He nodded. “That is true. But they have been brought up not to have an opinion, on many subjects, and taught that it is unbecoming in a lady to express herself freely.” He paused. “In many instances, it is not their fault that they are the way that they are. I can see that you are a lady of intelligence as well as wit – you must surely understand that, and not be too harsh on your own sex.”
Lavinia tried to smother the surprise that she felt at his words, so that it did not show in her face. She had not expected that this man would be so thoughtful and considered about such things. The first time that she had seen him, she had pigeonholed him, thinking that he was exactly the same as the rest of the noblemen she knew – in short, an arrogant boor.
She took a deep breath. Had she been prejudiced about such things? Sophie had always claimed that she was; that if she only gave noblemen a chance, she would find that not all of them were decadent and dissolute. That there were some gems among the detritus, waiting to be discovered.
Had she just discovered such a gem?
“I would not wish to be harsh on my own sex,” she said slowly. “That would pain me, to think that I cannot see the reason why many young ladies are the way that they are. Besides, I have a similar opinion about young gentlemen, as well. Most of them cannot converse easily about anything other than hunting and riding if truth be told.”
He laughed. “The hunting set! Yes, I have had more than my fair share of painfully boring conversations in the drawing room, over whiskey and cigars.” He paused. “I do like to hunt and ride when I am at my country estate, but it is almost like some gentlemen become obsessed with it, to the point that nothing else matters.”
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “It is painful, to be sure! My father’s cronies are all like that. When they descend on Jonty Hall, our country estate, for the shooting season, they simply cannot talk about anything else. I fear that my mind closes over in pure boredom after a while.”
He gazed at her steadily. “And what do you like to talk about, Miss Beaumont? What is it that fires your imagination, and your blood?”
She took a deep breath. “I like literature, but my mother believes it is not becoming in a young lady. She is always telling me to get my head out of books, for fear that I will become addled by it, in some way. I have never understood why. Surely, books broaden the mind, rather than narrow it, or confuse it?”
He smiled. “That is my belief as well, Miss Beaumont. The wider that one reads, the more extensive knowledge of the world one has. It can only be a benefit.” He paused. “Young ladies should be encouraged to read, in my opinion. To fill their heads with wisdom.”
She blinked rapidly. Lord Livingston was an utter surprise. She had not pegged him as an advocate for the education of ladies. It was almost unheard of for gentlemen so highly placed to have such views. Her own father did not share them. He always expressed his disapproval if she was reading too much.
Suddenly, he looked towards the dance floor, smiling widely. “It is a waltz,” he said, turning back to her. “Have you danced one before, Miss Beaumont?”
She smiled slowly. “I have not had the pleasure, My Lord. The dance is considered a scandalous thing where I come from.”
He laughed. “You see? There are advantages to the city, as I claimed. One is not forced to dance quadrilles and country jigs over and over.” He hesitated. “It would be a pleasure to lead you in the dance, if I may?”
She gazed at him, considering the request.
She had finished her glass of champagne, feeling almost effervescent. It was a far cry from the melancholy and anger that had been her constant companions, over the last week. She had just had a most intriguing conversation with an intelligent, sensitive man. And now, she was being offered an opportunity to dance. A dance that had a slightly dangerous air about it, a whiff of scandal.
It was an irresistible combination.
She nodded her head, slowly. “I would like that, Lord Livingston. I would like that very much, indeed.”
***
He placed his hand on her waist, gently, and the other on her upper arm. It was the most physical contact she had ever had with a dance partner. For a split second, she couldn’t help thinking of Samuel, and how wonderful it would have been if he was holding her like this, instead of Lord Livingston.
She brushed the thought aside quickly, focusing on the dance.
It was a circular motion around the dance floor. She felt as if she was being twirled, like a ballerina, around the room. It wasn’t as fast as some other dances, but the momentum was constant. She was starting to enjoy it, after the first few tentative steps, where she had to concentrate on not stepping on his toes.
She was gliding; the image of the ballerina was gone, and now she was skating on ice. The music seemed to fill her blood completely. She was so completely lost in the moment that she briefly closed her eyes, just to enjoy the music and movement without the distraction of sight.
“Miss Beaumont,” whispered Lord Livingston.
She opened her eyes. He was gazing at her intently.
“You are enchanting,” he whispered. “Utterly captivating.”
