by Sara Bennett
Copyright © 2018 by Sara Bennett
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Surrender
A mockingbird square book #3
Sara Bennett
Contents
Mockingbird Square
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
About the Author
Other books in the Mockingbird Square Series…
Other Books By Sara Bennett
Mockingbird Square
Where happy endings are always possible
Mockingbird Square is a garden square in exclusive Mayfair, owned for centuries by the Earls of Monkstead. The present earl amuses himself by interfering in the love lives of his neighbours, and attempting to bring about their happy endings.
One
Autumn 1816, Monkstead House, Mockingbird Square, Mayfair
Lady Lavinia Richmond pressed back against the library door and closed her eyes. As if by doing so she could become invisible. Outside there was silence but she knew he was there. It was as if her senses were attuned to his, even after all this time.
“Captain Longhurst! Have you seen my uncle?”
The muted voice belonged to one of the other female guests—a pretty brunette who was the niece of the Earl of Monkstead.
On the other side of the door, Sebastian Longhurst’s answer was too low for her to hear, but the woman gave a light laugh in response, as they moved away.
Lavinia sighed with relief. She wasn’t long out of mourning and had only just begun to go out into Society again, and she had thought . . . she had hoped that Sebastian would have forgotten her.
She realised now how foolish that hope had been. Captain Longhurst wasn’t the sort to forget. Or to give up. She should know that, she did know that.
Slowly she unclenched her fists and smoothed them over the skirt of her lavender coloured muslin gown, telling herself she was being foolish. She’d have to face him at some point, speak to him, meet those ocean blue eyes in that handsome face, and the sooner she did it the better. Afterwards they could move on with their lives, or at least she could—she suspected he had already done so.
Lavinia stepped away from the door and into the room she had used as a bolt hole. And gasped. Her mind had been filled with Sebastian and for a moment she thought a stranger had appeared before her, as if by magic. It was with relief she realised the man seated in the leather chair, observing her with amused dark eyes, was Monkstead.
“My apologies,” the Earl said, as soon as he knew she’d seen him. “I didn’t want to startle you, Lady Richmond. Is everything all right?”
He could probably see she was rattled. She thought about telling him that, no, it very much wasn’t all right, but she wasn’t about to go into explanations. Especially when those explanations involved Sebastian Longhurst. Lavinia took a breath and used the voice that most people recognised her by—cool and calm and in control. She had been known as the Ice Maiden from the day she took her first steps into Society, and lately it had become a matter of pride to her to live up to the title.
“Perfectly, thank you, my lord. I simply grew tired of the crush. You have invited rather a lot of people tonight.”
The earl smiled and rose to his feet. “I have, haven’t I?” he agreed amiably.
“Why are you hiding in here?” she challenged, brown eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t you be out there being charming?”
He laughed softly and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Perhaps I needed a moment of quiet reflection.”
She had to smile this time. “Quiet reflection can be very valuable in some circumstances.”
“Indeed. Particularly when you are avoiding a particular person.”
He knew, Lavinia thought. Of course he did. Monkstead had a reputation for sticking his nose in everybody else’s business. Well Margaret Willoughby had warned her about him, and she wasn’t going to tell him her business. She wasn’t going to share her secrets with him.
A tap on the door made her turn sharply, thinking that it might be Sebastian, back again, refusing to take no for an answer. But when the door opened to Monkstead’s invitation, the young woman standing there was the earl’s niece, Christina Beales.
“There you are!” she said.
Christina’s gaze went from her uncle to Lavinia and back again, as if she thought there was something going on. An assignation perhaps? As handsome as Monkstead was, he was far too intense for her liking. And secretive—she had never liked men who prevaricated.
Which was ironic, when Lavinia had secrets of her own.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Christina was speaking, “but people are asking for you, Uncle. Soon they’ll come looking.”
“Of course.” Monkstead smiled. “You want to announce your engagement,” he added, his eyes gentling.
Christina Beales smiled back. “I do. Simon and I have waited long enough.”
“Then you shall wait no more,” he promised, taking her by the arm and leading her through the door. Lavinia had thought, hoped she was forgotten, but as the earl passed by her he paused briefly, and she felt the full force of his dark gaze. “If you ever feel the need to speak to me, Lady Richmond, let me assure you I will treat your words with the utmost confidence.”
He didn’t give her time to reply, which was just as well because Lavinia knew she would have rejected him.
“Congratulations,” she said instead, smiling at the girl.
Christina thanked her. She looked flushed and happy, so obviously this was a love match. Ten years ago Lavinia’s own engagement had been announced, but she still remembered that half fear and half excitement, the knowing that she was in the process of attaching herself to the man who would be her husband.
