Walter glanced at him sharply. “I am sure I do not know what you mean, old chap. I am what I am. It is not as if I have some wealthy relative tucked away somewhere who will bequeath me everything one day when they kick the bucket.”
“I could help you.” His voice came out in a rush. “What about if I gift you an allowance to boost your income? A figure of a thousand pounds, per month, for example?”
Walter stared at him. His mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“Did I just hear you correctly?” he whispered. “You just offered me a monthly allowance of a thousand pounds?”
Samuel nodded. “You heard correctly. I want to help you, Walter …”
Walter shook his head vigorously. “I cannot accept it, Samuel! It is far too generous. It would be a burden on me …”
Samuel leaned forward, across the table. “There is no burden, old friend. I have more wealth than I know what to do with, and if it can ensure the happiness of my dearest friend, then I am more than willing to do it.”
Walter took a deep breath. “I cannot take it …”
“Walter, listen to me,” he said slowly. “You are thinking about it in the wrong way. The allowance is not for you, per se. It is to secure your future wife. How can you say no to such an offer when you know that it would greatly increase your chance of finally winning her?”
Walter paled. He stared at Samuel, his dark blue eyes troubled.
Samuel could see how deep the struggle was within him. His friend knew that what he said was right – it would greatly help in the pursuit of Sophia Beaumont. It would knock down one of the barriers stopping her from accepting Walter.
The other barrier – status – would still be there, of course, but if Sophie was indeed fond of his friend, or had finally grown to love him, then the wealth alone could tip the scales in his direction. She might be willing to compromise if the deal was right.
But Walter was also a proud man, fiercely independent. It would not be an easy thing for him to accept such a great gift; he would see it as charity.
“It would not change our friendship, in any way,” said Samuel slowly. “I would not place any expectation on you, in regard to it. I am not going to lord it over you, constantly reminding you of what I have done for you. I promise you that.”
Walter was silent as he digested everything.
“If you truly love her, then you will accept my offer,” he continued. “You do not want to look back on this and regret it, knowing that you had the opportunity to win her, but you refused to do it just because of pride.”
Walter gazed at him steadily. His eyes flickered uncertainly.
“It may not make any difference,” said Samuel. “She may still reject you because you are not titled. I do not have a crystal ball, nor am I privy to the lady’s private thoughts on the matter.” He paused. “But I do believe it is the best chance you have in the circumstances. Do not let it slip through your fingers. She will not wait forever …”
Walter ran a distracted hand through his hair. Samuel saw that it was shaking. He stared hard out the window, at the docks, and the teeming life amongst them, for the longest time, without speaking.
Samuel had almost given up on his friend speaking again, when he suddenly turned back, gazing at him.
“I cannot believe it,” he said slowly. “And I can never repay you for your great kindness, as long as I live. But I do believe that I will accept your offer, if you are totally genuine in it, of course.”
Samuel couldn’t stop grinning. He felt truly elated. He was so happy, that it almost quashed his sorrow over what had happened between him and Lavinia at the ball.
He stretched out his hand towards his friend. “Shake on it, then?”
Walter was grinning widely, too. He took his friend’s hand, shaking it vigorously.
“Deal,” said Samuel.
“Deal,” repeated Walter. “I will never forget this, old friend.” His eyes were swimming with tears. “Even if it makes no difference, and she does not accept me, I will still remember this as the greatest gift of friendship I have ever received in my life. You are truly one in a million.”
Samuel’s smile faded just a little. That was how he always thought about Lavinia. She was one in a million and could never be replicated. He would never find another woman like her. He knew that.
He forced himself to keep smiling. This was a happy moment for his friend, and he wasn’t going to spoil it by thinking about his own troubles. They would still be there, after all. He could pick them up, just where he left them.
It was enough, for the moment, that Walter might have a chance. There was no guarantee, of course, but it was a lot better than it was even half an hour ago.
He gazed at his friend’s shining eyes and elated expression. He hoped that it would work; he hoped that his friend would finally win her over, once and for all. Walter deserved the best in life. He really did.
He only wished that Miss Sophia Beaumont could see how genuine his friend truly was. And how very much he loved her. Maybe then, this preoccupation with status and wealth would be relegated to where it belonged: at the bottom of life’s worries. For love alone was all that mattered, in the end.
