A passionate clergyman must overcome his forbidden desire for a scandalous countess to uncover his fatherâs killer in this historical romantic mystery.
Reverend Jonah Sinclair survived the deadly streets of London due to divine intervention and two well-trained fists. Determined to bring his father's killer to justice, heâll risk his vocationâand his lifeâfor answers. When the notorious Earl of Rochford offers him a position as tutor to his young ward, Jonah accepts, believing the mysterious Ravenglass Hall could lead him to the murderer. But instead, he finds himself drawn to the earlâs abandoned countess, a woman whose fierce strength stirs a forbidden temptation.
Faith Trenton, Countess of Rochford, is struggling to defend her crumbling estate from an embezzling steward. To keep her enemies at bay, she disguises herself as a man, until Jonah's arrival threatens to expose her perilous secrets. Despite their irresistible chemistry, she must push him away to keep her home and her family safe.
But when a succession of attacks threatens everything Faith has fought to protect, sheâs forced to place her trust in Jonah, and pray he wonât unravel the truth, or her heart.
Helping Faith could sabotage Jonahâs mission. Loving her might cost him everything.
A passionate clergyman must overcome his forbidden desire for a scandalous countess to uncover his fatherâs killer in this historical romantic mystery.
Reverend Jonah Sinclair survived the deadly streets of London due to divine intervention and two well-trained fists. Determined to bring his father's killer to justice, heâll risk his vocationâand his lifeâfor answers. When the notorious Earl of Rochford offers him a position as tutor to his young ward, Jonah accepts, believing the mysterious Ravenglass Hall could lead him to the murderer. But instead, he finds himself drawn to the earlâs abandoned countess, a woman whose fierce strength stirs a forbidden temptation.
Faith Trenton, Countess of Rochford, is struggling to defend her crumbling estate from an embezzling steward. To keep her enemies at bay, she disguises herself as a man, until Jonah's arrival threatens to expose her perilous secrets. Despite their irresistible chemistry, she must push him away to keep her home and her family safe.
But when a succession of attacks threatens everything Faith has fought to protect, sheâs forced to place her trust in Jonah, and pray he wonât unravel the truth, or her heart.
Helping Faith could sabotage Jonahâs mission. Loving her might cost him everything.
Somewhere in Cumbria, 1878
It had not occurred to Reverend Jonah Sinclair that traveling in the dark on a rain-soaked country road might lead him to his death.
Rather an oversight on his part. His formative years in Southwarkâs alleyways had cultivated a healthy fear of the dangers that could greet him in the shadows. And presently, he was far from the relative safety of the known unknowns of South London.
Eleven hours of travelânine by train, two by stifling coach, all amidst a downpourâhad landed him in a place deserted by human civilization.
Somewhere in the rain and the dark and mists surrounding him was the Earl of Rochfordâs estate, and his assignment for the next month. It had been no small feat to position himself for it. His hopes and expectations of what lay ahead were unfairly high.
First, he had to find the bloody place. An endeavor that would have been simple if the aristocrats who had engaged his services had remembered to send their carriage.
With his temper flaring, he trudged his way up the hill from the coaching stop to the lone public house in the village, identifiable by a withering wooden sign bearing the name The Saltcoat. As he strode inside, he avoided thinking about the damage the mud was inflicting upon his best suit.
Mustering the swagger that had helped him survive a host of awkward circumstances, Jonah walked past the sparse collection of patrons cataloguing his every movement and approached the narrow wooden bar.
âGood evening,â he began.
No one acknowledged the sound of his voice.
His simmering ire prevented him from softening his accent and his posture. âWould any of you be kind enough to point me in the direction of Ravenglass Hall?â
The men standing by him, along with the barman and barmaid, all turned away in an eerily synchronous movement. As cold dismissals went, it was one of the frostiest he could recollect. But heâd grown accustomed to setbacks and fending for himself. Twenty years ago, heâd been robbed of everything he loved. Two things had powered his survival: the determination to right the injustices served upon his family, and a healthy anger.
Harnessing the second in service of the first, Jonah marched out of the tavern, his vexation blinding him to any semblance of the direction where he headed. It did not take long to realize he was absolutely stranded, alone in a country wilderness.
In the disorienting shadows of the soaking evening, a seed of regret at his impulsivity sprouted. As he contemplated swallowing his pride and turning back to the tavern, a preternatural cry sounded on the moor.
The ground shook, heralding a beast rising out of the fog.
Jonah wouldnât have dared called the creature a horse; that was far too earthly a comparison. It sped toward him as if it had escaped straight from the ninth circle of hell.
Unholy thoughts clouded his brain. Unholier curses tumbled from his lips. He was pleased to discover the passage of time and years of service in Her Majestyâs Church had not scrubbed them from his memory.
The shriek of the wind rose over the roar of approaching hooves. This was the exact reason Jonah avoided Gothic novels like vermin; he preferred interacting with the supernatural in the controlled boundaries of the King James Bible.
Through the sheets of rain, he spotted a slight figure mounted on top of the enormous steed. Was the rider attempting to bring the monster under control? Or did he urge it on, hoping he might flatten a weary traveler to the ground?
A shrill cry sounded from the rider. Was it a warning? An apology? A prayer?
âMOVE OUT OF THE BLEEDING WAY, YOU DAFT FOOL!â
With a screeching whinny, the beast reared up before him, a black wall of menacing horseflesh. As lightning flashed around them, Jonah braced his arms over his head and curled himself into a protective crouch, precisely as the hell-beast tossed its rider from the saddle.
