Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Sophie’s eye narrowed. “He is telling the truth about that, at least. He introduced me to some friends of his, at the Academy, who called him by name and talked about his life in Somerset.” She paused. “They seem to vouch for his authenticity.” She sounded glum.

  Lavinia glanced at her sharply. “You do not sound happy about it …”

  Sophie laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Why would I be happy about it? About the fact that he is still a small landowner, with no title or wealth, and no prospects of ever improving his situation?” She hesitated. “I almost wish he was deceiving us, in the same manner that the Viscount Pemberton did. That he is actually a duke or an earl.”

  Lavinia sighed. “Sophie …”

  But her sister shook her head. “I am not happy about any of it!” she burst out, looking distressed. “I do not want to be in love with a small landowner!”

  Lavinia gasped. “Oh, Sophie!”

  Her sister’s face twisted in pain. “There! You have made me admit it!” She turned wide, tear-filled eyes towards her. “Are you happy, now? You wanted me to fall in love with him! You begged me to do it …”

  To Lavinia’s surprise, her sister suddenly turned to her, burying her face into her lap, weeping copiously.

  “Hush,” she whispered, stroking her sister’s hair gently. “It is well. Everything will be well …”

  The crying eventually stopped. Sophie shuddered, lifting her head. Her face was puffy with crying, and her hair was dishevelled, falling out of its pins. Lavinia patted her back soothingly, in a circular motion, until she was completely calm.

  “I did not realise,” she said, eventually. “I did not know that you were in love with him.”

  Sophie sighed deeply, pushing her hair out of her face. “Well, now you do know,” she said slowly. “Although I cannot imagine it can bring you joy, anymore. It is not as if we can live side by side in married bliss anymore, is it? Your hopes for a life with the one that you love are gone, and I am afraid if I had any hopes with Mr St Clair, they are rather dashed forever anyway, now.”

  “Do you have hopes still?” Lavinia’s voice was gentle.

  “Oh, Liv,” said Sophie, in a sorrowful voice. “How can you ask me such a thing, after what has been done? We were both deceived, even though it was much worse, in your case.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Walter St Clair was complicit in it, so by default, he was living a lie, as well. And besides …”

  “Besides what?”

  Sophie sighed heavily. “It has not changed, Liv. The barriers to courting Mr St Clair are still there, as high as they have ever been. He has no wealth or title. How can I give up my daughterly duty of advancing our family’s status and ensuring additional wealth if I marry a commoner?”

  Lavinia gazed at her sister sadly. It pained her greatly that Sophie was suffering such heartache. And somehow, it was distracting her from her own. When she was thinking about Sophie and Mr St Clair, she wasn’t thinking about Samuel Hunter, or the Viscount Pemberton. She wasn’t thinking about either of them … even though they were one and the same person.

  She took a deep breath. “Our father would not care about it. I am certain of it, Sophie!” She paused. “Papa loves us and wants to see us both happy. He might talk about introducing us to titled, wealthy gentlemen, and rub his hands gleefully at the thought of them, as with Lord Livingston, but it is all posturing. If either of us went to him claiming that we were in love, and needed to be with a certain person, he would not stand in our way.”

  Sophie frowned but didn’t say anything.

  Lavinia took another deep breath. “As for our mother, she can be convinced that a love match is just as good for prestige as an advantageous one, and that as long as her daughters are happy, that is all that matters.” She paused. “Do you not see, Sophie? The barrier that you have erected in your mind, stopping you from considering Mr St Clair, is not as high as you believe. In fact, it isn’t there, at all.”

  Sophie was silent for a moment, then she turned to her sister, gazing at her in a speculative manner. “I cannot believe you are still encouraging me, in this regard, after all that has happened. I thought that you would be advising me to run in the opposite direction, as far away from Walter St Clair as I can possibly get.”

  “That would be selfish of me,” replied Lavinia slowly. “Terribly selfish. Just because I have been bitterly disappointed, does not mean it should affect your chance at love. Mr St Clair may have been complicit in the deception, as you say, but he did not misrepresent himself to you. He is still the same man that he has always been. If you truly love him, then you should not let it go, Sophie.”

  Sophie frowned slightly. Lavinia could almost see the turmoil swirling around in her mind. It was not simple for her – it had never been simple, and this new revelation had complicated it, even more. Her ambivalence was plain to see in her face. She was wrestling mightily with it … and Lavinia didn’t think there would be a simple resolution, nor a timely one.

