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 The Most Wonderful Earl of the Year
a Christmas standalone Regency romance
Sandra Sookoo

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author. Likenesses of
characters to anyone living or dead is strictly a coincidence.

THE MOST WONDERFUL EARL OF THE YEAR © 2022 by Sandra Sookoo

Published by New Independence Books

ISBN- 9798201977252

Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

Book Cover Design Forever After Romance Designs

Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2022

Contents
Dear Readers,
Dedication
Acknowledgement
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Regency-era romances by Sandra Sookoo
Author Bio
Stay in Touch

Dear Readers,
Ever since I began my writing career back in 2008, crafting Christmas romances has been a fun little
hobby. Now, readers love my holiday romances so much they expect at least two every year. I’m
happy to provide them and more than one close friend/reader has dubbed me the “Queen of Christmas
romances.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I certainly love them. My favorite trope for these is the
second chance romance, which is what The Most Wonderful Earl of Year is.
I hope you enjoy this couple. They were interesting to write and very entertaining. Also, it wouldn’t
be a Christmas romance if I didn’t throw in a couple of tear-jerking scenes.
Happy reading!

Sandra
 Dedication
To Jeff Salter. Thanks for the support over the years and for enjoying my stories. Best wishes in your
future endeavors.
 Acknowledgement

It's always fun to "poll the audience" when writing a book to get a general feel of what readers like and to also make them a part of the
book's creation.

Thanks to the following friends on Facebook for answering the question of what a man would leave a woman at the altar:
Belinda Wiley Wilson
Ilene Bieleski
Sandie Liu Morehead
Donna Antonio
Jeff Salter
Debbie Kummoung
Kelly Price
Penny Elliott
Sandra F. Schehl
Amelia Hester
Donna Acosta
Tiffany Tinney Dwibhashyam
Gloria E. Trinidad-Tellez
Melanie Bryson Purcell
Robyn Porter
Eliza Lloyd
Dawn Roberto
Jen Bergmann
Gina Griffin Johnson
Sharon Villone Doucett
Kat Tolle
Mari Peterson
Patricia Way
AnnMarie Spiby
Cindy Bartolotta
Melissa MacKinnon
Carrie Burke
Jena Lang
Paula Shene
Meghan Lyndsey Ann Edwards
Roslynn Ernst
Lynne Connolly
Angie Eads
Linda J. Rahrig Burkhalter
Tana Hillman
Margaret Murray-Evans
Deanna Dent
Marina Bauman Leonard
Michelle Fidler
Roni Denholtz
Lori Cooper Lewis
Christie Kelley

And thank you to the following Facebook friends for spit balling fun Christmas activities:
Alison Pridie
Jessica Downing
Rachel E. Moniz
Morgan James
Jennifer Morin
Dorothy Callahan
Meghan Lyndsey Ann Edwards
Donna Antonio
Diana Lloyd
Marina Bauman Leonard
Marilyn Parry
Melanie Bryson Purcell
Judy Johnsen
 Blurb
Love at Christmastide is wonderful… if the couple in question believes in the magic.
Alistair Forsythe, the 12th Earl of Reardon, is the most sought-after man in the ton this Christmastide season. Handsome, of good
character, and possessing a large fortune, he finally intends to do his duty to his title after being in India for years. In the market for a
wife, he can now easily have his pick of any woman, yet none of them have snared his interest—not since Carole—but she is beyond his
reach.
Miss Carole Hazelton doesn’t give two farthings about a man’s position within the ton or his looks. In fact, she’s not thought about the
beau monde since that horribly embarrassing day five years ago when Alistair left her standing alone at the altar. Now making her living
as a governess, she’s both dismayed and furious to discover the neighbor who’s returned to the townhouse next door is the man who’d
jilted her—Alistair.

As that old scandal recirculates, it throws their reputations into question. To repair the damage, the earl and Carole must practice
forgiveness. While she’s not quick to forget, he’s not above employing charm and mistletoe to his advantage or drawing on their past
romance, but when the feelings they both thought long dead come rushing back, that love just might ruin them both… or provide a second
chance they never knew they needed.
 Chapter One

December 12, 1818

Forsythe House
London, England
Alistair Forsythe, the 12th Earl of Reardon, frowned at his best friend as they sat in the
drawing room that afternoon. Rain spattered upon the windows outside, for when did it not rain in
England? The gloom didn’t help bolster his already maudlin mood, and neither did it foster an attitude
of holiday cheer. Christmastide was nearly upon them, yet it certainly didn’t feel that way since he
could never quite manage to escape the memories.
“I beg your pardon. What did you say?” He required a repeat of the statement, not because he
was hard of hearing but due to the fact that it was so preposterous it was almost worrisome.
Jonathan Whitmore, Viscount Frawley, shot him a grin full of mischief as he rested an ankle on
a knee. “If word of this gets out—widely, I mean—it will be the gossip of the Season, but I have had
word—from a mutual friend, of course—the governess who works for the family residing in the
neighboring townhouse is…”
“Yes?” Alistair cocked an eyebrow. “Spit it out, man.” Why the devil did his friend wish to
tease?
Frawley chuckled as if it was the most entertaining thing he’d heard all month. “That
governess is none other than Miss Carole Hazelton, the fiancée you jilted at the altar five years ago.
She is your neighbor.”
“Well, buggar.” Shock reverberated through Alistair’s chest as he absorbed the news again.
“What the devil possessed Viscount Collingsworth to have the family in London for Christmastide? It
is quite dull in Town for the holidays.”
Unless one sought out the social circuit, had a mistress, or spent time at gaming hells.
Only one of those things was on his agenda now he’d returned to London, for he had made it
known he was on the hunt for a wife so he could do his duty to the earldom and the title.
“Who can say?” Jonathan shrugged, but his amusement only grew. “Some men delight in
having their family around them during this time of the year, but rumor has it the viscount has some
lingering business to attend while in Town and traveling between his country estate and here would
take too much time.”
“We have had a rather wet autumn. I’m sure the roads are horrid just now.” Yet that didn’t
make the situation any better. The fact remained he hadn’t seen Carole for five years, not since the day
he’d walked away from her and the life they’d hoped to build together.
And left her steeped in gossip and rumor.
“Truth to tell, I had forgotten Christmastide was coming. Travel doesn’t lend itself well to
keeping count of the days.” Additionally, it was a time of the year he strove to forget merely because
he didn’t wish to remember. The last five years, he’d been in India for various reasons, and outside of
the English community in Bombay or other large cities where there was an English occupation, the
holiday wasn’t celebrated.
“It isn’t difficult to let such a thing slip your mind. If you ask me, I’d rather be anywhere but
London just now.” Shadows briefly clouded the viscount’s eyes. “But I’m damn glad not to be in India
any longer.”
“I would drink to that if I had a brandy.” He’d thought it too early in the day to imbibe in
spirits, to say nothing of the fact he’d only just arrived in London yesterday, and he’d given the butler
his preferences for drink an hour past. Those supplies would undoubtedly come tomorrow.
“So, what do you plan to do?”
He frowned at Jonathan. “About what?”
“About Miss Hazelton.” The viscount uttered a huff, as if the identity of Alistair’s neighbor
was the only conversation worth having.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I plan to do nothing.” It didn’t matter that he and Carole had a
history together—broken such as it was. They were nothing to each other now, and he had been away
for five years besides. Neither of them was the same people they used to be. “She has her life; I have
mine.”
Under no circumstances would he allow those feelings he’d once had for her to well up and
bedevil him. There was no doubt in his mind she would hate him on sight.
The viscount looked at him with speculation in his eyes. “Are you quite certain you have no
lingering regard? You waxed poetic enough about her during that first year or so while in Bombay.”
And he would know, for Jonathan had accompanied him on that trip.
That’s how good a friend the man was.
Heat rose up the back of his neck, but he nodded. “Yes, I’m certain.” Hadn’t he already put
Carole from his mind and heart? It had taken the better part of three years, but he’d done it, and now
he was ready to move forward with his life. “I matters not, for I intend to make full use of the Season
in the hopes of finding a bride.”
His friend grunted. “Do you fear the old rumors will resurface and prevent you from matching
an advantageous match?”
“Of all the things I worry about, that doesn’t even make my list.” Another frown tugged at the
corners of his mouth. “Though this news is quite unsettling.”
“Truth be told, you will probably never see the woman. She’s a governess, after all, and those
sorts of women rarely attend society functions unless a hostess is short on numbers.”
“I hope you are correct. I also hope I don’t make a fool of myself back among the ton.” Polite
society in India was much different from that of London. “While I don’t necessarily need an heiress to
take to wife, I’d rather not have the leftovers since it is rather slim during the holidays.”
“Ah, yes, the freedoms of a man possessed of a good fortune.” Jonathan rolled his gaze to the
ceiling. He stood and tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. “You may not need it, but I would like a
snifter of brandy, so allow me to seek out your butler and stock your sideboard myself.”
“You can ring for Cooper, you know,” Alistair called to him as the man crossed the room.
“I can, but that won’t help you be any less maudlin. I’ll return in a twinkling.” Then he left the
room, and Alistair sighed.
“Perhaps I am merely fatigued from travel,” he said to himself as he stared once more into the
cheerful flames of the fire, which made him frown all the harder. Carole Hazelton was his neighbor.
Well, buggar to that.
Unbidden, his thoughts danced back to that horrible time five years ago.
 December 14, 1813
St George’s,
Hanover Square
“Oi, Mr. Forsythe!”
The hail had Alistair looking about as he climbed the steps to the church. In under an hour, he
would wed the woman who held his heart and he would gladly succumb to domesticity with her.
“Yes?” It was not yet ten o’clock in the morning. Everyone he knew was already within the church.
A man of unassuming looks and lower-class clothing bounded over to him with a leather folio
in hand. “An urgent missive arrived for you at your townhouse. A Mr. Cooper dispatched me to
deliver it to you here.”
“Ah, thank you.” It must have been highly important if the butler had sent the man. He snagged
the folio from the courier’s fingers. “I appreciate that. It must be dire if it arrived the morning of my
nuptials.” After digging in his waistcoat pocket, he tossed the man a coin. “Thank you.”
Once the man scurried off, Alistair frowned at the folio. He undid the leather ties holding it
closed. Inside, was a sheaf of papers as well as a smaller envelope. Trying to puzzle out the official
looking seal set in green wax, he then tore open the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper.
Dated three months earlier, it had come from an assistant to a general at Fort George, in Bombay,
India.
My apologies for the urgency of this letter, Mr. Forsythe, but this is a
matter of some delicacy as it pertains to your father, the Earl of Reardon.
As you already know, your father departed England under mysterious
circumstances two years prior. Bombay was his destination.
Now Lord Reardon’s life is in peril, and there are other matters I cannot
trust in a piece of correspondence that will be read by many more pairs of
eyes than your own.
Enclosed is the address of the fort as well as all travel documents you will
need to make the journey posthaste. This is a delicate affair that needs
your attention with as much haste as you can manage, for to put a fine
point here, you have a twin brother, older than you by a few minutes, and he
was kidnapped years before. When your father stopped paying the ransom
money, things turned complicated, but now, your father desperately needs
your help to retrieve your brother as well as to assist in pulling him out of
the spot of bother he’s fallen into…
As Alistair stood there stunned while reading the remainder of the missive, it became more
and more evident he didn’t truly know who he was in the world any longer. I have an older twin
brother. That meant he wasn’t next in line to be the earl, and the identity he’d always known deep in
his heart had been a lie. He’d never known he wasn’t an only child.
 Why had his brother been kidnapped at all? Who had done it? It must have occurred when he
was quite young. Had his father stumbled upon the truth recently or had he known all along?
Quickly stuffing the letter into the folio, his frown deepened. His father had left home two
years before, but the nature of the trip was never told to him. Now he knew why. He wasn’t his
father’s heir… That thought kept circling around his head like a snake ready to strike. Worry filled his
chest. Hot embarrassment went through his gut. How the devil would he tell Carole he wasn’t the man
she thought? That she wouldn’t have the life promised when he’d brokered the marriage contract with
her father?
Oh, God!
He glanced at the door to the church. How could he go in there and marry her now under false
pretenses? In light of this new information, Alistair was a man with nothing to recommend him, no
title, apparent secrets in his family tree that went back to his birth, and no right to anything he’d
previously thought. Certainly, no income. One thing was certain: he needed answers, which meant
he’d need to travel to India and continue his father’s work and hopefully bring both his father and
brother home.
Knowing he couldn’t go to the marriage altar while the very foundation he stood upon was
crumbling beneath his feet, Alistair glanced once more to the door of the church, then he turned his
back upon it. Carole deserved a man who could deliver on his promises, who could keep her in the
style she deserved, who could give her future she had assumed she’d have when he’d asked for her
hand; that man wasn’t him.
At least not now.
A terrible ache set up around his heart and expanded until it filled his chest. With one hand to
that organ and a wash of moisture in his eyes, Alistair retreated down the steps. He scurried along the
pavement until he came to a line of hackney cabs. Then he hailed one, scrambled inside, and quickly
gave the driver his address. The best—and only—course of action available to him right now was to
travel to India, search out his father, and then hopefully clear up the mess of his family’s name.
After that, he would return to England, and if Carole didn’t despise him, perhaps explain, and
try to salvage what was left—if anything—of his engagement.

Present day
“Reardon?” The sound of fingers being snapped in front of his face wrenched him out of his
thoughts. Alistair blinked at his friend, who’d obviously returned from his errand. A bottle of brandy
was in one hand while a plate full of sweet edibles was in the other. “Woolgathering?”
“Perhaps. Mostly thinking about the day I left Carole at the altar without a word.” It had been
tantamount to an unforgivable sin and beyond the manners of a gentleman, but looking back, he
wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Not even for their reputations.
“Ah yes and created the scandal of the Season that year.” Jonathan pressed the brandy bottle
into his hand. “Here. Drink. I’ll procure glasses.” After leaving the plate of sweets on the small
ivory-inlaid table between their two chairs, he went to the sideboard. “Thank goodness society
doesn’t judge men by the same yardstick they do women.”
“Indeed.” Though heat went up the back of his neck all the same. Society favored men, and
titled men all the more, while they stacked every minute scandal upon women’s heads like burning
coals. “It is my fondest hope our paths don’t cross.”
When he’d arrived in Bombay all those years ago, the reunion between him and his father had
been awkward at best. Knowing there had been a secret in the family of such magnitude didn’t lend
itself well to congenial celebration. Of course, he’d questioned his father about the existence of an
older twin. He and his brother had apparently been parted when they were but a year old, and since
the bulk of their lives since birth had been spent on their father’s country estate, the rumors and gossip
was kept between the servants. If anyone else had known there’d been two sons of the Earl of
Reardon, it was hushed up quickly out of necessity and apparent embarrassment on his father’s part.
Not that such a conversation was any better when Alistair had arrived in India, for his father
had been beaten within an inch of his life from what he could only assume were the people who’d
kidnapped said brother. His father remained tight-lipped about that too.
Damn the man’s pride.
But the reasons for any of it were never discussed, and even now Alistair wasn’t certain what
had caused the rift between his parents after that day or why his father had been all too distant in
being a true father to him or what had happened to land his father into the sick bed.
“Here.” Jonathan shoved a cut crystal glass into his free hand. “Pour,” he ordered as he
dropped into the chair beside him. “You look like you need the fortification.”
Alistair blew out a breath. “Perhaps I do. I am feeling uneasy being back in London after all
this time.” He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and then after spitting out the cork, he poured a
measure of the amber liquid into his glass. After doing the same with his friend’s matching glass, he
rested the bottle on the table. “Here’s to a better future.”
“So says the man who made a fortune and then some while we were gone,” Jonathan grumbled
and followed it up with a hearty sip of brandy.
He snorted. “As if you didn’t do the same.” They had both been lucky. Exporting tea and
various spices on a smaller scale than the enormous shipping outfits owned by the Crown, they had
been able to undercut their competitors and gain customers hand over fist.
Would my father have been proud had he liked me better than my twin?
There was no way to know. When Alistair had gone to India, he’d been immediately caught up
in his father’s work to retrieve his brother—who he was never able to meet—for by the time he and
the viscount had finally ferreted out the names and locations of the kidnappers—most of whom had
either left the area or had died—when his search party arrived, it was to find his brother not only
dead, but had apparently been that way for more than a few years. The only thing left had been a
desiccated corpse in a cave in the hills. Jewelry, various travel papers, and clothing on the bones all
pointed to a correct identification.
Once he came back to the fort where his father had been staying, Alistair had been forced to
tell him the unsavory news. Not only had he been paying blackmail coin, but the victim had perished
before the earl had set out for India.
After that, his father had taken a marked turn for the worse. In a matter of days, it seemed as if
the man had given up his will to live. Had the death of his firstborn son meant so much even though
he’d not seen the child since the first year of his life? Did it not matter about the other twin—him?
Those suppositions had caused more friction between Alistair and his father, and two days later,
leaving more questions than answers, his father had died, giving him the title he had always thought
would eventually be his anyway.
Now chance and fate had aligned, but it wasn’t the joyful occasion he’d once thought it might
be. Five years ago, he’d lost both his father and a brother that he’d never known existed. It still
haunted him to this day.
Thanks to Jonathan’s steadying presence, he remained in Bombay to settle his father’s estate
there, then they found the life so pleasing they’d made a living for years and filled both their coffers.
During that time, he’d been forced to forget about Carole and the romance they’d once had, for she
was better off without him, and the scandal connected to his family name, especially since it remained
shrouded in secrets.
She deserved better five years ago. That hadn’t changed.
“What the hell, Reardon?” The viscount poked him in the shoulder. “You once more popped
back into your thoughts while I am trying to tell you which women are the choicest morsels of the
holiday social scene.”
Right. The reason he had returned to London. He needed to start his life over yet again. With a
sigh, Alistair nodded. Tossing back the remainder of the brandy in his glass, he lifted an eyebrow. “I
suppose you have listed them into categories?”
“Of course I have.” Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Looks. Worth. Connections. And how
well she kisses.”
“I see.” Damn, but one of the things he had adored about Carole was how she’d kissed him.
Almost as if each meeting of their lips had been a sacred covenant. But those days had passed. “How
long is your list?”
Jonathan shrugged. “Five ladies. Two of whom are society’s darlings this year.”
“Ugh.” At seven and thirty, he surely wasn’t in the mood to court a debutante. “I would rather
not align myself with a young lady just making her Come Out.”
“Then we shall concentrate on the other three.” His friend poured another measure of brandy
into his glass and then did the same for Alistair. “And whichever of the ladies you don’t pick, I shall
choose one for myself.”
“May fate grant us good fortune.” He put his drink aloft in silent salute. “I would like to hope
this Christmastide will usher in the lives we are finally mature enough to have.”
“Here, here!” Jonathan took a sip. “And here’s to firmly keeping the past in the past. I’m sure
Carole has moved on from you and is quite content in her life.”
“Here, here.” Though he echoed his friend’s sentiments, the unease of earlier hadn’t
dissipated. Knowing Carole was next door would make him self-conscious and forever remind him of
his greatest embarrassment.
Please let us not see each other in passing. Some wounds don’t need reexamined.
 Chapter Two

