“Morning!”
The voice at his side made him jump. He whirled around in his chair. Walter was standing there, grinning at him. His dark hair was still wet from his morning ablutions.
“Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
Walter sat down, opposite, running his hands through his hair. “I cannot say that I did, my friend. The mattress was lumpy, and I swear there was a rat in the room, scurrying beneath the bed.” His grin widened. “Ah, the joys of lodgings on the East Side!”
Samuel laughed. They had both agreed that they should procure lodgings away from the fashionable districts of London. There was less chance of discovery, and moreover, it was an adventure. One that he was enjoying immensely – rats or no rats.
Walter had heard about the Peacock, assuring him that it did decent food, at least. His stomach grumbled. He was looking forward to his meal. Maybe he should have ordered the full breakfast. He suddenly felt like he could eat a horse.
“You are looking rather pleased with yourself, old chap,” said Walter, studying him intently.
Samuel looked sheepish. “Yes, well, what is there to complain about? Apart from the rats, of course.” They both laughed. “But seriously, I cannot stop thinking about her, Walter.”
Walter raised his eyebrows. “You mean the dark-haired beauty you danced with at the ball last night? Lavinia?”
Samuel nodded. Even hearing her name spoken aloud caused a shiver to run down his spine.
“She is smart, as well as beautiful,” he said slowly, his eyes aglow. “Well read, and sharp as a tack.” He sighed. “And there is just something else about her that I cannot pin down. An effervescent quality, which simply radiates from her …”
“Steady on, old fellow,” laughed Walter, gazing at him in amazement. “You only met her briefly, after all!”
They were interrupted by Polly, the serving girl, delivering Samuel’s breakfast of fried fish. She turned to Walter. “Morning. Will you be havin’ the same, or the full breakfast?”
Walter grinned. “The full breakfast for me, please.”
Polly nodded. “Coming right up.”
After she had gone, Walter turned back to Samuel, gazing at him curiously, as he picked up his knife and fork, attacking the kipper with gusto. Samuel could feel his eyes upon him.
“Do you want some fish?” he asked as he shovelled it into his mouth.
Walter laughed. “It’s all yours, old chap.” He hesitated. “Are you really as taken with Miss Beaumont as you seem to be? I’ve never seen you gush about a woman like this before.”
Samuel swallowed carefully before replying, “I am really taken with her, my friend. I feel like a bolt of lightning has just struck me from the heavens.”
Walter laughed. “I think that you should keep your options open,” he said. “You shouldn’t get overwhelmed. Just because Miss Beaumont is the first lady to treat you like a human being, and not just a chance at an advantageous marriage, doesn’t mean you should bend the knee immediately.”
Samuel laughed, too. “I know; I sound like a lovesick fool, do I not?” He paused. “It was just so unexpected, I suppose. Seeing her like that. It was as if a light was shining down on her, picking her out of the crowd, from the sky …”
Walter rolled his eyes. “You do sound like a lovesick fool.” He paused. “There are plenty of events to go in this season, Samuel. You should not limit yourself, and take advantage of your cover as a commoner, while it lasts.”
Samuel finished his meal, pushing the plate away. Perhaps Walter was right. Perhaps he was getting slightly carried away. The Duke of Hamilton’s Ball was only the first event they had attended since they had arrived in London, after all. There was still a whole season of activities, lots of opportunities to meet other beautiful young ladies and enjoy his masquerade as a commoner to the fullest.
“I should pull back a little, shouldn’t I?” he asked his friend.
Walter nodded. “I think the freedom has gone to your head a bit, old chap. Miss Beaumont was indeed lovely, but there are many more fish in the sea. And you do not know if you will run into her again, in any case. You did not make any private arrangements to call on her, did you?”
Samuel shook his head slowly. It was something that he had regretted, after she had left the ball with her sister, but it had all happened so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance.
The appearance of Miss Sophia Beaumont had changed everything. He had been anticipating spending the entire evening by her side, but suddenly, she had turned into Cinderella, almost running away from him.
Now, he acknowledged that it was probably a good thing that he hadn’t acted rashly, asking to call on her. He had already acted outside the bounds of convention in introducing himself to her. Maybe the freedom of his masquerade had gone to his head, emboldening him, causing him to become too reckless.
“I will temper my enthusiasm,” he said slowly, staring at his friend. “You are right. There is a whole season to go, and I do want to enjoy my cover to the utmost.”
