Greetings were quickly exchanged before glasses of champagne were procured for them from a passing servant. Lavinia sipped the liquid, feeling the bubbles rise into her nose. She had only ever had one glass of champagne before, and still wasn’t sure that she liked it.
“I will leave you young ones alone,” declared Lady Hamilton. “I might sit down with the other older ladies. I think I saw Lady Colborne and Mrs Browning.” She swept off determinedly into the crowd, gripping her champagne glass tightly.
Beatrice turned to Lavinia. “You have grown up so much, cousin! You are quite the young lady now. Is this your first London season?”
Lavinia nodded. “Indeed it is, Bea. I must declare, I am a little nervous …”
Beatrice smiled indulgently. “I remember what my first season was like! Do not worry, cousin. It will all become familiar, after a while.” She sipped her champagne, staring hard into the crowd. “This is my third, and my dear mother declares that if I do not find a match this season, she does not know what she shall do with me!”
“How is our aunt?” asked Sophie.
Beatrice sighed. “Her smelling salts have become her constant companion, and she can no longer attend social functions like this. Papa thinks she is suffering from a nervous affliction …”
“She is suffering from a nervous affliction,” declared Freddie tightly. “There is no debating that, sister. She has turned into a hysterical old woman.”
Lavinia gazed at her cousin, feeling a stab of dislike. He seemed so dismissive of his own mother. Poor Aunt Catherine couldn’t help it if she was ailing, could she? She had always been a slightly nervous woman, constantly fretting over her children, declaring that mere childhood sniffles were consumption.
“And India?” asked Sophie, pointedly ignoring Freddie’s comment. “Is she here tonight?”
“She is,” said Beatrice, a sour note in her voice. “You will find India on the dance floor. She has already been swept away by a crowd of eager suitors.”
There was a strained silence. Lavinia remembered that Bea had always been jealous of her older sibling, who was far prettier and more popular than her. But India was also shallow and frivolous, with a vacuous mind. Lavinia secretly preferred bookish, plain Bea to her older sister.
“Come on,” said Sophie, gripping her sister’s arm excitedly. “I see some people I know over there. I will introduce you, Liv.” She turned to their cousins. “If you will excuse us?”
The siblings nodded graciously, and the next minute, Lavinia was being dragged through the crowd by her sister. She felt so stiff and awkward in her gown; she could barely walk, and the crowd was pressing in on her, making it difficult to even breathe. They had only been at the ball a short time, and already she wanted to go home.
Sophie pulled up in front of a group of five people, who were sipping champagne with bored expressions on their faces. Lavinia’s heart hammered in her chest. They were obviously very highly placed, judging by the opulence of their dress.
The little confidence she had punctured suddenly like a bubble popping. She looked like a country bumpkin by comparison. How on earth could she hope to hold her own in such a fashionable crowd?
Introductions were made, but Lavinia was so nervous she forgot their names as swiftly as they were told to her. Lord something, and Lady something else … it was all so confusing. She stood awkwardly on the edge of the group, as Sophie conversed easily with them, staring around at the crowd fanning out around her.
She took a deep breath. Everyone here was so very fashionable. The ladies were dressed in elaborate headdresses, and diamonds sparkled around their necks. The gentlemen were all richly attired, as well. But none of them looked like they were having a particularly good time. They all wore glazed expressions on their faces, critically studying each other.
Suddenly, her gaze was arrested by a tall man, standing on the edge of the crowd. He had golden red hair, curling in a slightly long dishevelled manner, and sideburns drawing down his face, ending right at the edge of his squarish jawline.
He was laughing uproariously at something a man beside him was saying, his green eyes sparkling with delight. His laugh was obviously infectious because his companion suddenly started howling, too. People around them stared at the pair a little distastefully.
Lavinia kept staring at him, feeling somehow that she couldn’t look away. It was so refreshing, seeing two people enjoying themselves, not caring a whit what anyone around them thought. The men were obviously commoners, judging by their dress. Their clothing stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rich attire around them.
The man with the golden red curls, she thought, completely distracted. He is so very handsome, and so unaffected.
The man turned, suddenly gazing at her, straight in the eye. Lavinia gasped. She knew she had been caught in her frank appraisal of him. But his face didn’t turn cold. Instead, a wide smile spread over his face, as his eyes flickered over her, in blatant appreciation.
Her face reddened. Quickly, she turned away, her heart beating hard. At that moment, she felt Sophie gripping her, pulling her away from her friends, so that they could talk privately.
