скачать книгу бесплатно
Lady Lavinia's Match
Mary Nichols
When their parents married, James, Earl of Corringham, and Lady Lavinia Stanmore became as close as brother and sister. Now, years later, James has outgrown his rakish ways and is burning with a love for her that he longs to reveal.However, he faces a rival in the mysterious Lord Wincote. Torn between James and the handsome stranger, Lavinia's feelings are thrown into turmoil. But is this man really what he seems? The more Lord Wincote persists, the more Lavinia wonders if she should be looking for love a little closer to home….
“Oh, James, I knew I could rely on you.”
She grasped both his hands in hers and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Vinny.” He held on to her hands and raised them one by one to his lips. There was no sign of the bantering, carefree young man who loved to tease. “You shouldn’t thank me. I have brought you nothing but grief.”
“How can you say that? You are my dear—” She stopped and looked up at him. He was waiting for her to continue, but she could not. The word brother stuck in her throat.
He said it for her. “Brother?”
“No. Not brother. Not even stepbrother. That was a game we played to amuse everyone.”
“And the time for games is past,” he said quietly, holding her hands to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating almost as quickly as her own. “You know, I have been waiting for you to grow up….”
MARY NICHOLS,
born in Singapore, came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.
Lady
Lavinia’s
Match
Mary Nichols
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc620d61e-d618-5a5c-9e2e-ce9a33a8994a)
Excerpt (#uaa958f59-4f63-553d-a1fa-ca95a9e19996)
About the Author (#u14fec7f4-18c8-5af9-a90c-694ffb9bb0c8)
Title Page (#uafc8bc5a-2f61-5103-b064-052dd3464bc6)
Chapter One (#ud9ed7e2c-39c1-52cb-b78f-daee35f56038)
Chapter Two (#u1eabde2b-f222-56e7-8a87-3eb55afcccee)
Chapter Three (#u2058ee11-6809-5e10-9465-69ff3f855bcf)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Historical Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_30f69d85-d828-5daa-a4cd-d914852aeb40)
1820
The canvas was huge, several feet long and seven high, propped against a wall in the ballroom of Stanmore House, the London mansion of the Duke of Loscoe. Beside it, on the floor, were several pots of paint and, on a table nearby, a selection of brushes, cloths and a jar of water.
Lady Lavinia Stanmore, a huge apron covering her spotted gingham gown and paint brush in hand, stepped back to appraise her handiwork, which was so large that it had to be viewed from a distance to see the whole. It was a rustic, fairy-tale woodland scene with several gnarled old trees, wound about with columbine, giving shade to half a dozen rabbits at play, some colourful toadstools and a bank of wild flowers.
‘Heavens, Lavinia! I know you like the broad view, but this is monumental.’
She turned to face the man who stood nonchalantly leaning against the door frame. James, Earl of Corringham, was dressed to a shade and only managed to escape being a fop by a whisker. His hair was fair and as beautifully cut as his superfine green coat. His biscuit-coloured pantaloons tucked in tasselled Hessians and his precisely tied cravat proclaimed him a Corinthian of the first water.
‘Oh, it’s you, James.’
He grinned, his grey eyes alight with humour. ‘Whom else did you expect?’
‘I didn’t expect anyone in particular.’
He stepped forward to inspect the painting more closely. ‘Where on earth are you going to put it? Where in this house, large though it is, is there enough wall space to hang such a monstrosity?’
‘It is not a monstrosity!’
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean it is ugly,’ he retracted quickly, knowing her temper could be volatile. ‘I meant monstrous in the sense of very big.’
‘It has to be big. It is a scene.’
‘I can see that.’
‘I mean a scene for a play. It is a backcloth for A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’
‘Oh, I see. Tell me more.’
He only asked her for details because he loved looking at her, loved the sound of her voice, the light of enthusiasm in her green eyes when she talked about things that interested her, the way her chestnut curls lay so lovingly on her slender neck, the way she held herself with a natural grace that had nothing to do with her aristocratic antecedents. He loved everything about her and it was a pity she looked on him as an older brother and not, as every mama of the ton viewed him, an eligible man in need of a wife.
He was not her brother, they were in no way related, except through the fairly recent marriage of his stepmother to her father, the Duke of Loscoe, distant enough to make no difference at all to the way he felt about her, the way he had felt ever since meeting her three years before. She had been a high-spirited, wilful sixteen-year-old, up from the country to sample the delights of London for the first time, not yet come out and far too young to be thinking of marriage. When the Duke had married his stepmother the following year it was easier to treat Vinny as a sister and they had fallen into an easy relationship that he had no idea would be so difficult to change.
