Lord fentons folly, p.1
Lord Fenton's Folly, page 1
Lord Fenton's Folly
Josi S. Kilpack
© 2015 Josi S. Kilpack.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.
Visit us at ShadowMountain.com
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kilpack, Josi S., author.
Lord Fenton’s folly / Josi S. Kilpack.
pages cm
Summary: “Lord Fenton and Alice Stanbridge’s marriage is one of convenience for him, but one of love for her. When Alice realizes the truth, she matches Fenton wit for wit until they both learn to see the truth of each other’s hearts and find love beyond the folly”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-62972-066-1 (paperbound)
I. Title.
PS3561.I412L67 2015
813'.54—dc232015004828
Printed in the United States of America
Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Other Books by Josi S. Kilpack
The Sadie Hoffmiller Culinary Mystery Series:
Lemon Tart, English Trifle, Devil’s Food Cake, Key Lime Pie, Blackberry Crumble, Pumpkin Roll, Banana Split, Tres Leches Cupcakes, Baked Alaska, Rocky Road, Fortune Cookie, Wedding Cake, Sadie’s Little Black Recipe Book
Other Proper Romance Novels
A Heart Revealed by Josi S. Kilpack
Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson
Blackmoore by Julianne Donaldson
Longing for Home by Sarah M. Eden
Longing for Home, vol. 2: Hope Springs by Sarah M. Eden
For Linda
1948–2013
Table of Contents
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
Acknowledgments
About the Author
A Heart Revealed
My Fair Gentlemen
Chapter 1
Lord Fenton—Charles Archibald Theler—moved his adolescent arms and legs as fast as they could go toward the small shed just past the tree line, not sure if he was running more from the fire or from someone’s notice of his proximity to the scene. Either source catching up with him would not bode well.
Fenton reached the doorway—the door having fallen off its hinges some years before—and grabbed hold of the aging wood frame. Graying daylight showed through the gaps in the shed walls. He spun around, pushed his sweat-damp hair from his forehead and looked first at the skies and then at the white smoke rising from the field he’d just evacuated. The dry grass had turned to flames faster than he’d expected, blackening like oil spilled from a container, until the fire had leaped up and begun running in multiple directions. It had reminded him of how an army might fan out to face the enemy on every side. A full fifteen feet had already burned before he realized he ought to make a run for it, even if it meant being unable to survey his handiwork.
Safe in the doorway of the shed, he was equal parts afraid and amazed at what he had done. If the fire kept growing, however, the fear would surely take over. It had never been his intention for more than the meadow grass to burn.
“Come on,” he said, through his labored breaths. He looked at the sky in supplication. What if the entire wood caught fire? What if, despite his careful planning, someone got hurt? “Come on!” he said again, pleading this time.
A moment later his wish was granted as the skies burst open and the rain with which England was so well acquainted poured from the sky. None of the drizzly sprinkles that were often the only weather in Town—no, this was a torrent. The first significant storm Essex County had seen in almost a month.
His father and Mr. Stanbridge had talked of the unusually dry season every evening of this blasted week. It was through those conversations that sixteen-year-old Fenton, on break from Eton and bored stiff at Mr. Stanbridge’s country estate, had come up with what some might call mischief but he preferred to think of as science. Scientific discovery always began with a question in need of answering. Answers like gravity and tides being linked to the phases of the moon had changed the world because someone thought to ask how a thing worked.
Fenton’s question was how well a meadow—four weeks without rain—would burn. The science master might not see the merit in such a question, but as the days of the house party drew out, Fenton found himself more and more curious. Would the grass simply smolder? England was such a wet place even when it wasn’t raining every day. Or would it all go up in a giant rush of fire? After coming up with what felt like a foolproof plan, he had executed the steps and what a wonder it had been!
“Did you start that fire?”
“Good grief!” Fenton said as he spun around and pressed his back against the doorway, his heart racing all over again. When he saw that the voice addressing him belonged to a girl sitting on an overturned bucket, he relaxed some. But not much. He recognized the youngest daughter of Mr. Stanbridge himself: Alice. If she reported what she’d seen to her father, Fenton would really be in the suds. Fortunately, Fenton had recently discovered he could be quite charming when he put his mind to it, especially with the ladies, and as she was a small lady he felt sure he could charm her too.