She had been seventeen when she married the fifty year old Lord Patrick Richmond, and she knew now that despite her own confidence in her ability to conduct herself as a married woman should, she’d been very much out of her depth. And she’d been aware when he proposed that Patrick was a military man and always would be, but still when he had died at Waterloo a year ago, it had been a shock.
He would have described it as a ‘good death’, the sort of end he would have preferred to feeble old age. She’d mourned him, and sometimes she missed his solid presence, but she could admit now that she had never loved him. She had not expected to. Lavinia had been brought up to believe marriages were not for romantic love, and not to look for it there. It was only as the years went by that she began to feel as if she’d been short changed in some way. That she had missed out. And then she had found the man she did love.
“Lady Richmond.”
Oh God. She’d thought him gone and now he was back again, and just when she was at her most vulnerable. She fought to pull herself together, despite that voice that brought awake all her senses. Every inch of her was suddenly on alert and before she could stop herself, Lavinia found she was gazing up into the blue eyes of Sebastian Longhurst, the very man she had been trying to avoid.
Once upon a time there would have been a lurking smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was no smile now. And there was certainly no trace of the affection he had once held for her. Strange h
ow much it hurt, despite her hoping for that very thing—that he would no longer feel anything for her. To see the proof of it almost undid her.
“Captain Longhurst,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so calm when inside her heart was threatening to rip itself apart.
“You look well.” Those cool eyes slid over her face. Despite what he said, he was observing her as if he found her wanting. Had she lost her appeal? Was she a disappointment? Lavinia was fully aware she wasn’t at her best—there were shadows beneath her eyes—and whereas she had once been described as a nonpareil, tonight she had seen several women far more beautiful than she.
“Thank you, I am very well,” she lied.
He paused and then the words slid from his mouth as if he wasn’t hurting her. “And your son?”
She tried to hold his gaze but she’d begun to feel the strain of playing the Ice Maiden—there were fractures appearing in her chilly façade and she needed to escape before he saw her shatter. She glanced over his shoulder, as if his presence was keeping her from the rest of the party.
“My son is well too, thank you, Captain.”
“He must be one year old.”
He knew exactly how old Oliver was. He was playing games with her, surely? Or like her, did he just want to get this moment over with, so that they could both move on? Set the perimeters of what was to be their new relationship—almost strangers.
“Yes, he’s a year old. And what of you, Captain Longhurst? I do hope you have recovered fully from your injuries?”
He met her cool gaze with an even colder one of his own.
Lavinia had known he was physically hurt. Patrick had died on the battlefield of Waterloo, and while Sebastian Longhurst had survived he had been severely injured and not expected to live. When she had heard this, she had gone to him despite the risk of discovery. She’d known Patrick would not have wanted her to put the reputations of herself and her son in jeopardy, but she hadn’t cared. Reckless, crazed with the fear that he was dying, she had risked all. Leaving her new born son in the care of his nurse, Lavinia had rushed to Sebastian’s side. She was seated by his bed, holding his hand as he lay there unconscious, when her brother arrived and insisted she leave.
“Do you want more scandal?” he had hissed at her. “How will that help Captain Longhurst?”
“I won’t leave. I can’t. I love him.”
“Love? What does that matter? You need to think of your son and his future.” And then her brother’s face had gone hard with scorn. “Let me tell you what the rumour is concerning your hero here, and I think you will change your mind.”
When he had told her the rumour, his words had fallen on her like pebbles, each one bruising her skin, hurting her heart. Deep in shock, her emotions raw, she had watched him pay the military nurse who had brought her to the room, ensuring silence, and then bustle her from the hospital, without another word of protest.
It was the last time she had seen Sebastian until this moment. And she had missed him with an ache that despite what her brother had said would not go away.
Lavinia dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She had a sudden desperate longing to reach out and run them over his body, to make certain that he really was whole and healed. It physically hurt to deny herself and yet she did.
“I am perfectly recovered,” he said now, and there was a meaning in his expression that she could not misunderstand.
He meant he was recovered from her. Recovered from their wildly passionate love affair, their madness. He was telling her that he would not encroach upon her ever again.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said, but her voice was dull and lifeless. As if she wasn’t in the slightest bit interested.
He reached out and automatically she gave him her hand. He bowed over it, his lips raising goosebumps where they barely brushed her skin, and then he was walking away.
Lavinia watched him retreat, his dark head, broad shoulders and slim hips, wondering if it was possible to feel any more miserable than she did right now. And yet it was for the best, she knew that. She was sure of it. Her mind told her so.
If only her heart would listen.
