An Earl In Time Read online

  She had no way of judging what color eyes he had, but he had dark-blond hair and nice broad shoulders. He was slender, too. The tall boots he wore gave her the impression he was tall, but boots had a tendency to do that regardless of who wore them.

  “That’s Julian Azazel, the Earl of Blackwell,” Mr. Thompson told her. “He was the last person to inhabit this manor for longer than a few months at a time. He came here from London after his father died. He was supposed to be here for a month to set things in order, but after two months, his relatives and friends noticed he hadn’t returned to London. When his cousin came to check on him, he said the entire place was empty.”

  “Empty?”

  “The furniture was all here, as you see it now, but there was no person anywhere on the property.”

  She didn’t scare easily, but she had to admit this was a bit spooky. “They didn’t find a single person?”

  He shook his head. “It was as if everyone disappeared. Or, at least, that’s what the cousin said.”

  “Do you think the cousin lied?”

  “I don’t know. Rumor has it that someone in the household went mad and killed everyone, buried all the bodies, and went off to either hide or die somewhere. Then there are those who say something happened that made everyone flee from here.” He paused. “The most likely story is that his cousin wanted the title for himself and killed Lord Blackwell in secret. Then he either ordered all of the servants to leave or killed them, too. Though the cousin insisted he was innocent, the judge found him guilty of murder and had him hanged. If I remember right, the cousin’s name was Francis. The title then went to Francis’ younger brother. That was Phillip. He managed the estate until he died. And on and on down the line the estate went from one heir to another. You are now the last remaining heir of the estate.”

  She glanced at the portrait. She supposed the only people who knew exactly what happened was the man in the portrait and the servants who’d been here with him.

  “Nothing bad has happened here since then,” Mr. Thompson assured her. “People have been here on and off through the years, and they’ve all been fine. Everyone who inherited the place has lived a long and healthy life. Whatever happened, it was restricted to that particular incident. I don’t want you to get scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” she said. “It’s all in the past. Like Jack the Ripper, we’ll probably never know what actually happened.”

  He didn’t hide his relief. “I didn’t want you to think ghosts were roaming the halls or anything.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I’m fine with staying here while we work on a plan to sell this estate.”

  “Good. I’ll show you the rest of the rooms, and then we’ll discuss the terms of the contract.”

  With another glance at the portrait, she followed Mr. Thompson out of the room.

  Chapter Two

  It was strange to have a whole mansion all to herself, but by the end of the day, everyone had left. Willow had fish and a salad on the veranda so she could eat her dinner while looking out at the pretty landscape. While she was here, she might as well take the time to enjoy it. Living in the city didn’t provide scenic views like this.

  One thing she was going to have to do when she returned home was figure out what she would do with the money she received from the sale of this estate. Mr. Thompson had suggested she leave it in the bank and seek out the help of a financial adviser. The more she thought about it, the better that option seemed. Coming into so much money at once did produce a wave of anxiety that surprised her. She never expected to be rich. She’d heard of people winning the lottery and ending up broke in a few years. She didn’t want that to happen to her. She wanted this money to last her for the rest of her life, and it would be good if she had something to pass to her children, if she ever had them. At the moment, she didn’t even have a boyfriend. Heck, she wasn’t even dating.

  After dinner, she took a long shower. Then she retrieved a book she’d started on the airplane and curled up in bed to read it.

  The next day, she took a walk outside. Mr. Thompson had told her there was an older car in the garage. Curious, she went to see it. The car turned out to be a Vauxhall Cresta, and it looked like something that came right out of the 1960s. It was hard to believe people had once driven things so big. It was more like a boat than a car.

  Mr. Thompson had said one of Violet’s workers checked on it to make sure it would run without any problems, but really, there was only one way to find out if an old relic like this would still run.

  Willow took the key from her jeans’ pocket and unlocked the door. She sat on the bench leather seat. It was weird to sit on the right side instead of the left like she did in the US. She’d probably get used to it if she stayed here, but since she had no such desire, she decided not to drive it. Instead, she turned the key in the ignition to see if it would start. The engine purred instantly. Her eyes widened in surprise. It seemed that Violet and her team were just as good at maintaining things as Mr. Thompson claimed.

  She turned the engine off, got out of the car, and took a walk along the newly mowed lawn. On her way, she saw stables that had once been used but were now empty. In the distance, she saw trees on the backside of the property. Most were scattered out, but there was a group of thirty or forty of them that were all bunched up together. How odd. One would think with all of this space, there would be no reason for trees to be pressed up against each other.

  She didn’t go to the stables or the trees. She opted to stay close to the manor, and as she continued her walk, she came across a gazebo.

  How quaint!

  She hurried over to it. It had been freshly painted with a charming purple color. The area right around it had been cleared of weeds. She touched the side of the gazebo to make sure the paint was dry before she stepped into it. She’d always thought these things were pretty, but she’d never been in one before.