December 13, 1818

Collingsworth House
Mayfair
London, England
Miss Carole Hazelton frowned as she gazed out the window of her bedchamber in Viscount
Collingsworth’s London townhouse. It overlooked a corner of two intersecting streets in the Hanover
Square neighborhood, and even though thick clouds scudded across the skies, the sun’s glare made her
squint at the scene below.
Pedestrians scurried along the pavement. Scattered carriage traffic went along the
thoroughfare of people with important places to go and meetings to make.
In a half hour, she was scheduled to take her seven-year-old twin charges to Hyde Park on a
nature walk before the rain prevented it. Again. For that was her lot in life—being a governess. Six
months previously, she had been fortunate enough to come to London and interview for the open
position with Viscount Collingsworth. Both the lord and lady had asked her questions, and some of
them had been perilously close to her personal past.
She’d kept to the truth as best she could and evaded when that truth would have harmed her
future. Before she’d been given the governess position with Lord Collingsworth, she had been a
governess in Kent near her father’s country estate, but when that position ended because the children
had grown, she’d needed to move on.
It’s what she’d done for five years, shortly after her betrothal fell apart at the wedding altar,
and no other man in the ton would have her, which heaped mortification on top of the shame she’d
carried since that day.
Once more, movement on the street caught her eye and intruded into her musings. Perhaps the
women going to and fro had tea to take with dear friends or they were off for a drive with a suitor.
Her heart squeezed as that same organ hardened against anything smacking of romance. Love
was naught but a waste of time, and the only thing it did was cut deep enough to leave scars behind. It
didn’t matter she was nine and twenty; she wanted nothing to do with love and romance again.
Not after what happened that day five years ago and the agony that had followed.

March 15, 1814

Hazelton Park
Kent, England
 It had been three months since Alistair Forsythe had left her at the altar. The man hadn’t even
the dignity to tell her in person he couldn’t wed her. The dratted worm had sent a courier to deliver a
hastily penned note saying circumstances had changed and he couldn’t, in good conscience, marry her.
What the deuce had that meant? Three months later and she still tried to puzzle it.
Now, on what should have been a lovely spring afternoon, the far reach of Alistair’s horrid
decision once more rocked through her family. Her dear, lovely, robust father who used to have the
heartiest laugh and had always smelled like peppermint and pipe tobacco, had retreated to this estate
directly following the jilting for the gossip had been too much to bear.
Though he’d been granted a lordship decades before by the king for loyal services to the
Crown and was largely known as Lord Montford, none of those accolades could cheer him or buoy
his spirits once his eldest daughter stood in embarrassment at the church in front of all those people.
So he’d herded his family home to the Park, but his health had never recovered. He’d taken the slight
hard and rarely made public appearances. As the weeks passed, his stamina and strength had steadily
declined until the shame and embarrassment and possibly worry had simply been too much. His heart
attacked him, and he’d died suddenly in mid-sentence as he’d been talking to her mother.
That had happened not an hour past.
Carole was still in shock and couldn’t yet shed tears. Instead, she sat by herself in the drawing
room with her hands clenched in her lap and her thoughts—as well as her ire—firmly resting upon
Alistair. The death of her father could fully be laid at his selfish feet, and she would never forget this
day. She might forgive him in the future, but she would never forget, and if he ever came ‘round again,
there would be nowhere in England he could hide from her rage.
Eventually, her younger sister Alice joined her, and the tear stains on her face and the front of
her dress bore testament to her grief. The poor thing was just nineteen and everything that happened to
her cut her to the quick wherein an emotional outburst would inevitably follow. Granted, she’d been
tight-lipped when the family had to retreat to Kent, but her chances of making an advantageous
marriage had been obliterated, tainted by Carole’s defeat.
God only knew if her sister would forgive her.
“What will we do now?” Alice whispered as she flounced onto the sofa cushion next to
Carole and began to sniffle into her lace-edged handkerchief all over again. Her chestnut hair had
been put back in a messy chignon, and even with the red splotches of high emotion on her face, she
was as beautiful as an angel. Definitely, out of the two of them, she’d had the most potential in making
an advantageous match. “Papa is gone, and I overheard the butler telling the housekeeper we are
nearly destitute.” She looked at Carole with moisture-spiked lashes. “Is that true?”
“If it is, then Papa was even worse with money than we thought.” Then she shrugged, for they
would probably never know the whole truth. “Papa gave Alistair a substantial dowry for my hand, for
he had apparently wagered everything we owned that having an earl for a son-in-law would solve our
financial strain in future endeavors. He thought Alistair would take care of the Hazelton family’s
woes.” At the catch in her voice, she cleared her throat. “What folly… for all of us.”
Every hope she’d personally had was dashed; every dream she’d ever dreamed would never
come true. Their family would never be the same, thanks to the selfish, horrid actions of Alistair
Forsythe. Had she loved him? Of course. But he had taken her heart, tossed it away, and ground it
beneath his heel as if she’d never meant anything to him at all.
It would take a while to heal from that hurt, and that was what she planned to do since they
had a year of mourning ahead. Not that it mattered. After what had happened, in a very public way,
everyone within the ton assumed there was something wrong with her or that she had done something
scandalous enough that had caused such a catch like Alistair Forsythe to abandon her at the altar. The
speculation had been so much worse than the truth, and the gossip alone had been enough to cause her
family to flee London in high embarrassment.
Alice dabbed at her streaming eyes, and Carole once more focused on her. “You know
Alistair didn’t have anything to do with Papa’s death, don’t you?”
“Ha!” The laugh held no mirth. “He had everything to do with it. Papa was hale and hearty
before I was abandoned at the altar.”
“No.” Her sister shook her head. “Papa was ailing. The signs were there.”
“Perhaps, but his death was ushered in sooner because of this.” She couldn’t quite keep the
bitterness out of her voice, didn’t want to try. “If I ever see that blackguard again, it will be too
soon.”
In fact, there had been no sign or word of Alistair’s whereabouts since he’d thrown her over
three months before. Gossip held that he’d fled the country, but the reasons for that were unknown,
and if there had been an explanation bantered about, they were mostly wild speculation.
She assumed. But wherever he’d gone and for whatever reason, it had better have been worth
it.
Worth more than me.
“There will be other opportunities to marry, Carole.” There was hope in Alice’s eyes that
only a nineteen-year-old girl could have, even after circumstances looked bleak. “And for me.”
“I hope you are right. However, I feel in my heart the gossipmongers have done their hideous
work all too well. My reputation has been destroyed, and yours by association.”
Never would she forgive herself for that.
Or Alistair.
I hope you are happy in the life you have chosen for yourself… that doesn’t include me.

Present day
A strangle of giggles erupted from the corridor beyond and pulled her from her tortured
thoughts, belonging to the seven-year-old twins who were her charges. A boy and a girl—William
and Mary—they were a handful as soon as they woke in the morning, named after their father and
mother respectively and not the historical figures. No doubt they were on their way to luncheon—
albeit late—but she wouldn’t begrudge them the time. They were children, after all, and if their
mother wished to be in their company even though it upset the schedule Carole had laid down for
them, who was she to complain?
Constantly she had to remind herself she was merely the help—not exactly part of the servants
but not good enough to mingle with the Quality—and her opinions should be kept to herself.
As she continued to watch the ever-changing traffic on the streets below, her thoughts once
more turned inward.
Following the death of her father and once the family had emerged from their year of
mourning, the Hazelton’s required an income to keep the house running and to pay the handful of
servants still employed. Carole took a position of governess which let her remain in Kent to be near
her mother and sister, but as time went on, the two children grew and no longer needed her care.
Facing another financial crisis—and since her sister might still have a chance to make a good match if
they were very careful—once more it was up to Carole to save them.
She’d applied for another position, and this one was in London with Lord Collingsworth, and
that had proved to be a turning point in her life. Since the old scandal surrounding her name had been
five years before, she’d felt confident enough it had blown over and everyone had forgotten her in the
face of other more scandalous on-dits. To her delight, the viscount and viscountess had found her
acceptable in face, form, and abilities, and they had offered her the position on the spot.
Every day she woke, Carole would always remain grateful to them for giving her a chance. As
long as she didn’t flaunt herself in society, no one would have cause to remember what had happened
five years ago. Everything would be fine. She would have her position and the comfort of watching
her charges grow into functioning—and hopefully kind—members of society. The best she could hope
for personally was to get on with a decent gentleman, perhaps a military man or a merchant, and have
a modest life. If she were truly fortunate, she might have children of her own. As of yet, none of that
had happened, for being a governess meant she wasn’t able to circulate through society as she used to,
but that was to be expected for someone in her reduced circumstance.
Not that it was a terrible life. She enjoyed the work, and she’d become invested in her
charges’ growth and upbringing. It was interesting to fill in at various dinners the viscountess threw if
numbers needed to be made up.
Above and beyond all of that, her heart was still broken. It didn’t matter that so much time had
passed between now and when her engagement had fallen apart, she suspected those feelings would
never quite fade. Never would she fully trust another man again, and that made for a future which
would stretch endlessly before her, filled with staying on the fringes of someone else’s life.
Drat Alistair’s eyes.
Worrying and letting bitterness fester in her soul wouldn’t solve any immediate problems, so
she turned away from the window with a sigh and then grabbed up a gray pelisse. Not the most
cheerful of colors, but there was no longer enough coin to purchase fripperies that weren’t
serviceable and suitable for the position of governess. She shoved her arms through the sleeves and
frowned at her equally unappealing navy day dress.
Had she married that scoundrel, she would have been dressed in the first stare of fashion and
elegance as befitting the next countess of Reardon. Instead, she was forced to mend her own clothing
and find ways to not only make them last but also look as fetching as she could without people
thinking she was putting on airs.
And thus, recalling why her name might sound familiar.
Perhaps spending some time in the garden before her assigned trip to Hyde Park with the
children would help to clear her mind. With a sense of boredom mixed with ennui, she donned a
bonnet of brown silk and trimmed with black velvet ribbon and a few pheasant feathers. Once, she’d
had smart, pretty little bonnets, but unfortunately, she’d been forced to sell them years ago. A yank at
the ribbons beneath her chin made an efficient bow.
No sense in worrying about that now.
She snagged a pair of brown kid gloves from the vanity along with her reticule that matched
the boring pelisse, and then Carole quietly exited her room. Since the schoolroom and nursery suite
took up all the space on the third floor, she’d been given one of the guest rooms on the second. Both
she and the viscountess thought it good enough, for the children were old enough that they wouldn’t
have dire emergencies in the night, and if they were frightened, they could always come down a level
and wake Carole.
As of yet, such a situation hadn’t made itself known, for William and Mary were quite self-
sufficient… and mischievous.
She deliberately avoided the morning room where luncheon was being served. No sense in
having her limited free time taken away when there wasn’t a need. On the ground floor, she took a
short cut through Lord Collinsworth’s library, went straight to the double French-paned doors, and
then slipped outside into the small stretch of garden separated from the neighbor’s house by a four-
foot stone wall.
As of yet, there had been no snow in the London area, but there was a decided chill in the air.
It reminded her of the years she’d spent in Kent, but being so close to the sea, the chances of having
snow in the winter was slim. Perhaps there would be some this winter in London, but probably not
for Christmastide.
As she paced about the abbreviated walkway that wound through a handful of ornamental fruit
trees toward the row of low hedges at the back wall, Carole filled her lungs with the relatively clean
air. At times, when the weather was fair, she would retreat here with a book of poetry and sit for a
couple of hours by herself. At others, she would escape to the green space behind the Hanover Square
area to walk and let her thoughts run wild.
Still, though, the worries mounted and worried her, and in those moments, the incredible
loneliness snuck in to bedevil her. Then she remembered to remain grateful she held a respectable
position and hadn’t needed to rely on making a livelihood on her back like so many women were
forced to. Additionally, her employers were lovely people, and most days, so were their children.
Next door, the soft woof of a dog filtered to her ears. Carole frowned. When had the neighbor
returned? The townhouse had sat empty for as long as she’d held the governess position here, and
from what the housekeeper had told her, no one had been in residence for a few years.
“I mean it, Fitzroy, do your business. I have an appointment yet this afternoon.”
Immediately, upon hearing the masculine voice, her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Surely not… She crept toward that side of the wall separating this garden from his.
Then he spoke again. “Good boy. Now, back inside with you. Go find Mother, and no
complaints this time. I do not have the time or wherewithal to play nursemaid to you.” A hint of
annoyance wove through that baritone, and this time there was no mistaking to whom the voice
belonged to.
Her gasp must have been all too audible, for he turned about, and then the man’s eyes widened
with the same horrendous shock that currently battered her insides. It was true and not just a trick of
her ears. “Alistair.” How was this possible?
“Carole?” He moved closer to the wall, and she couldn’t help but look him over.
In the five years since they’d been apart, he had matured. His dark brown hair, combed into a
popular style was now sprinkled with threads of silver, especially at the temples. A frown tugged at
the corners of his mouth that was as sensual looking as it had ever been. As she crept even closer to
the wall, he followed her movements with eyes that were still as rich as brandy and his shoulders as
wide as she remembered, covered now by a black greatcoat. A top hat was clutched in one gloved
hand and drat the wall that prevented her from seeing the rest of his body.
“You are the neighbor who has been absent?” It was much too difficult to wrap her mind about
the possibility, so she’d been forced to utter it. Yet she couldn’t deny the evidence of her own eyes: he
was even more handsome than he’d been when she’d last seen him—the day before they were
supposed to have been wed.
 Drat his rotted soul.
“I am.” From his expression, it seemed he couldn’t believe it either.
“But…” She shook her head. “That cannot be correct.”
“If that is so, then I am currently living in a house not mine, and also, if said accusation is true,
then someone should really tell my mother. She won’t be best pleased.” Those lips she’d once kissed
with abandon, curved downward in a fierce frown. “And knowing none of that is certainly not true,
this is surely my townhouse, so please move past your shock.”
The nerve of the man! Using all the willpower she possessed, Carole refrained from stamping
her foot as she wished. “Can you blame me? I haven’t seen you for five years!” Her voice rose an
octave on the exclamation.
“That was in the past.” He glanced about. Fearful someone would overhear?
Well, too bad. “And now, here you are, as big as you please, without apparent regret or the
good sense to offer up an apology, thinking to order me about as if we were strangers.” She propped
her hands upon her hips and glared at him. This time she lowered her voice. It wouldn’t do to have
everyone on the street bear witness to what was surely going to be a lovely row. “Perhaps you had
best explain to me what the devil you are doing here, looking at me as if I’m the one affronting you,
for after you do, I intend to give you the dressing down you so richly deserve. And do remember, Mr.
Forsythe, I have had five years to think of exactly what to say if I ever had the ill-fortune of seeing
you again.”
For she wouldn’t be trifled with. Since she’d locked her heart behind a cage, she was a
woman immune to charm and love. At least now her rage would be assuaged.
 Chapter Three