Two
Two years earlier
Lord Patrick Richmond poured brandy into two glasses and held one out to Sebastian. They sat opposite each other in the library, the cigar box at hand, just the two of them. Patrick had been Sebastian’s superior officer for several years now, and despite their age difference the two men got along well, and he knew Patrick trusted him and respected his judgment. They’d fought together on the Iberian Peninsula, that difficult and dangerous war of attrition, before Napoleon was finally captured and imprisoned.
Now that the country was at peace, Sebastian had expected to see less of Lord Richmond. He had almost hoped not to be invited quite so often to the Richmond town house in Mockingbird Square. Because Captain Longhurst was conflicted. As much as he admired and liked Patrick, there was something he was struggling with.
His feelings for Patrick’s wife, Lavinia.
She was his commanding officer’s third wife. Patrick had been married quite young the first time, a useful match that brought with it wealth and power, and lifted him into the upper echelons of the army. His second marriage was in a similar vein, not a love match. This third marriage was pure indulgence, or so it was rumoured. Lavinia was a beauty, although she came from a down at heel aristocratic family, where there had been no wealth to speak of for generations.
The gap in their ages was sizeable, but Patrick was charmed by her and from what Sebastian had seen of them together, she seemed content in her marriage to him.
Society called Lady Richmond the Ice Maiden. Her behaviour was coolly perfect, and there was definitely a chill, a distance in her manner that spoke of a lack of emotion. And yet sometimes he would intercept a glance from her that made him wonder. Beneath that icy exterior was there the beat of a passionate heart? And did it beat for him?
Sebastian found himself thinking about her more than he should. Patrick was his commanding officer and his friend and unlike some of the gentlemen in his circle, Sebastian would never allow himself to consider Lavinia Richmond fair game. No matter how tempting the idea of testing his theory about her hidden depths might be.
Patrick took a sip of his brandy and set it down before he spoke in his usual blunt fashion. “I have no heir.”
Sebastian’s head came up. They had been sitting in companionable silence and, yes, he had been thinking about Lavinia.
“And does that bother you?” he asked, sipping his brandy.
“Yes, it does.” Patrick leaned forward. “I have more to leave an heir than I would ever have thought possible when I first started out in my career. A child would mean the world to me. When we were fighting in Spain, I thought about it a lot, but I hoped . . . I hoped that Lavinia would bear me one.” He sighed. “Now I have come to accept that she never will.”
Sebastian was finding the thought of Patrick and his wife in bed . . . uncomfortable. But his friend was obviously unhappy so he tried to cheer him. “She’s young yet, perhaps in time—”
“It’s me.” Patrick’s eyes were intent. “I have been married thrice, Sebastian, and there have been no children from any of them. My second wife was a widow and she had three girls, so she was capable of bearing children. Just not with me.”
“Does it matter?” Sebastian felt uneasy suddenly, wondering where this was heading. Patrick was an excellent strategist, and it occurred to him that he had the look of a man about to embark on a new campaign.
“Yes, it does matter. The husband of one of my step daughters has his eye on my worldly goods, and I dislike the man intensely. I am happy to provide for all of my step daughters, but I do not plan to leave any one of them the bulk of my fortune. Which was why I wanted to talk to you.”
Sebastian knew that expression. Patrick definitely had a plan, and he waited to hear what it was. But in his wildest dreams he was not expecting the
words that next fell from the other man’s lips.
“I want you to make a child with Lavinia.”
Shocked, he barely felt the brandy spill onto his fingers as he began to stand up. Patrick stood too, putting a hand on his arm to steady him. He spoke quickly, heading off Sebastian’s refusal.
“Wait. Please listen to what I have to say. I ask you this as a friend, my closest friend, and a man I would trust with my life. I need an heir. Once I am dead Lavinia will be alone and the vultures will begin to circle, and I cannot bear to think of everything I own being scattered to those greedy birds.”
“Are you asking this as my friend, or ordering me as my commanding officer?” Sebastian’s voice had deepened with distaste.
“No, it is a request from a friend.” Patrick leaned in closer. “Come, don’t pretend you’re not attracted to my wife. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“I look at her as Lady Richmond!”
Patrick sighed. “If you tell me you cannot agree to my request because of some personal disgust, then I will speak no more of it.”
Sebastian’s head was spinning. “You’re right, I cannot agree to such a thing,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “Not because I do not find Lavinia attractive, but as a gentleman—”
“As a gentleman you would prefer to let my greedy step relations steal what is not theirs?” Patrick asked wryly. “I know you are a gentleman, Sebastian, and I admire all your qualities. I would not ask this if I did not.”
“Patrick—”
“Would it help you, my friend, if I told you that Lavinia is aware of what I am asking you?”