  Her sister sighed heavily. “I think that I shall have an early night, too.” She stood up. “After the events of today, I find that I am unbearably weary …”

  Lavinia nodded. “Sleep well, my dear. We shall talk about it again tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure that you are well enough, to sleep alone?”

  Lavinia tried to laugh. “Of course I am, dearest. Good night.”

  Sophie departed the room. She was all alone, once again.

  Sighing, she called for her maid, to help her undress for the evening. Once she was in her nightdress, she crawled into the bed, staring at the wall.

  Even though she was so tired that her eyelids were drooping, sleep was elusive. Punching her pillow, she stared at the wall, willing her tormented mind to stop whirling around. But it seemed that she had more to think about, this evening; that she needed to try to make sense of everything that had happened today.

  Samuel Hunter was really the Viscount Pemberton.

  The reality of it – the enormity of the deception that had been played upon her – hit her forcefully. The tears that had not fallen, not even when she had been speaking so frankly with Sophie, abruptly arrived, like a sudden rainstorm.

  She hugged the pillow to her body, squeezing it hard as she sobbed, letting out everything that was in her heart.

  She had loved him.

  That love had been real, and it had been true. She had thought that she had finally met the man that she would marry; that a proposal was imminent, and that she would definitely accept it. She had been ready to fight for that love – if her parents had opposed it, she would have fought tooth and nail for it, with the ferocity of a sabre-toothed tiger.

  And now, it was all lying in ashes, around her.

  He was a liar. He was not the common man that he had claimed. He was actually a nobleman, a part of the world that she had longed to escape from. A part of the world that she despised. And yet, even now, he confused her. How could he have pretended to be something he wasn’t so well? Was his real character what he had presented, as Samuel Hunter, or was he the best actor in the world?

  She sobbed harder. It hardly mattered, anymore. The reality was he had deliberately deceived her. Whether his innate character really was what he had presented as Samuel Hunter didn’t matter in the least. She could no longer entertain thoughts of him at all.

  She remembered how she had felt, just this morning. Only hours ago, she had been preparing for the picnic, delirious with love for him. She had been hoping, deep in her heart, that she would see him today. That they would talk again, and he would perhaps say the words to her that she longed to hear …

  What did it matter, now? It was all gone. And both she and Sophie were left to pick up the pieces.

  Chapter 19

  Lavinia sighed deeply, as they walked towards the townhouse. She felt as if her feet were dragging behind her; as if she was trying to walk through heavy snow. Every footstep towards the grand steps of the front entrance see
med to take forever.

  She gritted her teeth. She hadn’t wanted to come out tonight; she had begged and pleaded to be excused from it, but her mother had insisted.

  “You have not been out of the house in over a week, Lavinia,” she had said, frowning deeply. “You are not sick, as far as I can tell. You are just moping.” She had taken a deep breath. “I am afraid that I am going to have to put my foot down. We are only in London for a limited time, after all, and this is your very first season …”

  Even Sophie had sided with her, saying gently to her, afterwards, that perhaps the time had come for them to step back out into the world.

  “We cannot hide ourselves here forever,” she had said with a sigh. “I know that you have been melancholy, Liv, but perhaps it is better to go out and face the world. It is your first London season. Perhaps we can salvage it …”

  Lavinia did not think it could be salvaged at all. She did not think that she wanted it to be salvaged. All that she wanted to do was go back home to the country. To retreat to Jonty Hall and leave it all behind her.

  But her family weren’t going anywhere. Not until the season was over.

  She didn’t want to go out and face the world again. But she had no choice in the matter, it seemed. They were pushing her, and she no longer had any excuses as to why she had to stay inside.

  And that was why she was heading to the front steps of this grand townhouse, now, feeling as if she were pushing through heavy snow.

  “All will be well, dearest,” whispered Sophie, taking her arm. “I promise.”

  Lavinia gazed at her steadily. “You can make no such promise, Sophie.” She sighed deeply. “But I will try to be sociable. I cannot do any more than that.”

  Sophie nodded. “I will try, too. We both cannot do any more than that.”

  Lavinia kept gazing at her sister. She didn’t want to go out, either. Both of them were on tenterhooks, that they would run into them again. That the Viscount Pemberton and Walter St Clair would be here. And what would they do then?

  They had not talked about it; they had not made any plans together, if such a thing happened. And Lavinia knew that it might happen. If the two gentlemen were still socialising in London, then the chances were high that they would bump into them, at some stage. If not at this soiree, then surely at another.

  Lavinia took a deep breath. I will ignore him, she thought. If I see him, I will simply turn around and walk the other way.