At least he had the answer to one question. Apparently, Carole—Miss Hazelton, he should
really call her—did remember, and no, she hadn’t managed to get move past it.
Alistair eyed her warily. “Actually, it is Lord Reardon now.” When he’d responded to her
initial greeting minutes before, it had been a touch cooler than he’d intended. Mostly out of shock, but
more because he hadn’t been ready for the rush of emotion that had crashed over him. He might have
told Jonathan he was completely immune to her, but that obviously wasn’t true.
“I beg your pardon?” Confusion reflected in her blue eyes that used to remind him of the
sapphire on his mother’s favorite tiara.
“I am not a mister. Haven’t been for nearly five years. My father died, leaving me the earldom
and the title.” It was the best explanation he could—and would—give.
“Oh, you can understand my confusion. When one is absent from someone’s life, one tends to
not think of them any longer.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from her voice. Standing as she was with her
hands propped on her hips, he couldn’t help but study her.
Her chestnut hair beneath the unassuming bonnet was just as he remembered it. The equally
plain clothing did absolutely nothing for her frame, which was a shame because when he’d known
her, she wore gowns of sumptuous fabrics and rich hues, but it was the high color in her cheeks and
the daggers she shot at him from those eyes that would stay with him for much longer than the attire.
Then she narrowed her eyes. “You do not seem as surprised to see me as I am to see you. Why
is that, I wonder?”
“I, uh…” He tugged at the knot of his cravat. Under no circumstances could he let her see he
still held her in high regard, for she would make jest of that, perhaps use it against him. “Jonathan, or
rather Viscount Frawley, informed me yesterday you were here. He must have seen you on the street,
but in any event, he told me, so I had some time to digest that fact.”
“Ah.” She didn’t seem relieved or delighted. In fact, she continued to regard him as if she
hated the very sight of him. “How fortunate for you.”
Somewhat relieved she didn’t demand an explanation for the events of that day years ago, he
didn’t offer one either. No sense in ripping a scab off an old wound. There was a low-grade anger to
her now that he didn’t wish to stir further. Yet he had questions and was curious as to how she’d
passed those years. What happened to the sweet, docile, biddable miss he used to know and would
have married? This woman with a tart mouth had a backbone seemingly made of steel, and it was both
impressive and attractive. Another round of feeling for her welled in his chest. It was as if the five
years since he’d left had never happened. What would she do if he were to come through that curved
wooden garden gate that separated the properties and then catch her up in an embrace? Would she
receive him with gladness, or would she slap his face?
“Yes, I suppose I have been fortunate in many aspects of my life since… Well, you know.”
Now he realized why her entire attitude had become prickly. He’d ruined her, destroyed her
reputation that day. Perhaps if the same had happened to him, he wouldn’t be best pleased to see him
either.
 One of her thinly feathered eyebrows lifted. “The day you decided I wasn’t worth your time
and left me at the altar?”
That wasn’t exactly true, but he couldn’t clear the misconception unless he wished to open the
whole, ugly mess of the scandal that had rocked his family. Which he didn’t want to do. At least not
now.
“Yes.” What else could he say?
“Well, bully for you.”
The vernacular took him by surprise, and though his lips twitched, he tamped down on the
urge to grin lest she assumed he made jest of her. Obviously, she must have picked up the word from
one of her charges. The best course of action was to steer her away from asking about his life. “When
did you return to London, Miss Hazelton?” Would she mind he didn’t use her Christian name? Under
the circumstances, he didn’t feel comfortable to claim that right, especially since he didn’t deserve it.
“Ah, so then we’re to conduct ourselves in this manner. Like strangers?” Was that for her
benefit or his? Carole might have been civil and cordial, but her attitude was quite cool. It drove a
shard of hurt into his heart, but then, he could only blame himself. She stared at him as if she wished
to pin him to a board like he was a bug. “I arrived six months ago when Lord Collingsworth decided
his manor house needed too much refurbishment to make summer living relaxing.”
He shifted his weight. Right. Why couldn’t he remember the name of his damned neighbor?
Probably because everything he’d ever known had flown out of his mind the second he’d laid eyes on
her again. Then he frowned. It was all too odd, and vastly unsatisfying, to converse with her when
there was a stone wall between them. “I have only just returned to Town this week.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could properly read it.
When Carole said nothing else, not even to ask after his health, he sighed. “Where have you
been in the interim?” Perhaps if he could ascertain how she’d passed her days, he could better talk
with her. “I assumed your father would have rented out a townhouse every year.”
For a few seconds, her mouth pinched into a tight line. “About two weeks following our
broken engagement, my family and I went back to Hazelton Park in Kent. I have been there ever since,
with the exception of needing to come to London.”
They could have been acquaintances passing each other in a corridor at a society function for
all the warmth that wasn’t between them. “I see.” Though, he rather didn’t. What he wanted to ask her
was if she’d thought of him over the years, but he was too much of a coward to voice the inquiry.
Instead, he rushed on with the first question that popped into his mind. “How does your family fare?”
“Oh… you… jackanapes!” It wasn’t a compliment. If possible, even more anger had gathered
in her eyes, and if a storm at sea were personified, Carole Hazelton was exactly that. “My father is
dead. Three months after our broken engagement. Thanks to you.” So much animosity roiled in her
voice, he unconsciously took a step backward even though the wall separated them.
What was this, then? No matter that he still had feelings—residual or not—for the woman,
when she was basically accusing him of killing her father, that’s where he drew the line. “How the
devil could I have been responsible? I wasn’t even there!”
“That is the whole issue, you thick-skulled lout!” Carole crossed her arms at her chest. “You
never showed at the church that day, and the shame killed my poor papa.” Sadness jumped into her
eyes. “Because you didn’t keep your promise, my father is dead. I don’t know if I can ever forgive
you for that.”
Confusion ran rampant through his mind. “Which are you more upset about: my jilting you or
your father dying?” The words were out of his mouth before he could recall them.
 How much more of a bacon-brained idiot can you be, Reardon?
She fairly vibrated with fury. Twin spots of color blazed on her cheeks, made even more
prominent due to the fact that the blood had drained from her face. “How can you be so cruel?” The
words were soft, but emotion trembled in the tones.
And damn if he still didn’t know to what she referred. That only deepened the mystery
surrounding her, but one thing he could say with certainty. He both wanted to be her comfort and
simultaneously run as far away from her as he could. “I’m afraid you will need to be more specific.”
If she thought she could rake him across the coals, he was under no obligation to stand there and take
it without making it just as uncomfortable for her.
It didn’t matter it wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do. All of that flew out the window when
she’d more or less accused him of murdering her father.
“Argh!”
Thank goodness the wall was between them, for he felt it deep down into his soul that she
would have slapped him. He held up a hand, palm outward. “I do not wish to fight with you.”
“That is readily obvious,” she snapped with the fire still dancing in her eyes. “You never did
fight for what you wanted, did you?”
Did that mean she took exception to him choosing a family crisis over her? When she hadn’t
known about the scandal to begin with? Bloody hell. Never before had he realized what a woman
scorned looked like, but he refused—flat out refused—to enter into the conversation or put forth the
explanation she hungered for. He needed a clear head and to organize his thoughts before he’d do that.
“Enough. Can we not call a truce?”
Carole stood there doing nothing except blinking at him, and even that held a furious edge, but
it was somehow appealing. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she thinned those lips into a flat
line. “No.”
“Fine.” Alistair heaved out a sigh. He was going to be hopelessly late for the meeting with his
man-of-affairs. “Why are you a governess for Lord Collingsworth?” Perhaps if they started off with
small, easy to answer questions, her anger would fade.
“Why do you think?” Hurt clouded her eyes. Vulnerability lay stamped across her face. She
looked so fragile, and a tad lost that his heart squeezed. The delicate tendons in her throat worked
over the collar of her pelisse. He wanted to protect her from every bad thing in the world, even if one
of those things was apparently him. “When you jilted me, everything changed.”
“But I—”
“No.” Carole shook her head. “My entire life was upended. It never went back to what it was
on that morning.”
“Did you marry?” What a nodcock question, Reardon! If she had, she would not have needed
to take a position.
“I did not. The rumors surrounding your defection saw to that.” The infinite sadness in her
eyes warred with annoyance. “I am not the same woman I was when you knew me. I am a governess
now and would appreciate it if you would simply leave me alone.”
How could he do that when his entire being screamed at him to make things right with her?
Five years had gone by in seemingly the blink of an eye, and now that he was here with her once
more, he wished to start over again, to discover if she might be able to love him anew.
Apparently, he hadn’t banished those old feelings as well as he’d thought.
But none of that would be accomplished while she continued to present the front of a hellcat.
“Carole, please, if we could—”
 The remainder of his words were lost as the back door flew open and two tow-haired
children spilled out into the garden. Perhaps around seven years old, the boy looked the perfect image
of a country gentleman in tan breeches, brown boots, and even a brown tweed waistcoat, while the
girl was more demure in a pale blue dress with plenty of frills and a matching pelisse and bonnet.
“Miss Hazelton, Mama says the carriage is out front and ready for our trip to Hyde Park.” The
boy bounced his curious gaze between Alistair and her then ended up frowning. “Are we still going?”
“Of course we are.” In that moment, Carole transformed from a woman scorned and a
veritable storm to a nurturing ideal of what he thought his wife might be. “I was merely chatting with
our neighbor, who has finally come home from…” A trace of confusion went through her expression
as she connected her gaze back to his. “I apologize. I have no idea where you have been.”
That was the crux of the matter, indeed.
The longer Alistair peered at the twins, the more his mind was hurtled back to Bombay and
the horrible time he’d been obligated to suffer through that had prevented the life he’d wanted once
upon a time. All these years later, he couldn’t believe he’d been a twin, and no one had told him
throughout the whole of his existence. As he stared at the boy, both twins stared back at him, as
curious as he was.
“Hey, mate, Miss Hazelton is waiting on an answer,” the boy reminded him with an intense
look about him.
“Right.” Alistair shook his head in order to clear it. “I was in India, actually.” Never had he
despised that decision more than he did right now. He’d missed out on so much of Carole’s life,
hadn’t been able to enjoy her company as he’d originally assumed. And for what? Both his father and
the brother he’d never known about were dead. “There was a matter of some urgency that demanded
my attention.”
Once again, Carole’s gaze was upon him, and it was filled with sad speculation. “In any
event, Lord Reardon is now in residence, and I should think you will treat him with the respect he
deserves in his station, William,” she gently admonished as she ruffled a hand through the boy’s hair.
A pang of jealousy went through Alistair’s chest. What he wouldn’t give for her to lay a hand
—even a finger—on him again, merely so he could feel that connection. He focused on the children.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Both of them peered at him with matching hazel eyes. The boy nodded. “I have never met an
earl before. Is it difficult, Your Lordship?”
That largely depended on the day. He shrugged. “At times. You may call me Alistair.”
Carole snorted. “No, he may not.” She shook her head for emphasis, and with a hard glance,
said to the boy, “He is Lord Reardon, and I don’t want you to bother him.”
The boy—William—scowled. “What if I see him over the garden gate? Should I ignore him?
That isn’t good manners, and you are forever telling Mary and me we should be on our best
behavior.”
Alistair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. These children would prove a
handful if they hadn’t already.
A hint of a blush filled Carole’s cheeks. “Of course you should behave, but his proper form of
address is Lord Reardon.”
For the first time, the girl spoke. She waved shyly to him. “Hello, Lord Reardon. I am Miss
Mary Fairfax.” As she crept closer to the wall, she flashed him a smile that would undoubtedly win
half a dozen hearts when she was older. “I think it’s lovely you live next door. That house has been
sad and empty for too long.”
 He gave her a grin. If he and Carole had been married as planned, would they have had a
child, perhaps two, by this point? “Actually, my mother and her dog have been in residence during my
absence. Have you not seen her?” It was entirely possible the two hadn’t crossed paths, for his
mother wasn’t one to socialize overly much, and the child wouldn’t have gone out without
supervision.
The child’s eyes were round, but her smile widened. “I have seen the dog. May I meet him
sometime? Mama won’t let us have a dog, so I am stuck with him.” She hooked a thumb over her
shoulder to indicate her brother. “And Miss Hazelton. She is a lovely governess, but she is sad all the
time.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Did that mean Carole still thought about him? Wished things had
been different? Perhaps this was his way into spending a few more minutes with her. “Of course you
can meet the dog, but make certain you gain permission from Miss Hazelton first.”
Carole’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she shepherded the children
toward the door. “Go inside and wait for me in the entry hall. I shall be only a moment. Then we’re
off for our nature walk.”
Glad to once more be in her company alone, Alistair came closer to the wall. He laid a
gloved hand atop it. “You and I need to talk privately. Might you set aside some time in your schedule
to do so?” It felt all too awkward conversing as if they were strangers while ignoring the history
between them, but perhaps that was what their relationship amounted to now.
“We were done talking the day you left, Alistair.” The fury had returned to her voice with such
force that the tones shook from it even as she kept her pitch low. “You never even wrote to me!” Her
chin trembled before she got hold of her emotions. “Do you know how much a letter from you would
have been welcomed? When I needed words of comfort and reassurance from you, I had nothing
except silence. It was a smack in the face after everything else.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. That was a fair point. He could have written, could have
explained in letters why he’d done the egregious thing that he had. But in that, he was also a coward,
so he’d let the matter drop. “I apologize for my appalling lack of manners. Everything happened so
quickly. I didn’t think about it…” His words trailed off. That wasn’t exactly true. There had been so
much thought put into that decision, and ultimately, he hadn’t wished to hurt her with the onslaught of
gossip that would eventually befall his family name if word of the missing twin got out, hadn’t wanted
to give her a life that had been based in a lie. “I thought about you, many times, until I… didn’t.”
Well, damn. He didn’t know when it had happened, but eventually, he truly did cease to think
about Carole and the world he’d left behind. Once his father had died, too many responsibilities had
filled his moments, and when he wasn’t working toward a fortune, he’d taken refuge in sleep, for at
least then the memories would cease to haunt him.
Mostly.
“I see.” Pain reflected in her impossibly blue eyes. “I need to go. Please, if you have a shred
of decency left in your body, leave me alone.”
“But I thought—”
“No.” She shook her head. “You have your life; I have mine. This is how it must be. Good
day, Lord Reardon.”
Then she vanished inside the house and closed the door firmly behind her. Alistair stood
looking at the spot she’d vacated for long moments after. There was much he needed to think about,
for his feelings hadn’t been left strictly to the past. The question now remained: did he want a
renewal of what they had, or should he start again from the beginning?
That was if Carole would give him the chance.
 Chapter Four

