Dear Readers!
You, we are certain, are guided by reason and common sense.
Sadly, this is untrue of one of our noble peers. We refer, alas, to Lord N, who is labeled by the caricaturists as the Carpentry Earl.
Lord N‘s marquetry and inlay work is superb. No one denies that. But why did he enter into partnership with a man of low estate and indulge in (shudder) trade? This was deplorable enough when he was a mere second son, but after succeeding unexpectedly to the title, Lord N continues to eschew the ton in favor of laboring in his London shop.
We at the Tattler wonder if perhaps his diligence has something to do with avoiding marriage—or, to put it more plainly, the inevitability of an unfaithful wife. Why, you ask, would his wife be unfaithful? Lord N is a good-looking man, and physical labor renders him quite delightfully brawny.
But brawniness is no proof against the supposed Infidelity Curse laid upon his noble line by the Lady N of two centuries ago. Ever since, every Lady N has been unfaithful to her lord. No wonder his lordship would rather avoid marriage.
But if so, why did he commit the folly of entangling himself with the excessively beautiful Lady T, who (it is whispered) betrayed her elderly husband and then poisoned him? Does she have her clutches firmly into Lord N? If so, which fate will assail him first: poison or the dreaded curse? https://books2read.com/infidelity-curse
Here’s an excerpt from The Infidelity Curse:
Setup: At the reading of Sir Matthew Tifton’s will, all is going well except for the unpleasant presence of Sir Matthew’s nephew, Mr. Welton, who has already disrupted the proceedings twice. And then…
“There remains the question of guardianship, which is somewhat unusual,” Mr. Briggs, the solicitor, said.
Oh, God. Lucretia hadn’t thought of that.
“Sir Matthew appointed the Earl of Netherbroke as guardian of his child.” He paused. “Also as trustee, jointly with myself.”
“What the devil? I am meant to be the guardian!” Mr. Welton sprang up. “And the sole trustee, damn you!”
“Mr. Welton, if you cannot restrain yourself,” Mr. Briggs said, “Lady Tifton will be obliged to ask her footman to remove you.”
“Pah! She wouldn’t dare,” Welton said, “not with what I know about her.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Lucretia.
She shrank away. What could he possibly know? She’d never done anything wrong, except . . .
“Who is the Earl of Netherbroke?” demanded Lucretia’s niece, Noelle.
“He is an elderly peer who lives in Gloucestershire,” Lucretia said. “Sir Matthew and the Earl of Netherbroke were enthusiastic medal collectors. They met once at an auction and corresponded for a short while well over a year ago. Sir Matthew’s passion for marquetry was due to the Earl’s influence. I suppose my husband decided, judging by a brief acquaintance and some expensive furniture from the shop the Earl recommended, that the Earl would make a suitable guardian.” Fury swelled within her, but she strove to keep it from her voice. Surely a doddering earl was better than horrid Mr. Welton.
Mr. Briggs nodded. “Most likely due to his position in society.”
“Society be damned. My uncle feared for his life and the safety of his child.” Welton’s spittle flew. “He knew his precious wife had cuckolded him over and over, and then she tried to poison him with her noxious brews. What sort of mother would she be?”
Aghast, Lucretia clapped a hand to her breast. “No, no! I made him tisanes of healing herbs.” Her voice trembled. “He was ill. I tried to cure him!”
“Hah! You would claim that, wouldn’t you—but you don’t deny that you cuckolded him.”
Before Lucretia could gain control of her voice, he turned to Jellicoe, the valet. “You know all about this, don’t you? Sir Matthew valued you. He confided in you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir, he did,” Jellicoe said. “He believed Lady Tifton was trying to kill him. He feared the consequences to the child’s immortal soul if it was left to its mother’s care.”
Welton shook his fist at Lucretia. “You killed him because he was going to change his will. No. More likely he had already changed it, using the services of a more competent solicitor than this fellow. And then you burned it so no one would ever know.”
Lucretia quailed, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true.”
“You’re a whore and a murderess,” he shouted. “You may try to cozen the Earl of Whatshisname, but you won’t succeed. I’ll do whatever it takes to see that he takes the child away from you. You’ll be lucky if you don’t hang!”
A dark cloud swept over Lucretia. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came, and she fainted dead away.
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