Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  She nodded. “Most would say that they behaved atrociously. She was betrothed, after all, and then married. In black and white terms, they committed adultery. And yet, gazing at this painting, I feel enormous sympathy for them and what their love cost them …”

  Samuel smiled. “Yes, it poses many questions, does it not, on the nature of personal love, versus duty and responsibility.” He paused, gazing down at her intently. “I have never met a lady who I have been able to talk so freely with about such speculations, Miss Beaumont. You are a rare gem, indeed.”

  She blushed furiously. “I like to discuss such matters,” she said in a wavering voice. “I like to read, and view art, and ponder the questions that are raised within both.” She hesitated. “It does not make me very popular, in my family. My mother tells me constantly that I need to get my head out of books, and my sister says that I need to get it out of the clouds.”

  He laughed. “Please, keep your head in the clouds, Miss Beaumont. I would not have you any other way.”

  There was an awkward pause, as they gazed at each other again. She had never been able to talk so easily with a man before, to express her opinions so fluidly. The fact that he enjoyed hearing her talk, and seemed to agree with her world views, was intoxicating.

  She knew, instinctively, it was because he wasn’t a part of the nobility. It was because he was a commoner, with a fresher view of the world. She couldn’t talk so freely with any nobleman. She just knew it.

  “Shall we continue to peruse some other paintings?” he asked warmly.

  She took a deep breath, nodding. They kept walking, slowly, gazing at the paintings on the wall. Sometimes, they would stop and linger for a while, talking quietly.

  She felt as if they were the only two people in the whole gallery. It was as if time had slipped, somehow. The rest of the patrons receded in her mind. Even the chatter around her diminished. It was only Samuel and herself, walking these floors, looking at these wonderful works of art.

  She wanted to stay like this forever.

  They stopped again, in front of a large portrait of a woman, dressed in evening attire, with long flowing gown and elaborate headdress. Her outfit looked contemporary. She was an unusually striking woman, with flaming gold hair, alabaster skin, and almost indigo coloured eyes.

  “She is a beauty,” breathed Lavinia. “If she walked into any room, no one would be able to take their eyes off her …”

  Samuel gazed down at her. “She is lovely,” he said slowly. “But I am afraid that her beauty cannot compare to that which I see in front of me, now. You are ten times more beautiful than she, Miss Beaumont.”

  She gasped, blushing violently. She felt the colour stain her face. It felt as hot as the sun.

  He thinks me beautiful, she thought, in wonder.

  She gazed at him, not knowing what to say. That strange, invisible cord connected between them again, almost pulling her towards him. She could feel her feet tipping slightly, in their effort to stay grounded.

  “Thank you,” she stammered eventually. “You are just being kind, I am sure …”

  He looked almost grave. “Indeed, I am not flattering you, Miss Beaumont. You must believe that my words are sincere. They are probably the sincerest words that I have ever uttered in my life.”

  At that moment, her cousin India suddenly appeared in front of them.

  “Hello,” she said, looking relieved. “I have been looking for you, Lavinia! You wandered off, away from the group.”

  Lavinia nodded. “Yes, it seems that we have. I do apologise, India. Where is everyone else?”

  India rolled her eyes. “Mama is getting tiresome, leaning too heavily on Freddie, who is very irritated. Beatrice is lost in her own little world, as usual. Your mother has joined some acquaintances.” She paused. “And Sophia and her friend have drifted away, too.” Her voice sounded peevish.

  Lavinia sighed. India had never liked to be left alone. She was one of those people who only bloomed when she was in company; she had always relished being the centre of attention. It was as if she wilted, somehow, if she wasn’t.

  “Are you enjoying the gallery, Mr Hunter?” she asked, turning to Samuel, and fixing him with her intense blue gaze.

  He nodded, bowing slightly. “I am indeed. The quality of the work is exceptional, this year …”

  India rolled her eyes again. “Yes, that is what they all say, but to me, they are just all boring pictures! Just people or landscapes. Why should I bother looking at these walls when I can see people and landscape everywhere?”

  Lavinia smiled slightly. “It is not quite the same thing, India …”

  Her cousin sighed dramatically. “I simply cannot see the point of it, at all! The only reason I agreed to come today was that I thought a gentleman acquaintance might be here, but he is not.” She pouted. “I am so bored I think that I am about to lose my mind entirely!”

  Lavinia and Samuel exchanged looks. She could tell that he wasn’t impressed with her vacuous cousin either.