December 14, 1818

Anemic sunshine worked its way through the seemingly ever-present cloud deck, but it was
cheerful illumination nonetheless, and exactly what Carole needed.
As she tidied the table in the schoolroom where she sat waiting for the twins to finish writing
the essay she assigned them, her thoughts jogged to the Earl of Reardon.
Drat Alistair anyway!
How dare he return to London and act as if nothing had happened! Granted, he had tried to
speak with her at least twice yesterday, but she’d cut him off before he could really start. In truth, she
didn’t want to hear his excuses or explanations. What he’d done had cut her to the quick, had left her
with a broken heart and a shredded reputation. There was nothing he could say that would mend any
of it.
There was a lifetime between them that nothing could bridge. Couldn’t he see she had her own
life now, a new life, that kept her heart safe and the remains of her reputation protected from the ton?
It might not be the life she would have had with him, but it was hers nonetheless, and there was
happiness to be found there.
Carole glanced at her two charges. A soft smile curved her lips. Under her tutelage, they had
grown by leaps and bounds academically. It was only a matter of concentration on their part. Was she
happy with their progress? Of course. Was she happy with her position? It kept her busy and provided
a much-needed income. But was she happy with her life? Not by half.
Drat him!
He invaded her thoughts like a recurring fever dream. When she’d seen him yesterday over the
garden wall, confusion had taken control. As did anger. From all accounts, their broken engagement
and his subsequent parting hadn’t affected him at all. When she’d almost succumbed to the emotions
swirling through her, he’d stared at her as if he couldn’t wait to be off to that all-important meeting the
dog had originally made him late for.
Oh, why did he have to look even more handsome now than he had when he’d left her at the
altar? And why had her silly heart thumped more quickly when he aroused her ire? And why was she
possessed of the urge to kiss him? Every time that urge came upon her during their brief conversation
yesterday, she’d thrust it away and covered it with anger, which wasn’t difficult for that emotion was
always simmering just below the surface.
She didn’t need Alistair any longer and she certainly didn’t want him. Then she stifled a laugh
and kept her focus on the ledger in front of her where she recorded the twins’ progress month to
month. What a ninny she’d become, for she might still want him. The earl was the first man she’d
ever loved, the first man she’d given her heart to, and he would have been the first man she gave her
body to if their wedding proceeded. During their courtship, though they’d indulged in heated kisses,
nothing had ever come of those embraces, for Alistair hadn’t wished to cause a scandal.
Then she did laugh, and quickly shrugged when Mary glanced at her with a frown. He’d ended
up tossing her into an even bigger scandal at his defection. She thought they would have a lifetime
together, but he’d left, just walked away with apparently no feelings to the matter at all.
How could she forget that?
The man had abandoned her with gossip trailing in her wake and a shadow on her reputation.
No matter what the truth was behind his flight from London, the ton had flayed her alive, had made
certain she could never wed a decent man. Or an indecent one. Every eligible gentleman throughout
Town had steered well clear, for if an earl’s son hadn’t wanted her, prevailing opinion said there must
be something wrong with her.
Drat the beau monde, too!
“Miss Hazelton, may I ask you a question?” Mary laid down her pencil and regarded Carole
with bright eyes.
“Is it related to your schoolwork?”
“No.”
She sighed. “If it has to do with Lord Reardon’s dog, you may not ask.” All afternoon at Hyde
Park, both children had talked incessantly about what sort of canine lived next door and when they
could see it.
William huffed. “I told you,” he hissed, but kept his focus on his paper.
“Well, it’s not about the dog,” Mary snapped and pulled a face as she looked across the table
at her brother. She then glanced at Carole. “It is about you, Miss Hazelton.”
“Me? Whyever for?”
The girl didn’t answer her question. “Are you and Lord Reardon friends?”
Oh, dear. How to phrase her words so they wouldn’t reveal too much. “We used to be.”
Please leave it at that.
Of course, her charges did not. In fact, William laid down his pencil, and she didn’t quite trust
the mischievous light in his eyes. “How long ago?”
“Many years.” Carole shrugged. The whole conversation was entirely too inappropriate.
“Now, if we could return to your essays?”
“Not yet, Miss Hazelton.” Mary tossed her head and her blonde curls bounced. “I heard what
you said to him, you know.”
“Oh?” Dear heavens, she could only hope the children hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Yes.” The girl nodded and sat up a little straighter in her chair. “You were engaged to Lord
Reardon.”
William stared with round eyes. “She was?”
“Didn’t you hear them?” Mary looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he was her twin.
“Something happened and their engagement was broken.”
The ache around Carole’s heart shivered back into life. She thought she’d put the pain behind
her, thought she’d turned it into anger, but the fact her two charges were discussing her relationship as
if it were gossip on the street brought it all careening back.
“Well, Miss Hazelton?” William caught her in his probing gaze. “Were you engaged to Lord
Reardon?”
Merciful heavens.
“I…” There was really no sense in lying to them, for they could be as stubborn as dogs
fighting with a bone. “I was. Yes.” Not that it mattered.
“Oooh!” Mary’s eyes were now as round as her brother’s. “Why aren’t you now?”
“It was a long time ago.”
 “But why?” the girl pressed on.
Carole’s huff stirred the curls on her forehead. “Suffice it to say, it didn’t work out between
us, and now it’s become a lost romance.” That sounded more elegant than saying she’d been left at the
altar. Besides, they were children and too young to understand.
For long moments, both of them stared at her with grudging respect, and despite herself, she
allowed a tiny smile, for she’d risen in their estimation.
Finally, it was Mary who broke the silence. “That is sad, Miss Hazelton. Do you still love
Lord Reardon?”
Did she? Well, this question was easily answered. “No, Mary. I do not.” Alistair had made
certain of that.
“That sounds like a woman.” William snorted. “Will you die an old maid, then? You are
already quite old.”
Out of the mouths of babes, as the saying went. “Despite my advanced age, I rather doubt I
will marry, so I suppose I am going to be a spinster.” There were worse things.
Mary frowned at her half-finished essay. “Lord Reardon is quite dashing, you know.”
“Oh, I am well aware of his looks. Thank you, Mary.” Once more, his image jumped into her
mind, and she would have sighed in pure appreciation if she were alone.
“Don’t worry over it, Miss Hazelton.” William puffed out his little chest. “If it were me, I’d
want my lady to give me a second chance, no matter if I mucked up or not.”
A shaft of annoyance speared through her. “You do not know anything about it.” Those words
came out sharper than she’d intended. William and Mary blinked at her in surprise. Quickly, she
modulated her tone. “Once a heart is broken, it cannot be mended. Especially if the trust has been
forfeited as well.”
More solemnly than a seven-year-old should, Mary nodded. “If you don’t want Lord Reardon
any longer, Miss Hazelton, some other woman will snap him up, and once William and I are grown,
you will be alone.”
Oh, please make it stop.
She tried to fold her hands in front of her, but she was much too annoyed to sit still. Shoving to
her feet, she retrieved their papers and pencils. “It is better to be alone than always wondering if my
man will cave to wanderlust and leave without explanation.” Then she deposited the supplies on the
small secretary in the corner of the room where she wrote out her lesson plans. “I think we will cut
the afternoon short today. You have done enough work, and it is nearly time for tea besides. Play
quietly until the longcase in the corridor strikes four then join your mother in the drawing room.”
Mary frowned. “Where will you be, Miss Hazelton?”
As if she were ever invited to take tea with the family. As calmly as she could, Carole
smoothed her hands down the front of her navy dress—the same one she’d worn yesterday. “I am
going into the garden for some air and clear my head. Then I will spend some quiet time in my room,
reading.”
William made a gagging noise. “Reading? I’ve no use for it.”
At the last second, Carole stopped herself from pointing her eyes to the ceiling. “Most ladies
think men who read quite attractive.”
“Ha!” He sprang out of his chair. “I would much rather work at numbers and equations. They
are not as difficult, and a man can make coin with them.” He tapped a fingertip to his temple. “It is a
better choice.”
Was that the only thing that the male of the species cared about? “I’m sure it is.” Then she left
the room at a more rapid pace than usual.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her when she escaped into the garden, for as soon as she’d
stumbled into the middle of the path, the earl next door came out of his townhouse, and their gazes
connected for one fleeting second.
Drat. Drat. Drat!
“Good afternoon, Carole.” The rumble of his voice sent gooseflesh sailing over her skin. Then
something on the ground took his attention.
It took her a few minutes to realize he’d brought his mother’s dog out with him. The animal
uttered a few barks of apparent joy. Perhaps he was racing about the garden. “Hullo, Lord Reardon.”
He moved to the wooden garden gate. Since that barrier only came to his hip, she could see
more of his form than she’d been able to yesterday, and right now he wasn’t wearing the greatcoat that
hid his body from view. Drat him. Those shoulders were a tad wider than they’d been five years
before, and those narrow hips set off by the snug breeches made her heartbeat race. “I would like the
opportunity to talk to you. Preferably alone.”
And drat her feet for carrying her to the gate without express permission from her brain.
“Why?” Stop it this instant, Carole. Nothing good will come from letting him back in. But that
didn’t quell her curiosity.
“To explain.”
She frowned. “It will not make a difference. I have consigned you to the past.”
But had she, though? Ever since she’d seen him yesterday, he’d consumed her thoughts, and it
was as if the separation had been fresh once more.
“How can you know that?”
Oh, why did he have to come back? Carole propped her hands on her hips. “You made it
perfectly clear you didn’t want me the day you left me alone at that church with hundreds of eyes on
me.”
Faint annoyance lined his face. “That wasn’t it at all!” He shoved a hand through his hair,
upsetting the perfect style. “There were dire circumstances at play that had nothing to do with you.”
When he implored her to understand with his eyes, she almost wavered. “That is why I wish to
explain what happened that day.”
It was folly to continue to give him her ear, but a part of her wanted to know why he’d done
the unthinkable. Of course, the other part of her wanted to see him to the devil, but that was perhaps
uncharitable of her. With a sigh, she rested a hand on the gate. “You destroyed my life, Alistair. Why
would I want to do anything with you?”
A partial grin lifted the corners of his mouth, and that brought out the slight dimple in his chin.
That was a dangerous prospect, because when that dimple flashed, she became weak at the knees.
“Because it is Christmastide. I remember it being your favorite season of the year.”
It had been one of the reasons they’d chosen December as their wedding month and drat if that
anniversary wasn’t around this time. “What difference does that make?” Perhaps if she pretended not
to care, he wouldn’t pursue the conversation.
He, too, laid a hand on top of the gate, so close to hers the warmth of him transferred to her.
“It is the season of miracles, after all, and I should like to have one where you are concerned.”
Why was it so important to him to make nice now, so many years later? Was it merely because
they were neighbors? She shoved the thoughts from her mind. “I am well beyond thinking about
miracles, and I certainly don’t believe in magic any longer.” What a sad commentary on what her life
had become.
 A frown stole away that budding grin. It was, indeed, the real tragedy. “You used to, when I
showed you the stars.” The knowing light in those brandy-hued eyes sent a few licks of heat into her
bloodstream.
That had been a summer night she would never forget. He’d come to Kent for a visit. It had
been early in their engagement, and they’d walked over her father’s estate as twilight had settled into
nighttime. In one of the meadows filled with tall grass and wildflowers, they’d laid down and
watched the stars, and when they grew tired of that, they had indulged in kissing. Long, leisurely
kisses that had made her want to give him everything she was.
Perhaps she should have, for then she would have known what being with a man felt like.
Now, she would go to her grave still an innocent. She dropped her gaze, unable to withstand the
emotions roiling in his. “I was young and stupid then. That time has passed.”
Almost imperceptibly, he moved his hand. Their knuckles brushed. Tingles of anticipation
played her spine to remind her that there was still an attraction, a connection between them. “You
could never be stupid, Carole. I only hope you can forgive me, for it has taken years, and I am not
certain I have forgiven myself.”
Oh, dear.
Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. Do not cry, Carole! You do not need him, remember.
What he did to you was unspeakably cruel. Before the excess of emotion rushed to claim her, she
blinked back the moisture. “I forgave you long ago. There is nothing left to say.”
He laid his hand over hers, and for a few seconds she let herself revel in that familiar touch.
“I would still like to talk with you.” A muscle ticced in his jaw. In the sunlight, fine lines at the
corners of his mouth and eyes appeared deeper. “I… I have missed you. Not merely as a fiancée but
as a friend.”
Well, drat. Her resolve to remain aloof started to crumble with a wobble of her chin. How
could she lie? “I missed you too… in the beginning, but now I mostly despise you.” Except his
presence filled her senses. Standing so close to him, even with the gate between them, the scent of
him teased her nose. As surreptitiously as she could, Carole inhaled the crisp, clean aroma of his
shaving soap that held a faint note of citrus. She wanted to run into his arms, let him protect her from
the world that had turned on her in an instant when she wasn’t perfect enough for them.
Hurt clouded his eyes, but it was gone at his next blink. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She’d thought her whole life had been planned out down to the little detail. She
would have been an earl’s wife, a high-ranking member of the ton, someone with influence who could
make a difference for people who were struggling.
Never did she think that she and her family would have been in the second group.
For long moments, Alistair held her gaze. “May I say one thing more?”
“I suppose.” Not that it would matter. Like the gate, there was a distinct divide between them.
“Just this.” As he watched her, the earl gently caught her chin in his free hand, raised her head,
and then tenderly pressed his lips to hers.
For the space of a few heartbeats, Carole held her breath before she relaxed and briefly
closed her eyes. There was the sense of familiarity there as well as an awakening of awareness for
him she assumed long dead.
All too soon, he pulled away. “If you can honestly say you don’t have feelings for me other
than loathing, I will go about my business and leave you to yours, but if you do? Shouldn’t we at least
talk?” The logic of that inquiry wasn’t lost on her.
Neither was the curl of heat that hadn’t faded in the pit of her stomach. Drat. Drat. Drat! She
uttered a sigh and put a step or two of further distance between them. What a ninny I am. “Fine.”
Though her cheeks were warm, and confusion had taken hold, she nodded. “I shall meet you in Hyde
Park tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock, at our usual spot.”
Then, because she was a coward at heart, Carole fled back into the house without another
word. Oh, what have I done? Perhaps some doors should have been left closed.
Yet, she’d always had questions, and now there were even more of them.
 Chapter Five

