Page 1 of Discovering Her Earl

Chapter One

London, May 1812

Clenching his fingers in his hair, Julian Huntly, Earl of Melville, paced the length of his solicitor’s office for the sixth time.

“How is this possible? The bloody arse has been gone five years. How can he still be making demands of me from beyond the grave?”

The thin man who’d been hired by Julian’s father years ago was wise to look worried. He was no doubt familiar with the saying about what came of messengers. And since the late earl wasn’t alive, Mr. Reeves was the only person left to bear Julian’s anger with his meddling sire.

“The late earl was very clear in his wishes, my lord. This document was not to be opened until the year before your thirtieth birthday. You see the date it was to be opened—”

“Aye, I see the bloody date!” Julian pressed his hand to his temple and made another lap in the small, cluttered office filled with the scents of paper and dust. Anger caused his brogue to worsen, not helping with Mr. Reeves’ nervous condition.

Julian had been free of his father’s demands since he’d been four and twenty, yet he could still hear the man’s voice in his head. The constant judgement and disappointment.

Julian’s mother had died when he was eight. Afterward, his father took his only son’s upbringing upon himself. Unfortunately, Julian was never smart enough, strong enough, fast enough, or brave enough to win even the smallest amount of praise from his disapproving father.

At some point in his youth, Julian had simply given up trying to impress the man, and instead grasped onto something he felt he was good at.

Assuring that anyone not related to him, liked him.

When he made someone laugh, he felt as if he were twenty feet tall, instead of the six feet four inches he truly was. He relied on his charm to earn him acceptance, and it felt good. As if he’d been walking the desert his entire life and someone had offered him a glass of water.

He’d attended George Heriot’s School in Edinburgh and made friends he still had to this day. When they’d reached adulthood, the three of them descended on London. Three large Scots that had planned to own the Town. And now this.

Poor Mr. Reeves cleared his throat.

“You’ll have the rest of this Season and most of next to find a bride in time to marry before your birthday next year at the end of May,” the solicitor pointed out.

“Except I don’t wish to marry.”

But even as he said it, he knew his statement wasn’t exactly true.

Julian wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. His good friend Hale had married last year and seemed quite content with his choice. But Julian didn’t want to marry because he felt yet again that his father was trying to control him.

His sire had forced his will on Julian for as long as he could remember and by God, Julian wouldn’t allow it now that the man was dead.

“There must be another way. This document would have been drawn up in Scotland, have ye reviewed Scottish laws?”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The man shook his head. “Regardless of it being signed in Scotland, it clearly states that if you are not married to a proper lady by the eve of your thirtieth birthday all unentailed properties will be handed over to Lord Osborne.”

“Lord Osborne? That makes no bloody sense. My father didn’t even get on with Lord Osborne.”

“Perhaps he thought it an effective motivator.”

Julian didn’t have an issue with Lord Osborne one way or the other, but he couldn’t allow the man to take his unentailed properties. Specifically, the two lucrative mines passed on to Julian through his mother.

The revenue from the mines was his main source of income. His estates in Scotland and England were managed well, but he invested the monies from them back into the properties, equipment, and upkeep on his tenants’ homes. Julian couldn’t stand to take from his tenants to cover other expenses. Including his own lifestyle.

He didn’t play deep in the pockets at the tables or wager too much at the tracks. He didn’t even overindulge on clothing or mistresses.

Still, the mines gave him freedom. But that wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t afford to lose them.

When he’d first visited the mines, a few months after his father’s death, he’d been appalled by the state they were in.

Men and young boys—children too young to manage the duties they’d been forced into—working in unsafe conditions for little pay. Their shabby homes were falling down around their ears and they seldom had a decent meal.

It had made Julian sick to know he’d lived in luxury while those people had suffered so.