The Lovers Trilogy

By Constance Kent

The intertwined fates of three families begins with a murder three years ago and drives three young couples on a path to love in opposition to their parents’ wishes. The son of a killer, Wulfric, and the daughter of an Earl, Eden, are both in a state of disgrace when they find themselves thrown together at the church Fete. The Vicar's son, Toller and his best friend's sister, Isolde, privately conspire to leave England for the gold fields of the Yukon. The Earl's son, Nash is battling demons from the battlefield that only the young missionary, Perdita, has the courage to face with him.

Set in a charming Edwardian English village at the start of the Gilded Age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writewood Creations Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781988003665

Book preview

THE LOVERS TRILOGY

Gilded Age Romance

CONSTANCE KENT

Copyright 2018 Constance Kent

Writewood Creations Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-988003-58-0

All rights reserved.

This publication remains the copyrighted property

of the author and may not be redistributed for commercial

or non-commercial purposes.

Cover Image by Stas Perov

Cover Design by Writewood Creations/Canva

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

From the Publisher

WULFRIC AND EDEN

TOLLER AND ISOLDE

NASH AND PERDITA

About the Author

Just for You

From the Publisher

My Guilty Pleasure novels are standalone historical romances of emotionally-charged forbidden love. The Lovers Trilogy is set in a charming Edwardian English village in 1900 at the start of the Gilded Age. The intertwined fates of three families began with a murder three years ago that drives three young couples on a path to love in opposition to their parents’ wishes.

Books in this series

1775. THE PIRATE LORD

1875. THE DARK REGENT

1588. THE TUDOR PRINCE

1800. THE MAIDEN BRIDE

Wulfric and Eden

Chapter One

Wheathamstead, Hertfordshire – May 1902

THE CATASTROPHIC outcome from her fall from grace would likely haunt her until the end of time, Eden thought. The scandal would be inescapable. Though she was only seventeen and rich, and fortunate enough to be the daughter of an earl, these blessings only made Eden Mowbray’s predicament rather worse.

Positively dire, she concluded as she alighted from the eleven o’clock train from London. Her numerous, and expensive, leather cases were piled on the platform—thankfully there was no rain. She glanced up and down the platform expecting to see her father’s motor and Timothy, the driver. Her mother would’ve been too furious to send a car to meet her, but Eden hoped that her father would intervene on her behalf. The Earl of Hertfordshire wouldn’t want his only daughter to suffer the indignation of hiring a cab, would he?

She gazed at the luggage, heat rising in her cheeks. The station master discreetly avoided looking her way. He hadn’t returned to his duties, perhaps anticipating that she’d have to go to the humiliation of hiring a cab after all. A quick glance confirmed that even that humble transportation wasn’t available.

Her eyes filled with tears, taking the absence of horse and driver personally. It was as though everyone had turned their backs on her after she had scandalized the entire county.

Eden was close to despair when a figure appeared at the far end of the platform and her despair deepened. A spring breeze rose in that moment and his jacket pulled back with it, opening to reveal a cream vest, Oxford shirt and light trouser pants. He wore no tie, his stiff collar was open at his throat and his driving cap was pulled down to shade his eyes.

Wulfric Mortain Chaucer III. Her brother’s oldest friend and not a bad fellow, just not someone people of quality wanted to be seen with since his father’s trial and incarceration.

He walked toward her with an abstracted rolling gait, hands in his pockets, seemingly unaware that she was watching his approach. She turned slightly, trying to hide behind her hat.

Is this lot all yours? Wulfric pointed to the stack of luggage.

Either her father was signalling his displeasure by asking the local outcast to fetch her or Wulfric was playing a joke. It is, but don’t trouble yourself with it, she hastily. Father will be sending the motor to fetch me shortly.

His hands dug deeper into his pockets and his shoulders lifted. His lordship sent me. Your father asked if I’d meet your train and since I had nothing better to do, here I am.

Charming. Wulfric always had the sharpest tongue of her brother’s friends.

He lifted the largest and heaviest of cases. The station master signalled a porter to assist him with the rest. Eden watched in mute helplessness as her cases were secured to the Mowbray’s Rolls Royce by various means involving leather straps.

She lifted her chin, biting down on her lip to stop its trembling, and allowed Wulfric to help her into the car. Not that she needed his help. His hand was on her elbow to steady her and she resented the idea that he, of all people, would think she needed steadying.