December 15, 1818

I have been given a second chance. Provisional as it were.
Or, at least that was what Alistair hoped. It felt very much like a reprieve from execution, and
since his meeting with Carole was scheduled in an hour, he didn’t want to do anything that might muck
it up. If there was a chance, however slim, he could attempt to win her back, then he would do it.
After briefly kissing her yesterday over that damned garden gate, he desperately wanted that chance.
That meant it was time to rip the scabs and scars off old wounds and finally have the truth in a
few things.
He found his mother in her morning room with the dog asleep in his basket near the fireplace.
She sat on a sofa with her feet propped on an embroidered footstool and a piece of handiwork in her
lap. Still in her morning dress and wrapper of lightweight, maroon wool as well as a matching turban,
she was every inch a dowager countess.
“Ah, Alistair, how lovely to see you this afternoon.”
“Hullo, Mother.” At the age of sixty, her looks were starting to fade, and her once brown hair
was mostly silver, but there were vestiges of the beauty she’d been in her heyday. No wonder his
father had fallen for her. “Uh, I would like to ask you about a couple of things that might be painful for
you. Will you talk with me honestly?”
She laid aside her needlework. “Does it have anything to do with the reason behind your trip
to India?”
Ah, so then she’d already been thinking upon such things. Though he’d faithfully written to her
while he’d been away, he hadn’t mentioned the scandal. It had been too difficult to ascertain if she’d
known the truth, but then she must have since she’d borne him and his brother.
“Yes, it does, in fact.” Alistair perched on the edge of a chair near her location. “I went to
India at Father’s request.”
“To find and rescue your brother, Percival.”
Then she had known, and she’d withheld that vital information. Annoyance twisted down his
spine. “Yes.” How to do this next part delicately? “Why did you hide the fact from me that I had a
brother, let alone a twin?”
For long moments, his mother remained quiet. She traced the complicated ivy design of her
embroidery with a fingertip before looking up and meeting his gaze. “Because I wasn’t quite certain if
you boys belonged to your father or my… lover.”
“What?” The exclamation was so loud, Fitzroy shot onto all fours and uttered a loud woof.
“You don’t know who…” When she looked at him askance, he modulated his voice into more softer
tones. “You bedded them both in such close succession that paternity is an issue?”
Had his whole life been one lie covered up after the other?
“I did, and won’t apologize for my actions, but yes. There was an overlap period when I had
been with both your father and him.” As she grew surlier and more defensive, anger steadily filled his
chest. “However, when it became known I was increasing, I told my lover—”
“—you won’t even name him after all these years?” he interrupted.
“I will not, for he is still alive, and I do not want his reputation tarnished.” A defiant look
crossed her face. “I told him I couldn’t see him any longer. Your father and I had been married two
years at that point, and there were times when I felt he adored his duties to the title more than he did
me.”
Alistair frowned. “It wasn’t a love match?” Just another thing that was shattered.
“Hardly, dear boy. Many ton marriages in my time were arranged. It was expected love would
come later.”
“Did it?” His mind reeled from the implications of everything he was being told.
“That is difficult to say. I was quite fond of your father, of course.” She shrugged. “Life is not
as black and white as you apparently wish it to be.” When the beagle hopped onto the sofa, she took
the dog into her lap and stroked its black and brown fur. “Regardless, when Percy and you were born,
we were in the country at Reardon Hall. It was the height of summer, so most of the ton was scattered,
and word hadn’t gone out yet. We remained in the country for the first year of your life.”
“And Percival? What happened to him?” The tightness in his throat nearly prevented him from
saying the words.
“My former lover came the night of the day of your first birthday.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “To say goodbye?”
Remarkably, his usual unflappable mother’s cheeks pinkened. “Yes, that, but he also
threatened to expose our affair to the whole of the ton and cause a scandal of which your father
probably wouldn’t have been able to overcome.”
“Because you chose Father?”
His mother nodded. “He was a very jealous man.” She continued to pet the dog. “That was
one of the things I found so appealing about him.”
The urge to retch grew strong in Alistair’s throat. I might not be my father’s son. “About my
brother?” He refrained from pulling out his pocket watch, but truly, time grew short.
“Well, I didn’t want the scandal. Between us, we arranged it so my lover would take your
brother and I would keep you.”
“Even though Percival was the true heir?”
She shrugged. “No one of consequence knew there were two of you. The plan went
flawlessly, and the next morning your father awoke to the news that one of the twins had been
kidnapped in the night by persons unknown.”
“Oh, God.” He shoved a hand through his hair. This was outrageous! His mother hadn’t been
faithful to his father within the bonds of their marriage. No wonder Father hadn’t wished to spend
much time in her company, and subsequently with him. Which brought his thoughts skittering into
another direction. “Did Father know about your indiscretion?”
“If he did, I certainly didn’t tell him, but I think he suspected.” She continued to pet Fitzroy as
if such a truth didn’t bother her overly much. “Those were different times. Exciting times. Everything
was quite extravagant.”
“I cannot believe what I’m hearing.” It was worse than he’d originally thought. “If Father did
know, no wonder he remained distant from me.” He’d used to tell himself that was just how his sire
had been brought up, that English men didn’t show emotion, that titles and proper decorum meant
more than forging familial relationships.
“Perhaps.” His mother frowned. “But he never stopped looking for the people responsible for
kidnapping Percival.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, he did not. He became obsessed with it, in fact.”
“Mother, you do realize he was beaten and then ultimately killed by those same people, don’t
you?” This was an impossible conversation.
Perhaps I’m in a dream.
“Then he shouldn’t have put his nose into something that didn’t concern him. Percival lived a
good life in India. He wanted for nothing.”
“Except knowing he was the heir-apparent to an earldom.”
“La.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “In the event you wondered, my, uh, paramour wasn’t
the one who killed your brother. By then, the whole kidnapping situation was moot, and well in the
past. Percival had lived with his alleged father for many years. They’d both made names for
themselves. He had his own life.”
Obviously, she’d been kept apprised. “But—”
“No.” She shook her head. “In this, I am right. Besides, Percival was a grown man by that
time. He’d made his own decisions and his own enemies. If he died by foul play, that was due to his
own machinations, not mine.”
“You knew of his death, didn’t you?”
For the space of a few heartbeats, she hesitated then finally nodded. “My lover wrote to me
regularly. Still does, in fact, and I take great comfort in that. The body was left in the hills, again to
keep scandal to a minimum, for it would have been unseemly to announce that the unknown heir-
apparent to the Earl of Reardon had been found dead in a lonely part of India.”
“Bloody hell, this whole family should have been in Bedlam!” The outburst thundered through
the room. Once more, the beagle whined. “I’m not convinced madness doesn’t run through my veins.”
It was a valid concern.
“Spare me the dramatics, Alistair.” His mother blew out a breath. “This is what happens in
titled families. Your father and I spared you all of this, so you didn’t need to worry over it.” She
stared him straight in the eye. “Now you are the earl, and you are back in London to find a bride and
marry well. Everything came out right in the end.”
What the devil was this, then? “Except, you made certain that won’t happen easily, didn’t you?
How the deuce can I, in good conscience, ask for any woman’s hand knowing my own family history
is convoluted and as horrid as it is?” He glared. “Or knowing I might take after either of my parents
when it comes to marriage?” A shudder moved down his spine. “I should become a damned monk at
this point.”
“How can you be so cruel, Alistair?” To his astonishment, his mother burst into tears.
“Me?” For a second, he was speechless. His mouth opened and closed like a caught trout.
“Me? Cruel? I’m the one who has been outrageously wronged in the whole Drury Lane production!”
“Pish posh.” She sniffled into a lace-edged handkerchief. “You have no idea what it is like
when the heart is involved, when you are so desperately in love with someone you cannot see
anything else.”
Oh, no. He didn’t want her soulful confession. They were quite beyond that. What she’d done
didn’t deserve understanding or forgiveness. “Yet you maintained you loved Father. Which one of
them did you truly love?”
She shook her head. “I loved them both. Honestly. They were two halves of a whole, but in the
end, social standing and security won out.” The tendons in her wrinkled throat worked with a hard
swallow. “I had the earl and you boys… until I didn’t.”
 “Well, at least you loved us all for a year. Nicely done.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from the
words. “I cannot fathom I ever believed in my family so much I destroyed my own life for it.”
I made a terrible choice.
“Do not think to blame me for your shortcomings. You were only infatuated with that girl from
years ago.” She wiped at her tears. “Real loves destroys as much as it builds. When you are trapped
inside it, you are helpless to do anything.”
“I have no words.” Alistair didn’t know what to think about any of it. There had been so much
betrayal over the years, there was no way to take it all in. “In the end, you lost Father anyway. Even
you must admit that.” They’d never had a solid marriage, and he’d been left much to his own devices
with various governesses and tutors until he’d gone off to school.
“It’s true. I never saw your father once he left for India, and in hindsight, I regret that.” She
heaved a sigh. “We wrote regularly but… it wasn’t the same. I missed the chance I had with him
because of the choices I’d made.”
“And I was deprived of a father as well as a brother.”
“What’s done is done. Don’t dwell, Alistair. It isn’t becoming.”
Oh, dear God, had she always been so uncaring and selfish? “How the hell do you think I
feel?” He pushed out of the chair, and when he gained his feet, he shoved both hands through his hair.
“My whole life would have been different had you simply been honest with both Father and me long
ago. If Father had told me why the devil he’d gone to India.” The poor man must have had an inkling
else he wouldn’t have been there.
“Yes, I suppose it would have, but perhaps fate had other plans for you.”
“No.” He didn’t accept that. The enormity of what he’d done to Carole filled his mind. “I
could have been happy, Mother.”
“You still can, just not in the way you wanted years ago.” She patted the cushion next to her.
“Now, come. Let us make a list of potential ladies you can court. After all, you have a responsibility
to the title.”
“After the rest of you shit all over it? Excuse me if I don’t throw myself into such a thing with
enthusiasm.” In that moment, he’d made up his mind. No longer was he interested in finding another
woman. He wanted Carole, wanted a new chance, and only if she told him off would he finally move
on. “My time is scheduled elsewhere at the moment, Mother. Good day.” With anger boiling below
the surface and his thoughts rather monstrous, Alistair took his leave.
From this point forward, he would live as he saw fit, in a way that benefited him. Family and
duty be damned. They were coming into Christmastide, and he wanted everything he’d lost.

When he arrived at the appointed meeting place in Hyde Park, his mind spun with both
confusion and determination. Carole waited on one of the footbridges deep in the park well away
from the more popular paths. It was where they’d used to come in order to be alone during their
engagement period, and they would often steal kisses where no one’s relatives could interrupt.
Today, he appreciated the quiet spot all the more, for she made a fetching picture. Maroon
skirting fluttered in the slight, chilly breeze, and the same brown pelisse she’d worn before covered
the remainder of her form. The bonnet on her chestnut hair had a jaunty spray of dried red berries that
provided a lovely dash of color.
“Thank you for meeting me this afternoon,” he said as he came onto the footbridge to join her.
“To be honest, I wasn’t certain I would come.”
“Oh? Due to this being the anniversary of when we would have married?”
Bloody hell. He’d forgotten that with everything else. “Partially.”
She glanced up at him with a frown, which was a tragedy for those lips were made for
smiling. “What happened? I can see from the look on your face something has.”
The fact someone knew him well enough to see the distress in his expression humbled him and
made him crave that feeling even more. “I would rather not go into that right now. At least not until I
can wrap my head around it.” He didn’t want to tell her about his family histrionics. It would further
cloud their relationship.
“I can understand that. No matter that we love our families, they sometimes drive us mad with
the things they do.”
“Yes, that is exactly it.” Needing something to do to banish the restless jitters, he offered her
his crooked arm. “Let us walk and enjoy that it’s not raining.”
“All right.” Tentatively, Carole slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow, and he set them
off down the walking path. “You were the one who invited me here today, Alistair. What do you wish
to talk about?”
“What indeed?” But he thoroughly enjoyed her hand on his arm. At least they weren’t fighting,
and that made all the difference. “Before we arrive at the crux of the matter, perhaps I should come to
know you better. Do you enjoy being a governess? I know you are clever, but I didn’t know you liked
to teach.”
When she glanced at him, surprise and pleasure mirrored on her face. “It isn’t so bad. Most
children are eager to learn, even Viscount Collingsworth’s children.”
“I imagine you have your hands full with them.”
“Obviously. They were quite challenging yesterday.” A sigh escaped her. “I struggle with
numbers. Which is unfortunate since William is crazy for them. I fear I shall fail him in that regard.”
“He shall need a tutor in that subject, then. I can understand that, but when I stopped trying to
fight them, I suddenly found a talent for them.”
Again, she turned her head to regard him. “I never knew that.”
“Yes, well, neither did I.” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t discover the fact until I was… away.”
Damn. Everything came back to that.
“Ah.” They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you… er… Is it difficult being with a family, watching someone else’s children grow,
and knowing you’re forced to move on?”
“Because they don’t need me anymore?”
“Yes.”
Carole nodded. “Of course. This is my second position as a governess. I don’t expect it will
go easier this time ‘round either. It’s heartbreaking even when I’m proud of them, but when I put them
out into the world, I take comfort in knowing I prepared them the best I could.”
“I can see that about you.” He patted her hand that still rested on his arm. This was pleasant,
and he’d missed talking like this. It made his own broken life less hurtful. “Do you want children of
your own”
Her hand trembled. “I did, once upon a time… with you.” A waver set up in her voice, and it
went straight to his heart. “Either you or fate saw I wouldn’t realize that dream.”
Hot annoyance curled through his chest. “You could have married someone else. Why didn’t
you?”
“Ah. I’d wondered how long it would take for you to show your temper.” Carole drew them to
a halt on the path. Since they were in a less popular part of the park, there weren’t any other
pedestrians around. Irritation lined her features, and once more, fire flashed in her blue eyes. “How
could I marry anyone when my reputation was destroyed? There were so many rumors circulating that
cast me into bad light even if they weren’t true. I couldn’t contain them all and had to flee to the
country.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. The lies his mother had told decades ago had destroyed the
life of the woman he’d once hoped to marry. “There were no prospects in Kent?”
An unladylike snort issued from her. “The war took too many good men’s lives. Eligible men
with enough coin to matter are scarce. I didn’t want that struggle, so left it to the younger set.” She
heaved a sigh. “There was a man, though, once. Three years before. But the relationship ended.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“Not at this time. I have only just come back into your company, and you haven’t earned that
right.”
“I am saddened to hear that. On both counts.” Truly, he was, and his actions had destroyed her
prospects. “What of love?”
She huffed. “What of it?” A trace of grief touched her face before vanishing into annoyance.
“Obviously, that emotion meant nothing. I loved you. You left as if I didn’t matter.”
Well, damn. They’d arrived at the conversation he’d postponed anyway. Alistair took her
hand, though he was certain she wouldn’t let him hold it for long. “I still loved you. Never doubt
that.”
“Piffle.” Carole eyed him askance. “If you truly had, you wouldn’t have gone, or you would
have married me and asked me to go with you.”
Of course, she was right. He had no answers, for either her or him. “There is that.” Was it
possible he hadn’t truly loved her at all? Or worse still, had he not loved her enough? Taken her for
granted? Theirs had been an easy courtship, a whirlwind, really. He’d definitely been infatuated. So,
apparently, had she. How did he feel now? The pressure of her fingers on his, the heat of her, the way
her lips called to his… The attraction was there, certainly, but enduring love? That remained to be
seen and would be an uphill battle to win her back.
Yet she was well worth the effort.
“Your silence tells me everything I need to know.” As he expected, she slipped her hand from
his and then waved him away. “What is the point of trying to find love again? It hurt too badly the last
time, and now I cannot trust it from anyone.”
“Love from any source has the potential to cut us deeply.” Had he made mistakes in the past?
Of course. Did he wish to make amends now? Most definitely. “Trusting a stranger frightens me. No
doubt it does you as well.” This was the turning point, and anxiety roiled in his gut. “If I were to court
you again, you would have me?”
There. He’d said it. No matter how she responded, he would have an answer and could move
on from there.
“Honestly, I couldn’t say.” A sigh escaped. She regarded him with speculation. “The trust
between us is gone. Surely you must know that, and there is too much history between us besides.”
Panic built in his chest. “But—”
 “To put it bluntly, you and I are not the same people we once were. We cannot simply take up
where we left off.”
“Agreed, but I don’t know if I want to be the man I was five years ago.” He thought over his
next words, for he would either be granted a reprieve or be sent packing. “That man was careless,
assumptive, immature. Now I have responsibilities. I’m more cautious. Like you, I trust less.”
A frown took possession of her lips, and damn if he didn’t want to kiss her until she smiled
again. “Why? What happened to you in India that left you scarred?”
If only she knew.
Unexpected emotion slammed into him, and though he fought against showing her how far he’d
fallen, the struggle left him fatigued. It was only a matter of time before it came through the walls he’d
put up. “I’d rather not get into that, not now when additional wounds have come up and are still
fresh.”
“Regarding me?” The inquiry was uttered so softly he had to lean closer in order to hear. The
faint scent of violets teased his nose and put him right back to that place years ago when he’d looked
forward to having a life with her. “No.” His throat was tight with unexplored emotion. “I spoke with
my mother before coming here. She provided background and insight into some of why I’d had to
leave for India. It is not… pleasant, and I still don’t know what to think of it.” He forced a hard
swallow into his throat. “I fear I am much too broken now and will soon be lost in a sea of
confusion.” To his horror, moisture gathered in his eyes. “You were the one constant in my life,
Carole. I need that stability again. However, perhaps my asking you for a new courtship was a bit
premature.”
Had he just given her the out she’d wanted?
“Oh, Alistair.” Carole took his hand, and this time she held it with more authority. He clung to
that strength. Her expression softened, as it often did when he’d figured something out on his own and
she was proud of him. “Life is sometimes like that, but we must live it anyway, no matter how
unsavory. It is how we grow.”
“Perhaps.” He turned them both about, and once they reached the footbridge, he stared into the
slowly moving water of a creek that went beneath their feet. Eventually, he stirred. “Will you at least
promise to give me the benefit of the doubt and let me court you? Through Christmastide.”
“I do so despise being alone for Christmastide…”
“Ah, good then.” In for a penny… “If it doesn’t work between us this time, I shall walk away.
No harm, no foul.” It had been hard enough five years ago. It would probably kill him should he need
to do so again.
“Against my better judgment, I am agreeing. You may pay your addresses, but I have not the
freedom I did when you and I were engaged. I have a living to get, so you will need to work around
that schedule.”
Relief poured down his spine. He raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”
More speculation reflected in her eyes. “However, I cannot promise anything beyond that,
though. I may have forgiven you, but I haven’t forgotten, and a man who claimed to have loved a
woman doesn’t just up and leave without a word.” She gave him a hard stare. “Don’t make me regret
having you back in my life, Alistair.”
“I shall live every day with that hope uppermost in my mind.” Please God, help me to not
cock it up this time around.
 Chapter Six