He forced a smile to cover whatever expression of surprise might have made way onto his face, and relaxed as the rain continued to pound outside the shed. Water was beginning to drip from the rafters as well, but not so profusely that he was concerned.
“What fire?” He waved toward the doorway, where the only thing to be seen was sheeting rain, and ignored the smell of wet charcoal in the air. He slipped the tinderbox he had stolen from the library mantel into the back of his waistband and immediately felt it fall to the leg of his breeches tucked into his boots. “I did, however, start the rain, if you must know.”
“God made the rain,” Alice said. She stared up at him with hazel eyes set into a round face. Was she eight or nine years old? She didn’t often join the guests for the different activities that Fenton found so dull.
“Did He now?” Fenton said, trying to determine how to best gain her trust. “But perhaps I told Him to make it. I am a viscount you know, and one day I will be an earl. Noblemen rule the world.”
Her eyes went wide, though he was unsure whether it was because of the possibility of his statement or the blasphemy of it. Was she particularly pious? That might work against him.
“Noblemen assist in the rule of England, but we are still a monarchy,” Alice said with shaky confidence. “King Fernando rules Spain again, and a president rules America, which is a republic. No one rules the world except God, and no one tells Him what to do.” She stood up and brushed off her skirts that ended a few inches above her ankle. She was thin and small and dressed in a blue frock, with skin too brown and spots across her nose that testified to the probability that she regularly escaped the house without a bonnet. She walked to the doorway of the shed and looked out on the scene, staying as far from him as she could. The rain was easing, but only just. She looked at the burnt portion of the meadow, then looked up at him—he was at least a foot taller than she was. “You’re lucky God decided to douse your fire, otherwise you’d have burned me up and gone right to hell.”
He couldn’t help but laugh when she smiled at her own joke, and he felt confident this conversation was ultimately going to work in his favor. “Well, I am lucky indeed, then,” Fenton said with an acknowledging nod of his head. “Only I might end up in purgatory all the same if my father learns what I did. It was calculated, you know. I’ve been watching the skies for days and this storm was sweeping to the west fast enough for me to time its arrival nearly to the minute based on the proximity of the clouds and distance of the thunder.” He lifted the watch attached to his waistcoat as though to prove his diligence.
She looked at the watch then back at the rain-soaked field. Without the fire and smoke the black space was not so impressive. “You still could have burned me up.”
“Or you could have run away. What are you doing in this shed so far from the house anyway?”
Her expression fell into a pouty frown. “Everyone’s leaving for London except me. I hate it when they go.”
Fenton searched for something frivolous to say but it was not so long ago he had been in this girl’s same position, and he could not ignore the empathy.
“Who is ‘she’? Your sister?”
Fenton hadn’t realized he’d said the last part out loud and shook himself back to the present. “I meant my mother.” Sharing made him uncomfortable. Perhaps because it was so personal—not anything like what he had ever said to anyone else. Lady Chariton had insisted her son be educated at home until three years ago when Fenton’s father had demanded he go to Eton. Fenton did not like school, but he would never admit that the biggest reason for his dislike was because he missed his mother so much.
“I have two sisters and a father to leave me,” Alice said, looking out the doorway again. “But no mother.”
Fenton wondered if he should point out the coy glances he’d noticed being shared between her father and the widowed Lady Foust but decided not to. He had not forgotten what he’d seen when he returned from school last week, a day earlier than expected, and wished he could forget altogether the exchange he’d witnessed between his father and a housemaid. Wished he could forget the additional clarity it brought to mind of other incidents of women being where they ought not be, of his father’s attention to women that seemed kinder than was his nature. More than that, however, Fenton wished he could forget his mother’s face when he’d told her of what he’d seen. It had seemed the obvious thing to do—ask for his mother’s help in understanding what he’d witnessed—but it had hurt her. He’d seen his words cut through her like a blade and hated himself for it.