Walter nodded. “That’s the spirit, old chap. We are on an adventure, after all. Let’s live it up.”
At that moment, Walter’s breakfast arrived. He dove into it with alacrity, seeming to forget that Samuel was there at all.
“I might take a walk along the river,” he said. “I will be back in time for us to plan our next move.”
As he left the tavern, a sudden wave of sadness overtook him. Gritting his teeth, he ignored it, setting off towards the Thames.
***
Samuel put his hands into his pockets, shivering slightly. The wind had picked up, along the river, and the coat he was wearing was not much protection from it.
For a moment, he longed for his regular black one, fur lined, from an exclusive tailor on Bond Street. But then, he remembered that Mr Samuel Hunter, middle-class landowner from Somerset, would not have the means to wear such an item. This thin coat was all that Mr Hunter would surely be able to afford.
He kept walking resolutely, passing by fishmongers’ stalls. The stall owners called out their wares in singsong voices, advertising cockles, mackerel, and eels, amongst other things. The local population were perusing the stalls, selecting the freshest of the catch, before depositing their selection into baskets, tightly wrapped in brown paper.
Once again, he was amazed at the hubbub of activity, the whole other world that existed along the banks of this river, that he had never been aware of. The common folk, going about their daily business, the same way that they had probably done for centuries.
And now, he was one of them. For a little while, at least.
He smiled to himself. He knew he was being slightly dramatic. Mr Samuel Hunter was not quite a fishmonger; he could still attend fashionable events, after all. But this unexpected foray into the other side of life in the city was still an eye-opener, and he doubted that when he eventually did become the Viscount Pemberton again, that it would ever be in the same way.
He had lived in a bubble of privilege, cosseted and protected. He didn’t blame himself for that. That was how it had always been. His own father had probably never come to these docks, either, and seen how the common folk lived. His father would probably turn over in his grave to see him walking here, in such reduced circumstances, with no protection from the brutal realities of life.
He could be robbed or accosted. Anything could happen to him, here. He was no longer the Viscount Pemberton. He was merely one of the masses, walking the streets.
Strangely, he didn’t feel vulnerable. That expansive sense of freedom was still tantalising him.
He veered left, away from the stalls, until he was walking close to the river. Suddenly, the vision of Lavinia Beaumont leapt into his mind again. Beautiful Lavinia, in her expensive gown and jewellery. What would she think if she could see him here? She wasn’t from this world, either.
He had heard of her father, Lord Beaumont, but he had never met him. A baron, of decent wealth
. A good man, apparently. Lavinia would never have wanted for anything in life.
She is different, he thought suddenly. She is different from all the others. I just know it.
He sighed deeply, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. He had promised Walter that he would not focus on her; that he would be open to meeting other young ladies. But suddenly, he wondered if he could keep that promise, at all.
Chapter 8
Lavinia stared out the carriage window as the streets of London rolled by. She hadn’t wanted to go out this evening; she had begged and pleaded to be excused from this social engagement. A grand dinner, at Lord Egerton’s estate, where she would be forced to make stilted conversation with the same kind of boring, mincing nobles that she had so disliked the previous evening at the Duke of Hamilton’s Ball.
However, Mama hadn’t bought any of her excuses. She had pleaded weariness, and a headache, but Lady Beaumont had been firm.
“We are in London so that you and your sister can socialise,” she had said crisply. “You shall never meet your husband if you stay inside and complain about your various ailments, Lavinia! Are you eighteen, or are you one and eighty?”
She had stood passively, as inanimate as a wooden doll, as Franny had dressed her in yet another of the new gowns they had purchased for the season. Sophie was excited, of course, anticipating the various boring noblemen she would encounter, but this evening, she had not become infected by her sister’s excitement. She felt strangely dried out and hollow like a husk.
She sighed deeply as she kept staring out the window, watching the street sellers packing up their stalls for the day, as the carriage rattled by. She felt somehow as if she were watching life from a distance; that this was indeed the real world, that existed outside of her own.
Wasn’t the life of the nobility like living in a bubble? It had its own petty rules and regulations that had nothing to do with how the majority of people lived their lives.
“You are pensive this evening, dearest,” said Sophie, interrupting her reverie.
Lavinia turned to her sister. Sophie looked radiant tonight, in a maroon silk gown, embossed with tiny flowers. The colour suited her, bringing out the rosiness in her cheeks, and the sparkle in her flashing dark eyes.