“I saw you gazing at that young man,” whispered her sister into her ear. “You can do better, Liv. He is obviously a commoner, judging by his appearance. Do not let your head be turned by the first handsome face you see in the crowd whose eyes light up at a pretty face.”
Lavinia stiffened. “Sophie, I barely recognise you when you talk in such a way,” she whispered back, fiercely. “When did you become such a snob?”
Her sister flinched slightly. Lavinia regretted the words, as soon as they had come out of her mouth. Her sister looked so hurt, it was impossible to stay irritated at her.
Besides, she knew that it wasn’t true. Sophie wasn’t a snob; she conversed the same with everyone and didn’t put on airs and graces. She was simply trying to remind her that they should be aspiring to society’s highest standards, according to their own position. For Sophie, it was as clear cut as that.
“I am sorry you feel that way,” whispered her sister, looking wounded. “You are just so young, and new to all of this … you can do better than a commoner, Liv. You are so beautiful, and intelligent, and come from a good family – it is your duty, your lot in life, to do everything that you can to advance our family’s position. I do not want your head to be turned by the first handsome face that you see, regardless of who owns that face.”
Lavinia stroked her sister’s arm. “I know, Sophie. I know how you feel about it. You have told me, many times.” She hesitated. “I am sorry I hurt you, by calling you a snob. My words were rash. You know how much I admire and love you.”
Sophie’s eyes shone with sudden tears.
“And I love you,” she whispered tremulously. “You are my little sister, and it is my duty to protect you, and advise you, to the best of my capacity …”
Lavinia smiled wryly. “Looking at a handsome young man hardly constitutes marrying him, sister.”
Sophie had the grace to laugh. “I know that it doesn’t, silly,” she whispered. “But I know you. I can see that you are taken with him. I just want you to be careful and prudent, that is all.”
Lavinia sighed. “Of course. I promise that I shall do my best. Are you satisfied?”
Sophie nodded. Before she could say anything else, one of her friends suddenly started speaking to her, and she was swept away again.
Lavinia sighed deeply. None of her sister’s grand friends seemed inclined to talk to her at all. She stood awkwardly for a moment, staring down at the polished marble floor, before her eyes were drawn irresistibly through the crowd, seeking out the laughing, handsome man once again.
Her heart dropped. He wasn’t standing there any longer. He and his friend had moved on. She felt suddenly bereft as if her only friend had left her all alone in a savage, strange place.
She blinked back tears. She was being so stupid. She didn’t even know the man! Just beca
use he was the first person she had seen here, at this formal ball, that seemed like he was actually having a good time, didn’t mean that he was in any way a good person. He might be a handsome, vacuous fool, for all that she knew.
She bit her lip. Somehow, some deep instinct told her that he wasn’t, though.
“I say,” said a voice, at her elbow. “You and your sister look very alike, don’t you?”
Lavinia jumped, turning around. One of her sister’s mincing friends was actually addressing her. A man, of small stature, with closely cropped, slightly oily dark hair. He had a large, bulbous nose and thin lips. She shuddered slightly. He wasn’t handsome at all, and he smelt like rolling tobacco.
She plastered a smile onto her face, desperately trying to remember his name. Lord Fitzwilliam? Or had it been Fitzroy?
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, his eyes drifting over her lazily. “Is this your first season? You seem fresher than a newborn lamb.”
Lavinia shuddered again. She took a deep breath.
“I am sorry, My Lord,” she said slowly. “I was distracted by all the wonders of the ball! And to answer your question – yes, my sister and I have often been told we are very alike, in our looks as well as our manners.”
The man nodded, clearly bored with her. “Well, have a good evening, Miss Beaumont.” He nodded again, turning his back to her.
Lavinia let out a silent sigh of relief. She didn’t even care that he had been intolerably rude, as long as he wasn’t speaking to her. She would rather stand here, aloof, than speak to any of these people, who her sister believed were so very fine.
High society. The crème de la crème. Sophie was aspiring to marry one of them, believing a title and wealth could make up for a lack of charm and bad manners. Not to mention that they were so unanimated they might be mistaken for corpses.
Lavinia smiled slowly. She knew that she was grouping them all unfairly; there were surely some good eggs in the basket. But nothing that she had seen here tonight was convincing her that her sister’s aspirations should become her own. If anything, her resolve was hardening, by the second.
Chapter 4
Lavinia was just about to tap on Sophie’s arm, begging her to go somewhere else in the assembly, when a large man approached her sister, bowing low.