  They were walking through the front entrance, now. Soon, she would know whether she needed to put on a braver face than the one she was already presenting to the world.

  ***

  It was a fashionable ball, with about thirty guests already in attendance, all milling around in the drawing room. Lavinia craned her neck anxiously as they entered, searching for him.

  The crowd was thick, but she didn’t see him. She let out a silent sigh of relief. It was going to be fine. More guests might come, of course, but for the moment, all was well.

  Sophie was immediately swept away by a young gentleman to dance. Lavinia watched her from the sidelines. At one stage, Lord Livingston tried to cut in, but Sophie, in the nicest way possible, dissuaded him.

  Lavinia shook her head in silent disbelief. She never would have believed it possible that her sister would ever discourage such a well-placed gentleman. It could never have been possible, a few short weeks before.

  Her sister was still thinking about Walter St Clair. That much was obvious. It could be the only reason for it.

  The dance changed. Suddenly, she sensed a presence just beside her. Quickly, she turned around, staring into the face of Lord Livingston himself.

  “Miss Beaumont,” he said slowly, bowing slightly. “I thought that it was you.” His eyes flickered over her carefully. “That shade of blue becomes you. It brings out the colour in your eyes, quite vividly.”

  Lavinia smiled. “Why, thank you, Lord Livingston.”

  He inclined his head. “I make a habit of noticing the loveliest ladies in any crowd, of which you and your sister certainly qualify this evening.” He paused. “May I persuade you to dance?”

  She stared at him, a bit stupefied, for a moment. How on earth could she respond?

  She knew that it was only because Sophie had so graciously rejected him that he was deigning to take any notice of her. His preference for her sister was marked. But suddenly, she didn’t care, not in the slightest.

  She studied him carefully, for a moment. He was not a handsome man, in her opinion. His build was too stocky, and his face too angular. But maybe, it was just because her version of masculine beauty was so very different, now. Maybe it was because all she could see, in her mind’s eye, were the gold-red hair and intense green eyes of another man.

  And maybe – just maybe – that needed to change.

  She took a deep breath. “I would be delighted, Lord Livingston.”

  ***

  He was a good dancer. So good, in fact, that she forgot herself, for a moment, and actually enjoyed the dance. It seemed like only seconds before the music stopped, and they were politely clapping.

  “Would you like some refreshment?” he asked, smiling. “A glass of champagne, perhaps?”

  She nodded, and they drifted over to the refreshments table. He procured two glasses of champagne, handing one to her. The bubbles tickled her nose, as she took a long sip, feeling abruptly relaxed.

  It was nice to be out of the house after so long. Sophie had been right, after all. It was good to distract themselves after what had happened. She glanced at the dance floor. Her sister was still there, seemingly enjoying herself, and for that she was very grateful. She knew how hard it had been for her, harder than she even admitted.

  “Do you prefer the country or the city, Miss Beaumont?” asked Lord Livingston, gazing at her steadily.

  “Oh, the country,” she replied, a little breathlessly. “It is where I have spent the majority of my life, and it is home, as London can never be …”

  “Do not be so hasty to judge the city,” he said slowly. “It has its charms. There are more culture and arts. Have you been to the Royal Academy? There is a good exhibition on there, at the moment.”

  For a second, her smile wavered, remembering just when she had been there, and in whose company.

  But then, she squared her shoulders. She just had to live with it; she couldn’t pluck the memories out of her mind, could she? Hopefully, they would fade to grey with time, and no longer have the power to torment her.

  “I have already perused that exhibition,” she said, in as steady a voice as she could muster. “And I do agree that the city does have its advantages, in that way.” She paused. “But it is rather a whirlwind, would you not agree? A cacophony of sensations and sights that can leave one breathless and a little anxious. In the country, it is a steadier pace, and the amusements far more temperate.”

  Lord Livingston gazed at her, a strange look on his face. “You are a most singular young lady, Miss Beaumont,” he said slowly. “And a most intriguing one, as well.”

  She smiled archly. “I do not know how to take that observation, My Lord. I do not know if it is a compliment or an insult.”

  He laughed outright. “It is a compliment, let me assure you,” he said. “I am in London often, to attend the Prince Regent, and have conversed with many young ladies on the scene. I do not think that I have met one who expresses herself quite as you do.”

  “Then I am flattered,” she said, fanning herself. “Thank you, My Lord. I have conversed with many young ladies as well, and find most vacuous and tepid, so frightened of saying the wrong thing that they do not say anything at all. They do not have the confidence to express what is truly in their hearts and minds.”