Ada & The Earl (The Woodhouse Series #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

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*St. Andrew's, Scotland*

I had difficulty biting my tongue.

I never knew when to stop, never knew when to stop talking. And because of this defect, I was homeless, hence why I was sleeping in a hostel.

Emerson is going to be so angry.

I stared at the ceiling - a glow from the street lamps lighting up the room as rowdy men and drunkards sang tales in an incomprehensible accent.

How did I go from a warm fireplace crackling, the only sounds outside the windows of nighttime nature and the peace of the building to this?

Well...I know how, but still.

I recalled packing my bags and hurrying out of my room, throwing my wool coat to keep me warm because Scotland was known for many things and warm weather was not one of them, even in June.

I avoided everyone, especially the girls. Saying goodbye to them would've been heartbreaking because they always brought happiness and light on the dark days.

They were so beautiful, unique and lovely in their way. Each had amazing qualities and I not only gave them the encouragement they needed when no one else would, but also gave them new skills to learn and treasure, nurturing their curiosity to learn more.

That was part of the reason why I was now lying here in a run-down room.

I mean, I did also call the headmistress a 'bleddy tuss' and then she kicked me out, but in my defence, I was furious for being reprimanded once again, just for being myself. Let's just say my unorthodox nature didn't settle well with the traditionalist school's values.

So here I was, lying in this godforsaken place, contemplating my next move. There were two places I could go - London, where Emerson, Charlotte, Theodore and Florence were. Or, Porthleven in Cornwall, where I was born and raised and became who I am.

Both were appealing prospects but I wasn't really in the mood to deal with either Emerson's tirades or Theodore's sarcasm over the entire situation. I already knew it was dire - I didn't need their input.

So, Cornwall, it was.

Cornwall was home to me in every shape and form. While Scotland was beautiful, nothing could compare to the beauty of the Cornish coast and countryside.

I grew up at Woodhouse Manor, built by my paternal ancestors when they were first created, Viscounts of Porthleven around 300 years ago. My family earned our fortune in mines and seafaring and they decided they needed a home that reflected their new titles and privileges and what better way than to build a beautiful white and grey stone estate on the cliffs of Porthleven?

However, I was not born in that fantastical place with its grey stone, stained glass windows and towers and turrets, rather I was born and spent the first few years of my life at a cottage on the manor's land - Lavender Lane Cottage. Its name came from the lavender fields that surrounded it - seas of purple and lilac, swaying in the Cornish breeze.

My parents, Edward and Violet didn't go about things the right way - for starters, he was married, but not to her.

Being illegitimate was a scarlet letter on both my mother and me. I know she did what she could to shield me from the torment of the villagers and others of the middle and upper class, but it wasn't enough. While my parents' subsequent wedding when I was five did legitimise me, the damage was already done. My father's first wife, Caroline, wasn't exactly the nicest person, at least that was what I was told by the manor staff, which is why when she died suddenly, all the blame fell on my mother (even though she had been poorly for a while). My parents' quick wedding after the funeral didn't help things at all.