The Earl's Treasure: A Treasure Tale Read online

  THE EARL’S

  TREASURE

  A Treasure Tale

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  Copyright © December 2020 Nancy Lee Badger

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. AMZ

  Cover illustration copyright © 2020

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  All rights reserved.

  The Story

  After Stone was wounded and thrust into an earldom, and Adele is widowed by an abusive husband, these star-crossed childhood friends meet at an English country ball, escape a kidnapper searching for a mysterious treasure, and depart for Scotland ahead of those intent on killing anyone in their way.

  In the year since Adele Maxwell’s husband drowned while searching for treasure in a far-off land, leaving her with little but the dilapidated Maxwell estate, the Scottish baroness has kept it barely running. While attending a ball for the first time in years, in a borrowed gown, her evening is ruined by a coarsely-dressed ruffian intent on forcing her to take him to a hidden treasure. That she has no idea what he wants makes no difference to him.

  After returning from Waterloo for his brother’s funeral, Stone soon becomes the Earl of Larchmont upon the death of his father. Wounded in body and spirit, he despises crowds, balls, and his mother’s Scottish lineage, yet arrives at the country ball just to please his godmother. Saving Adele, a woman he kissed ten years earlier, catapults the couple into a wild and dangerous treasure hunt from the English countryside to a snow-covered Scottish castle.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to authors like Sabrina Jeffries, Katharine Ashe, and Jennifer Delamere who made me love historical and Regency Historical Romance. I want to especially thank author Hannah Howell for tempting me to start writing about Scottish heroes.

  Table of Contents

  The Story

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Dear Reader;

  Rescuing Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Books by Nancy Lee Badger

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Connect with Nancy Lee Badger

  Chapter 1

  South of the Scottish border

  December 1816

  A door slammed, and Adele grabbed the top of her dressing table to keep from tumbling from the cushioned stool. Her startled movement caused Violet to almost pull a handful of her hair from the roots. Closing her eyes, Adele choked back a whimper.

  “Be still, my lady. ’Tis only the wind. I fear winter is making itself known.”

  Adele shivered. Not from the gathering cold that swept over the English countryside and seeped through the manor’s cracked windows, but from the thought of venturing into the public’s eye tonight.

  Light snow had started to fall that morning, darkening her mood and making her rethink her plans. Breathing slowly and pulling strength from deep inside, she concentrated on her young maid. Violet, her dark red hair tucked beneath a white mobcap, hummed a Scottish nursery tune.

  The servant helped her dress for an invitation she should have ignored. How unfortunate that Violet ran the hairbrush through Adele’s long curls as if currying a horse. Since trying and failing to sell enough personal effects to pay wages, she had no cause to complain.

  However, a question scratched at her mind. In lieu of wages, had Violet taken her silver mirror, the one her father had presented to her as a wedding gift? Would her servants resort to theft without asking for their wages first?

  “There, my lady, yer hair shines like spun gold.”

  Adele huffed in exasperation as the maid tugged and twirled and pinned her hair upon her head.

  “Thank ye, Violet, though my hair is a tad too dark to call gold. Why can I not wear it in a bun at the nape of my neck as I normally do?”

  “Nay, my lady! Yer a baroness! ’Tis fine for a simple life at home, here at Maxwell Hall, but not for a ball at the Duke of Bellmeer’s estate!”

  “I suppose ye speak the truth, although I am concerned the dress will not do me justice.”

  “Doono’ fret. Let me help ye into yer lovely gown.”

  Adele had to agree the icy blue fabric’s beauty thrilled her. “’Tis not even mine.” She’d traded several jars of homemade blackberry jam with a neighbor for its use tonight. Violet clicked her tongue and helped Adele to her feet.

  The fledgling maid slipped the borrowed gown over the long curls pinned atop Adele’s head. Adele fluffed the skirt and smoothed the shoulder-baring bodice, then stood as still as a Lochmaben Standing Stone.

  From the corner of her eye, her image in the cracked looking-glass atop her dressing table was less than flattering. The gown itself was pretty, but two or three years out of fashion. She didn’t mind. The rounded bodice cradled her generous breasts, but felt too loose in other places.

  A deep breath and a less than stellar smile would keep Violet from fussing over her any longer, but Adele’s senses reeled as the hour to depart drew near. Panic grew with every labored breath.

  Ridiculous!

  She had no reason to be afraid. Any excuse for leaving Maxwell Hall ought to be a cause for celebration, not something to fear. She had to go. She must thank Fanny Hartwell for inviting her to the ball. The dowager duchess had spent months trying to coax her to return to society and would welcome Adele’s presence, tonight.

  “Although, staying home would be a lot less trouble.”

  “Did ye say something, my lady?”

  Adele snorted.

