Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Falling for the Mysterious Viscount

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  BRIDGET BARTON

  Copyright © 2020 by Bridget Barton

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

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  Table of Contents

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  Falling for the Mysterious Viscount

  Introduction

  When Lavinia Beaumont, the second daughter of a privileged Baron, attends her first London season, her expectations are not high. Being rather spirited and bookish, high society bores and frustrates her. She believes that a man’s character is more important than his wealth, so when she meets a handsome commoner with refreshing ideas her heart will shiver for the first time. But what if this charming man is hiding something? Will Lavinia have the courage to accept the truth when it comes to surface?

  Samuel, an honorable Viscount, is tired of ladies chasing him just for his title and wealth and wishes to avoid this season at all cost. When the time comes, he and his friend concoct a marvelous plan: Samuel will disguise himself as a commoner, and find out who likes him for his character and not for his title. His plan will change unexpectedly when he meets a beautiful lady, who disdains nobility… Does he have any chance to change her mind and win her heart, without revealing who he truly is?

  Samuel knows that he is playing with fire, with the beautiful and opinionated Miss Lavinia Beaumont. But as the stakes are raised, and the deception deepens, they must face the truth about themselves or risk losing any chance of love or happiness. Can they find a way to finally resolve their differences and eventually reveal themselves, as they truly are?

  Chapter 1

  London, the start of the season, 1816

  “Girls! Please settle down. You are both as skittish as foals in a stable.”

  The woman’s voice was commanding, as she stared at her two daughters, giggling together and poking each other in the ribs as they sat side by side on the drawing room settee. Lavinia Beaumont, the younger daughter of a baron, gazed up at her mother, trying to suppress her hilarity.

  “Sorry, Mama,” she breathed, steadfastly trying not to look at her sister. She knew that if she turned her head even half an inch, and looked at Sophia, she would start to laugh again. She couldn’t even remember anymore why they had become hysterical, but then, it was often the way with her older sister. They could spend hours in stitches over the slightest thing. It drove their mother batty.

  Lady Beaumont’s face was severe. She drew a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full, imposing height. “Yes. Well. I rather think you two are too old for such hi jinks now,” she said slowly. “You are both young ladies, do not forget. Not girls anymore. And you, Lavinia, are about to commence your first London season. We cannot have you giggling away like a silly maid at all the important social events we will be taking you to …”

  Lavinia smiled. “Of course, Mama! I shall be mindful.” She glanced at her older sister. “But it is not only me, after all. It was Sophie who started it …”

  Her sister looked outraged, punching her on the arm. “Liar! It was you, Liv, who said the new maid reminded you of a duck, and that you would not be surprised if she quacked instead of spoke …”

  At the reminder of what had sparked their hilarity, Lavinia clutched her stomach, heaving with laughter again. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Oh, but she does, doesn’t she? Lips so full I declare they look like a beak …”

  “Girls!” Lady Beaumont’s voice was sharp. Her ample bosom wobbled dramatically. “Enough! You are starting again! We have only just arrived in London, and we must practise being polite and sedate, as proper young ladies should.”

  Lavinia shuddered, trying to suppress the laughter again, but it almost tickled under her nose, like a feather. Desperately, she got up, approaching the window, staring down at the city scene below.

  London, she thought, as a stab of excitement pierced her chest. She saw fashionable gentlemen and ladies parading down the street, almost meandering, as if they had all the time in the world. Her eyes widened, as she took in the cut and style of the ladies’ gowns. They were so beautiful. She simply didn’t know how she and Sophie were going to compete with them.

  She inhaled deeply. They had only arrived this morning at their grand London townhouse, travelling from their country home in the Cotswolds. It wasn’t very far away, but they might as well have crossed oceans, for the difference. Jonty Hall, their ancestral home, was located in a sleepy hamlet, where the most exciting thing that happened was the arrival of the mail. Local dances only happened every few months and were dull affairs, anyway.

  Lavinia felt another stab of excitement. This was going to be her very first London season!

  She glanced back at Sophie, who was still sitting on the settee, smoothing out the creases in her gown. Her sister’s mouth twitched slightly, but she was trying very hard to regain composure. Lavinia knew she was as excited to be out of the country as she was.

