Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Well, I am off,” said Lady Beaumont, throwing her napkin on the table, as she hoisted herself to her feet. “I will see you later on, girls. Do not get up to any mischief.” She laughed as she walked out of the dining room, closing the door behind her.

  “Lavinia,” said Sophie, her voice grave. “I have something for you …”

  “What is it?”

  Sophie sighed deeply, reaching into the pocket of her house dress. She extracted a thin, white envelope, sliding it across the table towards her sister.

  Lavinia gazed down at it, blinking rapidly.

  “It is a letter for you, from Mr St Clair.” She bit her lip. “He asked me to give it to you when we were sitting together last night, but after what happened, I did not have the heart … you were so upset, and I did not wish to upset you further.”

  Lavinia started to tremble. She picked up the envelope, almost dropping it. “Why is he writing to me?”

  Sophie shrugged. “He did not tell me the contents of the letter, nor have I peeked. But I can only assume it is something to do with what happened.” She paused. “About the deception.”

  Lavinia stared down at it, a little fearfully. She half expected it to explode in her hands as if it had been booby trapped.

  Abruptly, she stood up, clutching the letter tightly.

  “I will peruse it in my room,” she said quickly.

  “Of course, dearest.” Sophie was frowning. “I will be in my room if you need me.”

  Lavinia left the room, without another word.

  ***

  Her hands were still trembling, when she broke the wax seal, spreading the letter open onto her desk.

  Walter St Clair’s hand was elegant and loping. For a moment, she had difficulty focusing on the words. They swam in her vision, looking like spidery hieroglyphics on the page, symbols without any meaning.

  She took a deep breath, and suddenly, the words all started to tumble into her mind, as her eyes sped across the page.

  The Peacock Tavern

  14th August, in the year of our Lord, 1816

  Dear Miss Beaumont,

  Please accept my apology in advance, in writing to you in such a manner. I know that it is a bold move, given that we do not know each other very well at all. Please believe me that I have only resorted to this means to communicate out of the very best of intentions, and in an effort to resolve the troubling circumstances that have occurred.

  I have known Samuel, the Viscount Pemberton, for most of my life. We met as mere boys, when my father was pastor at a local village church, near Hillgate Manor, Samuel’s ancestral home, in Nottinghamshire. We got along immediately, and we have ever since. He has remained a constant friend, keeping in touch long after my own move to Somerset. Despite the vast differences in our life situations, he has always treated me with great respect, courtesy, and civility.

  The fact that I am a solicitor’s assistant means nothing to him, which I think shows you well the character of the man. He believes in judging people on merit, not position, and he has friends and acquaintances from all walks of life. Prejudice based on nothing more than shallow posturing has always angered him, and he has lived by this maxim consistently.

  I realise, dear lady, that you probably think that I am biased towards him, given our great friendship. This may be true, but I think that it also gives me great insight into his true character. I can attest, with my hand over my heart, that the Viscount is a decent, steadfast, consistent man, with great warmth of character. He is also highly intelligent and witty, which I am sure you have discerned, during your encounters with him.

  He is truly sorry for the deception that was played out, and how deeply it affected you. He never intended to hurt you, and agonised over how to tell you the truth, trying to minimise the damage.

  He had, by that stage, realised that he had formed a deep attachment to you. He values honesty and transparency, and this is the only time he has ever willingly deceived anyone, and it was only so he could meet people on a more authentic level.

  He entered into the deception not out of a desire to trick people, but because he is tired of being prejudged. People, especially young ladies who may have designs on him for matrimony, have always been inauthentic with him because of his status and wealth.

  The idea for the deception was mine, because I wanted him to enjoy the season, rather than go into it with anxiety and trepidation. Thus, if you must blame anyone for it, then I am afraid the seed of it was entirely mine, and as such, I must take full responsibility.

  He has confessed to me how deeply he loves and admires you. I have never seen him so attached to another young lady before. I believe that you have the power to make my dear friend very happy, and I am confident he has the capacity to make you very happy, too. I have seen you both together and have discerned the spark between you both. I think that it is genuine and real.

  This letter is already longer than I intended, but I must make one last point, before signing off. You met my friend as a commoner, but the man he presented to you is truly him. What you know of his character is true. If you hold him in any regard, judged on that character, then I implore you to forgive him, for the sake of him, but also for you. True love does not come along very often, after all. We must grasp it, and fight for it, when it does.

