoned him, and from the way the corners of her lips twitched upward he could tell that she was enjoying it. 

“Have you always felt that way?” he asked. 

“Not exactly. I wanted to believe that I would find a gentleman that would be less invasive, but of course that was my own downfall. I should have known that courtships are how they are, and so it is foolish to want anything else.”

“I do not think that it is foolish at all. Yes, some gentlemen do not know how to conduct themselves, but we are not all awful.”

“No,” she agreed, “no you are not.” 

“That gentleman that was about to approach you does not seem to have been such an exception, though,” he added. “Might I be allowed to know who he was? If you do not wish to tell me, there is no need, but you did not seem pleased that he was going to speak with you.”

“If I knew who he was, I would tell you.” She laughed softly. “I never know the names of the men that come to me, but they all seem to know who I am. I do not know why they try; I have made my thoughts on marriage rather well known, or at least I thought that I had. If I am any clearer, my father will likely disown me entirely.”

She did not have to tell him what she thought of marriage at all; he could tell by the way she did not simper before him, desperate for his attention as other ladies were. Granted, he was not the sort of man that ladies obsessed over, but there had been a handful that thought he would be easy enough to tempt. 

None of it had ever worked on him, of course. Owen needed something so specific in a wife that he knew he would never find it. He was too particular, but he was steadfast in what he wanted and if he never found it, then he would gladly die a bachelor. 

“Are you truly that difficult to impress?” he asked. 

“I am six-and-twenty years of age and unmarried. Make of that what you will.”

He almost laughed, but he stopped himself. She did not appear to be of that age, instead appearing much younger, but he believed her. Her tone was even and measured, her eyes not leaving her silvery gown. He wondered whether he had affected her the way she had affected him, but he knew it was not the case.

He was inconsequential to her, and eventually she would return to the party and forget all about him, but he was not so convinced that he would do the same.

Then, at last, she looked up at him, and for a fleeting moment he was foolish enough to think that his mind could be swayed. Her hazel gaze was soft and warm, and the unexpected spark that he felt caught him off guard. He never thought that ladies were anything more than pretty, and he had never been able to say anything more about one than that she was objectively beautiful according to what society expected. 

But this woman was more than that. She was thoughtful, gentle, and he had not expected to meet someone like her. 

“I do hope that you do not think less of yourself because of your age,” he said clumsily. “I am nearing thirty, and yet–”

“And yet you can take a wife whenever you please, for a man’s age never seems to matter as much as that of a lady. I am aware.”

“That is not what I meant at all. I shall have you know that we are not all in search of a young thing barely out of her leading strings. Some of us wish for companionship, which is easier when we are of similar ages. That is what I was trying to say, at least I would if you were in search of a husband, but of course you are not.”

“No,” she whispered. “No, I am not.”

“And I am not in search of a wife. Is that a surprise to you?”

“Not especially, for gentlemen can simply declare that they have no intention to do so and be done with it. You are fortunate in that respect.”

“Except that the ton would think I am in search of one, and I have myself to blame for that.”

“Then you ought to—pardon my asking, but why are you telling me all of this?”

Owen faltered, for he did not know. Part of him thought that it was simply because he had not told anyone what he was thinking, and if he did not soon tell someone then it would all come flying out at the worst possible moment, but another part of him knew it was something else. 

She had a comforting presence, in spite of her challenging moments, and it was all too easy for her to draw confessions out of him. She seemed to want peace, but at any moment she could have taken her book and walked away and she had not. That had to be a sign that she was enjoying the conversation as much as he was, did it not? 

Then again, he was the one holding her book, and he was doing so rather tightly. 

“I am making conversation,” he replied at last. “That tends to happen at events.”

“I suppose. I am not particularly adept with that sort of thing.”

“On the contrary, you and I have been conversing for some time, and I have found it rather enjoyable.”

He waited for her to agree, even with a simple ‘likewise’ or some other such thing, but nothing came. She remained silent, though her eyes had not left his. Once she had dared to meet his gaze, she had not looked away, and he liked that. 

“So you do not wish to marry,” he pressed. “What do you want?”

“You will only mock me.”

“That is hardly fair. I have done nothing of the sort thus far.”

She considered that for a moment, and then she sighed. 

“I wish to be a writer. I have always been told that my imagination is too vivid, and so I want to make use of it somehow.”

“And if that is what you want, why not try to attain it, rather than sitting on the edge of a ballroom?”

She did not reply. At last, his grip on her book lessened, and he felt her take it from him. 

“Thank you again, My Lord,” she said quickly, curtsying before leaving him standing there. 

He watched her go, her perfectly tied hair being the last he saw of her. He went to follow her, to try to continue their conversation, but as he reached the ballroom she had vanished among the other guests. He was fascinated by her for reasons that he could not describe, and he wanted to understand it, but there was no sign of her. She had disappeared as silently as she had arrived, and there was nothing that he could do. 

It was all made worse, he realized, by the fact that he never learned her name. In all of his life, one lady had managed to capture his attention, and she was nowhere to be seen. 

And yet, he reasoned, that was for the best. After all, what would he do even if he did find her? He could not marry her, could not force her to live a life with a man such as himself, resign her to the life she would have to lead. The fleeting fantasy that he had was that and nothing more—fleeting, and a fantasy. She would always have to remain a stranger to him. 

It was for her own sake.