How is your mother? she asked in an effort at politeness. Wulfric had started the motor and skilfully pulled away from the station.

She’s well. How is your mother?

Eden glanced at him quickly. You would know better than me how my mother is. How much have they told you, Wulf?

Who me? I am persona non grata. There was no mirth in his tone. No one’s told me a thing about this sudden mysterious return of yours from the glories of the London Season. I was asked by your father to collect you and as you can imagine, he was not happy to make the request. But there was no one else and he couldn’t bear to think of his precious daughter loitering on the train platform. His lordship swallowed his pride and came to me. My mother and sister are utterly dependent on the Earl of Hertford’s goodwill. I did as I was told.

He fixed her a look under the brim of his cap. Blue eyes, startling, the colour of the sky. His hair, Eden remembered, was the same shade as winter wheat. Wulfric Chaucer had been a close friend of the family until his father, Ranulf, murdered a man. That moment had destroyed them all, or so it seemed to Eden who was fourteen at the time. She had felt the end of their intertwined lives like a death. With scandal came disgrace and dependence upon those who were once friends and equals.

Father would not turn your mother out of Mowbray Cottage for refusing to run to the train station on my account. She lifted her chin again. He is not a barbarian. He honours his commitments to his friends.

Wulfric’s eyes turned back to the road. As I do mine. If Nash were home, he would say, ‘Wulf, be a pal and fetch my sister home, and cheer her up if you can.’ Don’t spoil my good deed by arguing about it the whole way to Mackerye End. Tell me what happened in London. The Season doesn’t end until the twenty-fourth of June and it’s only the fifteenth of May. Why are you home so soon?

Eden pulled the pins from her hair and scratched her scalp. She slumped down against the padded leather seat. I have destroyed my chances at making a good match, that’s all. Nothing extraordinary. I was invited to a fashionable salon, forgot the entire point of my being there and through indiscretion, became the subject of gossip from which I could not extricate myself.

What indiscretion?

"I was discovered alone in the garden with a man. Not the man Rose Acton Mowbray, Countess of Hertfordshire intended me to marry one day. You see, she and my father had come to an arrangement with a certain fellow’s parents and imagined lands joined and so forth, and I spoiled it. The young man would have nothing to do with me and who could blame him? I was the one in the wrong."

Who was the other fellow? The one in the garden?

Eden gazed languidly at the spring countryside that was fairly bursting with pink, yellow and lilac bloom. Nobody special. I followed him to the garden and when he found me there, he touched my arm and asked if I was all right. I kissed him. A small kiss. Chaste. I was grateful for his kindness but they saw us. The entire party. It blew up into a dreadful scene with Mother and the young man’s fiancée. I was called vile things.

Why did you kiss him?

She pulled out of her daydream. What does it matter? None of it matters. I’m an outcast—unmarriageable, of no discernable use to anyone. I am to go to Paris at the end of the season to be finished at Madame Brassard’s school and from there I expect Mother will find employment for me as her personal secretary.

Wulf laughed as she expected he would. Her brother had never taken her troubles seriously either. A good match for their daughter was so desired by her mother and father that Eden had not thought of anything else for two years. Her life was over! Wulfric Chaucer had no comprehension of the stark terror she was suffering.

Well, I guess you got what you wanted, you goose, he said with more kindness. You must’ve known you’d get caught. Following an engaged man out to the garden—he probably thought you were his fiancée when he touched your arm. Was it dark? I would call you stupid, but you’re not stupid. Self-destructive is more like it.

Eden straightened. What do you mean?

I mean, you did it on purpose to get out of marrying this other fellow. You took a calculated risk and it paid off. Bonus points for blowing every other chance at marriage. You’re just like your brother, he said with disgust. Mowbray children never do what they are told.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Burning tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

Come on, Ede, Wulfric murmured, seeing her distress. I was exaggerating. It’s not as bad as all that.

She hastily wiped her face and tried to laugh it off. No, it’s a good deal worse. Look, don’t let’s go home yet, Wulf. Please? Let’s pretend the train was late and go to the creek instead. I can’t face Father yet. First Nash and now me. I can’t … I can’t.

Wulfric pulled down a grassy lane crowded with bluebells on either side. Eden recognized it as the route to the creek where they had all played and swam as children.

