But how were they to know, when they had first decided to concoct this charade back in Nottinghamshire, that it would play out in quite the way that it was?
The elder Miss Beaumont was climbing into the carriage, now.
How could he tell his friend that his regard for Sophia Beaumont could not lead anywhere? That Sophia Beaumont might smile at him, and laugh with him, but she would never consider him a suitor. His friend wasn’t rich enough, nor was he titled. Lavinia had been adamant on the subject. Now that she was leaving, he was sure she would ignore Walter entirely. Out of sight, out of mind.
But just as the footman was about to close the door behind her, she glanced back, gazing straight at the two men standing in the doorway.
And then, something strange happened. To Samuel’s astonishment, she smiled and waved.
He heard Walter’s strangled gasp. His friend was waving back. The carriage pulled out into the street, gliding past them. He craned his neck, watching it.
For one brief, exquisite moment, he spotted Lavinia, sitting next to the window. A sliver of her dark hair, and the profile of her lovely face. At that second, she abruptly turned, facing him. And then, a slow, beatific smile spread over her face.
That smile seemed to pierce his heart. It seemed to pierce his very soul. Once again, the thought reared up at him, more urgent than the last time.
I must find a way to tell her before it is too late.
Because he knew, now. He knew that he could not let her go. He knew that he was hopelessly entangled, and he could not cut himself free of it if he tried.
He loved her.
The knowledge struck him like a fist to the stomach, almost making him keel over. It was true. He had finally found the woman that he had been searching for. He did not know how it had happened so swiftly; how his attraction for her had leapt from admiration to love, in so short a time. But it had happened, and now he must deal with it.
He had been handed a love potion, and he had drunk of it.
He had swallowed it freely, knowing that he was in no position to do so, given the circumstances. Given the fact that he had misrepresented himself and lied to her. He was still lying to her.
She had been handed the potion, too. Did she love him, in the same way? Was it possible?
Sweat broke out over his body. If she did drink of this potion, then it wasn’t through her own free will, at all. If she swallowed it, it was under false pretences. If she had ingested it, then she was falling in love with a different man entirely.
She was falling in love with a man who did not even exist.
And still, he could not let her go.
He took a deep, steadying breath. Perhaps everything could still be well. Perhaps he could kindle a love so strong within her that even when she discovered the truth about him, it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps that love could overcome anything … even deception.
***
Walter was unusually silent, as they headed back to the Peacock Tavern, rumbling through the wide streets of fashionable London. Samuel watched his friend with concern. It was unlike him to be meditative, at all.
They descended from the carriage, walking into the ramshackle inn. For a moment, Samuel was at a loss. His heart sank, just a little, as he watched the patrons at the bar and in the booths.
Whereas before he had been charmed by it, now all he could see was how rough and ready it was. A world away from the culture and art of fashionable London that he had just been a part of.
“A drink?” he asked, turning to Walter.
His friend sighed deeply. “Why not, my friend?”
Walter slid into a booth while Samuel ordered their drinks at the bar. Two ales, frothy and warm. When he returned with them, handing one to his friend, Walter barely looked up from his contemplation of the rough-hewn wooden table.
Samuel drank deeply, still feeling at a loss, as if everything that he had ever known was just an illusion.
“Are you melancholy, my friend?” he asked, putting down his drink, and staring at Walter intently across the table.
Walter glanced up at him. “I would not call it melancholy,” he said slowly. “I cannot claim that I am sad when I have just been in the company of such a glorious lady.” He paused. “But, then again, therein lies the problem.”
Samuel took another sip of his ale. “You are quite taken with Sophia Beaumont. I noticed it immediately …”
Walter smiled slightly. “Yes, she is lovely, and the more time that I spend in her company, I realise how charming and delightful she is.” He hesitated. “But she is the daughter of a baron, Samuel. A very highly placed baron, who is also wealthy beyond measure. Whereas I am just a solicitor’s assistant, from Somerset, with nothing to offer …”
A sharp stab of anger tore through Samuel at hearing his friend’s words. He was speaking the truth, of course, but suddenly the injustice of it irked him so fiercely, he could barely contain it.
“You might not have title or wealth,” he said, trying to suppress his anger, “but what you lack in that regard, you more than make up for in character. I have said it before, and I will say it again, Walter. You are one of nature’s true gentlemen.”
