Page 1 of To Heal a Broken Earl
Chapter One
No. 3 Market Street
Shepherd Market, Mayfair, London
Spring 1819
What a beautiful day,Emma thought as she walked along the shoreline of Brighton Beach.What could be the harm in going barefoot in the water?Glancing over her shoulder, she saw she was alone. Smiling with anticipation, Emma removed her halfboots and stockings and waded into the surf, not caring that the bottom of her dress was soaked and clinging to her legs. She loved the ocean—loved walking through the crest of each wave as it lapped against the shore.
There was a contentment here that she’d only ever found by the sea. She reveled in the soothing coolness of the water, the soft squish of the sand between her toes, the steady roar of the breaking waves, and the clean, salt-sweet scent of the sea spray. Emma loved everything about the shore. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face to the sun, smiling at the warming glow. The sun felt more than warm. Quite hot, really.
“Ow!” she mumbled. Something—or rather someone—had just tugged on her braid. “Stop that! Ow!”
Another tug.
“Stop pulling on my braid,” she muttered again, this time more loudly.
“Auntie Emma! Auntie Emma!”
Emma’s eyes flew open. Her four-year-old niece, Katherine, stood beside the bed, her small fingers tangled in Emma’s braid, her lip trembling.
“Katie, what’s the matter?” Emma asked. Katie’s dark auburn curls mirrored her father’s, as did her eyes—now wide and worried—a warm brown instead of the striking violet eyes that Emma and Evie shared as sisters.
“There’s someone outside,” Katie whispered, glancing toward the window. “He was looking up at us. At first, I thought he was a nice man because he did something that Papa always does.”
“And what’s that?” Emma asked, still thinking Katie had had one of her nightmares. Katie was prone to bad dreams and often woke during the night. Emma frequently brought Katie to the small carriage house her sister and brother-in-law had built for her. This arrangement allowed Evie—who was pregnant with her second child—to get some sleep. It had become routine since Emma moved in several months ago.
“This.” Katie held her index finger over her lips and furrowed her brow, indicating she should be quiet.
“So, if he did something your Papa does, then why is he bad?”
“Because Papa always smiles and laughs. The man at the window wasn’t smiling. Not at all. His eyes looked mean and scary.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Emma said. If she didn’t look out the window, Katie wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
Evie and her husband, Martin, had traveled to Martin’s parents’ home in Essex for a funeral. His elderly Aunt Sarah had recently passed away. Emma had only met the woman once—at the wedding—but remembered her as a gentle soul. Evie had been as distraught as Martin over his aunt’s death.
“Aunt Sarah was the first person to truly welcome me into the family,” her sister had wept. “She was almost like another mother to me.”
Evie had asked Emma to look after Katie while she and Martin were away.Emma was honored that her sister and brother-in-law trusted her with their daughter. They were her closest family—her only family—and Emma would do anything for her niece.
“I fear she will get into mischief at Martin’s family estate,” Evie had confessed. “His brother and wife will be there, but their girls are probably staying home with their governess. His mother has always claimed to have a delicate constitution, and you know how she gets when there are children and animals around. We brought Katie to visit when she was two, and she accidentally knocked over a vase and chipped it. Martin’s mother practically fainted. So, we think it’s best if we don’t bring her with us. It works better to visit his parents when they come to London for the Season.”
Evie had not exaggerated her concerns.
Martin’s mother and father were nothing like him. Martin’s first instinct was always to make guests feel welcome and comfortable in his home. His parents, however, were rigid, prudish, and unyielding. Visitors were expected to abide by their rules without exception, and they rarely made concessions for anyone, not even their children.
Aunt Sarah had been the exception. She had welcomed Evie with open arms.
In his youth, Martin and his siblings—an older brother and younger sister—had spent weeks at Aunt Sarah’s home while their parents were in London for the Season, and Aunt Sarah had had a tremendous influence on him. Her home had been filled with laughter, affection, and sweet memories—everything childhood ought to be.
Emma pushed back the quilts and rose from the warm cocoon of her bed, slid on her slippers, and padded to the window.
She loved her bedroom. She loved everything about her quaint quarters and was grateful to her sister and brother-in-law for everything they had done for her.
“You need your comfort and privacy, Emma,” Martin had insisted.
He had added a cozy parlor on the first floor, complete with a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bookcase for her extensive collection, and a seating area where she could entertain friends and invite people for tea.
