Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  He stood up. “I am very well, Miss Munro. But I am afraid that I must cut short our reunion. Good day.”

  He turned and walked away without another word.

  He knew that he had been insufferably rude. He knew that he had broken one of the golden rules of etiquette, to take leave in a considerate and polite manner. He knew that if he looked back now, that Miss Emily Munro would be staring at him, shocked and angry.

  But he simply didn’t care. He must find Lavinia.

  There she was. He could see her in the distance, almost running down a narrow path, underneath a copse of trees. Before his eyes, she vanished, seemingly swallowed up by the vegetation as if she had never even been there.

  He gritted his teeth, following her.

  He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, or how he could make amends. But he knew that he would surely die if he did not try.

  Chapter 16

  Lavinia ran blindly down the path, barely noticing the overhanging branches of the trees above her. All that she knew was that this seemed the most private place in these gardens. A place where she might be able to find some space, away from the crowd.

  Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t stop to wipe them away. She barely noticed that she was even crying. Her desire to escape was so strong that she hardly knew where she was, anymore.

  Eventually, she slowed down. There was a grotto, just ahead, carved out of stone. It looked like a cave. A small, safe spot, where she might be able to sit down, at last.

  It was dark and cool in the space. It was also damp; the stones were covered with vivid green moss, and they were wet when she touched them as she entered. She heard water trickling down the walls.

  She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the sudden darkness. She could just discern a stone bench against a far wall. Gratefully, she sat down, staring into the space.

  She was alone, at last.

  She exhaled slowly, feeling herself go abruptly limp. She slumped against the wall, staring at the ceiling, her mind a whirlpool of confusion.

  Tears kept running, unchecked, down her cheeks.

  He had played her for a fool. There was simply nothing else to think.

  It had all happened so suddenly that she could barely comprehend it still. One moment, she had been sitting with him at the table, sipping tea. He had just told her how highly he regarded her. How much he admired her. Her heart had been overflowing with joy to hear his words. She had even dared hope that perhaps he might propose to her.

  And then, the lady had interrupted them. The petite, slender lady, with golden ringlets. A beautiful lady, who was obviously a wealthy one, as well, judging by the quality of her gown and accessories. Miss Emily Munro, who had addressed him as a lord.

  She had sat there, stunned, as he had calmly revealed his deception to them both. How he had decided to play act at being a commoner, hiding his true identity, for the London season. He had relayed the story with as much emotion as if he had been informing them both that he was about to attend a cricket match.

  With shaking hands, she found her handkerchief, pressing it into her mouth, sobbing quietly.

  Apparently, he was the elusive Viscount Pemberton. The man that her mother and sister had designs on, at the very beginning of the season, because he was so wealthy and privileged. Mr Samuel Hunter, middle-class landowner, did not exist, at all. The man that she had been so charmed by, and fallen in love with, was merely a figment of imagination.

  Suddenly, she stilled, hearing footsteps approaching. Who was it?

  Her heart in her mouth, she held her breath, willing the person to pass by. She couldn’t talk to anyone in the current state that she was in. She couldn’t put on a show and politely talk about the weather; it would be excruciating.

  But the next moment, she saw a figure entering the grotto. A tall figure with a shock of golden red curls falling over his face.

  She stood up, abruptly, staring at him, breathing hard.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered in a strangled voice. “Do you not have the decency to leave me in peace, after what you have done?”

  He stepped forward, gazing at her ardently. “Lavinia. Please, I must explain …”

  She brushed past him, almost running out of the grotto. She wasn’t thinking anymore. All she knew was she had to get away from him with an urgency that was consuming her.

  Suddenly, there was a hand on her arm, spinning her around.

  “Let go of me,” she cried, her eyes wild. “You have humiliated me! You have played with my heart and lied to me!”

  “Lavinia,” he whispered urgently. “I am so sorry …”

  “This has all been a game to you, hasn’t it?” she cried. “A stupid game, to amuse yourself, while you have been in London!” Angrily, she shook his hand off her arm. “It has not been a game to me, Lord Pemberton! I fell for the man you were pretending to be … and now, you have done something even worse than reject me … you have killed the man that I believed I loved!”

  He paled, his green eyes turning almost dark, as he stared at her, beseechingly.

