Excerpt: Eli Benson tipped his face to the sun as he rode across the bridge and started uphill to the Hall. The last of the heirs had been found and given just compensation. He looked forward to a year as steward without the tedious paperwork that plagued him in previous months, grateful for the opportunities given to him by the earl. A career as a land steward brought prestige and compensation greater than Eli might otherwise have been able to contemplate. There was much to learn, and Eli planned to make the best of it. He looked forward to a quiet afternoon.
The sight that greeted him boded ill for that hope. John, the first footman who served as a sort of under-butler when the senior staff went off to London with the earl, stood on the front steps of the Hall in heated conversation with a slip of a girl.
Eli dismounted instead of riding around to the stables and climbed up to investigate. The girl, a bit of a thing, didn’t come up to John’s shoulder, but she confronted him with a straight back and commanding voice. Though slender, she had the look of someone used to hard work. She wore a plain, rather rumpled gown. He suspected she had been traveling for some time. An unadorned straw bonnet covered her head.
“Is there a problem here John?”
“Aye Mr. Benson. I was explaining to this person—”
“I demand to see the earl,” the chit said at the same time. Face to face Eli judged her to be fifteen or so. She had cheek for one so young.
“May I ask your business with the earl?” Eli studied her closely. Her face had character. He’d give her that. Perhaps she was older than she first appeared.
“Who are you?” she asked, fire flashing from her eyes. Her very attractive green eyes… Oh no.
“Show some respect, girl,” John said. “This is Mr. Benson, the steward. I’ve been telling you—Mr. Benson will see to whatever it is. The earl isn’t here.”
“Steward, is it? Then you’ll have to help me.” Disappointment inched across her face driving the determination to the side, but not away. She glared up at the footman.
“I’ll deal with this, John. Please care for my horse,” Eli said.
She bounded past John into the foyer where she came to an abrupt halt, wide eyes taking in the magnificence that was Clarion Hall’s entrance: the parquet floors, the marble mantle, the gleaming banister curving upward beside carpeted stairs…
She spun toward Eli, that fire raging in her eyes. “The earl will help me. He has to.”
She pulled the ribbon on her bonnet and took it off, shaking her head and loosening a fall of hair. Glorious auburn hair… Oh no.
Eli’s peace had just been upended by a problem—one cursed with Caulfield hair and Caulfield eyes. One encased in the dainty body of a beautiful young woman with the heart of a warrior.
Damn.
***
Fanny eyed Mr. Benson while he spoke softly to the servant, closed the massive double doors, and turned to peer at her, hands behind his back. Realization dawned that she had just been closed into an unfamiliar house—a great palace of a house—and was alone with a stranger. She might be putting herself in danger, but she didn’t feel threatened.
She found his hair a plain brown and his eyes predictably brown as well. Attractive enough, this one, but no hero. He might do for the feckless younger brother or hero’s best friend.
“If you would follow me, perhaps we can hear your story, and you can tell me why you need the earl so urgently.” Up close, the earl’s man had a peaceful manner, graceful hands, and an expression bright with intelligence. He didn’t wait for a reply. When he gestured to a hallway to the left of the stairs, she followed him past rooms closed behind ornate doors and fancy woodwork, she imagined each of the rooms to be as opulent as the entrance.
He led her deeper into the house, and a frisson of alarm crept up her back. Mam would not approve of this entire escapade. She glanced at Mr. Benson’s back. Slender. Taller than Fanny, but most men were. Not as tall as that giant footman. They turned a corner.
He might be a villain, one who used charm to lure maidens to… But no, not this one.
A huge desk, all dark wood and carved edges, dominated the room he led her to. Books lined most of the walls, floor to ceiling. She glanced up at him.
“This is the earl’s own study,” Mr. Benson said. “If you make yourself comfortable, I’ll be a moment.”
Study? The reading room at the Royal Manchester isn’t much larger. At a loss, Fanny looked around her. She set her bonnet on a side table by the door, but clutched her reticule in her hand. She did not sit in any of the massive leather chairs that would likely make her look even more like a child if she sank into one. She didn’t want the man looming over her when he returned. If he returns…
He did, and a young woman carrying a tray followed. At Benson’s orders she placed the tray with porcelain cups, a teapot, cream, and sugar on a small table in front of the window, flanked by two of those overbearing chairs.
“I thought tea wouldn’t go amiss. Shall we sit, Miss… But I didn’t get your name. My manners have gone missing,” he said.
“I am Miss Frances Hancock. I didn’t come for tea.” She glanced at the maid.
“This is Sally, Miss Hancock.”
The little maid dipped a curtsey. “I’ll stay nearby, Miss. Don’t you fret.” She took a seat on a stool by the door.
Chaperonage. As if I were a lady instead of a store clerk. The courtesy warmed her heart until it occurred to her the girl may have been called to protect Mr. Benson from false accusations just as well.
“That settled, shall we sit? I could use tea if you don’t mind.” He sat in one of the chairs by the window.
At least he isn’t looming over you, or behind that gigantic desk. Fanny sat on the matching leather chair, perched on the edge, hands primly in her lap still clutching her bag, afraid to sink back for fear the chair would swallow her.
He poured a cup of tea and put it on her side of the table before pouring one for himself. “Now Miss Hancock, tell me why you came here.”
“I need help. The earl is my father. My natural father. He must take responsibility.” There. I said it. She lifted her chin. She felt shame burn up her neck, but she refused to let it shake her. The circumstances of her birth were her father’s shame, not hers. Oddly, Mr. Benson didn’t look shocked.
“What makes you think that’s the case?”
She reached into her reticule and pulled out the paper she had found in her mother’s sewing basket. She handed it to Benson. She knew the words by heart. Darling Fanny. I never wanted to tell you who your father was. Never wanted you to know the evil man, but…
He read it, winced, and read it again. When he looked up at her, compassion simmered in his eyes. Warm brown eyes, she noted. Definitely a best friend type.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about one thing,” he said.
When she opened her mouth to object, he raised a hand to stop her.
“The current earl is not your father. That person would be the previous earl, dead these five years.”
About The Forgotten Daughter: Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.
Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.
Eli will solve her problems or die trying. It may come to that.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/
About the Series: When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.
One sleepy village
One scandalous will
Four tormented heirs
One was forgotten entirely. She’s The Forgotten Daughter
Carol Roddy – Author
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