  She seldom talked anymore. Over the last few years, she’d lived like a recluse and so unlike the lass of her youth. Fanny’s ball, at her grandson’s nearby great estate, might turn into an opportunity to end her loneliness. Meeting neighbors and nobles from London was a treat and she would mingle, dance, and enjoy the company of ladies and well-dressed men.

  Liar.

  The sudden image of her late husband made her stomach clench and her palms sweat with fear. Though dead for an entire year, Rupert and his abuse still haunted her. Squaring her shoulders she swept his face and pain-giving fists from her mind.

  “Violet, ’tis time to find Godfrey.”

  “Aye, he’ll drive yer
coach to the duke’s estate. How wonderful a time ye shall have! Dancing to the strains of an orchestra, smiling and mingling with men and women in their finery?” Violet twirled as if waltzing with an unseen man of the peerage. Within a heartbeat, she had pirouetted like a spinning top into the hallway.

  Praying Violet continued on her way to find Godfrey, Adele slipped into a pair of silk shoes. To obtain something so delicate she’d traded a basket of apples from her small orchard. There were little enough stores to feed her and the servants through winter, but she wanted those new slippers.

  A curdling scream had her turn toward the open bedchamber door.

  Without a second thought she flew down the staircase toward the kitchen. Passing the parlor, she grabbed a tall silver candlestick, the mate to the one that had mysteriously disappeared yesterday. She raised it above her head.

  Charging into the room at the back of the manor, Adele yelled like a banshee. She almost tripped over an unconscious Violet, who lay sprawled on the floor.

  Sliding to a stop, a cold breeze snapped at the hair Violet had pinned atop Adele’s head. Turning toward the kitchen’s open back door, she stared at the snow-covered figure looming in the doorway. She raised the candlestick higher, ready to slam the heavy silver base at his head, should he come any closer.

  “Leave us alone! Get away from here and stop stealing the few things we have left!” Her blood raced through her veins, strengthening her resolve to protect her workers and her home.

  Several small items had gone missing, doors had been found left unlocked, and the sound of splitting wood, coming from the barn, had put everyone on edge.

  The figure stumbled back into the night and brushed the snow from his shoulders and hat. Surprised he had retreated and no longer moved, she turned the candle upright and lit it with a nearby flint. Raising the flame higher, she recognized the hat.

  “Godfrey?”

  “I apologize, my lady. I came to warn ye about more mischief, when snow tumbled from the rooftop.”

  “Oh, dear Lord. Come inside.” Stepping back, she set the heavy candlestick on the kitchen table. Having shed most of the snow, Godfrey joined her in the kitchen. When he slammed the door shut, the candle blew out. Plunged into darkness, but for a glow from the banked cinders in the kitchen’s hearth, Adele searched along the table for where she had laid the flint.

  “Here, I have one, my lady.” Godfrey must have rummaged in his coat, because a flint was struck, producing enough of a spark to fill the room with shadows from its tiny fluttering flame.

  Working together, they raised Violet to her feet while silence wrapped around them. Adele’s coachman would share his bad news when ready. A quiet soul who she fed and housed, he had stayed loyal even without a month’s wages. More guilt coiled through her.

  Grabbing the pitcher of water and a chipped teacup, he poured it until full. He handed Violet the cup, then turned to Adele. “When I finished hitching the nags to the coach I thought someone had gotten into the chicken coop.”

  “Could it have been Sadie?”

  “Nay. She headed home just after setting the kitchen to rights after the noon meal. She never stays past dusk anymore. Besides, she’d fed the chickens earlier.”

  Happy her cook was safe and back at her own small cottage down the road, she glanced at the kitchen door. “This is getting ridiculous. With the war over and hundreds of our soldiers returning from the war against Napoleon Bonaparte, are times so bad that desperate men need to steal from us?”

  He grimaced and stomped his boots, scattering snow on the once-clean floor. “We ought to get a man to guard yer property. When his lordship returned home from his travels we never experienced trespassers.”

  “True. He had a habit of shooting first and asking questions later. His notoriety was well-deserved.”

  “Are ye keeping the doors bolted at night, my lady?”

  She nodded. “I fear ’tis too late. Other things have turned up missing. Dear Lord! I promised the duchess I would show my face tonight, and ’tis getting late.”

  “Nothing ye can do here, my lady. Ye deserve to have a good time among people like the duchess.”

  She appreciated Fanny’s good will and easy camaraderie and knew her absence tonight would break the older woman’s heart. “Very well. I shall grab my cloak and meet ye out front.”

  With a tip of his sodden hat, Godfrey slipped out the back door. She threw the bolt and turned her attention to her groggy maid. “Violet, are ye well?”

  The lass straightened her white mobcap, took a deep breath, and stood. “I be fine, my lady. Let’s get ye off to yer ball.” Violet grabbed the candlestick and gingerly led the way to the manor’s wide marble-floored vestibule. Adele ignored the three cracked tiles while she and Violet stopped beside the hooks on the wall.

