Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Samuel sighed. “Do not think that way, my friend. It is far better that one of us won the lady of our dreams, after all.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be, with Lavinia and me. The deception was too much for her to trust me again. It shall be good to return to Nottinghamshire in a few days and leave it all behind.”

  Walter frowned. “I do not believe that. There is still time. More events that we could go to, so that you can win her trust again …”

  But Samuel shook his head sadly. “No, it is over, my friend. She has made her feelings plain, and I must respect her choice. It is the honourable thing to do, in the end.” He smiled sadly. “I will always love her, but I must face the fact that I have lost her.”

  Walter’s frown deepened. “Could you perhaps take the bull by the horns and arrive at her house to propose, just as I did? That way, you will know once and for all, and have no regrets about leaving London.”

  Samuel sighed. “It would not work the same way for me as it has for you, Walter. She does not wish to see me, at all. She is still angry and does not want to forgive me. The incident with Miss Munro was the icing on the cake, I am afraid. If that had not occurred …”

  “You could still try,” insisted Walter. “You have nothing to lose, after all.”

  Samuel shook his head. As tempting as the idea was, he knew that it would end badly. Sophia Beaumont had been speaking with Walter, at events. He knew that she had softened towards him. But Lavinia had not softened towards him, at all. If anything, she was even angrier than she had ever been, now.

  Polly arrived with their new ales, and he drank deeply, reflecting on it. It was an impossible situation, now. And he no longer had the heart to stay on in London, watching her from afar, for the rest of the season. Far better that he accept her choice graciously and leave.

  He watched his friend drinking his ale, trying to temper his joy. It was hard on Walter. He was so elated at having won Sophie against the odds. He should be free to express that joy without worrying that he was hurting him in the process. This was Walter’s moment, and he should be allowed to wallow in it.

  “Let us not speak of it anymore,” he said firmly. “We shall both leave London in a few days, and now that you have accepted my offer of a country estate for you and your new wife, we should talk about where exactly that might be. Where would you like to settle with her if you could be anywhere?”

  Walter looked pensive. “If I had the choice, of anywhere in the country, then I would have to choose Nottinghamshire,” he said slowly. “I have such fond memories of growing up there, with you alongside as my best friend, and only left for the opportunity of work.” He paused. “I do not know if there are any country houses that would be appropriate, of course …”

  Samuel’s eyes shone. “My dear friend, that is simply wonderful! I have always longed, in my heart, for you to be closer to me on a permanent basis. We do not see each other as often as I would like anymore.” He hesitated. “There is a house, with significant acreage attached, not far from Hillgate Manor …”

  Walter leaned across the table eagerly. “Tell me about it.”

  “It used to belong to the Darnley family,” he said. “They left when old Mr Darnley became infirm, and the property no longer suited them.” He smiled. “It is most agreeable, Walter. A three-storey bluestone house, with a vast established garden. There are ten acres attached, which would be suitable for farming. I have often admired the property, passing by.”

  Walter looked stunned. “Why, that sounds ideal! The property would charm a young lady, then? She could put her own stamp upon it, while still appreciating what it offers?”

  Samuel nodded. “Indeed. If you brought your new wife to Carew House, she would be charmed, I am sure of it. And while the house and gardens are established, there is still room to change things, if you so desire, so that she feels truly at home there.”

  Walter blinked back tears. “I simply cannot believe it! I feel as if fortune has blessed me twice over, today. The loveliest lady in the land has agreed to be my wife, and now, I shall have a home deserving of her.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “I am the luckiest man in the world. And I have you to thank for it all, my friend.”

  Samuel frowned slightly. “You are too effusive, old chap. It is you who won over Miss Beaumont …”

  But Walter stopped him. “No. I would never have had the confidence to pursue her, or ask for her hand, without your explicit encouragement. The offer of the allowance bolstered me, giving me the belief that perhaps I might have a chance to win her.” He paused. “And now, you are giving us our first home, and the possibility of changing our lives, for the better.”

  Samuel smiled. “I am so happy that it has worked out so well for you, old chap. A season to remember.”

  “A season to remember, indeed,” said Walter. “I shall be eternally grateful to you, my friend. I do not know how I will ever repay you.”

  Samuel waved a hand dismissively. “Do not even think of repayment! You have done me a favour, anyway, by accompanying me to London for the season. I was not looking forward to it at all, as you know.”

