Lady of Mischief: Historical Regency Romance

by Lisa Campell

  She blushed. “You’re welcome,” she murmured and continued up to her room. He watched her until she was out of sight, then he made his way to the study, to look through the records on the estate. He wanted to be able to give his father a full opinion when next he asked for it.

  He took a seat and spent the next hour reading through the records very carefully. He was surprised at what he saw in the records. He had not known that the estate had suffered quite a loss five years earlier, but had regained its stand a year after. Colin had been gone by then. Looking through the records, he realized that his father was a hard worker, for every problem caused, there was a solution right after. He wondered if he would be able to do the same, to meet up with the standards his father has created.

  By the time he was done, the entire household was quiet. He rose from the seat, placed the records back into the desk, and then made his way out of the study. The lights in the hallway had been snuffed. He made use of the lamp he had been using in the study.

  He was quite exhausted. He made his way up the stairs very slowly. He yawned as he proceeded, making a turn to the east wing, where his bedchamber was located.

  He heard raised voices, recognizing his father and the Duchess.

  "No! Listen to me Augusta, I shall do no such thing!" He heard his father say.

  He stopped. Why would his father be screaming at such hour?

  "There is no need ... about it. And would you stop shouting...could hear you." The Duchess spoke in low tones, and so he was unable to hear all that she had said.

  "But how can you suggest such a thing?" The Duke raised his voice again.

  "Darling," came the Duchess’s voice. "This may cause a lot of problems for you, if you do not come forward and speak up. Your reputation is at stake, as well as the reputation of this entire household."

  Colin was taken aback. What were they talking about? What had his father done that needed to be hidden? What could this mean?

  Chapter Seven

  "Thank you." Colin had said, as Lavinia made her way up the stairs. She had turned slowly, in utter confusion.

  "What for?" she had asked.

  He tilted his head, a smile on his lips. "The painting. I feel like I am myself again."

  Those words had melted her heart. That he had appreciated her in such a way, it had made her feel happier than she had been in years. Lavinia had never felt like she had a family. Her father had a nasty temper, one which had made Lavinia and her mother feel like they were constantly in a war zone, tiptoeing about in order to avoid conflict. In the earlier years, when his tantrums began, Lavinia had thought that seeing her would calm him down, but it seemed that her presence made him angrier. It was then she learnt to stay away when he came home. Her mother had often bore the brunt of his temper. Lavinia did appreciate her mother. Once, she was all her mother had and she had been doted upon then. But since her mother was wed to the Duke, Lavinia felt more irrelevant by each passing day.

  But Colin had appreciated her today.

  Lavinia had never felt so important to anyone she considered family. It warmed her heart.

  Lavinia could not remember ever being as thrilled as she had been today, neither had she ever experienced such a surprise. She had been at loss for words. She had felt important, because Colin had listened to her. Despite his silence when she had spoken to him at the orphanage, he had been listening to her. For the first time in years, she felt like her thoughts and ideas mattered.

  Colin was thoughtful. Even though she had no real interest in painting, she wanted to support him as he grew to love painting again.

  "My Lady?" Rebecca called.

  Startled, Lavinia snapped out of her reverie. Rebecca had arrived to change her into her night dress, but she was not ready to go to bed yet.

  She remembered the note she had seen with the Duke's letters about her father. The words in the note still haunted her. She wondered again what the Duke had done to her father, and truthfully she wondered if her mother had a hand in it as well.

  With her curiosity rising, Lavinia decided that she had to do something. She would go to the study, in search of any evidence at all. Anything that could shed more light on the note she had seen. Anything that was related to her father. She needed to know what the Duke had done. Surely, the Duke would have his letters in the study.

  "May I?" Rebecca walked around her and began to work on her buttons. Lavinia froze. She needed to get out of the bed chamber without being seen, it would be a difficult task with Rebecca hovering and insisting she take her bath and change into her night gown.

  Rebecca began to remove her dress. She needed to think of something fast. Her shoulders eased when her thoughts came together. She would take her bath, get dressed for the night and dismiss Rebecca, then she would slip on her muslin and a cloak before heading out. She breathed in and let Rebecca do her work.

  "Goodnight, My Lady," Rebecca said.

  Lavinia was in bed, under her duvet. Rebecca headed for the door. She raised the candle and made to blow out the light, but Lavinia protested. "Let it be."

  Rebecca nodded. "As you wish, My Lady."

  She walked out and shut the door behind her. Lavinia turned, so that she was facing the ceiling. Her heartbeat was fast. She was nervous about her plan, but she knew that she had to do it. She waited for a few minutes, counting to herself. After she was sure that enough time had passed, she slipped out of her bed, slipped on a black cloak, and then made her way out of the bed chamber. She gripped the candlestick holder in her left hand and made her way down the staircase. She looked around at intervals to make sure she was not seen.