  “Now,” said her mother, glancing at a list on her lap, adjusting her spectacles, “one of the very first events of the season is at the Earl of Hamilton’s estate, near Whitechapel.” She took off the spectacles, gazing at her eldest daughter. “There should be quite a large pool of eligible young bachelors there, my dear.”

  Sophie nodded gravely. “Indeed, Mama! The Earl of Hamilton always invites the crème de la crème of society. I think that there shall be a wide range of titled, rich young men to choose from …”

  Lavinia’s lip curled slightly. She and her sister were of a like mind in most things, such as music, literature, and art, but she could never understand her sister’s cold bloodedness about marriage. Sophie truly believed that they both had to marry well, in accordance with their status as daughters of a baron, and that any potential suitors simply had to be titled and rich, regardless of what they were like, on a personal level.

  Lavinia had tried to argue with her, many times, that it was a man’s character that was important, not their status or their wealth. But Sophie stubbornly refused to acknowledge any such thing. She claimed that it was their duty, no less.

  She exhaled dramatically, frowning. She simply wouldn’t listen to them if they continued to speak in such a manner. She turned back to the window. She would look out at the world and watch the birds in the trees until the topic changed. It was so boring to her that it took all her will not to scream.

  They kept talking, in the same manner, listing this marquess and that lord, as if the gentlemen were horses they were considering betting on at Ascot. Lavinia tuned out. She was engrossed in the antics of a flower seller, who had just set up her stall across the road, when she heard her name being called, as if from very far away.

  “What?” she pouted, staring back at them.

  “Is your nose out
of joint, miss?” demanded her mother. “Why are you stubbornly refusing to join in the conversation? This is your first London season, daughter, and I would have thought you would be a trifle more enthusiastic!”

  Lavinia shrugged. She had been excited, until they had started their cold-blooded inventory of eligible bachelors.

  “You are ornery, sister,” said Sophie, frowning slightly. “You couldn’t wait to get to London, and now you are acting as if it is the biggest trial in the world to talk about the season ahead of us.”

  Lavinia sighed dramatically. “I was excited … until you both started on the infernal eligible bachelor list.” She paused, staring hard at her mother and sister.

  “The line up this season is superlative,” cried her mother, waving her list in the air. “It is sure to both entertain you, Lavinia, and introduce you to a wide variety of eligible gentlemen! You are sure to find one that you will like. I simply cannot see why you would be negative about it in any way, daughter.”

  Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Is there any time to eat and sleep in this tight schedule of being paraded in front of eligible gentlemen?”

  They both laughed. Sophie jumped up suddenly, striding towards her sister, her eyes glittering. She took Lavinia’s hands in her own, clutching them tightly.

  “Oh, Liv!” she gasped. “I am simply determined to find a suitable husband this year! This is my second season, and I have learnt much from my first … can you try to help me out in it, for my sake, if not your own? Pretty please?”

  Lavinia gazed steadily at her sister. She looked so ardent. Her honey brown eyes were still glittering fiercely. She is so pretty, she thought distractedly, her eyes drifting over her sister. And in the past year, Sophie’s beauty had blossomed further.

  Last season, she had been a little gawky still. But her sister had grown plumper in the succeeding year, fleshing out her once slender figure, developing womanly curves. They became her. And now, alongside her porcelain pale skin and silky nut-brown curls, Lavinia could truly see the beautiful woman her sister had become.

  Her heart softened. Sophie deserved a good husband. She only wished her sister’s parameters for what a good husband should be were different. But then, she guessed Sophie was no different to the majority of well to do young ladies, newly arrived in London for the season.

  It was she, Lavinia, who was the odd one out, it seemed.

  She sighed. “I will try … I guess.”

  Sophie clutched her hands tighter. “It will be so much fun, sister! I will guide you, through the fray.” She took a deep breath. “All the young ladies are competing, you see, angling for the best of the bunch. But I am aware of the status of many gentlemen, so I can warn you if a candidate is not worth the time or effort …”

  Lavinia’s smile tightened. “What if the candidate, as you put it, is a decent, worthy man in his own right? Must I cut him off, completely, as soon as I realise that he is not the lord of whatever? It seems so … superficial.”