  From here, she could see the driveway that led to the tall shrubs. Beyond that, she could see the bridge that went over the moat. It was small in the distance, but she could see it all the same. And beyond that, she could make out the trees that lined the road that led to the main highway. She couldn’t, however, see the highway or any other mansion from here. It really was just her all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

  She involuntarily shivered. She wouldn’t want to be out here all by herself for any longer than a couple of weeks. She imagined that such a situation would end up driving her crazy.

  When she grew bored, she got up from the bench and returned to the enormous house. What was it Mr. Thompson had called it? Nightingale Hall? Looking back, she should have realized something called Nightingale Hall wasn’t going to be a cute little country home. That just showed her how little she knew about English nobility and their residences.

  She entered through the side entrance that was by the kitchen. After she had a quick snack, she searched through the rooms on the first floor to see if there was a TV or a computer anywhere. She didn’t remember seeing one yesterday, but there was so much going on that she only remembered parts of everything that had happened.

  The sitting room was the only room where the coverings had been removed from the furniture. Out of curiosity, she lifted some of the sheets from the items in the other rooms. The furniture was just like what was in the sitting room. Plush seats with mahogany frames. One of the rooms had sheets that were draped along two walls. She lifted one and saw a fireplace. She lifted another and saw a bookcase filled with hardbound books.

  She picked out one of the books. Though the previous owners had done as much as possible to preserve it, the pages were stiff and yellow from the passage of time. She read the title page and saw that it was called The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding. She’d never heard of this particular story before. If it was a story. For all she knew, it was a biography about someone named Tom Jones. She looked at the year it was published. 1749. People back in 1749 didn’
t read fiction, did they? She thought for a moment and realized that of course, they did. William Shakespeare lived in the 1500s. She couldn’t believe she actually recalled that from her high school English class.

  She put the book back on the shelf and pulled out another one. She opened it and read The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole. She’d never heard of this book before, either. It might be a description of an entire castle, for all she knew. There were enough pages in it to make her think such a thing was possible. One could write an entire book about this place.

  She put it back on the shelf. She knew it was stupid to base the desire to read a book on the cover, but all of the covers were plain, and that made her think these books had to be just as boring as they looked.

  She stepped away from the bookshelf and let the sheet fall back into place. She went to the large object that was close to a large window and lifted the sheet. It was a desk. There was even an inkwell and quill on it. She was surprised to see there was no paper to go with it. Adding a few pieces of paper would make it seem more like someone had just stepped away from the desk for a few minutes. That would also give this entire place a little “extra” to the old time appeal it had.

  She set the sheet back in place and left the room. She didn’t see a TV or computer anywhere. So there was no chance of her watching any TV shows, movies, or videos. She supposed if no one lived here for any length of time, there was no point in setting up a satellite system or an internet connection.

  At least they’d thought to put in electric lines, an air conditioner, and plumbing. Things could be worse. She might grow bored out here, but she’d be comfortable. She could always take the car out and go to the small town she had passed on her way to this estate if she got desperate for something to do.

  In the meantime, she had her iPhone to keep her occupied. Recalling that she’d left it on her suitcase, she hurried up the large set of stairs and went to her bedroom. She’d been so tired yesterday that she hadn’t bothered to go online. All she’d done was check to see if anyone had called. Not that she expected anyone to, but it was a habit.

  She pushed the button at the bottom of the screen on her phone. Nothing.

  She frowned. She must have forgotten to charge it before she left the hotel yesterday. With a groan, she went to her suitcase and dug through it until she found her cord. She plugged the cord into the wall and hooked it to the phone. The screen told her it was charging.

  Thankfully, she’d brought several books along. And these had attractive covers on them that made someone want to read them.

  Once she selected the one she wanted, she left her bedroom. Her gaze went to the sheet hanging on the wall at the end of the hallway. She never did see what was behind that sheet.

  She went over to it and lifted it. Her reflection stared back at her. It was a mirror. A very tall mirror. The thing started a couple of feet above her head and went all the way down to her ankles. Whoever put the thing here probably liked to look at their entire outfit. She’d once had a mirror like that, though it hadn’t been so high above her head.

  Something flickered in the mirror. She took a better look at the area of the hall where she thought she noticed the flicker, but nothing unusual popped out at her.

  Her attention went to her reflection, and she realized the wind had messed up her hair. She let the sheet fall back down and returned to the bedroom. Even if she had nowhere to go, she couldn’t let her hair be all over the place like this.

  She went to the bathroom and brushed her hair. Feeling much better, she took the book and went down to the sitting room.

  ***

  As Willow read the book in the sitting room, her gaze kept going to the portrait on the wall. She didn’t know why her attention was continually drawn to it. Maybe it was because this was a far-off distant ancestor in her family tree. Even if she wasn’t a direct descendant from his line, she was in the place he had once owned.