Walter smiled slightly. “You are a good friend, old chap. You are always going in to bat for me. And I know that my lack of prospects, and title, does not concern you in the slightest.” He paused, taking a deep slug of his drink before continuing, “But I am afraid you are unique, my friend. Our society does not think like you do, and any young lady of good background has been indoctrinated within it. I am simply not good marriage material, and that is the truth of it.”
Samuel’s anger dissipated sharply like a bubble suddenly popping. All that he was left with was sorrow.
He wanted to encourage Walter – to tell him not to give up, to keep pursuing Miss Beaumont if that was what he wanted to do. He wanted to tell him that his lack of title and wealth could be overcome, in such a situation, when it was obvious to all how attracted both parties were.
But how could he say such things when he knew that if Walter kept trying with Miss Beaumont, it was probably in vain? Lavinia had stated plainly how her sister thought about such things. She had rejected two marriage proposals already because they had not been advantageous. And she had been fond of one of the gentlemen who had proposed.
It didn’t bode well for Walter. Even though Sophia Beaumont obviously admired him, she would not marry him. She was searching for a titled, wealthy husband, and Walter did not fit the bill, at all.
He took a deep breath, thinking it through. He should discourage him; tell him that he needed to set his sights lower, look for a lady who was not so highly placed, who might accept him through love alone. That would be the kindest thing to do, in the circumstances. It would save his friend heartache now.
He was just about to say so, when something arrested his attention, just outside the tavern window.
It was a young man and woman, walking side by side, along the dock. They were both obviously of the lower classes – the man was dressed in labourer’s clothes, and the woman in the garb of a household servant.
They suddenly stopped, turning to each other. The young man took the woman’s hand, gently raising it to his lips. They gazed into each other’s eyes as if they were the only two people in the world. They were lost, drowning in each other.
Tears pricked suddenly behind Samuel’s eyes, as he watched the young lovers. They were poor, but it did not matter to them, at that moment. Love was love, and it blossomed and flourished, wherever there was life.
He turned back to Walter.
“Do you truly admire her?” he asked. “Do you truly think there is a deep connection between you and Miss Beaumont?”
“Yes, I do …”
“Then you must try, in every way that you can,” insisted Samuel, quickly. “She might reject you. She might tell you that it is not possible.” His eyes were fierce. “But it is worth it, Walter. The pursuit of love is worth everything.�
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His heart flipped over in his chest as he thought of his own secret love.
Lavinia.
He took a deep breath. The barriers were just as high between them; a reverse of the problem that Walter confronted, with her sister. But just as Walter could try to overcome it, then so could he.
The pursuit of love was worth everything.
Chapter 13
That night, Lavinia climbed into her four-poster bed, trying to settle down for sleep. She turned in every direction, trying to get comfortable, but it seemed that sleep was elusive. Her mind was sparking in every direction, still, trying to make sense of the amazing thing that was happening between Samuel Hunter and herself.
There was a knock on her bedroom door. Lavinia sat up, pushing back her hair. “Come in.”
The door opened. Sophie entered in her nightgown, carrying a candle in her hand.
“Could I climb into bed with you?” she asked, her brown eyes wide. “I find that I cannot sleep, and thought I might take comfort with you …”
Lavinia nodded. “Of course you may, dearest.”
She moved over in the bed, making room for her sister. Sophie placed the candle on the bedside table, then slid in between the sheets, adjusting the pillow behind her.
Lavinia watched her trying to get comfortable, without saying anything. She and her sister often talked together, at night, like this – it was not unusual. But still, she was surprised to see how unsettled her sister was.
Lavinia waited patiently for her sister to speak. To tell her what was on her mind.
“You are getting along very well with Mr Hunter,” said her sister eventually, turning to gaze at Lavinia. “I could not help noticing how absorbed you both were in your conversation at the Academy today.”
Lavinia nodded warily. “Yes … he is a charming man. Very well informed about art.” She paused. “We spent a lot of time discussing the painting of Tristan and Isolde …”
She bit her lip. She still hadn’t told Sophie – or anyone – that running into Mr Hunter and Mr St Clair was not accidental. She simply didn’t know how her sister would react. She might scold her for encouraging him, and she didn’t know if she could bare it.