  Sophie reddened. “I know that you think me a snob, Liv. But we have a duty to our parents to marry well.” She took a deep breath. “Hopefully, you will find both! A suitable gentleman, who is also considerate and polite …”

  Lavinia sighed deeply. Considerate and polite were not words she associated with a potential husband, at all. What about dashing, and handsome, and clever, instead? What about a man who made her belly laugh and talked intelligently about art and literature, sweeping her off her feet?

  Was she just a hopeless romantic? Was that her problem?

  She knew that her mother thought so, constantly telling her to get her head out of the clouds, and to stop reading romantic love poetry. Her mother claimed that romantic love was overrated, and rarely lasted, in any case. A lady had to be smart about her choices; secure her future.

  She stared at her sister. Sophie, despite looking like a Raphaelite angel, didn’t seem to have a romantic bone in her body. She was so pragmatic, it was sad. But still, she should try to accept her sister the way that she was, shouldn’t she?

  “Perhaps, dear sister,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I will get very lucky indeed and find a considerate and polite gentleman, who also happens to be suitable.” The words tasted dry, like ashes in her mouth.

  Sophie’s eyes lit up again. “You know who is rumoured to be on the circuit this year?” she breathed. “The Viscount Pemberton! He is supposedly extremely rich, but still young and handsome. The best of both worlds.” She paused. “I think that I shall set my cap at him if we encounter him. He would be more than suitable …”

  “We are rich enough,” said Lavinia, irritated, her resolve to bite her tongue and humour her sister dissolving into thin air again. “We are the daughters of a baron! We do not have to marry for wealth or privilege. What about love, Sophie?”

  Sophie blinked rapidly, her face neutral, but Lavinia could see she had hit a raw nerve. Her sister had turned down two perfectly good marriage proposals, during her first season, because she had been determined to make a more ideal match. And Lavinia knew that one of those proposals had been from a gentleman who Sophie had greatly admired.

  “If only he had a title,” she had said later, a little wistfully. “I would have accepted him in a heartbeat.”

  Had her sister been in love, even a little? By the tremulous look on Sophie’s face, Lavinia thought it more than likely. But she refused to talk about the jilted suitor at all. She had boxed up her heart, as if it were something distasteful, that she simply did not want to consider anymore.

  “Come along, girls,” intercepted their mother gently. “Let us not talk about such things. Shall I tell you what I have heard about the Viscount Pemberton?”

  Sophie turned to her mother eagerly, dropping her sister’s hands. The next minute, they were away, chattering like starlings.

  Lavinia tuned out again. She rather hoped that they didn’t encounter this Viscount Pemberton.

  She now knew all she ever wanted to know about that particular gentleman, and she could only imagine what a tiresome, entitled bore he would be.

  Chapter 2

  The sun was high in the sky, spreading golden rays over the woodlands, as the two men slowly made their way through the thick scrub.

  Samuel glanced at his companion, trudging alongside him. They both had their hunting rifles slung over their shoulders, but they weren’t planning any hunting. It had just been an excuse to leave the grand manor and spend some time in the great outdoors, so that they could talk alone, at long last.

  His mother had been breathing down their necks ever since Walter had arrived at Hillgate Manor this morning, and he could tell that his old friend was finding the attention a bit much.

  “Mother means well,” he said, breaking the silence. “She just doesn’t know when to back off, old fellow.”

  Walter grinned. “I know that, Sam. But I must say, if I had been forced to eat any more scones with her special fig jam, I might have screamed.”

  Samuel grinned too. “Her latest discovery. She gets it from a woman in the local village. You would think that she fermented herself, by the way she carries on about it.” He paused, slinging the rifle higher on his shoulder. “I think she is bored. There is only so much you can do this far out in the country. She misses her old life in London.”

  Walter nodded. “She never struck me as a country dowager, that is for sure.” He stared at his friend curiously. “And how is the new viscount enjoying country life in Nottinghamshire?”

  Samuel shrugged. “Adjusting, I guess, since poor Father’s sudden passing.” He blinked back tears. “You know that I never spent much time in London with them. I’ve always preferred leading a simple life out here …”

  Suddenly, his friend whipped his rifle off his shoulder, taking aim. Samuel looked quickly around. A large pheasant strode out into the clearing.

  “Put down the gun, Walter,” said Samuel slowly. “You know it isn’t hunting season.”