  She had no idea how Mr. Thompson was able to track her down from the family line. She’d never dealt with such things before. How did people know which person got an estate? Mr. Thompson had said something about titles, but that was harder for her to grasp than obtaining this estate. Things were so much simpler in America. No one was a duke or earl…or…or…whatever.

  Her dad died when she was a child, so she had no frame of reference to go by there. But she did have a lawyer help her after her mom’s death. She’d been an only child. The lawyer had told her that made things easier. Also, her mom hadn’t owned the house she’d lived in. She’d been renting it. All Willow really had to do was figure out what to do with her mom’s things. She’d kept some of it, but she’d given everything else away.

  Willow scanned the room. An estate like this was a lot more complicated than what she’d gone through before. She didn’t have the money to run an extravagant place like this, and from what Mr. Thompson said, there wasn’t enough money left in the estate to maintain it for more than ten years. Selling it and going back to America made the most sense. She wasn’t about to marry some rich snob elitist just to hold onto it. She’d rather be single for the rest of her life and live in a small apartment.

  She hoped there would be a buyer for this place. It was charming in its own right. She would like to see it thrive under the care of people who could afford to take care of it. The people just had to be someone other than her.

  Again, her gaze went to the portrait. She wondered what Lord Blackwell would think if he knew the estate he once owned was going to be sold to someone outside of the family tree. She was sure it wasn’t something he’d like. He had once walked through the halls of this mansion. At one time, he’d even been in this very room. For all she knew, he could have sat on this very chair.

  The thought made her shiver. She got up and went to the settee. He probably sat on this piece of furniture, too. He could have sat here while entertaining a guest. Given how much the thing reminded her of a loveseat, he might have even shared this with a romantic interest.

  It was a shame he’d been killed. Actually, everyone who’d been living here had been killed. Brutally murdered by the cousin, for who knew what reason. Or, at least, that was what the rumors were. She wasn’t prone to superstition, but it was definitely creepy that he and the servants all went missing.

  If the cousin had been telling the truth, then they were all gone when he came out here all those years ago. The place would have been a lot like this. Empty of people. The furniture all in pristine condition. She would have freaked out if she had come here expecting a bunch of servants and the earl of the place but found it like this. Coming here, she knew she was going to spend a couple of weeks alone. So the lack of people didn’t spook her.

  It was depressing to think over, though. In an attempt to brighten her mood, she turned her attention back to the book. It was a cute comedy, and it was the best way to end the day before she had something to eat and went to bed for the night.

  But, for some reason, she couldn’t take her mind off of Lord Blackwell. Only he and the servants knew what had really happened. And dead men told no tales.

  It was so strange that no one found any bodies. She didn’t know how many servants would have been working here, but it was hard to believe there were no bodies anywhere. Sure, someone could poison people and haul their bodies out to bury them, but wouldn’t someone have noticed the freshly dug graves? Or wouldn’t the killer have gotten careless and left some clue behind? Surely, there would have been some indication that a bunch of people had been murdered.

  Maybe they all ran off in the middle of the night. No, that didn’t make sense, either. This estate was huge. There wasn’t anyone else around for miles. She didn’t know if the horses were still here when the cousin came to check on Lord Blackwell, but would there be enough horses to take everyone away from here? And if so, someone would have come across at least one person who’d been living here at some point.

  The little she knew didn’t make sense. Mr. Thompson had told he
r there were rumors. Rumors went around when no one could pinpoint the truth. This was in the time period where they didn’t have cameras or iPhones. There wasn’t any forensic evidence for police to wade through. The technology to figure out this puzzle hadn’t been developed yet. So really, no one was ever going to know the truth. And that meant, it was pointless for her to even think about it. She’d be much better off getting lost in her book.

  Except she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, her attention kept going to the portrait. With a sigh, she put the bookmark between the pages of the book, closed it, and went to get something to eat.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Willow decided to take the car into town. Her attempts at getting her iPhone to charge had failed. She needed to get a new cord. There had to be a store somewhere that sold them. She knew her iPhone was fine. She had used it to call Mr. Thompson from the hotel. So, it had to be the cord. Besides, it seemed like she was always buying cords for the thing. She didn’t know why companies couldn’t make better cords.

  She gathered her iPhone and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. Then she got her purse and keys and headed for the garage. The day was overcast. She hoped it wouldn’t rain until she got back.

  Once in the car, she started it up and backed out of the garage. Thank goodness she had learned to drive using a stick shift car. Otherwise, she would have been stranded here. It was intimidating enough to be in what was considered the passenger seat in the United States. She only hoped she would remember to drive on the correct side of the road.

  She put the car into first gear. Well, here went nothing. She lifted her foot gently off the clutch and used her other foot to push on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, but she managed to drive forward. It’d been years since she’d driven a stick. Now she remembered why she was happy to get an automatic. It was much nicer to not have to worry about the balance between handling the clutch and the accelerator.