She took his hand impulsively and squeezed it, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Chapter Two

WULF FELT her hand in his. He knew she was crying without looking. Eden was always sensitive to Mowbray expectations. He was both appalled by her behaviour and admired it at the same time. She’d been brutally efficient in ruining any hope her parents had of forming an alliance with another family of their set. And with Nash not returned yet from South Africa, there was the possibility the family name would die out with Wallace Mowbray, Earl of Hertford. It was stunningly hard to believe. He would laugh if he didn’t sense how frightened she was now that she’d burned her future to the ground.

He stopped the car at a rushing stream that could be crossed by a wooden bridge that was constructed by himself, Toller Lawton and Nash Mowbray when they were twelve and thirteen. Toller was still toiling away at Wycliffe Hall, deep in theological study. He was due back at the Vicarage at the end of June. Wulf would have been away at college too if any would take him.

No, not true, he corrected, wanting always to be honest with himself. There was no money for college so he had not written to any to apply. Lack of funds relieved him from suffering the humiliation of their rejections.

Three years ago, his father had killed a man in cold blood and was sent down for it. Not hanged—a miracle brought about by the intervention of his father’s friends to have his sentence reduced to manslaughter.

Ranulf Chaucer was a man who had everything and none of what he had was enough. His victim was a man engaged to a girl in one of Ranulf Chaucer’s factories. Chaucer wanted to bed her, she refused on account of her fiancé who’d finally had enough and punched the industrialist in the face. Ranulf seized the opportunity to beat the man to death. That one impulsive act destroyed his future, that of his sister, Isolde and broke the faith of his closest friends in the social order. Nash took it particularly hard.

I love this place.

Eden Mowbray’s voice pulled Wulf out of his gloomy reverie. She had climbed out of the motor and wandered to the wooden bridge. Her hair was down, held back in a thick braid that was the colour of honey. Eden had glittering blue eyes that dazzled him whenever she looked his way. He was proud of her for defying the old guard but he worried his father’s crime was the reason for her rebellion. The murder had cast a shadow over them all.

Don’t try to cross it, Ede, he warned. "The bridge is nine years old and built to a boy’s standards. It is not safe, do you hear? He raised his voice as the girl set a small-heeled shoe on the dark, mossy boards. For God’s sake, I’m not going in after you if you fall!"

In that very second, her soft leather-soled shoe slipped out from under her and Eden shrieked. Her arms flew out and in a flash of white lace she fell off the bridge and into the water. Wulfric jumped out of the motor car without opening the door and dashed to the bank. The stream was not deep, but it was fast and rocky in places. He wrenched off his jacket as he ran and flung himself into the water.

Her arms were thrashing and she came damn near to striking him in the head. The current was too fast to keep his footing. He reached out for her and instantly slipped under. Eden grabbed hold of him, coming close to drowning him without realizing it. Wulf clutched the girl tightly around her waist and fought to regain his feet. By jamming his boot in between two rocks in the creek bed, he managed to keep from being swept away.

Hold onto me, he said threateningly. As it happened, Eden was almost strangling him in terror so the threat was pointless other than making him feel better.

His arms were locked around her, gripping her, fearful that if he relaxed his hold, he’d lose her to the current. Acting on the same instinct, Eden clung to his neck, bringing her smooth cheek in near proximity to his. They had never been this close before. Soaked to the skin, and cold, for the water was bitterly cold—he remembered now how cold the water was when he, Nash, and Toller had swam here.

She turned her shining eyes on him. Droplets of water clung to the tiny curls at her forehead and around her ears. Her lips were wet, full and red from the cold.

A strange thrill went through him. The cold water rushing between his legs, the strength in his legs preventing them both from being swept away, his arms holding her back from being dashed on the rocks was having a strong effect on him.

Eden’s eyes widened as though she felt it too.

He locked his arm tighter around her narrow waist. Ready? I’m going to start toward the bank. Hold tight and you’ll be fine. I’ve done it a hundred times.

Wulfric got the two of them back onto the bank without further incident. Eden flung herself up on the grass with a cry and rolled to her back. He thought she was crying but when he lifted up on his elbow to look, she was sobbing with laughter. Hysterical peals of laughter that had her wiping her eyes and clutching her middle.

He rolled to his back beside her. Your mother isn’t going to find it so hilarious when she sees the state of you. You might well laugh—I’m the one who’s going to get the blame. Wulf’s mind darted around the sensation he had when Eden was in his arms.