December 16, 1818

It wasn’t until the following morning when she was once more in the schoolroom with the
twins that Carole realized Alistair hadn’t quite got ‘round to explaining to her why he’d left for India.
Drat the man. Instead, he’d talked of other things and then had secured her promise to let him court
her again, all because she’d fallen for those haunted emotions in his eyes.
What is wrong with me?
Though the children were supposed to be working on their geography, they both kept shooting
her furtive glances. Finally, she could stand it no longer.
“What? I can practically feel you asking questions in your minds.”
The twins looked at her, but it was William who broke the silence.
“Where did you go yesterday at teatime?”
“I don’t believe that is any of your business.” Heat stung her cheeks, for the outing with
Alistair had been… encouraging if a bit maudlin. “You take tea with your mother, so that leaves me an
hour or so to myself.”
“You must have gone somewhere. One of the footmen said you took a hired hack,” Mary
insisted with round eyes.
Oh, dear. They obviously wouldn’t return to their work until she told them something. “If you
must know—”
“—we must!” both twins said together with identical expressions of curious mischief.
“I went to Hyde Park with a friend.”
Mary snorted. “Was your friend Lord Reardon?”
“Did you know you can see into his garden from this very room?” William said in his typical
fashion of gaining the attention from a conversation.
“I did know that.” Carole tamped down the urge to let out a huff of frustration. “And yes,
Mary, I did go with Lord Reardon.”
If possible, the twins’ excitement level doubled. They fairly vibrated in their chairs.
“I find him extremely interesting, Miss Hazelton.” The boy proudly puffed out his chest. “Like
he has a few secrets only he knows.”
Which was the very definition of a secret. She kept her own counsel on that. “Yes, well, it’s
likely he keeps secrets. Everyone does.”
Mary, not to be outdone, walked her fingers over the map spread out on their table. “Mama
says he’s the most wonderful earl of the season. Possibly of the year.” She beamed. “Mama also says
he won’t last long on the Marriage Mart, and that he’s back in Town to find a woman to court because
he’s on the hunt for a wife.”
Oh, merciful heavens. Carole couldn’t quite stop herself from rolling her eyes heavenward.
“How nice for him.” But she bit the inside of her cheek. Did he think her an easy conquest, then?
Didn’t wish to put in the effort to court someone else? She shoved the uncharitable thoughts away.
“When I knew him, he wasn’t an earl.” Since he held the tile now, his father had obviously passed,
but when and how? There had been shadows and pain in his eyes when she’d talked to Alistair
yesterday and he’d been genuinely upset with events that had occurred in the past.
Yet he hadn’t offered an explanation of why he’d left her at the altar. Why? While the children
stared at her, she stared back and then her eyes widened. Perhaps he’d lost his trust in her. She hadn’t
exactly pelted from the church that day to arrive on his doorstep demanding answers or offering to
help. That made her frown. Should she have made an effort on her part?
They would never know.
“Was he as lovely then as he is now?” Mary wanted to know. “He waved to me last night as
he was going into his carriage, and he was dressed like Papa does when he and Mama go out. I was
on the stoop seeing if it would snow.”
Really, Carole needed to keep a better eye on the twins. They should have been abed at that
time. Then knots of worry pulled in her belly. “Perhaps he was on his way to a society event.” She
traced the edges of the American eastern coastline with a fingertip. “Uh, had Lord Reardon given an
indication to whom he wishes to find himself married?”
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. Mama didn’t say. She only said a handsome man like Lord
Reardon will be snapped up before Twelfth Night.” When she planted an elbow on the table, then
rested her little chin in her palm, she shot Carole a dreamy look. “He is certainly lovely. Perhaps I
will marry him.”
A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes. “I rather doubt he can wait until you are a
young lady.”
William cackled as if that were the funniest joke he’d heard. “The earl doesn’t want you,
Mary. I wager he’s got his cap set for Miss Hazelton, but she’s probably too stubborn to fall for him.
Papa says she’s standing in her ire and won’t lead him a merry chase this time ‘round.”
Good Lord! Was the subject of her love life a common choice of gossip for this family? Is that
what they talked about over tea or dinner? Heat sank into her cheeks while hot embarrassment wound
through her belly. “That is none of your business either, William.” It wasn’t that of her employers
either, but she couldn’t say that.
The boy refused to be cowed. “I am going next door to play with Fitzroy after tea. If Lord
Reardon is in attendance, I shall ask him what his intentions are regarding marriage.” He nodded as if
that would solve every problem. “Man to man.”
Merciful heavens, spare me from precocious children.
“Perhaps you should limit your conversation to the dog.”
How soon would it be until that innocent family banter made the jump to an innocuous dinner
party and then outward into the ton? Then everyone would dredge up the old scandal, and she’d be
right back where she’d started.
Mary patted her hand. “Don’t fret, Miss Hollingsworth. If Lord Reardon doesn’t want you, all
of the footmen need wives. They are just as good.”
If only everything could be as simple as how the girl’s reasoning worked.
 After tea had concluded, the viscountess summoned her into the morning room.
“You wished to see me, Lady Collingsworth?” Her nerves felt strung too tight, for rarely did
the lady ever speak privately with her.
“I did.” The other woman beckoned her further into the room that had been done in pale pink
and gold. “Please, come sit near me. It’s been an age since we enjoyed a conversation.”
With a frown, Carole did as instructed. “Is there something wrong with my teaching of the
twins? Are they not happy?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. The children adore you.” The viscountess tucked an escaped strand
of blonde hair back into her upswept do. Her eyes twinkled. “I shall get to it straightaway, for
Collingsworth is due home any moment and we have tickets to the opera this evening.” She gave an
encouraging smile. “There is a rout tomorrow night at the home of one of my friends. I have a
conflicting engagement, but perhaps you should go in my stead.”
“I beg your pardon?” Carole’s lower jaw dropped as she gawked at her employer. “You
would like me to do what?”
A dazzling smile took sneaked across Lady Collingsworth’s face. “Go to the rout in my stead.”
She nodded. “I am asking that you enjoy the night at a society function.”
“Why?” Carole’s mind spun. This was highly irregular. “I am a governess, my lady. There is
no need for me to traipse through society pretending I am more than I’m not.”
“Pish posh, Miss Hazelton.” The viscountess waved her comment away. “From all you have
told me, you haven’t done anything within the ton in a long time.”
“For good reason,” she managed to whisper.
One of the viscountess’ eyebrows rose. “However, since it’s Christmastide, you should
absolutely put a toe back in the water, as it were.”
“I don’t understand why you would wish for me to do such a thing.” Doubts pushed into her
consciousness. “To say nothing of the fact I haven’t the appropriate wardrobe.” That was the least of
her worries.
“I thought you might enjoy a night away from the children.” Lady Collingsworth patted
Carole’s knee. “As for a gown, you and I are about the same size, so I’ll lend you a gown.”
“Oh, please don’t put yourself out.” Why was this happening? She rushed to continue. “None
of this is necessary, Lady Collingsworth. I am perfectly content in my position. There is nothing else I
want from my life.”
“You are not a very good liar, Miss Hazelton.” The viscountess chuckled as if the whole
conversation were a merry joke. “I have invited you to attend a rout. It is not asking you to handle a
deadly snake. How much trouble can there possibly be if you do this?”
Oh, if only she knew the full story.
“I… Or rather you…” Where had her words gone? Sweat trickled down her spine. The last
time she’d been out in society had been the morning of her wedding, and that had ended in disaster.
“Come now, Miss Hazelton. It will be fun, and Christmastide society events are sure to be
magical.”
“I don’t believe in magic or romance any longer.” Yet hadn’t she just given Lord Reardon
permission to pay his addresses? Oh, she was quite the mess. Carole frowned. “Why do you wish for
me to attend so badly?”
The lady shrugged. “You deserve a night off.” Then she chuckled with merry glee. “William
and Mary have told me that our new neighbor used to be your fiancé.”
And there it was. The prying into her past. The sensation of sliding off the edge of a cliff
assailed Carole, and she didn’t like it one bit. She’d barely survived the gossipmongers the last time.
If her old scandal were resurrected, what would happen to her this time. “Yes, but what does that
have to do with your reasoning?” Oh, those twins certainly had loose tongues and would need a good
talking to!
There was a sly twinkling in the lady’s eyes she didn’t quite trust. “If it had been me who’d
been jilted and found that said man was now the most sought-after bachelor in London presently, I
would wish to look my best and see if I could turn the heads of as many potential suitors I could.” The
viscountess laughed, and the gay, tinkling sound put another layer of worry knots in her belly. “Make
him jealous, you see.”
Good heavens. Was that even the type of woman she was? “I suppose I hadn’t thought in those
terms before.”
“You should. There is nothing wrong with your looks, Miss Hazelton. Though you might be a
bit long in the tooth, you are a lovely person. With the right gown, jewels, and hair style, you will turn
heads tomorrow.”
A laugh escaped Carole before she could recall it, but it held a hysterical edge she couldn’t
quite hide. “You realize if one of those theoretical men comes up to scratch, I can no longer be the
twins’ governess.” Not to mention she’d already given Alistair permission to pay his addresses.
“Oh, la.” Lady Collingsworth waved away her concerns. “One problem at a time, Miss
Hazelton.” She winked. “Besides, I have it on good authority Lord Reardon will be in attendance
tomorrow night at that rout.”
“What?” This time, the exclamation hurt her chest. She pressed a hand to her rapidly beating
heart. “Is that why you want me to go to the rout?” Had everyone in London gone mad, then? And why
was everyone trying to muck about in her life?
“I only heard the news after I’d decided to give you my invitation.” Again, Lady
Collingsworth patted Carole’s knee. “Don’t look so frightened, Miss Hazelton. Revenge is best
served cold, don’t you think?” She winked as she gracefully rose from the sofa and then tugged
Carole up with her. “Unless you wish to have the earl back in your life romantically?”
Heat slapped at her cheeks. “I haven’t yet decided.” Just because she’d agreed to a courtship
from him didn’t mean she’d agreed to a lifetime with him. And she’d already told him she could make
him no promises. Trust had been broken. Shame rose to the forefront every time she thought of that
morning five years ago. It was so hard to forget.
Had he changed? That remained to be seen. She would need him to show her with actions that
he had. And perhaps she needed to do the same for him. It was a delicate balance, but she didn’t wish
to do that on a public stage such as entering society again. A shudder of foreboding went down her
spine at the thought.
“Oh, this will be such fun!” Lady Collingsworth took Carole’s hand and tugged her from the
room. “Let us go and contemplate the gowns in my dressing room. “I am quite certain there are
several to choose from that will go with your coloring.”
“I haven’t said I would go to that rout yet.”
“You will.” The viscountess acted as if her acquiescence was imminent.
“Being amongst the ton is hardly my strong suit. It has been at least five years.” She didn’t
wish to say more lest Lady Collingsworth go snooping about and gossiping with others of her set to
unearth the old scandal.
“As if that matters.” The lady huffed as they climbed the stairs. “We all must suffer through
things we don’t enjoy to achieve a goal.”
 “A goal? You think mine is to land Lord Reardon?”
“Isn’t it?” Her trill of laughter echoed off the walls. “Just because an engagement failed
before doesn’t mean it will again.”
“Hmph.” But her words held some merit. To make Alistair gnash his teeth and regret what
he’d done… Was such a play in her nature? And at Christmastide to boot. “I am not in the habit of
making men grovel. In fact, it is not becoming for either them or me.” Not that many men had wronged
her.
“It isn’t about that. Dance a few sets with various interested gentlemen. Make certain Lord
Reardon sees you. If he doesn’t at least attempt to kiss you, then you shall know for certain he isn’t
interested. You can return here once your night of playing at being Cinderella is over.”
“Ah, so then you envision yourself as my fairy godmother?” Never in her wildest dreams
would she have assumed her employer would try to manipulate her romantic life.
“Everyone needs a bit of a push now and again, don’t you think, Miss Hazelton?”
“Perhaps, but I am a nobody, with nothing to recommend me.”
“You, my dear, are a woman with a tragic past. That is enough to cause a minor sensation, and
you are loosely connected with the ton. It is enough.”
Yes, enough to put too much notice onto her. She doubted if Lady Collingsworth even knew the
extent of that old scandal. “I’d rather not have people dredge up the past.”
“On-dits happen every day. Yours is long and forgotten now. Stop being so fearful.”
They’d reached the viscountess suite and went straight into her dressing room. “Penny! Come,
love. We need your assistance.”
Carole frowned when the lady’s maid appeared. Then she was obliged to catch a royal blue
gown as the lady tossed it her way. “I’m not certain…” A ruby red gown sailed into her hold next. “I
haven’t agreed!”
“It is one night, Miss Hazelton. Don’t make me order you to go, because I will.” Three gowns
flew into Penny’s waiting arms: jonquil, spring green, lavender. “You will need to try some of these
on.” The words were muffled, for the lady was deep in the depths of the clothes press.
“Uh, Lord Collingsworth won’t like that you are pushing the help into society.” It was her last
try to keep from entering the ton and causing people to remember who she was. Carole glanced at the
maid, who shrugged and then turned and laid the gowns over the back of a chair.
“Let me worry about my husband. Parliament will keep him away from home until the early
hours of the morning tonight. Besides, I can do with the invitation what I please. Why shouldn’t I
allow a tiny relaxing of society’s rules? Especially if you can benefit from it, and who knows where
the night might lead.”
“What if I don’t want it to lead anywhere?” Why was everything so confusing all of a sudden?
Lady Collingsworth chuckled. “You silly thing. Just go. You can tell me all about it at
breakfast the following morning.”
“Why do I feel as though I have no choice?” She handed Penny the two gowns she held.
“That is largely because you don’t, Miss Hazelton,” the viscountess said as she came out of
the clothespress with a grin and holding a silver gown that immediately put her in mind of fairy tales
and dancing in the moonlight. “Oh, this will be such fun!”
“For you.” Carole sighed. There was no use trying to fight the force that was her employer.
But as she eyed the shimmering fabric, the idea of attending a rout began to appeal. Never had she
worn something as fine as any of the gowns the viscountess had pulled from the clothespress. Even
during her engagement period, her father only had so much blunt to work with. And she really wanted
to try on those gowns. “You, my lady, are a dangerous woman to know if you can wrap a person
around to your bidding by willpower alone.”
“Only because I happen to know best, especially when it comes to matters of matchmaking.”
Lady Collingsworth winked. “Come, Penny. Which one should our darling governess try on first?”
Carole only hoped it would be a lovely evening instead of the hours she feared would be
fraught with worry.
 Chapter Seven