  I remain, your devoted servant,

  Walter St Clair

  Lavinia sighed, letting the letter flutter out of her hands. Tears were streaming down her face so heavily that she could barely see. Everything was a blur, in her vision.

  Walter St Clair had written beautifully. She had a better understanding of him now and had no doubt he was a man of superlative character, deserving of her sister. But how much was true of what he had written?

  He had admitted that he was biased, towards his friend. Was he also desperate to solve his unhappiness? Or had the Viscount put him up to this, entreating him to write him a character reference?

  She was so confused that she didn’t know what to think anymore. But then, it had been like that ever since she had met the man known as Samuel Hunter. The Viscount Pemberton. He had confused her utterly, from that very first moment. She had not been the same person since.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Sophie opened it, staring at her with wide eyes.

  “I know that I promised to leave you alone,” she said, stepping into the room. “But I am bursting with curiosity and simply could not wait a moment longer to ask you what he has written to you.”

  Lavinia sighed again, wiping away her tears. She held out the letter to her sister. “Read it, dear heart.”

  Sophie’s face didn’t change as she read the letter. After she had finished, she looked up at Lavinia, her eyes swimming with tears.

  “Oh, my dear,” she whispered. “I cannot lie to you. I am deeply moved by Mr St Clair’s dear love for his friend, and how wonderfully he writes of that affection …”

  Lavinia smiled wanly. “He is a wonderful letter writer. I hope that you shall be on the receiving end of many of them.” She hesitated. “But is he also truthful in what he writes? Is he only trying to solve things for his friend because he is racked with guilt over what he has done?”

  Sophie shook her head firmly. “No. That is not true.” She took a deep breath. “Lavinia, this has changed things for me, utterly. I cannot imagine marrying anyone but Walter St Clair now. And I know that you feel the same way about the Viscount as I do about his friend …”

  “But …”

  “No, hear me out.” Sophie’s voice was firm. “I have watched you suffer with this love. The Viscount is suffering greatly, too. I think that he has made his regret over the deception explicit, and it should now be done. I agree with Mr St Clair: you and the Viscount are clearly made for each other, and I think that you should forgive him.”

  Lavinia gasped. “You do?”

  Sophie nodded. “Yes, Liv. I think that it is enough. He made a mistake, and he is truly sorry for it. It does not change his
basic character, and if you are both deeply in love, then it should be forgiven and forgotten.”

  Lavinia frowned. If only it were so simple. A part of her longed to forgive him; it was because she loved him so much that she was so terribly hurt. Was it possible for them, still? Despite everything that had happened?

  She wished she could trust again. She wished it, suddenly, with all her heart.

  Her face clouded over. “There is still the matter of Miss Emily Munro.”

  Sophie gazed at her steadily. “What of her? All that you saw last night was a woman approaching you both. You assumed a familiarity which might not have been there. And in my experience of ladies like Miss Munro, they seek to hurt, where they can.” She paused. “She may have designs on him. I very much believe that she probably does. But that does not mean that he feels the same way, at all.”

  Lavinia frowned. Could it be true that she had misinterpreted what happened last night? That Miss Munro was just being nasty, trying to cause havoc, instead of being a possessive lover? Had she run away from the Viscount before he had a chance to properly explain?

  She gazed out the window. She still didn’t know anything anymore. But things were shifting inside her, slowly.

  Perhaps things weren’t entirely as they seemed. And perhaps – just perhaps – she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Chapter 25

  Samuel gazed down into his evening meal. He didn’t have any appetite at all. This evening, the Peacock Tavern had served pork sausages in a thick gravy, with a side serve of cabbage.

  He picked desolately at his meal. The sausages were thick, and glistening with fat, so that every time he cut a piece, it almost oozed out. The gravy was a dark brown, full of lumps.

  It obviously hadn’t been stirred properly when it had been prepared; he recalled Mrs Emmett, the cook at Hillgate Manor, scolding a kitchen hand about it once. And the cabbage was over boiled, almost wilting into the plate, no longer green but a dull grey colour.

  He pushed the plate aside. Perhaps he was being overly fussy. Or perhaps he just couldn’t eat because his stomach was still churning about what had happened at that ball.

  Walter glanced up at him, his fork suspended in the air. He gazed at him sympathetically. “No appetite, old chap?”

  Samuel shook his head. “No, I cannot eat. Every time that I try, it makes me feel slightly ill.” He sighed heavily. “I simply cannot believe how it all went so horribly wrong, yet again.”