Eden gave a final giggle of hilarity. "At this point, Mother approves of you more than she does me. When she sees me, the Countess will only shake her head in that way she has when she is gravely disappointed. She’ll touch your arm, murmur her thanks and then wander into the writing room to complain about me in her letters."

Wulf crossed his arms under his head. Why did you do it? I told you not to try the bridge and you did it anyway. It’s becoming a habit of yours to self-destruct.

She moaned. Don’t lecture. I’ll get enough of that when I’m at home. Eden turned her face to his. Thanks for saving me, Wulfric. You shouldn’t have come in after me. I would’ve managed to get out somehow.

He grimaced. I worry about you and Nash. I worry this recklessness is connected to my father’s conviction. My sister and I became cautious, whereas you and Nash seem set on burning the house down. There’s no need. Ranulf got a fair trial and a fairer sentence. I’m not resentful.

Eden looked away. "Well, I am and I think I always will be. Your father was one of us—one of our set. If none of this matters—the formality, the social order, behaving oneself—if it can all be thrown away in a fit of temper, then what is the point to it? I won’t marry into aristocracy if it doesn’t mean anything. In fact, I won’t marry at all!"

Then don’t, he replied impatiently. "I’m not getting married either but then I haven’t got your prospects. If you don’t want to get married, then what do you want?"

To get away from here, she said without hesitation. To leave Hertfordshire—possibly England itself. I’d need to secure employment of some kind. That’s the chief difficulty. I’m tragically dependent on my parents until I come into my money at twenty-one. I must behave myself or they could decide to withhold it. Do you see what I mean? she cried, sitting up suddenly. All of these rules and codes of behaviour! They didn’t help your mother or your father. The rules didn’t change a thing.

Wulf didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He got to his feet and reached down to help her up. Eden took his hand and he experienced that same warm thrill as before. Utterly unnerving. She was his friend’s sister. He’d known her since she was in nappies.

I don’t care about all that, he said gruffly. The only thing that matters is the land and the intelligent management of it. I’m never leaving Hertfordshire if I can help it. I mean to live out my days in service to your father, raise cattle and die an old man. Come on, he said with a light pull on her hand. Better face the music. Tell the Countess I pushed you into the creek. She’ll believe that.

Wulf? Her eyes were on his face, wide and alert in a way she wasn’t before. Her hand was still in his. Don’t you miss your father at all?

He didn’t flinch or look away. No. Not even a little.

TWENTY MINUTES later, Wulf was driving through the black wrought iron gates and up the long gravelled drive to Mackerye End. The gravel was still crunching under the tires when Jefferson appeared with a swarm of footmen in the butler’s wake to unload Miss Mowbray’s luggage from the Rolls.

Well, good-bye, Eden and good luck. Go easy on Rose. She only wants the best for you and your brother and the two of you are too ungrateful and spoiled to notice.

She leaned over and swiftly kissed him on the lips and then bolted out of the car and ran into the house.

He left the automobile in the care of the Mowbray’s chauffeur and struck across the lawn to the footpath. His clothes were wet but Wulf wasn’t cold. The path across the grounds led to the woods and from there to Mowbray Cottage. Wulfric shoved his hands in his pockets thinking over the very strange encounter he’d just had with Eden Mowbray.

He shook his head and smiled.

Chapter Three

WHITSUN WEEK was launched with the annual village fair, an event Eden was expected to attend and dreaded. Not that the dear people of Wheathamstead cared one iota about her difficulties, but her mother would be prominently in attendance and the Countess had not had a kind word to say to her daughter since her abrupt return from London four days ago.

Her only hope, Eden thought, as she adjusted the new Marquis hat she’d bought to cheer herself up, was to use the event to win her mother over. They’d helmed the White Elephant table for the past five years and Eden anticipated this year would be no different. The Countess would be forced to speak to her and Eden could explain her side.

She chose her simplest summer frock, white muslin over pearl grey silk. The fashion was close fitting and showed her figure to advantage. Subdued and contrite, Eden trailed behind the Countess across the village green to the tents, and as she did so, she nodded in greeting to several of the local matrons. The smiles she received were stiff and brief. The news must’ve spread to their ears. Her situation was direr than she thought. Eden had become a social pariah.

I’ll leave you here, her mother said as they approached the White Elephant booth. I have other duties to attend to this year. The committee is short-handed. No, you will not give me that look. I have done my best to contain the gossip and my displeasure—well, there you have it. You have made your bed, now you must lie in it. My patience has reached its limit.