  “I am still the same man,” he entreated. “I am still the man that you fell for! Samuel Hunter is me, Lavinia! I was trying to tell you before we were interrupted … I was trying to tell you, at long last, who I really am. I wanted to, so many times before, but there never seemed to be the right moment …”

  She glared at him. “There was never the right moment? How dare you! You deliberately deceive me, spinning a tale of a life that you have never lived … you have lied to me constantly, from the moment that we first met … and you tell me there was never the right moment to tell the truth?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I have done wrong,” he muttered. “I know that I have! I was trying to fix it. Please, can you forgive me?”

  She gazed at him icily. “You ask too much …”

  “Lavinia …” His voice was almost a caress. “I love you. I was trying to tell you that, as well.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “I love everything about you. I love your intelligence, your clarity of thought, your candour, your beauty … I love you, with all my heart, and all my soul.”

  He stared at her, trembling with emotion.

  “I respect you, as well as love you,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you, and I am so very sorry that I have done so. It was never intentionally done; I did not realise the consequences of my actions when I first conceived the idea, to pretend to be someone that I am not.”

  She glared at him. “You love me? You claim such a thing, when you have deliberately deceived me, from the minute that we first met?” She paused. “That is a strange idea of love, My Lord. A very strange idea, indeed.”

  “I do love you,” he insisted, his eyes glittering wildly. “I never expected to fall in love. I never knew that a love like this was even possible …”

  “If you had any respect for the people around you, including me, you would not have lied,” she said, in a small voice. “Your deception shows that you are selfish and self-absorbed – you even admitted you had never thought of any consequences to your actions …”

  She shook her head. “No, your actions expose you for the person that you truly are. You have made a fool out of me, on top of everything else … I have talked freely with you, advocating for the common man, condemning the wealthy and privileged, and you let me do so. I told you that I admired your character, believing that you were a commoner, and you never contradicted me …”

  “Please, Lavinia …”

  “No.” Her voice was firm. “I did love Samuel Hunter. But I cannot love the Viscount Pemberton because he made me fall in love under false pretences. You manipulated me, but worse than that, you have embarrassed and betrayed me.”

  He gazed up at her, shaking his head. “I cannot believe it,” he insisted. “I cannot believe that I can lose you now, when I have only just found you …”

  At that moment, she heard more footsteps rushing down the path towar
ds them. Taking a deep breath, she swivelled around to face whoever was coming upon them.

  Sophie ran into the clearing, panting hard. Her eyes were snapping with worry. Just behind her was Walter St Clair. He looked grim.

  Lavinia stared at them both, for a moment, then burst into tears.

  “Oh, my dear sister,” cried Sophie, taking her in her arms and stroking her hair. “What is it? What has happened? I saw you run off down this path, and I was so concerned …”

  Lavinia buried her face into her sister’s chest for a moment. Then she pulled back, gazing at her steadily. The tears were still streaming down her face.

  “It has all been a lie,” she whispered. “His name is not Samuel Hunter at all. He is the Viscount Pemberton …”

  “What?” said Sophie, her face paling. “How can this be?”

  She stared at Samuel, who had risen from his knees, looking shamefaced. Lavinia noticed that he couldn’t meet her sister’s eyes.

  Walter stepped forward. “Ladies, please,” he said, in a quiet voice. “Do not be so distraught. It was only a little game that we concocted, so that Samuel could enjoy a season without the constant pressure of his title. A joke, if you will …”

  Sophie gazed at him contemptuously. “A game? A joke? You think toying with my sister’s affections a great laugh, then?”

  Walter paled. “No, no, that is not what I meant …”

  “I cannot believe that you were involved in this deception,” she spat, her eyes glittering. “You are not the man that I thought you were, Walter St Clair. But I suppose I should ask, now, if that is your real name?”

  Walter gulped. “I am Walter St Clair. I have not misrepresented myself to you, Miss Beaumont.”

  “Thank the Lord for small mercies, then!” cried Sophie. She swivelled around, facing Samuel. “And as for you, Lord Pemberton, you are beyond contempt, for what you have done to my sister. She is clearly humiliated, and it is your fault, entirely.”

  She picked up Lavinia’s hand, glaring at him.

  Sophie took a deep breath. “You will never have the chance to hurt her again, My Lord. I promise you that.”

  She pulled Lavinia’s hand, dragging her up the path, away from the men.

  When they had left the cover of the trees, Sophie put her arm around her waist, whispering to her. “What do you want to do, now?”