  As she was about to make her way down the staircase, she stopped when she heard footsteps approaching. Blowing out the candle, she swiftly moved behind the wall. She held her breath and hoped not to get caught. She was still hidden as the person neared. She peeped out to see who it was, and was surprised to see Colin, making his way to his room. Her heart beat faster at this realization. She felt her cheeks heat up. She wondered what he would think of her walking around at such late hour. She panicked. It made her conscious of what he thought of her. She shook her head and kept her thoughts at bay. The moment he turned towards the east wing, where his bed chamber was located, she made her way down the staircase. She had not known that he would still be awake. Perhaps he was finishing up with the records that the Duke had given him to go through.

  She walked into the study and closed the door after her. Breathing hard, she placed the candlestick holder down and tried to calm her nerves. Lighting the candle again with a match from her pocket, she began to search the study. She searched for any letter or note that had her father's name on it.

  She pulled out the stack of letters beneath the desk and searched through them, her eyes glancing through as fast as she could. To her surprise, the note was no longer there. After looking around for quite some time, Lavinia became frustrated. She hit her hand on the table angrily. She regretted her reaction almost immediately. The thud had been loud. Her heart beat fastened again.

  Her eyes widened when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Taking quick action, Lavinia blew out the candle and stood quietly by the shelf. She closed her eyes and prayed that no one would walk in. However, her hopes were dashed when the door swung open. Her eyed widened as a lamp was brought forward by a figure. Standing by the door, was Spratt, the butler. Her breath hitched when he set his eyes on her.

  "Lady Lavinia?"

  Her heart pounded. She felt a knot settled in her stomach. "Spratt..."

  "What are you doing here at this hour, My Lady?"

  She stepped forward quickly, her expression pleading. "Please, speak no word of this to the Duke and Duchess. "

  He eyed her skeptically, but after a while he nodded reluctantly. "Pray tell, My Lady, what you are doing here at this hour?"

  Lavinia wondered what she would say to him. She wondered if she could trust him with what she knew. She had known Mr. Spratt since she had arrived at Some
rset Manor with her mother years ago. He had newly been hired. Spratt had always been kind to her, but it did not mean that she could completely trust him. His loyalty was ultimately to the Duke. She needed to make something up.

  "I was looking for some ink," she said.

  He raised both brows. "Ink? Why did you not ask?"

  She swallowed. "It was late. I figured that everyone would be abed by now. I was writing in my diary."

  Spratt nodded slowly. She hoped he believed her.

  "Oh, I see," he said. “Let me fetch you some, so that the Duke does not run out of his supply.”

  Lavinia smiled. He seemed to believe her. Now that Lavinia thought of it, perhaps he could tell her something that could help her. She went ahead.

  "Thank you, Spratt. I am not quite certain, my memory is a bit hazy, but I wonder, do you know if my father was close to the Duke?"

  He creased his brows. "What was your father’s name?"

  "Lord Fitzwilliam," she said.

  Spratt tilted his head to the side. "Oh. Lord Fitzwilliam. I do recall him."

  Her hope rose. "You do? Well...was he close to the Duke?"

  Spratt shook his head. "Lord Fitzwilliam was not close to the Duke, I wouldn’t say, but I do recall that when he lost his money in gambling, the Duke made a loan to him."

  Lavinia creased her brows. While her father was alive, she had never met the Duke. She had only met him after her father's death. Similarly, Spratt had arrived at the manor just as her mother became wed to the duke. So how then did he recall that far back?

  "You knew my father?" she asked tentatively, her gut tightening.

  Spratt smiled and nodded. "Indeed. I knew him from when I served in the army. He was a good friend of mine in fact. Let me go and fetch you some ink," he said, bowing and then leaving.

  Lavinia’s heart stirred, she had never met anyone that referred to her father as good. Perhaps Spratt had known him from his earlier years, before her birth, perhaps in his earlier years he had been good. She had never known her father had served at the army either.

  And most of all, she had not known that the Duke had lent her father money after he had lost it in gambling. Something did not quite fit. There was a whole puzzle to solve. She was grateful to Spratt. He had given her a vital piece of information. Her father had owed the Duke some money, and what then did the Duke do to her father? She was going to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  "No, " Colin said, chuckling.

  He stood in the garden with Lavinia and watched as she painted on the canvas in front of her. She seemed quite interested in him teaching her how to paint, but she was doing it all wrong and while he corrected her, her focus made him laugh. The way she creased her brows, the way she placed the bottom of the paint brush on her cheek while thinking.

  Colin stood back, watching her. When she began painting the rose before she drew the other flowers that surrounded it, he stopped her.