  Violet gasped. “That’s odd. I know yer cloak hung right here!”

  “Another theft? They are getting inside the house!”

  “Oh dear, oh my!” Violet slapped a hand on her chest and backed against the wall. Her face paled and her breathing grew rapid.

  “Calm yerself. Hurry upstairs and grab another cloak.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Violet glanced right and left, then trudged up the staircase.

  “Hurry!” How could her best cloak up and walk away? The anger sweeping through her was as strong as the fear knowing someone had entered their house. Could they have been in her bedroom and taken her silver hand mirror?

  When Violet arrived, the young woman helped Adele into a ragged-edged cloak. The ugly mud-brown wool proved serviceable. “Violet, did ye move my looking glass?”

  “Why, no my lady. I noticed it missing when I pinned up yer hair. Ye didn’t place it in a drawer?” As Adele’s maid smoothed the poor-fitting cloak over her shoulders, and tied it closed at her neck, she sighed.

  “Nay. If someone has entered the house unbeknownst to us, we must keep the doors bolted.”

  “What if they’re here now?” she whispered.

  “Bolt the door behind me, hide, and keep the candlestick near.”

  At the squeal of the ancient coach’s wooden wheels and the clinking of the harnessed horses’ tack, Adele headed out the door. Pausing at the top step, she inhaled the cool clear December air, and turned back to gaze into the startled eyes of her young maid.

  “Better yet, after bolting this door, find a butchering knife in the kitchen. Hide in a quiet, dark spot, and listen for my return. Oh,” she added, “and do not let anyone into the manor except me.”

  Adele, clutching the cloak around her shoulders, allowed Godfrey to assist her up into the dilapidated coach. It wouldn’t do to fall flat on her face.

  Once the door closed she leaned back, pleased no neighbor had begged for a ride to the ducal estate. The cracked leather, sprung window shade, and faded red velvet seats showed obvious years of misuse. With their musty smell, the proof of her poverty would embarrass her.

  When Adele’s husband was alive, she hid her bruised body by keeping herself at home. While Rupert traipsed through France or Africa, she healed in the quiet solitude of the manor. Violet was too new to the household to know of her late husband’s atrocities, but her dear elderly cook, Sadie, had helped her heal.

  Attending tonight’s ball in a crowded social setting seemed long overdue. She should embrace any new adventure, since her fear was most likely unfounded.

  My husband died and my body has mended.

  Fanny had the grace to present the invitation in person. The woman would not accept no for an answer.

  Besides, Jacqueline promised to meet me at the receiving line.

  The young woman had her own secrets, but had visited Adele on occasion. Her bright and spirited friend was dark where Adele was pale. Tall where she was short. Though different in many ways, the young woman had promised to find her at least one dance partner tonight.

  I doono’ know how I feel about that.

  The interior of the coach felt as cold as the evening air
outside. Her shoes had gotten damp from the snow-covered walkway. The poorly sprung coach bumped along the short drive to the main road. The duke’s estate stood close by. She worried for Violet’s safety, since Godfrey would remain at Bellmeer and Sadie wouldn’t return until sunrise to feed the chickens.

  Those chickens always seem to need feeding.

  She felt guilty for asking Godfrey to work late into the night. He wasn’t a young man, having been hired by her late husband well before their marriage. Godfrey had already driven her to the village today so she could buy the new shoes to match the borrowed gown.

  As a horrid seamstress, her current finances meant a new gown was out of the question. She considered splurging on the shoes a vain attempt to feel like a baroness once again.

  The horses whinnied and their gentle trot turned into a gallop. A bump in the lane tossed Adele so high that her styled hair brushed the top of the coach. She landed on her rear on the lumpy bench with a painful thump.

  “Godfrey! What is happening?”

  “Horsemen, my lady! They picked up our trail as soon as we left the manor property. They’re coming fast!”

  “Dear Lord!” Grabbing one of the hanging leather straps, she set her feet against the opposite seat for balance. Thumps, bumps, and the scream of the terrified horses made her blood race. Grasping the curtain by the coach’s window, she could not help but notice her knuckles had turned white in the moonlight. Hoof beats grew louder and the shouts of angry men made her wish she’d brought one of Rupert’s dueling pistols.

  A sharp turn had the coach pitching sideways and she lost her grip on the strap. Thrown to the other side of the bench seat as her coachman pulled them to a stop, she blinked and peeked outside. Half in shock, she spied the well-lit entrance of the duke’s impressive estate.

  “My lady?” Godfrey stood by the open door.

  “What happened?”

  “The horsemen continued on down the lane. I possibly overreacted. I’m sorry if I caused ye any harm.”