Alice took a deep breath and let it out, saving Fenton from his thoughts. “Everyone will go to London next week. I’ve never been left at Warren House without anyone at all.” She paused and let out a huff of breath. “Everyone treats me like a baby only because I’m the youngest. I’ll be eleven just after Guy Fawkes, you know.”
“Which makes you ten and a half.”
She narrowed her eyes, and he smiled at the honesty of her reaction.
“What you need is to think of something you can do while they are gone. If you keep your mind occupied, you shan’t find yourself in the doldrums.”
“Like starting fires?”
Fenton laughed again. It was proving difficult to find the upper hand in this conversation. “I would not recommend that, like I said it was a scientific experiment based on unique circumstance and not one to try again. Do you like to read?”
“They only let me read baby books.”
“Factor numbers?”
“No.”
“Ride ponies?”
“Horses make me sneeze and itch.”
Fenton searched his mind for what other pursuits a young girl might occupy herself with while wondering why he was having this ridiculous conversation. And yet he needed to gain her friendship so she wouldn’t give him away regarding the fire. “Do you like to sew?”
Alice’s eyes narrowed even more. “I do not like to sew or sing or play the pianoforte. I don’t like to draw or play with blocks or write my letters.”
“Well, then, what do you like to do?”
She considered for a moment, her eyebrows pulled together. Then her expression relaxed. “I like to dig.”
“Dig? You mean dig in the earth?”
She nodded. “And swim.”
“Swim?” Fenton repeated. Whoever heard of a girl swimming?
“And run,” she said finally, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe I will run after the carriage all the way to London.”
“You are a peculiar girl.” Fenton looked over the trees to the upper floor of Warren House in the distance. He needed to return to his room soon if he hoped to keep the ruse that he’d been taking a nap when the fire had started.
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “That’s what everyone says. Sometimes I’m too silly, sometimes I’m too harsh. I can never seem to get it right.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being peculiar,” Fenton said. He had his own peculiarities and he quite liked them—more and more with time. Playing out a role of one kind or another made him feel more secure somehow. Protected, though he was unsure what he felt he needed protection from exactly. “I’d like to make you a deal, Miss Alice.”
“What kind of deal?” Alice asked with suspicion as she turned her attention to him.
“Well, even though God and I worked it out for the rain to remedy my fire experiment—” She narrowed her eyes and he hurried forward so as not to be chastised again. “It would put me quite in the suds with my father if he knew I’d been a part of it. You’re not a tattler, are you?”
“You’re only saying that so that I’ll be so ashamed to be one that I’ll keep your secret.”
Fenton was trying to find another approach when she spoke. “What do I get if I keep your secret?”
“What do you get?”
“You’re trying to bargain with me—I have two older sisters. I know what a bargain is, and I know how to keep a secret. What would I get for my part?”
“Um, a sweet?”
Those eyes narrowed again.
“A new pair of slippers. My mother’s cobbler could . . .”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Okay, then, what do you suggest?”
She pondered for a short while, then looked at him with a continued doubting expression that spurred him to want very much to fulfill whatever wish she had if only to be worthy of a better regard in the future. “I want my very own garden.”
“What?”
Suddenly Alice was quite animated. “I want my own garden where I can dig and plant whatever I want and my governess cannot get angry at me. I want it all my own—no cook, no gardener, no one to tell me what to do with it or what to grow in it. Can you give me that?”
How on earth could I give her such a thing? Fenton wondered, but then he thought a little more and wondered if it would be that difficult. “You’ll keep my secret?”
She nodded and he believed her.
“Has anyone told you that you can’t have a garden? It would be unfair to send me on a fool’s errand.”
“Cook doesn’t let me in her garden after what I did to the rosemary. Father said he would see to a spot of my own, but that was months ago and now he is leaving for London and told me not to pester him anymore.” She dropped her chin in a way very similar to a professor Fenton once had and gave him a stern look. “There is much work to be done in a garden, you know. It would keep my mind occupied, just as you recommended.”
“Then I shall see that you get a garden.”
She smiled. A real smile that showed a slight gap between her large front teeth and lit up her face to the degree that he thought—just for a moment—perhaps she would grow up pretty one day. He put out his hand. “We have to shake hands, that’s giving our word to one another—gentleman to lady.”