“It is very nice that you have found a friend in him,” said Sophie slowly. “You do seem to have a lot in common. But you should not let it distract you from seeking the attention of gentlemen who are wealthier, who you could make a more advantageous match with …”
Lavinia glanced at her sister sharply. Her voice was strangely flat and dispirited, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. It lacked her usual conviction.
Did it have something to do with a certain gentleman, named Walter St Clair?
She kept studying her sister. She would never have believed it possible, but it was obvious that Sophie liked the man.
“Thank you for the advice,” she said carefully. “However, I would like to talk about you, Sophie.” She hesitated slightly. “What are your impressions of Mr St Clair?”
The reaction to the question was immediate and gratifying. Sophie coloured, blinking rapidly. She bit her lip, staring at her sister as if she had just asked her what was the meaning of life itself.
“I think that he is charming,” she replied eventually. “He is amiable, as well as clever, smart, and funny …”
“Indeed,” said Lavinia. “He is all of this and more. A true gentleman.”
Sophie nodded, sighing deeply. “I know what you are trying to say to me, Liv. I am not completely silly.” She hesitated. “That wealth and position are not the makers of a man. It is true, in the case of Mr St Clair. He has a genuine character …”
Lavinia didn’t say anything. It seemed that Sophie needed to just speak; to say aloud all that was in her mind, and her heart. She was obviously processing her feelings for Mr St Clair, and it was troubling her.
Her sister took a deep breath. “However, despite his warm and charming character, he is not the kind of man that I can allow myself to marry.”
Lavinia’s heart sank, just a little. Sophie was just so infuriatingly stubborn on the matter. How could she convince her to give Mr St Clair a chance?
“Please reconsider,” she said slowly, gazing at her sister entreatingly. “I have never seen you react so favourably towards a gentleman, Sophie. I can tell that it is genuine – that you truly like him. You never looked so happy in the company of the aged Lord Fortescue …”
Sophie glanced at her sharply. “You are being disrespectful towards Lord Fortescue, Liv. Besides, he is in his forties, not his eighties, my dear.”
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “What does it matter? He is still so much older than you, Sophie. You have nothing in common. The only reason you smile and flirt with him is because of who he is …”
Sophie reddened, but she did not contradict her.
Lavinia took a deep breath. “I am sorry. I do not want to be disrespectful. I am only trying to make you see.” She hesitated. “If you marry, it is for life, sister. You must spend the rest of your life living alongside that person. Can you picture doing that, with Lord Fortescue?”
Sophie was silent.
“Now picture doing it with Mr St Clair.” Lavinia’s voice was gentle. “Picture how much fun it would be, to constantly be with someone so charming and witty. To spend your life beside someone that you actually get along with.”
Sophie sighed heavily. She was staring at the bedroom wall, in a contemplative way. Her brown eyes were cloudy.
“I am going to be honest with you,” continued Lavinia. “I greatly admire Mr Hunter, and if he proposed tomorrow, I would like to accept him …”
Sophie’s eyes widened.
“Think how wonderful it would be, sister, if we both married those gentlemen,” she said quickly. “If I married Mr. Hunter, and you married Mr St Clair. They are the very best of friends. Our lives would be spent alongside each other, in happy companionship and the comfort of friendship, even if we did not have luxury or privilege.”
Sophie frowned, turning back to her sister. “You are genuinely attached to Mr Hunter, then? Do you love him, Liv?”
Lavinia blushed. The conversation had become more intimate than she had intended. She had confessed her feelings about Samuel to try to convince her sister to give Mr St Clair a chance, but suddenly, it had veered back to her, in the most dramatic of ways.
A vivid memory assailed her, of standing beside him that day, gazing at the painting of the two young lovers, Tristan and Isolde. They had deeply connected, talking about the doomed pair, and the sorrow of their story. So deeply, that at that moment, she had felt that they were the only two people who existed in the world.
She knew that she liked him. She knew that she admired him. She knew how her flesh shivered with some strange longing, whenever he was near her.
Was this love, then?
Joy suddenly exploded through her. Yes, it was love.
I love him, she thought, in wonder. I am in love with Samuel Hunter.
She felt so exhilarated; she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She wanted to jump out of bed and run along the darkened hallways, whooping with joy.
I love him. I love him.
“Yes,” she said slowly, turning a radiant face to her sister. “Yes, Sophie. I am in love with Samuel Hunter.”
Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 11