Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

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Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 12

by Bridget Barton


  Sophie gasped. “Oh, Liv …”

  “I know what you are going to say,” she interrupted. “You are going to say again that he is not wealthy or titled. You are going to tell me that I could do so much better.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “But I do not care about any of that, my dear sister. Love is everything, Sophie. Everything.”

  Tears were swimming in Sophie’s eyes. “I simply do not know what to say …”

  “I want you to think seriously about Mr St Clair,” continued Lavinia quickly. “I want you to seriously consider him, sister. Because I believe that you have the potential, with him, to find the same kind of love.”

  Sophie frowned. “I just hope that you are not setting yourself up for heartbreak, sister. You have declared your feelings to me about Mr Hunter, but has he declared his to you? Do you think a proposal is imminent, or is he merely dallying with you?”

  Lavinia frowned, feeling as if her bubble of joy had just been utterly punctured.

  Was she being rash, in feeling so strongly about Mr Hunter, in such a short time?

  She knew that he admired her greatly; it was obvious, every time that he gazed at her. He had asked her to attend the Academy that day because he had wanted to see her again. Today, he had told her that she was beautiful, and that he had never met a woman that he could converse with so freely.

  She knew that the connection between them was genuine, and that it was strong. But he was a middle-class land owner, and she was the daughter of a baron. Would he be scared off by her position and wealth? He might think that he didn’t have any chance with her; that if he proposed, it would be swiftly rejected.

  She frowned. No, he would not think that. She had told him that she was not impressed by wealth and position, and that if she did marry, she would like a more down to earth husband. Hopefully, it was enough to convince him that she would take a marriage proposal seriously.

  She bit her lip, in an agony of doubt. He might not love her, in the same way. There might never be a marriage proposal. Just because he admired her, did not mean that he loved her, or ever would.

  She took a deep breath. Even if he did not love her in the same way, it did not change her feelings towards him. The love just existed; it was its own entity entirely. She could no more change it, or pluck it out of her heart, than stop breathing. Just like Tristan and Isolde.

  A shiver of apprehension went through her. The doomed lovers. Was it a sign?

  Quickly, she brushed the thought away. She must have hope.

  “I do not know yet, what Mr Hunter’s feelings or intentions are,” she said slowly, staring at her sister. “Yes, he might be dallying with me. But I strongly believe that is not the case.” She took a deep breath. “He is a genuine man, sister. I know it, deep in my heart.”

  Sophie blinked back tears again. “I do not know what to say,” she whispered. “I am frightened that you will be hurt, little swan. That he is not the man that you think he is …”

  “Why?” Lavinia stared at her, hard. “Why do you think he is not genuine? Is it only your prejudice … that he is not wealthy or titled?”

  Sophie shook her head quickly. “No. It is not that, dear sister. It is only that you barely know the man, after all. How many times have you seen him? Less than a handful, Sophie.” She took a deep breath. “Please, be circumspect. I know that you believe that you love him, but it is very early days. Wait and see. That is my advice …”

  Lavinia nodded. “I understand.” She blinked back tears. “But I do believe that the heart has a mind all of its own, dear sister. I just wonder what yours is telling you, at the moment.”

  Sophie turned away, staring at the wall.

  Lavinia sighed deeply. Sophie was not yet ready to admit what her feelings were for Mr St Clair. She had pushed her as far as she was ready to go, at the moment. But she knew that her sister was changing. That she was softening in her attitudes about privilege.

  It was promising. And it was more than she had ever expected, considering how deeply entrenched Sophie’s attitudes were.

  Chapter 14

  Lavinia gasped as she walked out the back door of the grand London townhouse into the great expanse of the gardens beyond. It was simply amazing – one of the most beautiful gardens that she had ever seen.

  She took a deep breath. There was a sweet perfume in the air, the intermingling scents of so many flowers. Roses, violets, honeysuckle … she could not name them all. A row of rose bushes lined a path in the distance, blooming with abandon. She saw a wrought iron gazebo, green vines twisting around it. Further in the distance, there was a croquet lawn, already set up for play.

  “This is wonderful,” said Sophie, standing next to her, taking in the scene. “I have heard word about Lord and Lady Hudson’s gardens, but I must admit, I thought that people exaggerated …”

  “They did not exaggerate,” said Lavinia slowly.

  Their mother walked up to them. “Come along, girls! No time for idle gazing. We have a picnic to attend …”

  She walked off towards the area where the food and drink were already being set up, underneath a large oak tree.

  Sophie turned to her sister, smiling. “Shall we?”

  Lavinia smiled back. They linked arms, following their mother, full of anticipation for what was to come.

  ***

  Sophie sat back, on the picnic blanket, rubbing her stomach.