  Walter picked up his mug of ale, his eyes shining with tears. “To you, My Lord. To the Viscount Pemberton. I must say, I prefer him any day, to Samuel Hunter.”

  ***

  Samuel slowly turned around, heading back to the Peacock. He had walked long enough. He should start packing, for the long journey back to Nottinghamshire.

  It was all too late. Even if he had resolved to propose to Lavinia, Walter had told him something else, much later that day after he had come back from the Beaumont residence, and after they had made plans to purchase a new house.

  “Lord Livingston arrived at the Beaumont house,” he had confessed, “just as I was taking my leave of it. He seemed nervous, and he asked to speak to Lord Beaumont, as well.” He had paused. “I did not want to tell you, but now I fear I must. I think he was asking for Lavinia’s hand in marriage.”

  Samuel had gasped. “Are you sure?”

  But Walter had been unable to enlighten him any further.

  She might already be engaged, he thought, with a fresh spurt of agony. It is like losing her, all over again.

  He sighed deeply, thinking of his mindset at the beginning of the season. How he had been before coming to London.

  He had still been grieving his father. And he knew, now, that he had holed himself up at Hillgate Manor in an attempt to process that grief. He had not wanted to socialise, or look for a wife, even though his mother insisted upon it and was pressuring him.

  The weight of the title that he had just inherited from his father had sat on his head like an oversized crown, pushing him down. He had felt like it would surely grind him into the ground.

  He stopped. Had that been part of it? Why he had agreed so willingly to pretend to be a commoner?

  His eyes swam with sudden tears. Yes, he believed so. He had been running from the fact that he was now the Viscount Pemberton. That his beloved father no longer wore the title and was truly gone. And perhaps the burden of responsibility of the title, too. A wild desire to run away from it all, just for a little while.

  He sighed. He had got a lot more than he bargained for when he had blithely agreed to pretend to be a commoner. He had found the love of his life, and he had lost her. He would be returning to Hillgate Manor a hollow man.

  He squinted against the sunlight. A carriage was drawing up alongside the Peacock. A carriage far grander than usually pulled up in this area.

  He gazed at it curiously, wondering who would get out of it, and what their business was in this area. Had they got lost, perhaps?

  Abruptly, he stopped walking. He felt as if his legs had taken root in the ground.

  Two ladies were slowly descending from the carriage. Two beautiful ladies, elegantly dressed, with bonnets and gloves, as if about to make a morning house call.

  The taller of the two had nut brown curls framing her face.
She gazed around, a little fearfully, frowning. She didn’t look comfortable being in this part of the city.

  But the other lady stared openly, looking intrigued. Her blue eyes were large in her heart-shaped face as she pondered her surroundings with a frank curiosity. The wind whipped her bonnet, and she reached up a hand to steady it, turning in his direction.

  Their eyes locked. It was Lavinia.

  His heart seized. She had found out where he was residing. Why was she here?

  He started to tremble all over. Hope, long extinguished, was flaring to life, like an eternal flame in his heart.

  Chapter 30

  Lavinia’s heart somersaulted in her chest, doing a complete flip. He was here. He was standing in the distance, staring at her, looking so astounded that she thought he might keel over from shock.

  Sophie gasped. “Oh, my dear, he is here! We have come to the right place …”

  She barely heard her sister, nor could she acknowledge her words. She didn’t know what to do. Should she smile politely and wave to him?

  It all seemed so ludicrous, in the circumstances, standing outside this shabby inn on the east side of London. She had never been to this part of the city before in her life. Suddenly, proper etiquette was simply beyond her.

  But as her mind was whirling with it all, he seemed to collect himself, walking towards her. Those intense green eyes were boring into her own, rooting her to the spot.

  She couldn’t breathe. She simply couldn’t breathe.

  The next moment, he was standing in front of her.

  “Lavinia,” he whispered.

  It all happened quickly, after that.

  Walter St Clair was there, spiriting Sophie inside. She vaguely registered her sister, gazing at her intently, but she didn’t say a thing. Samuel was offering his arm, asking if she wanted to walk with him, along the river.

  “Yes,” she said, in a trembling voice. “Yes, I would like that, very much.”

  ***

  She was acutely conscious of her arm on his, as they strolled. She glanced up at him, trying to read his demeanour, but he seemed to be waiting for her to talk. To tell him why she was so unexpectedly visiting him in this rundown part of the city, along the River Thames.

  “You are well?” she asked, her voice coming out as a squeak.