  Abruptly, she brightened, gazing off into the distance. “I have spotted someone!” She took a deep, determined breath. “Well, I shall see you all very soon, I am sure!”

  Without another word, she disappeared into the crowd, in pursuit of a gentleman. Lavinia watched as she sidled up to him, batting her eyelashes. Within minutes, she was ensconced in the group, laughing with abandon.

  “Your cousin has a very interesting opinion about art,” Samuel said, his mouth twitching.

  Lavinia laughed outright. “India cares about nothing except her dresses and flirting with eligible gentlemen,” she said. “I am surprised she even addressed you, being a commoner. She usually turns her nose up at any man that does not have a title.”

  “Then she is not unlike most ladies, I am afraid,” he said slowly. “I think that you are the exception that proves the rule, Miss Beaumont.”

  “I am the exception,” she replied, fixing him with a steady gaze. “I despise such foolishness, as I told you, at the dinner party. I was not lying, Mr Hunter. Power corrupts, and I am privy to the people who it has corrupted. They are all the same.” She took a deep breath. “I much prefer your company because you are not a noble.”

  He didn’t say a word. He merely looked at her.

  “India is a prime example,” she continued, gazing after her cousin. “She is not here to view these wonderful paintings – they mean nothing to her. She is only here to husband hunt.” She took a deep breath. “Just about everyone in here is the same. They are only here to be seen. And yet, there are surely people who would truly appreciate these paintings who cannot view them, simply because they are not of the right class …”

  He nodded but didn’t interrupt her.

  She was just about to continue, when suddenly, Sophie and Mr St Clair drifted over towards them.

  Lavinia stared at her sister’s face curiously. It was flushed pink, and her honey brown eyes were alight, in a way that she had never seen before.

  She turned to Mr St Clair. The man was gazing down at her sister with an almost yearning look on his face as if he wanted to devour her.

  She gasped inwardly. What was going on between the two of them, exactly?

  Chapter 12

  Samuel felt a small pinprick of relief at the appearance of Walter and the elder Miss Beaumont. It confused him. As much as he wanted to be exclusively in the company of Lavinia, she was once again reminding him that he was living a lie.

  She is so honest and forthright, he thought fiercely. A woman of principle, as well as intelligence.

  Spending time with her in the gallery like this had only solidified that opinion. Her reaction to the painting of Tristan and Isolde, the doomed medieval lovers, was all that he had hoped, and more. She had been genuinely moved by it; she had responded on an emotional level, but she had also engaged with deeper philosophical questions about the nature of love versus duty.

  He had told her that he had never conversed so freely with a lady
before, and he had meant it. Talking to her was like a breath of fresh air. She was so open and thoughtful. He simply felt like he wanted to take her aside and talk with her about everything under the sun. He had a feeling that they could talk forever.

  She was a world away from all the other young ladies in his society. They had all been reared for simple conversation, designed to encourage the other speaker, and never express forthright opinions. The fact that Lavinia had been brought up the same way, and was still true to herself, was simply remarkable.

  She was one in a million.

  And she was also the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Beauty and intelligence, all rolled into one package.

  He felt a sharp stab of dismay. Why couldn’t he have met her as the Viscount Pemberton?

  He shook away the sudden thought, trying to focus on the conversation.

  “Have you seen the painting of Cambridge?” Walter was asking. “Miss Beaumont and I have just viewed it. The artist has worked in pencil and watercolour, and it is so accurate, that I almost felt as if I was actually there!”

  “It is astonishing,” agreed Sophie, nodding. “The artist’s talent is undeniable.”

  “I have not viewed it yet,” said Lavinia, her eyes shining. “Why do we not all go over to it, and view it together? We can talk about how the artist has achieved it …”

  “A grand idea,” said Walter, smiling. He put out his arm to Sophie. “Shall we peruse it again, Miss Beaumont?”

  Sophie laughed as she took his arm. “Indeed, it would be a pleasure, Mr St Clair.”

  They meandered away, laughing together. Samuel turned to Lavinia, holding out his own arm. She took it, and then they were away, following the others through the crowd, towards the painting they all wanted to look at.

  “Your sister and my friend seem to be getting along well,” he whispered, watching the others walking ahead of them through the crowd. “Look at them. They are laughing together, even now. I think that your sister thinks him a witty man!”