  “I am so full, I feel that I could burst,” she groaned. “I do not think I shall eat for days, after that feast!”

  Lavinia smiled, gazing around at the detritus of the picnic, strewn over the blankets. Discarded plates, piled with chicken legs, ham, and cheese. There were also dessert bowls, full of blueberry pie and lemon meringue, as well as bunches of grapes and half-eaten peaches. It had been a wealth of food.

  Lady Beaumont sighed, balancing her plate on her lap. “Girls, you might have eaten your fill, but I do not want you to disappear on me, quite yet.” She paused. “I have spotted a very prestigious gentleman in attendance today. A gentleman that I would like to introduce you both to …”

  Sophie gazed at her mother. “What gentleman, Mama?”

  “His name is Lord Benedict Livingston,” continued Lady Beaumont, her eyes agog. “He is a baron, just like your dear Papa. A very highly placed man, who often attends court. He is a personal friend of the Regent. He advises Prince George on many great matters.”

  “He is a personal friend of the Prince?” gasped Sophie, her eyes widening.

  Lady Beaumont nodded. “Indeed he is, my dear! He is sitting beneath the elm tree, in the distance. The man with the light brown hair …”

  Lavinia turned around discreetly, following her mother’s direction. A party of people, mostly dressed in white, were sitting on a checked blanket beneath an elm tree. Three ladies and two gentlemen. The man with the light brown hair was lounging on the ground, laughing at something, a discarded plate of food by his side.

  Lavinia studied him. Even from a distance, she could tell that his clothes were of the highest quality. But he also had a foppish air about him; an arrogance that she was very familiar with.

  She sighed deeply. He would be the same as all the rest of them.

  But her mother was already on her feet, wiping picnic crumbs off her gown briskly with her hands. She stared at them both, her head swivelling from one to the other, like a tennis ball.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? We must not tarry, girls. Some other lady might sweep in and claim Lord Livingston, and we cannot have that, can we?”

  ***

  Lavinia sat back, leaning against the elm tree, as her mother and sister chatted with Lord Livingston. At least, her mother was chatting; Sophie could barely get a word in edgeways.

  She studied the great lord, who was friends with the Prince Regent. Her initial impression of him had not changed. Indeed, he looked even more arrogant up close than he had at a distance.

  He had a stocky build, with a very thick neck. A square fac
e, with a chiselled, Roman nose, and a defined jawline. She noticed his eyes were an unusual shade of grey, as they flickered over her and her sister in a speculative manner. Rather as if he was sizing up two fillies at the racetrack. His hair was light brown, falling over his forehead and into his eyes, in a foppish way.

  I do not like him, she thought fiercely. I do not like him at all.

  She knew she was comparing him to Samuel. Every man she saw, or met, was immediately judged wanting by comparison, now.

  Her heart started to hammer, just thinking about him. It had been days since she had last seen him, at the Royal Academy of the Arts. Days that she had existed in an almost delirious dream, thinking about him night and day.

  She had not been able to find distraction in anything – she had tried playing the piano, or going for walks, but none of it worked. All that she could think about was how wonderful he was, and how much she loved him.

  Every time there was a knock on the front door, her breath stopped, thinking that it was him. That he was calling on her. But each time, she had been bitterly disappointed.

  Would she ever see him again … or had he just been dallying with her, as Sophie had feared?

  Her gaze turned to Sophie. Her sister’s face was warm and friendly, as she spoke to the lord, but she did not have that flirtatious glint in her eye that she normally did. She did not look like she was out to impress the man in the least.

  Lavinia smiled slightly. Did the change in her sister’s attitude have anything to do with Mr Walter St Clair?

  They had not spoken about it again, after that night, when she had confessed that she did indeed love Samuel Hunter. Sophie had seemed unusually pensive in the days that had followed. Sometimes, Lavinia discerned a wistful longing on her sister’s face, as she sat at the piano, spreading her fingers over the keys, or picking up her needle to embroider.

  “Do you play croquet, Miss Beaumont?” asked Lord Livingston, addressing Sophie. “Would you care to join me, in a game?”

  Sophie bit her lip. “I am not the best player in the world, Lord Livingston, but if you do not mind my inferior skills, then I should enjoy it very much.”

  “You are just being coy, I am sure,” replied the Lord, a slight smile playing around his lips, as he gazed at her. “I am sure that a lady as beautiful and charming as you are, Miss Beaumont, must be superlative at everything that you attempt.”

  There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke. Lavinia recognised it. She had seen it often, in the eyes of men, as they spoke to her sister. It was obvious that Lord Livingston was more than a little intrigued by Sophie.