  Lavinia gazed at her sister. “I just want to go home,” she said, in a weary voice. “Can you take me to the carriage, and then fetch Mama?”

  Sophie nodded, gazing at her tenderly. “I can do anything that you want me to, little swan. Come, I will take you to the carriage. We can go down the side path, so that no one discerns our exit …”

  Lavinia nodded, but she was barely listening, anymore.

  She wanted to bury her face into her sister’s lap and cry until there were no more tears left inside her. Or else, she wanted to run, far away. She wanted to run until her legs turned to jelly beneath her, and she collapsed entirely.

  She had opened her heart, and her soul, to a man who had never deserved it. A man who had been playing a character in a game. She had only ever been a background character in that deception. She had meant nothing.

  She had fallen in love with a phantom. Charming Samuel Hunter, landowner, from Somerset, who was like a breath of fresh air, in the stifled halls of privilege.

  She had been a fool. But she would never play anyone’s fool again, as long as she lived.

  Chapter 17

  Samuel sat down heavily, on the tavern bench. His mind was spinning. He barely remembered the coach drive from the garden picnic back to the Peacock. It seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye.

  He gazed around blearily. He didn’t even know why they had returned here. His cover, as Samuel Hunter, had been exposed. Apart from retrieving their luggage, they had no reason any more to lodge in this lowly part of London.

  He could leave this very night, to more comfortable lodgings in the city or his own townhouse or even take the long journey back to Nottinghamshire and leave it all behind, for good.

  His eyes rested on Walter, who was purchasing drinks for them both at the bar. Polly, the barmaid, was serving him, her smile bright. There were other men leaning against the bar, nursing their ales. None of them seemed interested in talking to each other; it looked like they were as despondent as he felt.

  Walter returned to the table, plonking the drinks down, before sitting down himself. Samuel watched him run a tired hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the drama of the day.

  “Drink up,” said his friend curtly. “I think that we both need it, after what just happened.”

  Samuel picked up his ale, drinking deeply. Walter did the same. They both slammed the drinks back onto the table at the same time, staring at each other.

  “Tell me again,” said Walter, through gritted teeth. “Tell me again how it all unfolded.”

  Samuel sighed wearily. “It happened so quickly, I barely know,” he mused. “One moment, I was sitting with Lavinia, about to tell her exactly how I feel about her and reveal my deception … and the next, fate intervened, in the form of a young lady, named Emily Munro.”

  “Fate?” Walter’s voice was grim. “You think that this was always meant to happen, then?”

  Samuel gazed down into his drink. “I do not know, my friend. But the things that Lavinia and her sister said to me have cut me to the core.” He paused. “My exposure, in such a way, seems appropriate, now. It seems apt, that my silly charade was exposed in such a dramatic way. Perhaps I deserved it …”

  “You meant no harm,” insisted Walter, his eyes snapping. “You never meant to hurt anyone when the notion was conceived! It was only ever meant to be a game …”

  “Yes, that is true,” said Samuel slowly. “But it does not matter now, does it? I was thoughtless, oblivious to what could happen if I misrepresented myself to people like this. I may never have intended to hurt anyone, but the result is the same. And sometimes thoughtlessness is as great a sin as intention.”

  Walter mused on this for a moment. His face was solemn and weary. He looked like he had not slept in a hundred years or more.

  “She would not accept your apology?” Walter asked. “Even when you told her how ardently you love her?”

  Samuel shook his head slowly. “I tried, Walter. I was as honest as I could be, but I have broken her trust. She thinks me duplicitous, now. She thinks that is my real character, and all the rest a lie.” He took a deep breath. “I cannot blame her. She feels humiliated and betrayed, and I am at a loss as to how to fix it …”

  “It is a pickle, that is certain,” said Walter, frowning. “Perhaps she just needs time to cool down a little. Give her a few days, and then call on her, to apologise again. You need to show her that you are genuine in your love, and your remorse.”

  Samuel gazed at his friend. He had not been there. His friend had not seen her face, nor heard her trembling voice when she had spoken to him. She had been adamant that she could no longer love him, that he had broken her trust completely, and that she never wanted to see him again.

  “There is no hope,” he said slowly. “I have lost her. And I think that I have no heart anymore, to remain in London. We should spend the night here, and then pack up. Tomorrow, I will leave for Nottinghamshire, and hopefully, put it all behind me.”