  Walter nodded. “It was dastardly timing, on Miss Emily Munro’s behalf,” he said slowly. “The fact that she was in attendance, at that very moment, and saw you with Lavinia …”

  Samuel grimaced. “And then decided to make mischief, again. Miss Munro could have let us be, given us some time alone.” He paused. “But, of course, she did not …”

  “That lady has an agenda,” said Walter, frowning. “The fact that she keeps turning up, like the bad penny, when you least expect her, shows that. She definitely has designs on you, Samuel, and she is quite determined that Miss Beaumont should be completely discouraged.”

  “I know,” said Samuel, his lips tightening. “The worst of it is, I have never encouraged the lady, in any way. When I was acquainted with her, I knew she had designs, of course, like most of the young ladies I encountered, but she never seemed particularly aggressive about pursuing me.” He sighed. “She seems to have changed her mind on that score …”

  “Yes,” agreed Walter. “She does seem to have changed her mind and is intent on making sure that Miss Beaumont thinks you the devil incarnate! What are you going to do now?’

  Samuel grimaced again. What could he do now? Lavinia had rushed off, upset, assuming that Miss Munro had interrupted them because they had some kind of understanding.

  She had jumped to a hasty conclusion, but given the circumstances, he hardly blamed her. He was trying to win back her trust, show that he was a man of integrity, and that his word was good. The sudden appearance of Miss Munro had shattered that, in her mind, yet again. It hadn’t taken much to make her believe the worst of him.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. There had been a moment, there, when he had seen a light come into her eyes. She had wanted to believe him – he saw the hope there, the desperate longing to throw caution to the wind and tell him that she accepted his apology.

  Did she still love him? Could he still hope that there was a slim chance?

  He agonised over it for a minute. It was so hard to keep going in the face of such disapproval. He loved her with all his heart, and he wanted her for his wife, more than life itself. But at what point was it sheer foolishness to keep pursuing her when she was telling him she wasn’t interested? At what point should he bow out gracefully and respect her decision?

  He opened his eyes, staring at Walter. His friend looked a bit glum, too, now that he thought about it. Once again, he cursed himself. He was being self-centred, as always. In the aftermath of what had happened at the ball, he hadn’t even asked Walter once what was now happening between him and Sophie Beaumont.

  He had found his friend at the ball, after Lavinia had rushed away from him explaining that they must leave. Walter had not mentioned Sophie at all, and he had not thought to ask. He had been too consumed by his own misery.

  He took a deep breath. It was time to start being a good friend again; to shelve his own troubles, just for a little while.

  “You spoke to Sophie at the ball?” he asked intently.

  Walter sighed. “I did, my friend. It was all going so well; I actually thought that she was almost returned to herself in how she was interacting with me.” He paused. “And then, Lavinia came rushing towards us, obviously distressed, and they left immediately. I did not have a chance to speak with her again …”

  “But that is good news,” interjected Samuel. “Very good news, indeed!”

  Walter shrugged. “I cannot tell, old chap. I thought that it was promising, but now, with what has just occurred … I am not so sure.” He paused. “Sophie will be playing mother tiger again, rushing to defend Lavinia from your evil clutches. I think that any ground that I may have made with her has been lost for good, now.”

  “You do not know that,” said Samuel steadily. “If she was willing to engage with you at the ball, then I think there is a lot of hope there, and so should you. You should not be discouraged, Walter. Not at all.”

  Walter shrugged again. “Even so, the facts still remain, Samuel. I am a poor landowner with very little to offer such a fine lady. She may like me – I dare utter the words she may even love me – but she will never condescend to marry me. I am utterly beneath her, and the sooner that I get that through my thick head, the better.”

  Samuel sighed. His friend sounded so totally discouraged it almost broke his heart to hear it. And the worst of it was that Walter’s doubts were not fanciful, at all. The chances that Sophia Beaumont would accept him as a suitor, and that she would consider marriage with him, were low. Lavinia had told him her sister wanted to marry for position and wealth, and Walter had neither.

  He frowned, trying to figure out a way in which he might improve Walter’s chance with her. He could not elevate his status, but could he improve his friend’s financial position, even just enough to make the prospect of marriage with him seem more attractive to the eldest Beaumont sister?

  His mind started to race, thinking it through. He had more wealth than he needed, and the capacity to help his friend.

  He took a deep breath. “What about if you were not such a poor landowner, anymore?”