  He was attempting to flirt with her. Usually, Sophie would have responded with alacrity. But today, she merely smiled slightly in response. Sighing, she got to her feet, gazing at the man, who had also risen. He held out his arm to her.

  For a moment, it was almost like Sophie hesitated. But then, she took his arm, and they wandered off towards the croquet pitch.

  “It is well done,” whispered Lady Beaumont, to Lavinia, as she watched the pair stroll away. “Lord Livingston is already a little in love with her!”

  “Indeed,” replied Lavinia sourly.

  Her mother looked at her sharply. “What is the reason for that sour look on your puss, my girl? Are you disappointed that Lord Livingston did not ask you to join him at croquet, perchance?”

  “Of course,” said Lavinia wearily. “That must be it, I am sure.”

  “Never mind,” said Lady Beaumont, in a soothing tone. “There are other eligible young gentlemen here, Lavinia! We shall have our afternoon tea at the tables and peruse the crowd …”

  Lavinia sighed heavily. There was only one eligible young gentleman that she was interested in. But he wasn’t here. And suddenly, her pleasure in the picnic popped like a bubble. The afternoon seemed to stretch before her into infinity.

  ***

  They were sipping their tea, when Lady Beaumont suddenly spluttered, putting the cup down with a sharp clang on the table.

  Bewildered, Lavinia stared at her. “What is it, Mama?”

  Her mother was gazing towards the house. “I do believe that it is Mr Hunter and Mr St Clair,” she said, smiling slightly. “And if I am not mistaken, they are heading this way.”

  Lavinia looked around. Two gentlemen were strolling towards them. Her heart started to beat fast. She would recognise their figures anywhere, now; they seemed to be etched upon her mind.

  Samuel Hunter and Walter St Clair.

  She gasped. Samuel cut a fine figure, in his dark jacket and britches. He had not procured his clothing from any fine tailor on Bond Street like Lord Livingston had. But to her eyes, he looked finer than any other gentlemen here, in their expensive clothes.

  He was staring straight at her, and he was smiling broadly.

  “Ladies,” he said slowly, bowing. “My heart leapt when I saw you both, sitting here, having your tea. May we join you?”

  “Oh, Mr Hunter,” said her mother, smiling in return. “You do know how to flatter an older lady, don’t you? I know that it is not my charms that have brought both you and Mr St Clair our way!”

  “You look lovely, Lady Beaumont,” said Mr St Clair, bowing. “A vision in blue!”

  Her mother turned pink. “Oh, you are both charmers! Please, sit down, and join us. I shall pour you both a cup.”

  They did her bidding. Samuel chose the seat right next to Lavinia, gazing at her avidly.

  “How are you?” he whispered. “It seems so long, since I last saw you …”

  “I am well, Mr Hunter,” she replied, a little breathlessly.

  Her heart was hammering in her chest, now, at his close proximity. It was truly amazing, how it happened, as soon as she was near him. Almost as if her body had a mind entirely of its own.

  “And where is the elder Miss Beaumont today?” asked Mr St Clair, in a casual voice. “Is she not with you?”

  Lady Beaumont smiled. “Indeed, she is with us, and playing croquet, Mr St Clair.” She paused. “Lord Livingston invited her to have a game with him …”

  “Lord Benedict Livingston?” asked Mr St Clair sharply. “The advisor to the Prince Regent?”

  “The very one,” said Lady Beaumont, in a smug voice. “I think that he is very taken with my Sophia! But then, that is not unusual. Most gentlemen are entranced with her. I am certain she shall be engaged before the season is out …”

  Mr St Clair’s lips thinned. “Indeed.”

  He stared at the croquet pitch, where Sophie and Lord Livingston were playing. Sophie had just hit the croquet ball with her mallet, missing it. She laughed. Lord Livingston came close to her, seemingly instructing her on how to hit the ball. He took her hands in his own, over the mallet, towards the ball, gently hitting it through the hoop.

  Lavinia watched Mr St Clair, as he watched the game. A strange expression crossed over his face, quickly masked. He turned back to them, but she could see that he was still troubled, even though he was attempting to hide it.

  Lavinia stared at him, hard. Was he jealous of Sophie playing croquet, with Lord Livingston?

  They chatted idly, for a while, about the weather, and people who were at the picnic. The usual society gossip. But Lavinia noticed that Mr St Clair kept glancing back at the croquet pitch. Once, Sophie looked back at them, waving briefly, before she became absorbed in the game again.

  Lady Beaumont suddenly jumped a little in her seat. “Oh, there is Mrs Elliot! I did not know that she was in London for the season.” She turned to the others. “I might catch up with her, while I have the chance. Can I leave my youngest daughter in your capable hands?”

 

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