December 17, 1818

“Damn it, Fitzroy, do your business, or else I’m going to be late,” Alistair groused to the
beagle, but the canine insisted on sniffing around at every deuced plant and winter bare tree trunk
even though he’d seen them a million times before. “Or rather later than I already am.”
Why the devil had he ever agree to attend a rout tonight? There was a bloody chill in the air
and the breeze cut straight through his evening clothes, for his greatcoat hadn’t been buttoned.
Then a blond head popped over the garden gate. “Hullo, Lord Reardon.”
Grateful yet annoyed at the interruption, Alistair turned about and grinned at the boy. “Hullo,
William.” Then he glanced about. “Have you escaped your governess tonight?” It was nearing nine in
the evening. The child should have been abed by now. And if he were honest with himself, he hoped
for a glimpse of Carole before he left.
“I sneaked out of bed because I saw you in the garden. Are you going somewhere?”
“There is a party I should be leaving for right now.” He glanced behind him at the beagle.
“Just waiting for the dog to do his business.”
“Are you taking Miss Hazelton?”
“I am not.” Would she even have an interest in attending a ton function? “Why?”
The boy shrugged. “No reason.” When he swung open the gate, Alistair could fully see he was
clad in a little night shirt topped with a brocade banyan with socks on his feet. As soon as he kneeled
down, the blasted beagle bounded over with a yip of gladness and danced about the boy’s form.
“’Cept her and Mama were secretive yesterday and Mary said they had a bunch of gowns strewn
about the place for some reason. They wouldn’t let us into the room.”
“Interesting.” Damn and blast, if he didn’t leave soon, he’d arrive dreadfully late.
“Lord Reardon?”
“Yes?” Truly, the lad should return to the house before someone found him missing.
“Do you intend to court Miss Hazelton again?”
Again? Did that mean everyone in his neighbor’s house knew of their history? Heat crept up
the back of his neck. “I would like to, and she has agreed to let me.” Though as of yet he hadn’t made
inroads into making that happen. Granted, it had been a day since she’d granted that boon, but he’d
had duties to attend.
The boy frowned, and Alistair was close enough to him that he could discern worry stamped
across the little brow in the illumination from the windows. “She is my governess, so please don’t
hurt her. I don’t like it when she’s sad even if I like to bedevil her.”
Those words went straight to his heart. So much so that he pressed a gloved hand to his chest
over that organ. “I will not. You have my promise.”
“Good.” William nodded. He patted Fitzroy’s head and then pushed the beagle back to
Alistair’s side of the gate. “If you do then I shall have to defend her honor, you see.”
“I wouldn’t blame you one bit, and I am glad Miss Hazelton has such a staunch defender.” It
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 Chiefly through the researches of Hilgard attention has been called to
the true character of these soils which are found throughout a large part
of the Western United States and which are known by the common
name of alkali. The following description of the origin of these soils is
compiled chiefly from Hilgard’s papers on this subject. Wherever the
rain-fall is scanty, and especially where the rains do not come at any one
time with sufficient force to thoroughly saturate the soil and carry down
through the subsoil and off through the drainage waters the alkali
contained therein, favorable conditions exist for the production of the
alkaline soil mentioned above. The peculiar characteristic of this soil is
the efflorescence which occurs upon its surface and which is due to the
raising of soluble salts in the soil by the water rising through capillary
attraction and evaporating from the surface, leaving the salts as an
efflorescence.
Soils which contain a large amount of alkali are usually very rich in
mineral plant food, and if the excess of soluble salt could be removed,
these lands under favorable conditions of moisture would produce large
crops.
The formation of the alkali may be briefly described as follows: By the
decomposition of the native rocks, certain salts soluble in water are
formed. These salts in the present matter are chiefly sodium and
potassium sulfates, chlorids and carbonates. The salts of potash
together with those of lime are more tenaciously held by the soil than
the soluble salts of soda, and the result of this natural affinity of the soil
for soluble potash, lime and magnesian salts is seen in the formation at
the surface of the earth, by the process of evaporation above described,
of a crust of alkaline material which is chiefly composed of the soluble
salts of soda. In countries which have a sufficient amount of rain-fall,
these soluble salts are carried away either by the surface drainage or by
the percolation of water through the soil, and the sodium chlorid is
accumulated in this way in the waters of the ocean. But where a
sufficient amount of rain-fall does not occur, these soluble salts carried
down by each shower only to a certain depth rise again on the
evaporation of the water, reinforced by any additional soluble material
which may be found in the soil itself. The three most important
ingredients of the alkali of the lands referred to are sodium chlorid,
sulfate, and carbonate. When the latter salt, namely, sodium carbonate,
is present in predominant quantity, it gives rise to what is popularly
known as black alkali. This black color is due to the dark colored
solution which sodium carbonate makes with the organic matters or
humus of the soil. The black alkali is far more injurious to growing
vegetation than the white alkali composed chiefly of sodium sulfate and
chlorid.
This black alkali has been very successfully treated by Hilgard[33] by
the application of gypsum which reacting with the sodium carbonate
produces calcium carbonate and sodium sulfate, thus converting the
black into the white alkali and adding an ingredient in the shape of lime
carbonate to stiff soils which tends to make them more pulverulent and
easy of tillage.
This method of treatment, however, as can be easily seen, is only
palliative, the whole amount of the alkaline substances being still left in
the soil, only in a less injurious form.
The only perfect remedy for alkaline soils, as has been pointed out by
Hilgard, is in the introduction of underdrainage in connection with
irrigation. The partial irrigation of alkaline soils, affording enough
moisture to carry the alkali down to and perhaps partially through the
subsoil, can produce only a temporary alleviation of the difficulties
produced by the alkali. Subsequent evaporation may thus increase the
amount of surface incrustation. For this reason in many cases the
practice of irrigation without underdrainage may completely ruin an
otherwise fertile soil by slowly increasing the amount of alkali in the soil
by the total amount of the alkaline material added in the waters of
irrigation.
As Hilgard has pointed out, if a soil can be practically freed from
alkali by underdrainage connected with a thorough saturation by
irrigation, it may be centuries before the alkali will accumulate in that
soil again when ordinary irrigation only is practiced. It may thus
become possible to reclaim large extents of alkaline soil little by little by
treating them with an excess of irrigation water in connection with
thorough underdrainage. The composition of the alkali on the surface of
the soil due to the causes above set forth is thoroughly illustrated by the
analyses of Hilgard and Weber, which follow:
 Table Showing Composition of Alkali Salts in San Joaquin Valley.
FRESNO COUNTY.
Sections 13 and 24 T. 14 S. R. 19 E., 4 miles S. W. Miss Austin’s N.W. Cor. N ½ Easton. Emigr’nt
from Fresno. Ranch, Central Sec. 20 T. 14 S. R. Ditch.
Colony. 21 E.
Alkali Alkali Spot, 1889. Surface Surface Surface Surface
soil, 1 inch 18 26 42 soil, soil, No. soil. soil.
1888. surface. inches inches inches No. 1. 2.
bel. bel. hardpan.
surface. surface.
Soluble salts 0.76 0.20 0.18 0.16 3.54 1.90 1.20 2.69
in 100
parts soil
Potassium small moderate
sulfate
[D]Potassium small
nitrate
Potassium
carbonate
(Saleratus)
Sodium large small small very very slight large large much moderate large
sulfate slight
(Glauber’s
salt)
Sodium very large small large large small chiefly small small chiefly
carbonate slight
(Sal-soda)
Sodium chiefly moderate chiefly moderate moderate chiefly large chiefly chiefly large little
chlorid
(Common
salt)
[D]Sodium
phosphate
Calcium moderate small very very very slight small moderate small small much
sulfate slight slight
(Gypsum)
Magnesium small much
sulfate
(Epsom
salt)
Organic
matter
D. Very generally present, but not always in quantities sufficient for determination.
 TULARE COUNTY.
Goshen Peopl’s Ditch Near Lake Tulare Visalia Lemoore Tulare Exp’t Station
Surf’ce soil Alkali crust Surf’ce soil Surf’ce soil Alkali crust Alkali crust
Soluble salts in 100 parts soil 1.40 0.83 1.26
Potassium sulfate small
[E]Potassium nitrate small
Potassium carbonate (Saleratus) 18.80
Sodium sulfate (Glauber’s salt) 44.24 1.22 31.30[F] 13.4 chiefly 32.8
Sodium carbonate (Sal-soda) 32.98 88.09 18.2 45.3 36.16
Sodium chlorid (Common salt) 16.74 1.00 4.4 little 31.16
[E]Sodium phosphate 1.97 0.22 10.4
Calcium sulfate (Gypsum) little
Magnesium sulfate (Epsom salt) 8.1 moderate
Organic matter 1.59 9.21 7.5 5.37
KERN COUNTY.
Alkali crusts from the Smyrna artesian belt. Townships 25 and 26 R. 23 E. W. S. Summer. Kern
W. from Delano, S. P. R. R. Island
No. 1 No. 2 No. 3 No. 4 No. 5 No. 6 No. 7 No. 8 Alkali Alkali
crust crust
Soluble salts in 100
parts soil
Potassium sulfate 4.72
[E]Potassium nitrate
Potassium carbonate
(Saleratus)
Sodium sulfate small moderate moderate moderate large small small small 19.20 70.61
(Glauber’s salt)
Sodium carbonate (Sal- 14.82
soda)
Sodium chlorid large moderate large large small large small large 37.14 4.13
(Common salt)
[E]Sodium phosphate
Calcium sulfate small small small small small small small small 0.96 0.08
(Gypsum)
Magnesium sulfate small small small small small small small small 18.31
(Epsom salt)
Organic matter 20.87
F. Common and Glauber’s salts.
50. Adobe Soils.—In many parts of the arid regions of this country which can be
recovered for agricultural purposes by irrigation the soil has peculiar characteristics.
The name adobe as commonly used applies to both the sundried bricks of the arid regions
of the West and Southwest, and to the materials of which they are composed. The material is
described by Russell[34] as a fine grained porous earth, varying in color through many shades
of gray and yellow, which crumbles between the fingers, but separates most readily in a
vertical direction. The coherency of the material is so great that vertical scarps will stand for
many years without forming a noticeable talus slope.
Distribution.—The area over which adobe forms a large part of the surface has not been
accurately mapped, but enough is known to indicate that it is essentially co-extensive with
the more arid portions of this country. In a very general way it may be considered as being
limited to the region in which the mean annual rain-fall is less than twenty inches. It forms
the surface over large portions of Colorado, New Mexico, Western Texas, Arizona, Southern
California, Nevada, Utah, Southern Oregon, Southern Idaho, and Wyoming. Adobe occurs
also in Mexico and may there reach a greater development than in the United States, but
observations concerning it south of the Rio Grande are wanting.
In the United States it occurs from near the sea-level in Arizona, and even below the sea-
level in Southern California, up to an elevation of at least six or eight thousand feet, along
the eastern border of the Rocky Mountains, and in the elevated valleys of New Mexico,
Colorado, and Wyoming. It occupies depressions of all sizes up to valleys having an area of
hundreds of square miles. Although occurring throughout the arid region, it can be studied
to best advantage in the drainless and lakeless basins in Nevada, Utah, and Arizona.
 Composition.—When examined under the microscope, the adobe is seen to be composed
of irregular, unassorted flakes and grains, principally quartz, but fragments of other
minerals are also present. An exhaustive microscopic study has not been made, but the
samples examined from widely-separated localities were very similar. The principal
characteristics observed were the extreme angularity of the particles composing the deposit
and the undecomposed condition of the various minerals entering into its composition. It is
to be inferred from this that the material was not exposed even to a very moderate degree of
friction, and had not undergone subaerial decay before being deposited. Adobe collected, at
typical localities is so fine in texture that no grit can be felt when it is rubbed between the
fingers; in other instances it contains angular rock fragments of appreciable size.
The composition of the material is illustrated by the following analyses:

Analyses of Adobe.

By L. G. Eakins.

Constituents. No. 1. No. 2. No. 3. No. 4.

Sante Fe, New Fort Wingate, New Humboldt, Salt Lake City,
Mexico. Mexico. Nevada. Utah.
SiO₂ 66.69 26.67 44.64 19.24
Al₂O₃ 14.16 0.91 13.19 3.26
Fe₂O₃ 4.38 0.64 5.12 1.09
MnO 0.09 trace 0.13 trace
CaO 2.49 36.40 13.91 38.94
MgO 1.28 0.51 2.96 2.75
K₂O 1.21 trace 1.71 trace
Na₂O 0.67 trace 0.59 trace
CO₂ 0.77 25.84 8.55 29.57
P₂O₅ 0.29 0.75 0.94 0.23
SO₃ 0.41 0.82 0.64 0.53
Cl 0.34 0.07 0.14 0.11
H₂O 4.94 2.26 3.84 1.67
Organic matter 2.00 5.10 3.43 2.96

99.72 99.97 99.84 100.35

51. Vegetable Soils.—The heavy soils whose origin has been described are essentially of
a mineral nature. The quantity of organic matter in such soils may vary from a mere trace to
a few per cent, but they never lose their mineral predominance. When a soil on the other
hand is composed almost exclusively of vegetable mold it belongs to quite another type. Such
soils are called tule, peat or muck. In this country there are thousands of acres of peat or
muck soils; the largest contiguous deposits being found in Southern Florida. The origin of
these soils is easily understood. Whenever rank vegetation grows in such a location as to
secure for the organic matter formed a slow decay there is a tendency to the accumulation of
vegetable mold in shallow water or on marshy ground and where conditions are favorable to
such accumulations. In Florida the muck soils have been accumulated about the margins of
lakes. During the rainy season the marshes bordering these are partly covered with water,
but the vegetation is very luxuriant. The water protects the vegetable matter from being
destroyed by fire. It therefore accumulates from year to year and is gradually compacted into
quite a uniform mass of vegetable mold.
 The composition of the muck is illustrated in the following table which shows the
character of the layers at one, two and three feet in depth:[35]

Carbon. Hydrogen. Nitrogen. Volatile matter.

1 foot 57.67 per cent 4.48 per cent 2.24 per cent 90.60 per cent
2 feet 47.07 „ 5.15 „ 1.40 „ 72.00 „
3 feet 8.52 „ 0.53 „ 0.31 „ 15.00 „

In this sample, No. 3, the muck was only three feet deep, resting on pure sand. As the
bottom of the deposit is approached the admixture of sand becomes greater and the
percentage of organic matter less.
No reliable estimate of the time which has been required to form these deposits can be
given, but in the Okeechobee region in Florida the deposit of vegetable mold in some places
exceeds ten feet in depth.
The purest muck or peat soils contain only small quantities of potash and phosphoric acid,
and especially is this true of the Florida mucks which have been formed of vegetable growth
containing very little mineral matter.
It is not at all probable that the flora now growing on any particular area of virgin peat
contains all the plants that have contributed to its formation. The principal vegetable
growths now going to make up the muck soils of Florida are the following:

Common names. Botanical names.

Saw grass Cladium effusum
Yellow pond lily Nymphea flava
Maiden cane grass Panicum Curtisii
Alligator Wampee Pontederia cordata
Sedge Cyperus species
Fern brake Osmunda „
Mallow Malva „
Broom sedge Andropogon „
Arrow weed Sagittaria „

The above are only the plants growing in the greatest profusion and do not include all
which are now contributing to increase the store of vegetable débris.
52. Humus.—The active principle of vegetable mold is called humus, a term used to
designate in general the products of the decomposition of vegetable matter as they are found
in soils. In peat and muck are found a mixture of humus with undecomposed or partially
decomposed vegetation.
According to Kostytchoff[36] vegetable matter decays under the influence of molds and
bacteria. Molds alone produce the dark colored matters which give soils rich in vegetable
matter, their color. One chief characteristic of humus is its richness in nitrogen. Black
Russian soil contains from 4 to 6.65 per cent of nitrogen. This soil is estimated to contain
sixty million organisms per gram and much of the nitrogen which it holds must be in the
form of proteids. The first development in decaying vegetable matter is of bacteria and there
is a tendency of the decaying matter to become acid. This causes a decay of the bacteria and
the ammonia produced by this neutralizes the acid. The various kinds of mold grow when
the reaction becomes neutral. Afterwards the bacteria and the molds develop together. This
statement of Kostytchoff is not a very satisfactory explanation of even our limited knowledge
of the decomposition of organic matters in the soil. Ammonia and ammonia salts are formed
not by the decay of some forms of bacteria but by the activities of other forms. Warington
found that in nitrification there were three distinct forms of bacteria concerned in the final
products of ammonia, nitrites, and nitrates. Humus always contains easily decomposable
matter and consequently the rate of decay at any observed periods is nearly the same. In
humus which is produced above the water-level Kostytchoff states that all trace of the
vegetable structure is destroyed by the leaves being gnawed and passed through the bodies
of caterpillars and wire-worms. Under the water-level the vegetable structure is preserved
and peat results. The decay of humus is most rapid in drained and open soils. For this reason
the presence of clay in a soil promotes the accumulation of humus. Inferior organisms are
the means of diffusing organic matter through the soil. The mycelia of fungi grow on a dead
root for instance, ramify laterally and thus carry organic matter outward and succeeding
organisms extend this action and the soil becomes darkened in proportion. Humic acid in
black soil is almost exclusively in combination with lime.
A more common view of the difference between the formation of humus above and below
the water-level is that above the water-level there is a very free access of air and even the
harder parts of the leaf skeleton can be oxidized through the agency of bacteria, while under
the water-level there is a very limited supply of air and this oxidation cannot proceed as
rapidly. The harder parts of the leaf skeleton are preserved, and from the freer access of air
humus is oxidized more readily in drained and open soils, and accumulates in clay soils
where there is less circulation of air.
The real composition of humus is a matter which has never been definitely determined.
Composed of many different but closely related substances it has been difficult to isolate and
determine them.
Stockbridge[37] gives the following composition of the bodies which form the larger part of
humus:
 Ulmin and Ulmic Acid.
Carbon 67.1 per cent Corresponding to C₄₀H₂₈O₁₂ + H₂O.
Hydrogen 4.2 „
Oxygen 8.7 „

Humin and Humic Acid.

Carbon 64.4 per cent Corresponding to C₂₁H₂₄_O₁₂ + 3H₂O

Hydrogen 4.3 „
Oxygen 31.3 „

Crenic Acid.

Carbon 44.0 per cent Corresponding to C₁₂H₁₂O₈?

Hydrogen 5.5 „
Nitrogen 3.9 „
Oxygen 46.6 „

Apocrenic Acid.

Carbon 34.4 per cent Corresponding to C₂₄H₂₄O₁₂?

Hydrogen 3.5 „
Nitrogen 3.0 „
Oxygen 39.1 „

He further states that there are, aside from these humus compounds, others still less
known and the action of which is not yet understood; among them xylic acid, C₂₄H₃₀O₁₇,
saccharic acid, C₁₄H₁₈O₁₁, glucinic acid, C₁₂H₂₂O₁₂, besides a brown humus acid
containing carbon, 65.8 per cent, and hydrogen, 6.25 per cent, and a black humus acid
yielding carbon, 71.5 per cent, and hydrogen, 5.8 per cent.
According to Mulder humic acid has the following composition, C₆₀H₅₄O₂₇, while
Thenard[38] ascribes to it the formula, C₂₄H₁₀O₁₀.
At the present time we can only regard the various forms of humus bodies as mixtures of
many substances mostly of an acid nature and resulting from a gradual decomposition of
organic matter under conditions which partially exclude free access of oxygen.
For analytical purposes it is only necessary to separate these bodies by the best approved
processes. A further knowledge of their composition can then be derived by determining the
percentages of carbon dioxid and water which they yield on combustion.
53. Soil and Subsoil.—Many subdivisions have been made of the above varieties of soil,
but they have little value for analytical purposes. For convenience in description for
agricultural purposes, the soil, however, is further divided into soil and subsoil. In this sense
the soil comprises that portion of the surface of the ground, usually from four to nine inches
deep, containing most of the organic remains of plants and animals and in which air
circulates more or less freely for the proper humification of the organic matter, which
usually gives a darker color to the soil than to the subsoil. The subsoil proper lies below this,
and has usually more characteristic properties, especially in respect of color and texture, as it
has been less influenced by artificial conditions of cultivation and the remains of vegetation.
The subsoil extends to an indefinite depth and is limited usually by deposits of
undecomposed or partly decomposed rock matter, or by layers of clay, sand or gravel.
 Inasmuch, however, as the influence of the subsoil on growing crops is of little importance
below the depth of eighteen inches the analysis of samples from a greater depth has more of
a geologic than agricultural value.
Hilgard regards as subsoil whatever lies beneath the line of change, or below the minimum
depth of six inches. But should the change of color occur at a greater depth than twelve
inches, the soil specimen should nevertheless be taken to the depth of twelve inches only,
which is the limit of ordinary tillage; then another specimen from that depth down to the
line of change, and then the subsoil specimens beneath that line. The depth to which the last
should be taken will depend upon circumstances. It is always desirable to know what
constitutes the foundation of a soil to the depth of three feet at least, since the question of
drainage, resistance to drought, etc., will depend essentially upon the nature of the
substratum. But in ordinary cases ten or twelve inches of subsoil will be sufficient. The
sample should be taken in other respects precisely like that of the surface soil, while that of
the material underlying this subsoil may be taken with less exactness, perhaps at some ditch
or other easily accessible point, and should not be broken up like the other specimens.
In the method of soil sampling adopted by the Royal Agricultural College of England, the
soil is regarded as that portion of the surface of the ground which is reached by ordinary
tillage operations, generally being from six to nine inches deep; the subsoil is that portion
which is ordinarily not touched in plowing.
 AUTHORITIES CITED IN PART FIRST.
1. Comptes rendus, Tome 110, p. 1271.
2. Wyatt, Phosphates of America, p. 66.
3. Engineering and Mining Journal, August 23, 1890.
4. American Journal of Science, Vol. 41, February, 1891.
5. Preliminary Sketch of Florida Phosphates, Author’s edition, pp. 18, et seq.
6. Journal für praktische Chemie, 1st series, Band 38, S. 388.
7. Annual Report Connecticut Experiment Station, 1890, p. 72.
8. Annual Report Massachusetts Experiment Station, 1887, p. 233.
9. Bulletin 21, Rhode Island Experiment Station, 1893.
10. Chemical Composition of Food-Fishes. Report of U. S. Commissioner of Fish and Fisheries, 1888, pp.
679 et seq.
11. G. Brown Goode, American Naturalist, Vol. 14, July, 1890.
12. Comptes rendus, Tome 101, 1885, pp. 65, et seq.
13. Royal Agricultural Society Journal, Vol. 13, 1852, pp. 349 et seq.
14. Gîtes Mineraux, par Fuchs et DeLauny, Tome 1, p. 425.
15. El Salitre de Chile; René F. LeFeuvre y Artūro Dagnino, 1893, p. 12.
16. Crampton, American Chemical Journal, Vol. II, 1890, p. 227.
17. Potash, pamphlet of German Kali Works, pp. 3, 4.
18. Gîtes Mineraux, p. 429.
19. Bulletin of the Philosophical Society of Washington, Vol. II, p. 142.
20. Handbook for the Department of Geology of the U. S. National Museum, by Geo. P. Merrill.
21. Vid. supra, p. 506.
22. Vid. supra, Plate 120.
23. Merrill, op. cit. p. 521.
24. Merrill, op. cit. p. 536.
25. Merrill, op. cit. p. 545.
26. Merrill, op. cit. p. 547.
27. Mineral Physiology and Physiography, p. 251.
28. Bulletin No. 52, United States Geological Survey, p. 16.
29. bis (p. 48), Vid. supra, p. 38.
30. The Formation of Vegetable Mold through the Action of Worms.
31. Rocks and Soils, pp. 131–2.
32. Comptes rendus, Tome 110, p. 1370.
33. Bulletin No. 83, California Experiment Station.
34. Geological Magazine, Vol. 7, No. 6, pp. 291–92.
35. Wiley, Agricultural Science, 1893, pp. 106 et seq.
36. Travaux de la Société des Naturalistes St. Petersburg, Tome 20, 1889.
37. Rocks and Soils, p. 134.
38. Beilstein’s Handbuch der Organischen Chemie, Band I, Ss. 891–2.
 PART SECOND.