  Lavinia smiled, watching them as well. “Yes, it is true that Sophie seems entranced with Mr St Clair. I have never seen anything quite like it.” She hesitated. “But my sister has very firm ideas, about the type of man she should encourage, I am afraid.”

  “How so?”

  Her lips pursed. “Sophie is intelligent, thoughtful, and warm, in most ways. But I am afraid she is just the same as my cousin India in others. She believes that wealth and prestige are all that matters in a gentleman.”

  She sighed, still gazing at her sister and Walter, who had almost reached the painting.

  “She has rejected two perfectly decent marriage proposals,” she continued, frowning. “And one of those proposals came from a gentleman that she was fond of. She rejected him even though it hurt her to do it because he didn’t live up to her notions of what a suitor should be.” She hesitated. “She is determined to make an advantageous match, even though she really does not need to. Our father’s social standing is secure, as is his wealth.”

  Samuel stared at the elder Miss Beaumont, who was just ahead of them.

  She was still laughing at something Walter was saying, gazing up at him softly. She was also leaning in towards him. Her body language spoke volumes about how much she liked his friend.

  And he could see how taken Walter was with her, as well. He had never seen him so relaxed in the company of a beautiful young lady.

  He felt a sudden stab of sorrow. It was such a pity that the elder Miss Beaumont couldn’t consider him as a potential suitor. Walter was smart, charming, and witty; he would make a brilliant husband. The only thing he wasn’t was rich or titled.

  “And what about you, Miss Beaumont?” he asked softly, turning back to Lavinia. “Do you feel that you must make an advantageous match?”

  Lavinia stared up at him, looking a little shocked at his forthright question. But then, she squared her shoulders, a determined glint in her blue eyes.

  “My opinion, as you know,” she said slowly, “is that wealth and privilege lead to arrogance and ignorance. I do realise that is not the case for all, but for most in our society, it seems to be true.” She hesitated. “I would prefer a more down to earth partner for myself.”

  Samuel nodded slowly, his heart sinking. He had known that she was going to say that. She had expressed her opinions on the subject, quite vehemently, at the dinner party. And she had already alluded to it again today when she had talked about her husband-hunting cousin India.

  She had told him that she preferred a commoner to a nobleman.

  Why had he even bothered to ask her? Had he been hoping that she would somehow change her mind, in that short space of time, and state that she really wanted to marry a nobleman?

  He took a deep breath. He was playing with fire. He had known it at the dinner party, but he had still impulsively asked her to attend the Academy today. And his attraction to her, in the short amount of time that they had been here together, had grown stronger still. It was as if it was a fast growing tree, sprouting ever upwards, its branches twisting in all directions.

  Guilt weighed upon him so heavily that it felt like a stone in his chest. An actual physical, tangible presence. For a moment, he could barely look at her.

  He despaired that he would ever be able to tell her who he truly was, now. The lie had twisted and morphed, taking on a life of its own. The longer that he spent in her company, the more it took root; the more that she truly believed he was Samuel Hunter, middle-class landowner from Somerset.

  And she liked Samuel Hunter because he was a middle-class landowner.

  Would she like Samuel, the Viscount Pemberton, as much?

  He gazed at her anxiously. He really admired and liked this woman, more than any other that he had ever met. He didn’t want to lose her. Could he risk that she might still accept him if he did propose to her?

  For a fleeting moment, he considered not telling her at all. That perhaps he should just carry on with the charade and ask for her hand without even telling her who he truly was. By the time she discovered it, it would be too late …

  Quickly, he dismissed the thought. A woman who was so candid could never forgive him for such deception. She could never accept an engagement under false pretences. He would end up losing her anyway.

  He felt a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body.

  I must find a way to tell her before it is too late.

  He was so lost in his reverie that he did not realise that they had already reached their destination. Walter and Sophie were standing in front of the painting, gazing at them expectantly.

  “What do you think?” asked Walter, smiling.

  Lavinia stepped away from him, letting go of his arm, to peruse the painting. He felt the loss of her presence immediately. It was almost like a physical ache.

  ***

  Samuel and Walter stood watching the two families climb into their respective carriages from the doorway of the Academy.

  “Do you think I shall ever see her again?” Walter asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the elder Miss Beaumont, who was waiting patiently for her mother to climb into the carriage.

  Samuel sighed deeply, feeling another pang of sorrow. It was for his friend, and for himself. For both of them, that they had gotten themselves into this situation.