She blushed furiously, feeling as if he had just witnessed her in a private moment. She had lost sense of where she was; that she was in a public place. It was rather embarrassing.
The blush deepened, enflaming her face. She couldn’t look at him. Desperately, she turned her head, staring away from the dance floor into the crowd of people just beyond it, trying to compose herself.
And it was at that moment that she saw him.
He was standing to the side of the room, leaning against a ledge on a wall. Her face tightened. He wasn’t wearing his plain, commoner clothes any longer. No, he was bedecked in high quality britches, shirt, and jacket, and she noted that his shoes had gold buckles. He had also swept his golden red hair off his face, into a small ponytail.
Samuel Hunter had become the Viscount Pemberton again.
His face was reflective, as he gazed into the crowd. He wasn’t being his usual charming, amiable self. He seemed sullen and withdrawn. She couldn’t see Walter St Clair by his side. Had they gone their separate ways now that their little game had been exposed?
A wave of intense anger swept over her as she studied him. Any sorrow that she had been feeling, with her broken heart, was swamped by it, drowned out by the red rush of rage and contempt.
She almost welcomed it. Better to be angry, than sad. At least it energised her. At least it galvanised her. It reminded her to remember what he had done, rather than reminisce about what could have been if things had been different.
He must have felt her gaze upon him because he turned his head in her direction. Their eyes met, forcefully.
She gasped as if she had been struck.
Those eyes. Those intense green eyes, which had always unstitched her. They were like a magnetic force that she was almost powerless to resist.
With immense difficulty, she reefed her eyes away, staring blindly in the opposite direction. Tears began to sting. She blinked rapidly, trying to dissolve them.
She would not cry. She would let him humiliate her, any more, and especially not in a public place like this.
“Are you quite well, Miss Beaumont?” asked Lord Livingston, gazing at her with concern.
With difficulty, she focused on him, trying to dislodge the vision of Samuel, leaning against the wall.
She took a deep breath.
“I am perfectly well,” she said slowly. “Just something in my eye, which has passed.”
He smiled, almost with relief.
She took another deep breath. Lord Livingston was turning out to be an unexpectedly charming companion.
And at least he was exactly what he claimed to be.
Her hands tightened on his arms. Maybe she had been mistaken, about a lot of things. Maybe she had a lot of thinking to do, about what she wanted for her future, now that the future she had envisioned was lying in ashes around h
er.
Maybe she needed to start all over again from the ground up. Build a new life for itself, with fresh ideas. A fresh start, after all the pain that she had endured.
It was better than wallowing in the past, wishing for something that had never existed, wasn’t it?
Chapter 20
Samuel sank into a seat, feeling so stunned he could barely think for a moment.
She was here.
He felt utterly shocked as if he had just encountered a mountain lion casually strolling through the London townhouse, rather than a lady doing what everybody did when they came to parties like this.
What had he expected?
Jealousy surged through his veins, almost corroding them. She was dancing a waltz. A gentleman was holding her in an intimate manner, twirling her around the dance floor. They were laughing together. She looked so happy and absorbed, utterly enjoying the moment. As if she was dancing with a man who made her truly joyful.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had wanted to see her; he had been searching for her, the past week, at various social functions, dragging Walter to so many that his friend had eventually protested, claiming exhaustion. He had stalked the hallways of townhouses and the halls of assembly rooms, but he never encountered her.
It had been lowering his resolve, to stay in London, and fight for her. How could he talk to her and try to explain when he couldn’t find her? Walter had told him that he should take the bull by the horns and just cold call on her, at her townhouse, but he did not want to do that yet. It seemed too confrontational; forcing her to talk to him when she might not be ready.
Walter was a little exasperated with him. “You think that ambushing her at a public event isn’t confrontational?”
But he had explained to his friend that it wasn’t his intention to ambush her. He would approach her if it seemed that she was open to the idea. If not, then he would respect that. It seemed enough to show that he was willing to talk, to open the lines of communication again. Strongly, he felt that a gentle approach would ultimately work better with her.
He had to show her, rather than tell her, that he was a man of integrity. She believed him a liar, a man of shallow and deceitful character. Mere words alone would not be enough to convince her that he was genuine. He truly had to act the part.