“Miss Beaumont,” he breathed, his eyes travelling over Sophie appreciatively. “I thought that it was you …”
Sophie’s eyes widened dramatically. “Lord Fortescue,” she squeaked, curtseying low. “It has been such a long time!”
The man smiled, his cheeks dimpling. “It has, Miss Beaumont. I must say, seeing you here, it is like a breath of fresh air has suddenly swept through the room …”
Lavinia stood awkwardly to the side, trying to repress a wave of irritation. Now Sophie would be caught up in conversation with this man, and it would be another ten minutes at least before she could ask her to leave this area.
Her eyes flickered over the man. Lord Fortescue, her sister had said. He was older, much older, than her sister; judging by his greying sandy hair, and the crinkles around his eyes, he would have to be in his thirties or early forties. And yet he was gawking at Sophie, clearly smitten. Lavinia was almost waiting for him to drool.
She suddenly felt a stab of pity for Sophie. To think that her beautiful young sister was so desperate for status and wealth in a husband that she would indulge in a flirtation with a man so much older than herself. It was almost … sad.
“Oh, I am being rude,” said Sophie quickly, turning to Lavinia. “Lord Fortescue, may I introduce my younger sister, Miss Lavinia Beaumont.”
The man bowed, and Lavinia curtseyed.
The man was gazing at her steadily. “Miss Beaumont. I take it this is your first London season?”
Lavinia nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. “It is, My Lord.”
“And are you enjoying the Ball?”
“It is … interesting,” said Lavinia.
The man nodded, but his eyes were flickering back to Sophie. He clearly didn’t want to be talking to the younger sister of the lady he obviously greatly admired.
“Miss Beaumont, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?” He gazed at Sophie appealingly.
Sophie’s dark eyes lit up. “It would be my pleasure, My Lord!”
She turned to Lavinia, whispering to her behind her fan. “You should go and find Bea and Freddie again,” she said quickly. “It is better than standing here by yourself, looking so forlorn.”
Lavinia nodded, feeling bereft again. She didn’t want her sister to leave her, but there was nothing she could do about it.
“Of course,” she whispered back. “Enjoy yourself.”
Sophie smiled flirtatiously. “I intend to, sister.”
Sophie took Lord Fortescue’s outstretched arm, and they drifted off through the crowd, towards the dance floor.
For a moment, Lavinia watched them, until the crowd seemed to swallow them up entirely. She exhaled deeply. Sophie was right, of course. She couldn’t just stand here, on the edge of this group, looking like a third wheel. Her cousins weren’t her favourite people in the world, but conversing with Bea and Freddie would be better than nothing.
She started pushing her way through the crowd, heading back towards the food table. But the crowd had intensified; she could barely force her way through it. It took all her willpower not to start elbowing rudely. No one was taking even the slightest notice of her; a lady even stepped on her right foot, bringing tears to her eyes.
She stopped, suddenly. She could see the food table in the distance, but it seemed so very far away. She felt that she had to cross the Sahara Desert to get there. And there were so many people milling about it that she couldn’t spot her cousins at all.
Her heart dropped. Had they gone somewhere else?
In a panic, she stepped back abruptly, colliding with a person behind her. She whipped around, heart beating frantically, to apologise.
The words died on her lips. She was staring straight into the face of the handsome man with the golden red curls.
She was only inches away from his face. Up close, she could see that his long sideburns were more golden than red. His nose was aquiline, and he had deep set green eyes, with long golden lashes. Slowly, he smiled, exposing a row of perfect white teeth.
Lavinia gasped, stepping back quickly as if she had been scalded. He was even handsomer up close … if that were indeed possible.
“I am so sorry,” he said, staring at her, wide-eyed. “Will you ever forgive my clumsiness?”
Lavinia gaped at him, reddening. Why was he apologising to her? She had been the one at fault, after all.
“That is fine,” she said, confused. “Perfectly fine …”
“No, it is terrible,” he declared, knocking a hand against his forehead. “I am so clumsy! To think that I could have hurt you …”
Lavinia’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment. All her speech seemed to have deserted her in this strange moment.
The man smiled abruptly, bowing. “I am Samuel Hunter,” he said slowly, fixing her with his magnetic green eyes.
Suddenly, the man who he had been conversing with when she had first seen him appeared by his side, gazing at him expectantly, before following his friend’s line of vision to Lavinia.
The man smiled slowly. Lavinia couldn’t help herself – she smiled back. His friend was slightly smaller in stature, with closely cropped dark hair and clear navy-blue eyes. Handsome, in a less showy way, she supposed. Samuel Hunter’s looks were almost resplendent; he would probably overshadow anyone.
Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3