TAKING SAMPLES OF SOIL FOR ANALYSIS.

54. General Principles.—It would be unwise to attempt to give

any single method of taking soil samples as the only one to be
practiced in all circumstances. In the methods which follow it is
believed will be found directions for every probable case. The
particular method to be followed will in each case have to be
determined by circumstances.
The sole object in taking a sample of soil should be to have it
representative of the type of soils to which it belongs. Every
precaution should be observed to have each sample measure up to
that standard.
The physical and chemical analyses of soils are long and tedious
processes and are entirely too costly to be applied to samples which
represent nothing but themselves.
The particular place selected for taking the samples as well as the
method employed are also largely determined by the point of view of
the investigations. The collection of samples to illustrate the geologic
or mineralogical relations of soils is quite a different matter from
gathering portions to represent their agricultural possibilities. In a
given area the sum of plant food in the soil would only be determined
by the analyses of samples from that particular field, while samples
illustrating geologic relations could or should be taken at widely
distant points. Again the chemist is content with a sample of a few
grams in weight while the physicist would require a much larger
quantity. Much popular ignorance exists respecting the importance
of the collection of soil samples. As an illustration of this may be
cited a recent instance in which a sample of soil was received by the
author with a request for a complete analysis and a statement of the
kinds of crops it was suited to grow. No data relating to the locality in
which the sample was taken accompanied this request. The sample
itself, which weighed a little less than 3.6 grams, was not a soil at all
in an agricultural sense but a highly ferruginous sand.
The collector of samples who understands the purpose for which
he is working will find among the approved methods which follow
some one or some combination of methods, by means of which his
work can be made successful. In these cases it is the collector rather
than the method on which reliance must be placed to secure properly
representative samples.
55. General Directions for Sampling.—The locality having
been selected which presents as nearly as possible the mean
composition of the field a square hole is dug with a sharp spade to
the depth of eighteen inches. The walls of this hole should be smooth
and perpendicular. The soil to the depth of six to nine inches is then
removed from the sides of the hole in a slice about four inches thick;
or the sample of soil may be taken to the depth indicated by a change
of color. Any particles which fall into the bottom of the hole are
carefully collected and added to the parts adhering to the spade. The
whole is thrown into a suitable vessel for removal to the laboratory.
The sample of soil having been thus secured, the subsoil is taken in
the same way. To insure uniformity in the samples, it is well to take
several of them from the same field. Where more than one sample is
taken it is advisable to mix all the sub-samples in the field, remove
large sticks, stones, roots, etc., and take a general sample of from
three to five kilograms. The character of the débris, etc., removed
should be carefully noted.
It is sometimes desirable to take samples of the subsoil to a greater
depth than eighteen inches. A post-hole auger or large wood auger
will be found very useful for this purpose. It is rarely necessary to
take samples of subsoil to a greater depth than six feet. In taking
samples the geologic formation and the general topography of the
field should be noted, also the character of the previous crops, kind
and amount of fertilizers employed, character of drainage and any
other data of a nature to give a more accurate idea of the forces
which have determined the physical and chemical properties of the
sample.
 56. Method Of Hilgard.—Hilgard[39] recommends that samples
should not be taken indiscriminately from any locality you may
chance to be interested in, but that you should consider what are the
two or three chief varieties of soil which, with their intermixtures,
make up the cultivable area of your region, and carefully sample
these first of all.
As a rule, and whenever possible, samples should be taken only
from spots that have not been cultivated, or are otherwise likely to
have been changed from their original condition of virgin soils and
not from ground frequently trodden over such as roadsides, cattle
paths, or small pastures, squirrel holes, stumps, or even the foot of
trees, or spots that have been washed by rains or streams, so as to
have experienced a noticeable change, and not be a fair
representative of their kind. He further suggests that the normal
vegetation, trees, herbs, grass, etc., should be carefully observed and
recorded, and spots showing unusual growth be avoided whether in
kind or quality, as such are likely to have received some animal
manure or other outside addition.
Specimens should be taken from more than one spot judged to be
a fair representative of the soil intended to be examined as an
additional guarantee of a fair average.
After selecting a proper spot pull up the plants growing on it, and
scrape off the surface lightly with a sharp tool to remove half-
decayed vegetable matter not forming part of the soil. Dig a vertical
hole, like a post-hole, at least 20 inches deep. Scrape the sides clean
so as to see at what depth the change of tint occurs which marks the
downward limit of the surface soil, and record it. Take at least half a
bushel of the earth above this limit, and on a cloth (jute bagging
should not be used for this purpose, as its fibers, etc., become
intermixed with the soil) or paper break it up and mix thoroughly,
and put up at least a pint of it in a sack or package for examination.
This specimen will, ordinarily, constitute the soil. Should the change
of color occur at a less depth than six inches the fact should be noted,
but the specimen taken to that depth nevertheless, since it is the least
to which rational cultures can be supposed to reach.
In case the difference in the character of a shallow surface soil and
its subsoil should be unusually great, as may be the case in tule or
other alluvial lands or in rocky districts, a separate example of that
surface soil should be taken, besides the one to the depth of six
inches.
Specimens of salty or alkali soils should, as a rule, be taken only
toward the end of the dry season, when they will contain the
maximum amount of the injurious ingredients which it may be
necessary to neutralize.
Whatever lies beneath the line of change, or below the minimum
depth of six inches, will constitute the subsoil. Should the change of
color occur at a greater depth than twelve inches the soil specimen
should nevertheless be taken to the depth of twelve inches only,
which is the limit of ordinary tillage; then another specimen from
that depth down to the line of change, and then the subsoil specimen
beneath that line.
Hilgard justly calls attention to the fact that all peculiarities of the
soil and subsoil, their behavior in wet and dry seasons, their location,
position and every circumstance in fact, which can throw any light on
their agricultural qualities or peculiarities should be carefully noted
and the notes sent with the samples. Unless accompanied by such
information, samples can not ordinarily be considered as justifying
the amount of labor involved in their examination.
57. Whitney[40] suggests that a geologic map of the region to be
sampled should always be at hand and that all samples should be
rejected from spots showing local discrepancies, washings or other
disturbances.
The kind of analyses to which a sample is to be subjected also
largely determines the method to be pursued in selecting it: For
instance, a sample to be used for determining the size of the particles
therein, may be taken in quite a different manner from that designed
only for the determination of moisture.
58. In the directions collated by Richards[41] and which have been
largely followed by the correspondents of the Department of
Agriculture, it is recommended to select in a field, four or five places,
at least, per acre, taking care that these places have an homogeneous
aspect, and represent as far as possible the general character of the
whole ground. If the field, however, present notable differences,
either in regard to its aspect or its fertility, the samples gathered
from the different parts must be kept separate.
 The sampling of arable soil should be made only after the raising
of the crop and before it has received any new manure. In other soils
the sample should be taken only from spots that have not been
cultivated.
59. In the method of soil sampling adopted by the German
Experiment Stations[42] it is directed that the samples of soil should
be taken according to the extent of the surface to be sampled, in
three, five, nine, twelve or more places at equal distances from each
other. They should be taken in perpendicular sections to the depth
turned by the plow; and for some studies of the subsoil to a depth of
sixty to ninety centimeters. The single samples can be either
examined separately or carefully mixed and an average portion of the
mixture taken.
60. Method of the Official French Commission.—The
official French commission[43] emphasizes the fact that the sample of
soil taken for analysis, should represent a layer of equal thickness
through the total depth of its arable part. An analysis of the subsoil
taken in the same way, will often be useful to complete the data of
the soil study.
First of all, according to this authority, it is necessary to determine
the point of view from which the sample is to be taken. If the object is
a general study, having for its aim the determination of the general
composition of the soils of a definite geologic formation, the sample
should be taken in such a way that the different characteristics of the
soil alone should enter into consideration without paying any
attention to its accidental components, which have been determined
by local causes, such as are produced by continued high cultivation,
the application of abundant fertilizers, or the practice of a particular
line of agriculture. The samples of soil therefore, with such an object
in view, should be taken on parts of the earth which are beyond the
reach of the causes mentioned above and which tend to modify the
nature of the primitive soil. In such a case it is the soil which has not
been modified, or better still, virgin soil, such as is found in the
woodlands and prairies, which should be taken for a sample,
choosing those places in which the geologic formation is most
perfectly characterized. In such a case a soil taken in one spot
corresponding to the conditions before mentioned, would be the best
for the purposes in view. The sample would thus represent a true
type to be studied, not one of a mean composition got by taking
samples from different localities and mixing them into a
homogeneous parcel. This last method of proceeding could introduce
into the sample earth modified by culture or by influences purely
accidental. However, it would be wise, in a region characterized by
the same geologic formation, to take a certain number of samples in
different localities, and examine singly each one of them in order to
be assured that there is a uniformity of composition in the whole of
the soils.
If, on the contrary, it is the purpose of the investigation to furnish
information to the cultivator concerning the fields which are worked,
it is necessary to approach the problem from a different point of
view. In this case the earth which is under cultivation should be first
of all considered with all the modifications which nature causes or
practical culture has caused, in it. But it often happens that upon the
same farm the natural soil is variable, caused either by the washings
from the adjacent soils, by the accumulation at certain points of
deposits formed from standing water, or from other reasons. In such
a case it would be necessary to take samples from every part of the
field which exhibited any variation from the general type, in order to
get a complete mean sample of the whole. It is necessary to be on
guard against making a mixture of these different lots which would
neither represent the different soils constituting the farm nor their
mean composition. It would be better to examine each of these
samples alone and then from those parts which appear to have a
similar composition, to take a general sample for the mean analysis.
Most often it is necessary to confine our studies to the really
important part of the farm the composition of which would have a
practical interest. The aspect of the spontaneous vegetation in such a
case, will often serve as a guide to determine the parts of the farms
which are similar in nature. The sample should represent the arable
layer, properly so-called, that is, that part of it which is stirred by the
agricultural implements in use and in which the root system of the
plant takes its greatest development and which is the true reservoir
of the fertilizing materials.
When a trench is dug in the soil it is easy to distinguish the arable
layer from the subsoil. In the first place, its color is different,
generally being modified by vegetable débris which forms the supply
of humus. The depth of the arable layer is variable, but it is most
frequently between 200 and 300 millimeters. In the analysis the
depth and layers should be indicated since the chemical composition
of the earth varies according as the sample is taken to a greater or
less depth. As an example of this it may be said that the quantity of
nitrogen decreases in general in proportion as the depth of the layer
is increased. The sample, therefore, should be limited exactly to the
arable layer of soil.
61. Caldwell[44] advises that according to the purpose of the
analysis samples be taken:
a, from one or from several spots in the field, in order to subject
each sample to a separate analysis; or
b, for an average representation of the soil of the whole field; in
this case, several portions of earth are taken from points distributed
in a regular manner over the field, all of which are most carefully
mixed together, and 4–6 kilograms of the mixture, free from any
large stones, are preserved as the average sample.
An excavation in the soil 30–50 centimeters deep, or through to
the subsoil, and 30–50 centimeters square, with one side as nearly
vertical as possible is made and a slice taken from this side of
uniform thickness throughout, weighing 4–5 kilograms. If the
subsoil is to be examined, a sample of it should be taken out in the
same manner as directed for the upper soil, to the depth of about 60
centimeters.
If the character of the soil varies materially in different parts of the
field, samples from several spots should be analyzed separately.
A small portion of the sample should be put at once in a well-
stoppered bottle; the remainder may be allowed to become air-dried,
by exposing it in a thin layer, in summer, to the common
temperature in the shade, or, in winter, to that of a warm room, or a
moderately warm drying-chamber, heated to 30°–40°; in either case
it should be carefully protected from dust.
At the time of taking the sample of the soil, observations should be
made in regard to the following points:
a. The geognostic origin of the soil.
b. The nature of the underlying strata, to the depth of 1–2 meters,
if practicable.
 c. The meteorology of the locality, by consulting meteorological
records, if possible; otherwise, by the general opinion of the
neighborhood; in this connection, the height of the locality above the
level of the sea should be noted also.
d. The management and rotation of crops in previous years.
e. The character of the customary manuring.
f. The amount of the crops removed in the preceding year, and, if
possible, the average amount of each of the more important crops
yielded by the field.
g. The practical judgment of neighboring farmers in regard to the
field.
Caldwel’s method is practically identical with that of Wolff[45]
which was one of the earliest of the systematic schemes for taking
soil samples.
62. Wahnschaffe[46] insists on rather a fuller preliminary
statement to accompany soil samples but gives essentially the
method of Wolff with some unimportant variations which add little
to the value of the process.
63. Method Of Peligot.—According to Peligot[47] the taking of
samples of soil of which the physical and chemical properties are to
be determined is a delicate operation.
These samples should represent as nearly as possible both the
good and bad qualities of a soil.
In the field selected are chosen a certain number of places at least
four or five per hectare. The spots selected should have a
homogeneous appearance—resembling as nearly as possible the
general aspect of the field.
By means of a spade a few kilograms of earth are removed to the
depth of the subsoil being careful to include in the sample no
accidental detritus which the upper part of the soil especially may
contain.
The samples should be taken immediately after the crop is
harvested and before any fresh fertilizer is applied. The samples are
carefully mixed and placed in a glass bottle or flask.
The sample of subsoil is obtained in the same manner. If the field
presents notable differences in surface or fertility all the samples
taken should be examined separately.
64. Method of Whitney.[48]—An ordinary wood auger, 2½
inches in diameter is so arranged as to admit of additions to the stem
to enable the operator to take samples at different depths. It may be
fitted with a short piece of gas pipe for a handle and the several
pieces of which it is composed may be taken apart and carried in a
knapsack.
In taking a soil sample the boring is continued until a change in
color shows that the subsoil has been reached. The auger cuts a very
clean sample save in excessively sandy soil. After the soil sample is
secured the hole is cleaned out and the sample of subsoil taken by
the same instrument. The soil is conveniently preserved in heavy
cloth bags of which the usual size is 6 by 8½ inches. Where larger
samples are required the size of the bag is correspondingly increased.
Each bag is to be tagged or labeled to correspond with the entry in
the note book.
Samples to determine the amount of empty space in a soil are
taken as follows: The sampler is a piece of brass cylinder about nine
inches long and about 1½ inches in diameter. A piece of clock spring
is soldered in one end and sharpened to give a good cutting edge.
This arrangement permits the sample to pass into the cylinder
without much friction. The area enclosed by the clock spring is
accurately determined and a mark is placed in the cylinder six inches
from the cutting edge. The cylinder is driven into the soil to a depth
of six inches, a steel cap being used to prevent the hammer from
injuring the cylinder. The earth is next removed from about the
cylinder with a trowel, and the separated cylinder of earth is cut
smoothly off by a sharp knife and removed together with its brass
envelope. The sample is taken to the laboratory in a cloth bag, dried
and weighed.
65. Taking Samples for Moisture Determination.—A
number of brass tubes is provided nine inches long and ¾ inch in
diameter and with a mark six inches from the bottom.
The tube is pushed down into the soil to the mark and the sample
of soil removed with the tube. There is but little danger of the sample
dropping out of the tube even in sandy soils. When the tube is
withdrawn each end is capped with a rubber finger tip making a
perfectly air tight joint. The tubes containing the samples can be kept