  "You have to sketch everything in first, before painting them."

  She pouted. "I really want to get to the painting part. I think that is what I am most interested in."

  Colin chuckled. "Lavinia... You have to create the underpainting, so that you don’t have to go back and fix anything later."

  "Fine." She smiled and went back to using the raw umber paint.

  "Well enough." He nodded as she proceeded.

  She smirked. "One of these days, you have to paint me. I have never been painted before and I'd really love a work of art for myself."

  Colin considered what she said. He certainly would not mind. Over the past few days, Lavinia had proved to be everything he had wanted all his life. Supportive, caring and understanding. She was a light in the darkness.

  "Can I go and visit the horses when we are done?" she asked.

  He gave her a pointed look. "The Duke and Duchess would not be pleased."

  She rolled her eyes. "You need to loosen up a bit." She placed her tools down, and took off her apron.

  "Lavinia —"

  She grinned and took his hands in hers. She pulled him, and together, they headed off. He was unaware of where they were heading, not towards the stables it seemed, so he did not want to protest, because he was curious. They ran towards the field which was situated behind the estate.

  Lavinia pulled her shoes off. His eyes widened. "Lavinia!"

  She giggled, tugging at her silk stockings. "Come on, you will enjoy it. I run around here barefoot all of the time."

  He could not believe this. "For what purpose?"

  She stopped and shrugged. "Just to be happy. I used to come here to forget. The feel of the grass beneath my feet always made me happy."

  She was beautiful under the sun, he noted. He swallowed hard and looked away. She walked over to him and took both his hands and shook them. "Try it, Colin. Come on...please."

  He was reluctant, but he complied. He took off his boots and like her, walked on the field. The grass was soft and cool beneath his feet. She giggled and danced, throwing her hands in the air and humming a tune.

  He found her joy infectious, and soon, he found himself dancing to her humming, under the sun. She had been right. He felt happy, as though he had no worry in the world.

  "Do you see?" She giggled.

  He laughed and nodded. "Do you do this often?"

  She nodded, grabbing his hands and then capering around in a circle. "Very often."

  He was certain that it was considered inappropriate, but he could not help it. They both danced, laughed, and finally, fell down on the grass, still laughing. He had never felt this happy.

  After they replaced their shoes and headed back to the courtyard and sat down to take their afternoon tea.

  Lavinia sat opposite him, smiling as she sipped her tea. She seemed so beautiful, and all he could do was stare at her. He was unable to take his eyes off of her. She began chattering now. He paid attention.

  "The ball draws near and I must admit that I am terrified." Her eyes widened as she spoke, but she refrained from making as many wild gesticulations as she usually did. She had changed over the past week, she was more like a Lady that the ton wanted, more composed, and more so when in the presence of her mother and his father.

  However, not when she was with him. She was herself and he appreciated that. He liked that she had not truly changed herself. He wanted nothing to change about her. He liked her free spirit, her eagerness to say what she liked, when she wished.

  "There is no need to be terrified, Lavinia. You'll do just fine."

  She looked up at him, her cheeks were flushed. She muttered. "Thank you."

  He nodded. "So, when do you intend on visiting the orphanage next? I'd like to come."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. I enjoyed my time with the children."

  She smiled. "I am happy that you did."

  "What made you so interested in the children at the orphanage?"

  He saw her freeze. She looked up at him gently, her lashes fluttering. He wondered if he had said something wrong. He wanted to tell her never to mind about his question if it was a bother, but she stopped him.

  "I was once a child like those children: lost, sad, alone," she began. "I used to hide away from everyone else. Once I was shy..." She laughed humorlessly.

  He could never imagine her as shy. He thought about it. Lavinia being quiet, shying away. He realized that he would not like it.

  "My father had a temper," she admitted. "He would often come home drunk and he would descend on us."

  She looked up at the sky. Her eyes were glossy with tears, but she smiled. "I would sit in my room and cover my ears, hoping that the noise would stop."

  Colin thought about his own father. The Duke had never really been there for him, he had also neglected him in a way. And he had never truly recovered from that childhood filled with distance between himself and his father.

  Lavinia was brave, Colin concluded. To have survived all of that, and still smile and laugh, and even have the
passion to reach out to other children who had gone through the same as her, or even worse. He felt the need to hold her in his arms and tell her so. His breath hitched at his thoughts. His heart pounded. That was inappropriate—his own step-sister.

  "But he died soon after the worst of it. He committed suicide," she stopped talking. “It doesn’t seem like a thing that he would do. He was his own favorite person.”

  He did not want her to go any further. There was too much pain in her memory. In her past. He shook his head. "I admire you, for your bravery, your dauntlessness and your undying passion."