His heart flipped over in sorrow. Perhaps he would never win his own love. He would have status and wealth but no one to share it with. Perhaps that was just the road that he must travel down. Perhaps that was the road that the Lord had decreed must be his, and there was simply nothing he could do about it.
***
The carriage was waiting for them when they walked out of the tavern. His own carriage, a resplendent black vehicle, with four white horses drawing it.
He had sent for it, once they had made their plan of attack. He knew that it was a weapon that could be used in the battle to win Miss Sophia Beaumont. If Walter drew up at the Beaumont townhouse in this carriage, it would look very impressive, indeed. He would wager that curtains would be twitching in every window of every house along the street.
“Looking fine, old chap,” he said, gazing at Walter. “Good enough to win a lady’s hand.”
Walter adjusted his top hat. “Only thanks to you again, my friend. Thanks to your personal tailor, on Bond Street.” He gazed at his friend steadily. “Another gift, on top of everything else. You really shouldn’t have paid for all these new clothes for me …”
“First impressions count,” said Samuel slowly. “You have never met Lord Beaumont before, and you are about to ask for his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. I think that the occasion calls for new clothes.”
Walter suddenly looked stricken. “I just do not know, Samuel. I do not know if I can go through with it …”
“Look at me.” Samuel’s voice was firm. “Do you love Miss Beaumont or not?”
“You know that I do,” said Walter, almost whispering. “I love her more than life itself.”
“Then you must have courage,” said Samuel, frowning slightly. “We know what the barriers are with her. She wishes to marry a titled and wealthy man, to elevate or at least maintain her family’s status. So, we are giving her half of what she wants.” He paused. “If she truly loves you, Walter, she will accept it, and see it as the opportunity for the two of you to be together that it is.”
“I know that,” said Walter, in a small voice. “But it is still so hard. What if her father throws me out of the house, laughing at me, that I dare to ask for his daughter’s hand? What if she laughs at me herself, if I get that far?”
“Pure speculation, all of it,” said Samuel. “Yes, that might happen, but what really do you have to lose? In contrast, you have everything to gain. Try to think of it that way, instead.”
“You are the best friend a chap could ever have,” said Walter, swallowing painfully. “The very best friend. You always have been …”
“Enough of that,” said Samuel, choking up a bit himself. He could feel tears stinging just behind his eyes. “Get in that carriage before it goes without you.”
&nb
sp; Suddenly, Walter embraced him. They hugged for a moment before Walter pulled away quickly, almost running into the carriage. Without any further delay, he rapped sharply on the top of it, and it pulled away into the street.
Samuel watched it leave until it was just a black dot in the distance. Somehow, he felt unbearably sad.
Sighing, he wandered down to the docks. He was so restless he could barely contain it.
The wind had picked up, as he walked along the Thames, staring out over the grey water. A barge was gliding silently down the river, and a kestrel circled overhead. Other than that, he was almost alone.
It was at times like this when he felt the loss of his father, very strongly. He blinked back tears. If only the old man were here, now, to ask for advice. What would he have to say on the matter of Lavinia Beaumont, and his son’s desperate love for her?
He wished Walter the best, he really did. He hoped that Lord Beaumont, and his eldest daughter, would be receptive to him. He had done his very best to help him secure a good reception. The rest was in Walter’s hands, and it was up to fate as well, of course.
But as he wandered down the river, looking into the distance, he couldn’t help thinking that it could have been him in that carriage, travelling to the Beaumont townhouse, to ask for the hand of the younger sister.
Would he ever get that chance? Or had it slipped away forever?
Despondently, he kept walking. It was enough that Walter was doing this and might find his happiness. If even one of them managed to do that, then he should be grateful. He just needed to change his way of thinking with it all.
He smiled, thinking of how much had happened since they had come to London, all those weeks ago. When he had come here, as Samuel Hunter, intent on playing his game of deceit on the ton, all afire for the new season.
He hadn’t thought it through, at all. He hadn’t thought of any potential consequences to his game. All he had been focused on was how painful it would be for him, coming here, as the Viscount Pemberton. How he could not endure the sycophants and the flatterers, the ladies who would fall at his feet as soon as they heard he was titled and wealthy.
He had wanted to meet an authentic woman.
He smiled sardonically. Well, he had done that, well and truly.
He had met an authentic woman, and he had lost her again.
Probably forever.
Chapter 26
Lavinia woke up suddenly, almost as if consciousness had pulled her sharply from sleep. She sat up in bed, stretching. For some strange reason, she felt hopeful, like something very good was about to happen.