  He nodded. “As well as I can be, in the circumstances.” He hesitated. “Lavinia, why are you here? How did you even know where I was residing?”

  She glanced up at him. “I need to speak with you,” she said slowly. “I heard that you are leaving London, and I simply could not bear it if you left before I could tell you …”

  “Tell me what?” His voice was a whisper.

  She took a deep, ragged breath. Now that she was actually here, she suddenly felt shy. A lady wasn’t supposed to do this, was she? A lady wasn’t supposed to pursue a gentleman, all over the city, to tell him what was in her heart.

  For a moment, the audacity of what she had done overwhelmed her. Her mother, if she knew, would be appalled, and even her father would frown. They would not like to hear that their two daughters were traipsing around London like this when they were supposed to be shopping for bonnets on Bond Street.

  It was simply not done, and it was risky. Sophie had looked very concerned when she had insisted on coming straight here, when they finally found out where the Viscount Pemberton was residing. But she had been afire with purpose, intent on it. Nothing and no one could have stopped her, at that moment.

  She took another deep breath, for courage. She was here now. She had her chance, at long last, and she must not fail.

  “I need to tell you that I am sorry,” she said, in a small voice. “I am sorry that I reacted so strongly to your deception, pretending to be a commoner …”

  He looked stunned. “It is I who am sorry, for all that I have done …”

  She shook her head firmly. “No. Please, here me out, while I still have the courage to speak.” She paused. “I am sorry. For I understand now that you are a genuine person and have always been yourself. You may have lied about who you are, but your character was always the same. Your good friend Mr St Clair attested to it, in a letter to me.”

  “Walter wrote to you?” Samuel’s voice was faint. “I did not know. He did not tell me.”

  “He did,” she said, her eyes large. “He asked me to forgive you, for you are a man of good character, and never meant to hurt me in what you had done.” She paused. “It took me a long time to realise that what he said was true. That is why I am here, My Lord. To tell you that I do now realise, and I am so sorry for ever doubting you.”

  Samuel shook his head in disbelief. “I am overcome …”

  She smiled wanly. “In fact, I am glad,” she said slowly. “I am glad that you pretended to be Samuel Hunter, middle-class landowner. I am glad because I would never have given you a chance if I had met you as the Viscount Pemberton.” She took a deep breath. “I would never have had the chance to know you …”

  He reached out, hesitantly, taking her hand, staring at her ardently.

  “Can you forgive me?” she asked, in an anguished whisper.

  He looked astounded. “Forgive you? There is nothing to forgive, Lavinia. You had every right to be hurt when you discovered what I had done. I do not blame you for it, at all. I just wanted to show you that the deception was not indicative of who I really am. That it was an aberration of character, rather than the norm.”

  She nodded. “I understand that now. You have never misrepresented your true character to me, and it is your character that I responded to.” She paused. “I was prejudiced. I did not know that I was, but it is true. I thought that all noblemen were corrupt and dissolute, but I was wrong. You have shown me how wrong I was.”

  His eyes shone with tears, turning them a bright, almost emerald green, in the light.

  “I do want to ask you something else,” she said slowly. “And I would like you to be honest with me. Does Miss Emily Munro believe that you will take her as a wife?”

  He laughed abruptly. “No, Lavinia. Miss Munro is hardly more than an acquaintance.” He paused. “I do not like her, even as a friend. She is just someone who I have met and conversed with, over the years. She is like all the other young ladies, who are intent on snagging a wealthy, titled gentleman. Miss Munro does not even like me.”

  She felt the final knot untie within her at his words. The assurance that he was giving her, that he did not regard Miss Munro in that light. That the lady was simply one of many, who angled for him because of who he was.

  She suddenly felt very sad that his life had been thus. And she fully understood why he had been desperate to escape it, even just for a little while.

  She blinked rapidly. “You said that was one of the reasons for the deception. It must have been hard, knowing that people were only seeking you out, for that reason.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it was, but it is part of the position. I realise that now … perhaps, I have finally matured, in that regard.” He sighed. “It has always sat heavily on my shoulders, the knowledge that I would be viscount one day. I did not like the sycophants, who sought me out. I always wanted genuine connections.”

  She frowned. “It must have been so hard …”

  He sighed. “It became worse when my father died,” he said quietly. “Suddenly, I was the viscount, and all the responsibility of it was resting on my shoulders. It was part of my grief for him, I think, that I did not want to take it all on. Pretending to be a commoner was running away from who I am, in one sense.”