A moment of raw stillness followed.
The rain relented, revealing where the rider lay motionless on the path.
Jonah staggered across the short distance toward the body. With a deep breath and a short prayer, he kneeled down to examine the fallen man.
The crash of two thick skulls meeting each other upended his balance. He slipped on the drenched ground, falling on top of the rider, who protested wildly by snarling in a manner more feral than a quayside cat. The body entwined with his was as scrappy and slim as one. He had to be a young lad.
âGet off of me!â
âIâm trying!â Jonah protested as they tussled in the mud. Muck worked its way beneath the collar heâd starched himself, to make a good impression for the toffs whoâd forgotten him. The potential embarrassment heâd face if he ever arrived at his destination burned energy into his limbs.
An instinct he thought heâd long retired kicked in and he rolled, quickly pinning the riderâs shoulders by pressing his own weight into the ladâs chest.
And therein, he discovered a very distinct set of curves that most decidedly did not belong to a young man.
The body beneath him hissed.
Jonah scrambled away and staggered to his feet. With his last remaining ounce of sense, he extended his hand to the rider.
The woman heâd just groped in the darkness.
âMy humblest apologies. Are you hurt?â
Ignoring his attempt at civility, she rose without touching him and hastily pulled her drenched scarf closer to her face. In the darkness, he couldnât distinguish any of her features, only a dark spark somewhere in the vicinity of her eyes. An alluring scent of citrus permeated the space between them.
âYou are lucky to be alive, you absolute lob.â
Her voice was gruff and a little breathless, but the insult didnât sting him. Heâd been called much worse.
âMy sincere apologies. As you may have deciphered, Iâm spectacularly lost,â Jonah confessed, hoping the rider might appreciate such honesty.
Her corresponding silence implied she did not.
With a swish of a cape, she swirled past him and gathered the horseâs reins. At the soothing brush of its masterâs hand, the stallion quieted.
Jonah debated offering to help her mount, but by the time he untied his tongue, she was already swinging up into the saddle. Once seated, she paused as if she was evaluating him. Intensely. Impossible to tell in the dim light, but he sensed, rather than saw, she was quietly fuming.
He had a somewhat unhinged notion to ask her to take him with her wherever she was headed, so that neither of them would have to face the night alone.
âI regret anyâŠinconvenience I may have caused you,â he said roughly. âIf youâd be kind enough to help me get my bearings, I will trouble you no longer.â
A lifetime passed before she replied, âWhere do you wish to go?â
âRavenglass Hall. Do you know it?â
âYes.â
âThere was supposed to be a carriage to meet the coach,â he explained. âBut it seems there was a misunderstanding with the directions I received from the estate steward.â
âWhat business have you with him?â
Cheeky of her to be so demanding of his private matters when she clearly had her own secrets to hide. He could not judge her for it. There were too many reasons why a woman might be dressed in such clothes and traveling in such haste by herself on a miserable night.
She was not the mystery he needed to solve. His own mission would fail if he remained stranded in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, lost and sopping and, now that he thought of it, starving.
âIâm Reverend Jonah Sinclair. The Bishop of London has sent me to tutor the Earl of Rochfordâs ward.â
He couldnât determine if the snort came from the horse or its rider, or if it was merely the gusts rising again as the rain pounded.
A hazy limb extended toward the village. âReturn to the Saltcoat and follow the post road east for another mile.â
Glancing at the direction she pointed toward, he loosened a sigh of relief before turning back to thank her.
But sheâd already vanished into the darkened lane.
The debut publication from Texan-based author Lille Moore, Keeping the Countess blends the best of multiple writing genres, Historical Fiction, Romance with a strong thread of Mystery weaving the story altogether.
Set in Cumbria (England) in 1878, the story is very reminiscent to that of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, with a switch in gender for the leading roles. When the Rochford estate faces financial jeopardy on account of the vices of Lord Rochford, Lady Faith Rochford steps in to try and save the future of the estate by securing tuition for the Lord's sole legitimate son, Adam. The seemingly pious Reverend Jonah Sinclair was not her first choice of teacher, but with money in limited supply and a child who is intended for the hights of higher education, Jonah will have to do.
It is not just the human owners who have their cracks. Despite first appearances Jonah's new home, the once grand Ravenglass Hall, is harbouring many secrets of its own. While teaching the young heir, Jonah is also embarking on a secret quest of his own, to track down the person who murdered his father and bring them to justice. As Faith and Jonah find themselves drifting closer and closer together, it would seem their forbidden love is not the only secret at risk of breaking free.
This 331 page novel centres around its two protagonists, their blossoming relationship and Jonah's quest to find answers to his father's murder. This hits all the beats of a classic nineteenth century gothic novel, complete with its characters who all have their faults and chips on their shoulder. This sits nicely along the dramatic scene setting and the moody climate of Cumbria.
As far as storylines go, Keeping the Countess personally feels a bit too close to Jane Eyre. The idea of forbidden love between an upper-class Lady and a lower-class figure being brought in to educate the child of said faulted aristocracy (who also live in a crumbling estate) is not a particularly new idea, be it a gender-switch. While the mystery subplot provides interest and intrigue, the originally can feel a little overshadowed at times.
As a piece of historical romance, Keeping the Countess ticks many boxes of a successful publication. The writing is of a strong standard and the cover attractively designed for the story and audience it is targeting. Given this is currently listed online as book 1 of the "Damsels in Disguise" series, it will be very interesting to see where Moore goes next with her writing career.
AEB Reviews