Mother! Eden reddened and looked around her. You can’t leave me here alone! Have you seen the looks I’ve been given?

You mean to say you need the protection of mama to shield you from shame? No, you are not in London now. These are your people and you must face them. If you have done nothing wrong as you insist, then there is no cause for embarrassment.

Eden lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. "I was hoping to spend time with you, Mother."

"You mean you hoped to bring me around to your way of thinking. You hoped to wear me down with argument. I will not have that either. Francis Digby was a fine man of spotless character and you abused him most cruelly."

He was a tyrannical bore and I did not love him. I would not have made him happy. I don’t have the temperament for prolonged sacrifice.

Well, he has become engaged to another young lady who is delighted to accept what he has to offer, and your father and I are left to wonder what will become of Mackerye End if Nash doesn’t come home.

Eden rested her hand consolingly on her mother’s arm. Nash will come home. It’ll all be over soon. You’ll see.

There hasn’t been a letter in weeks. Her mother’s still beautiful face crumpled with anxiety and then the Countess regained her composure as though remembering her position. Most of the families in Wheathamstead had sons in South Africa. Nash had argued that he could hardly claim their respect as the future lord of the manor when he refused to join the fight. There had been a fierce row, ending with Nash leaving home. Our only son and our only daughter, Rose murmured. We had such high hopes for you both.

Eden crossed her arms and her head drooped. The brim of her hat didn’t conceal her eyes as well as she would’ve liked. Her skin tingled with heat and she hoped the colour had not reached her face this time. I am sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to hurt you or Father. I wish you would reconsider and stay with me in the booth. You know how I hate to be left alone.

Oh, you won’t be alone. I’ve asked Wulfric Chaucer to volunteer his time this week and he graciously agreed. He’ll be along shortly. That’s all I have to say to you, Eden. Tea is at four in the garden. Do not be late.

Eden quickly ducked behind the booth and donned the apron the committee had supplied. Whitsun Week Fair ran for five full days and the White Elephant booth was one of the more popular stops. She would be seen with Wulfric Chaucer by absolutely everyone in the county. Mercifully, the season would keep the cream of society in London. No one socially desirable would see her with the son of a killer.

She knew she was being horrible. Of course, she liked Wulfric and was fond of him, and yes, she could admit that she had thought of him a good deal since her tumble in the creek. But society would not accept him or his sister Isolde, despite the wealth the Chaucer family once held. The Crown had seized it all and they were penniless. Added to that, no decent family would risk their name becoming attached to that of a convicted murderer.

By pairing them up, her mother was sending her a message that was terribly unfair. The Countess of Hertford was publicly declaring that her daughter was on the same social rung as Wulfric Mortain Chaucer III. There could be no other interpretation.

"Good God, don’t tell me I’ll be working with you?"

She looked up. The subject of her thoughts was standing on the opposite side of the booth. Spring sunshine washed Wulfric in pale yellow light, aided by his summer suit of cream and oyster white. His blue eyes, fair hair and quizzical smile made him appear more splendid than any man she’d ever seen. Her heart contracted oddly and a colony of butterflies took up residence in her stomach. She knocked over a porcelain pug dog and fumbled to set it back on its paws.

Hello Mr. Chaucer. Yes, it seems Mother had other demands on her time today.

She cast her eyes over the grounds to see if anyone was observing them. Wulf grinned and came around the booth. Mr. Chaucer, is it? All right, Miss Mowbray, give me my orders. What do I do here? He shrugged out of his blazer and draped it over a chair.

Our job is to sell as much of this jumble as we can. The money goes to the church or the orphans—I can never keep it straight. We’re permitted tea breaks but for the most part you and I shall be stuck behind this booth for a week. I do apologize by the way. Mother is angry with me. She shouldn’t take it out on you.

He shrugged and pulled on an apron. I had nothing better to do.

You always say that, Eden replied irritably. She presented her back to him so that he could tie her apron. It’s discouraging to be informed over and over again that you only tolerate my company because you have nothing better to do.

He tied the apron tightly and his hands rested on her waist for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. On the contrary, I look forward to your company, Miss Mowbray. Here, now you do me, he said, turning.

Wulf was taller than she was and his back was broad even without his jacket. He was not as big as most of her brother’s friends but that only added to his appeal. Being a girl of no great height, she had never liked the sensation of being dwarfed by a man.

"The Countess didn’t tell me who I’d be paired