Lavinia sighed again. “It will be hard … making small talk with people that I do not know, and do not like …”
Sophie frowned slightly. “How do you know that you do not like them if you do not know them? You are not making much sense, Liv.” She paused. “And you will never be open to getting to know them and liking them, if you have that attitude, my dear.”
Lavinia mutinously stuck out her bottom lip. She knew she was being churlish and disagreeable, but she couldn’t seem to shake her reluctance in participating at this dinner party.
Before she had come to London, she had been excited about her upcoming first season. But the Duke’s Ball last night had given her a taste of what the rest of it would be like – endless, boring events, filled with vacuous, boring people, that seemed to stretch before her for an eternity.
The only bright light had been meeting Samuel Hunter. But he was a commoner, and she wasn’t allowed to entertain him, was she? She had to ignore him, if she ever met him again, because he wasn’t of her class. Because he supposedly wasn’t good enough for her, even though he was worth a hundred of any other gentlemen that she had so far encountered.
She felt sulky. It wasn’t fair. While she understood Sophie’s rationale up to a certain point and understood that her sister was only advising her in the conventional manner, still her heart protested. She simply couldn’t shake off her unexpected, alarming feelings about the man. They had been as strong this morning, when she had awoken, as they had been the night before. And they had not dissipated in the hours since.
The carriage was slowing down, pulling up beside a stately, grey stone house. A footman sprang forward, opening the carriage door. They all stepped out onto the pavement.
Lavinia took a deep breath. What did it matter, anyway? She would probably never see him again. She had to thwart these strange feelings before they took root. She had to try to behave appropriately, pretend to be charmed by everything that she encountered, for her family’s sake.
They stepped into the grand, opulent foyer.
“My, how lovely it is,” breathed Mama, openly gaping, staring up at the intricate cornices on the ceiling, embossed in gilt.
Her father, Lord Beaumont, smiled slightly. “Of course it is lovely, my dear. Lord Egerton is one of the wealthiest men in the whole realm.” He winked at his daughters. “He also has two eligible sons, girls. Around the same age that you are.”
Sophie nodded. “I have met them before, Papa.”
Lavinia didn’t say anything. She knew exactly what the sons of Lord Egerton would be like, and she had no desire to meet them, let alone play at letting them woo her.
Suddenly, she remembered the plays that were performed every year, on the village green, near their country estate. She felt just like those players. She mightn’t be recalling learned lines and actions, but she was not being herself, on any level, in this world.
She was an actor, and this dinner party was surely her stage.
***
Lavinia stiffened as they entered the richly furnished parlour. Sophie had told her that it was going to be a large dinner party, with over forty people in attendance, but the sight of so many fashionable people clustered together in the same room, laughing and chatting, was a little overwhelming.
Her vision seemed to blur, just a little, at the sight. The ladies’ gowns were a cacophony of colour. It took all her willpower not to turn on her heel and march straight back out of the room.
Sophie gripped her arm tighter, gazing down at her. “Are you quite well, dearest?”
Lavinia took a deep breath, plastering a dazzling smile onto her face. She had to make an effort. “Perfectly well, Sophie!”
She trembled inwardly. Their mother had already vanished into the crowd, seeking out Lady Egerton. Papa had disappeared somewhere else entirely, probably to discuss politics with the other older men. And she knew that it wouldn’t be long before Sophie spotted someone she knew and would do the same. She would be left alone circling this room like a swan on a lake.
But suddenly, the crowd seemed to clear a bit. She spotted a man, standing at the edge of the group, near a large window. He was sipping a glass of wine, gazing out at the street below, in an almost meditative way.
Her heart leapt wildly. It looked like Samuel Hunter.
As soon as the thought pierced her mind, he turned around. His eyes seemed to zero in on her like a hound focusing on a duck during a hunt. For a moment, he simply gazed at her, looking as astonished as she felt.
And then, he was striding across the room towards her. The crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea before him until he was standing right in front of her.
“Miss Lavinia Beaumont,” he said slowly, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Words cannot express my delight at seeing you again.”
Lavinia gazed up at him, so overwhelmed, she just couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She felt herself blushing; it seemed to rise from her neck, overtaking her face entirely. How could she have forgotten how handsome he was?
“Mr Hunter,” she said eventually. “I was not expecting to see you here …”
“Nor was I expecting to see you,” he said, his eyes roaming over her. They seemed to take in every minute detail of her face and figure. Her blush deepened.
Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 6