Walter had grumbled more but stopped when Samuel had turned it around on him, saying that if he so favoured the confrontational approach, then he should put his money where his mouth was and call on Sophia Beaumont. His friend had backed off, after that. He didn’t want to try to force the elder Miss Beaumont’s hand any more than Samuel wanted to force the younger sister’s.
His friend was drifting towards him through the crowd, now, carrying two glasses of champagne in his hand.
“You look like death warmed up, old chap,” Walter said, as soon as he was in earshot.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Samuel replied, sarcastically. “It is always heart warming to hear a friend talk so sweetly about oneself.”
“Steady on,” said Walter, passing him a glass. “It was just an observation. You are as pale as a ghost, and you look like you have just received word that a dear relative has passed over. You are not exactly wearing your party face, my friend.”
Samuel sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Walter. I am a bit miserable.” He took a deep breath. “I just saw Lavinia dancing with a gentleman as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. It shook me, just a little.”
Walter blanched. “I have been at the card table ever since we got here.” He turned around, closely assessing the dance floor. “Dear Lord, Sophie is here, as well.”
Samuel nodded. “Where there is one, there is surely the other.”
Walter shook his head disbelievingly. “I think that I had convinced myself that they had left London and returned home. We haven’t run into them at all, over the past week, and I was starting to believe that it just wasn’t going to happen …”
“Well, they are here this evening.” Samuel’s voice was curt.
Walter stared at him closely. “I thought that you would be overjoyed to see her. Why are you so sour? You look like you just sucked on a lemon.”
Samuel took a deep gulp of his champagne. How could he explain to his friend that he was suffering from a large dose of plain, old-fashioned jealousy? It was such a base, vulgar emotion, and one that he had rarely experienced before. And he had never felt it so fiercely, as he did now.
“Lavinia is busy, with Lord Livingston,” he said slowly. “They are dancing a waltz, and it looks like she is enjoying herself immensely. I wasn’t expecting it, that is all.”
Walter stared at him, then slowly started laughing. “Oh. I see. The green-eyed monster has decided to pay you a visit, has he?”
“There is no need to laugh,” said Samuel, a touch sullenly. “There is nothing funny about it. I just didn’t think that she would want to dance with another gentleman, after what happened …”
Walter sighed. “Life goes on, does it not, Samuel? If the sisters come to a gathering like this, they are almost compelled to dance. It is what one does, at balls, after all.” He paused. “Why are you so put out? Sophie is dancing as well, and while I would prefer that she was dancing with me, I do not begrudge her the pleasure.”
Samuel stared at his friend. How could he explain it? Yes, he knew that all the young ladies danced at balls – that there wasn’t anything particularly notable about it. He also knew that just because a young lady danced with a gentleman, it did not mean anything significant. Dance partners were changed frequently at balls.
But … there was just something in the way that Lavinia had been dancing with this gentleman. For starters, it was a waltz: the most intimate dance there was. And she had been lost in it, enjoying herself so much that she was oblivious to her surroundings. The gentleman, too, had been gazing at her with open admiration.
Was there something happening between the two of them?
Abruptly, he drained his glass, gazing at Walter.
“I do not know why you are teasing me about jealousy, old chap,” he said mildly. “As I recall, you were in quite a twist about Sophie playing croquet the other day. And that was with Lord Livingston, as well.”
Walter looked sheepish. “Yes, well. We all suffer with it, from time to time …”
“Yes, it seems that we do.” His voice was glum. “What can I do, Walter? She saw me, but she turned her face to the opposite wall. She is intent on ignoring me, and I cannot force her to acknowledge me and talk with me …”
Walter sighed deeply. “She is still hurt, Samuel. It has only been a week, after all. Give it some time. If we run into them often enough, then hopefully they will eventually see that we are genuine, and we are truly sorry. I think that it is not going to be a quick or easy process, but if we are committed to it, then that is just what we must do.”
Samuel nodded. He knew that his friend was right – they had discussed it many times, after all, when they had decided to stay in London. It would be a slow and steady process; he had a lot of work to do, to regain Lavinia’s trust.
But he had not realised how torturous it would be until he had seen her. How eager he was, to just rush up to her, and blurt out again how sorry he was. He had barely been able to restrain himself when he had seen her on the dance floor. How could he endure seeing her without talking with her? How could he endure seeing her flirting with other men?
Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 17