She frowned, puzzled. What could it be?
She had gone to bed morose and troubled, after Walter St Clair’s letter. She just didn’t know what to make of it, at all.
On the one hand, she could see how sincere he was; that sincerity almost bled through the letter. He truly loved his friend and wanted to do the best thing by him.
But that didn’t mean that Walter St Clair was telling the truth. Oh, he might believe that he was, but that was another thing entirely. Sometimes, when a person liked someone so much, they couldn’t see that person clearly anymore. Perhaps Walter St Clair was blind to Samuel’s faults entirely, or whitewashing his motivation and intention in the deception in order to make him appear better in her eyes.
She didn’t blame Walter St Clair for trying to help his friend. It showed a lot about his character. He really was a decent and honourable man, and she fervently hoped that Sophie would finally come to her senses and see what was right under her nose. That she would finally push aside all her misgivings about his status and wealth.
She got up, padding to the window and sitting on the seat, gazing out at the street below. She had a decision to make, and she just didn’t know what to do.
Her mind was telling her that she needed to put it all aside. It was telling her that Samuel had proved his true character not once, but twice: first with the deception, and second with what had happened at the ball, with Miss Emily Munro. The bottom line was she couldn’t trust him.
Perhaps she had got the wrong end of the stick, and Miss Munro was nothing more to him than an acquaintance. But that was hardly the point, anymore. The point was that she had immediately jumped to that conclusion because there was no trust there. She obviously wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt because she did not think him worthy of it.
But then, her heart was telling her something different, entirely.
She sighed, adjusting her position on the seat. Her heart was telling her that she loved him. It was telling her that he had sought her forgiveness and was truly sorry for what he had done. It was telling her that his best friend, an honourable man, had vouched for his character, assuring her that the man she had fallen in love with was still the man who had most unexpectedly become the Viscount Pemberton.
It was most distressing. Most distressing, indeed. And she simply couldn’t decide whether to listen to her mind or listen to her heart.
***
“Lavinia!” Lady Beaumont’s voice was cross. “Please, could you play something, other than that infernal racquet you seem so intent upon?”
Lavinia paused in her playing, her hands suspended above the keys on the pianoforte. Perhaps she had been banging on the keys in a haphazard way. She simply couldn’t remember. It was as if her mind had drifted away the very second that she had placed her fingers on the keys.
She took a deep breath. She had been intent on practising, to take her mind off it all. First scales, then her rather bad version of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. But she might as well not have even bothered.
“I am sorry, Mama,” she said, standing up, drifting around the room restlessly. “I think that my mind is not on my playing, at all.”
Lady Beaumont rolled her eyes. “I think that we are all well aware of that fact, Lavinia! What is wrong with you, girl?”
Sophie looked up, from where she was sitting on the settee, embroidering. She smiled sympathetically at her sister, but soon resumed her quiet stitching, her mouth a thin line, and a crease in her forehead.
Lavinia gazed at her sister. Sophie was troubled, there was no denying that. She could almost see the struggle within her sister, the push and pull, from one thing to the next. Her mind was a whirlwind, and Lavinia knew how she felt because she was feeling exactly the same way. Only for different reasons.
She sighed. It was so frustrating, in so many ways, watching her sister go through this. For her, the choice was simple: her sister had admitted that she loved Walter St Clair, and he seemed to feel exactly the same way about her. The barrier to marrying him was all in her own head and could be easily overcome, as far as she was concerned.
She sat down on the settee, next to her sister, picking up her own embroidery. She glanced over at their mother, who was at her writing desk, responding to invitations. Mama seemed absorbed, for the moment, now that she had stopped her tinkering on the pianoforte.
“How are you feeling today, dearest?” she whispered, threading her needle.
Sophie glanced at her quickly. Lavinia noticed that she didn’t even miss a stitch. “I am the same as I was yesterday,” she whispered back. “I am still so conflicted over Mr St Clair that I barely know what to do with myself.”
“You are making it so hard, Sophie,” Lavinia said quietly. “You have told me that you love the man. As far as I am concerned, there is little to ponder.” She paused. “Love means everything, dearest.”
“Does it?” Sophie arched her eyebrows. “You have told me that you are content to let the possibility of love go, now. That is the reason that you have encouraged Lord Livingston, let us not forget.”
Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 23