‘We are going to put on a play to raise money for Stepmama’s orphanages,’ she explained. ‘The cost of running them is rising all the time and the need for them increasing day by day, and I hit on this way of finding the blunt.’
Homes for children orphaned by the late war were one of the Duchess’s favourite charities. It was that more than anything else which had changed Lavinia’s initial resentment of her to grudging admiration which, when her father declared his intention of marrying Frances, soon turned to love.
She had become more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been. If it had not been for her brother, her childhood would have been a lonely one. Miss Hastings, her governess, had provided a modicum of education along with lessons in manners, but Lavinia had escaped as often as possible to roam the fields, ride her pony or find mischief with Duncan. It was little wonder she had grown up knowing more of the ways of little boys than young ladies. The only time she saw her mother was when she was sent for to be punished for these misdemeanours and that usually meant being confined to the schoolroom and more isolation. It was almost as if her mother could not bear the sight of her.
‘I suppose it was Little Mama’s idea.’ James’s name for his stepmother had been coined when Frances first came to their home in Essex as his father’s bride, when he was seven years old and she was seventeen. It had stuck even after his father’s death and her subsequent marriage to the Duke.
‘No, it was mine. There was a company of touring players who came to Risley earlier this year. They put up a huge tent and everyone went to see them, so I thought, why not do something like it ourselves? I would have done it at Loscoe Court, but I realised it would not attract a large enough audience, and, as we were coming to London, I decided to have it here. We are going to convert the ballroom into a theatre for one night.’
‘Who is “we”?’
‘Oh, anyone who is interested. You can take part, if you wish.’
‘Can I, now? What makes you think I have any talent as an actor?’
‘We won’t know until we hear you try, will we? And if you are quite, quite hopeless, as I suspect you may be, why, then you may help us behind the scenes…’
‘Shifting the scenery,’ he said, nodding towards the painting.
‘If you like.’
‘And if I don’t choose to do it?’
‘It is of no consequence. There are others who are willing.’
‘Who?’
‘Duncan. Perhaps Benedict Willoughby.’
‘You cannot rely on those two. Your brother is a sloth and young Willoughby is wild and unreliable.’
‘Duncan can rouse himself when he wants to. I thought it might divert him.’
‘From falling into more scrapes? You will only do that if you manage to separate him from Willoughby.’
‘I do not think you should belittle him, James.’ She defended her eighteen-year-old brother out of habit, not because James was not right. ‘I collect you were always in scrapes when you were young. Now you are grown old and staid, you have forgotten what it was like.’
‘Old and staid!’ He laughed. ‘Is that what being seven and twenty is? And I thought I was only now reaching my prime.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Do you propose to act in this little entertainment yourself?’
‘Yes, if I am good enough.’
‘Who else?’
‘Lancelot Greatorex.’
‘Lancelot Greatorex? Who is he?’
‘The manager of the Thespian Players and a very fine actor.’
‘That accounts for the preposterous name. I assume it is a pseudonym?’
‘I do not know, do I? I never asked him. The players have other engagements round the country for the next few weeks, but he has promised to come to London at the end of the summer with some of his company to direct us.’
‘Good Lord! Do you mean to say the Duke has countenanced you associating with play actors?’
‘Why should he not?’
‘Oh, Lavinia,’ he sighed. ‘Have you even asked him?’
‘Not yet, but I will.’
He laughed. ‘Then I wish you luck, but forgive me if I am not present when you do. I have no fancy to be at the receiving end of his temper, nor even to witness it.’
‘Papa doesn’t have a temper—not a bad one, that is. He is always prepared to listen.’ And that had come about since he married Frances. Before that he had been a remote and unreachable figure, seen only occasionally, someone who inspired awe rather than love. Not until her mother died and he had brought her to London did she even begin to know him. And that had been a revelation. He was far from the ogre she had always supposed him to be.
‘And having listened, will pronounce judgement and that will be the end of it. His Grace, the Duke of Loscoe, is a benevolent papa who puts up with a great deal more from his daughter than many men would, but that does not mean he will allow you to do as you please.’
‘We shall see,’ she said blithely.
‘Five guineas says he will not hear of it.’
‘Done,’ she said promptly. ‘I will get Stepmama on my side. He can never refuse her anything.’
‘And if he does agree, who do you hope will come to witness the performance?’
‘Everyone. All our friends and no doubt some who are not truly our friends, but I do not care why they attend, so long as they pay for their tickets.’
‘And you think your papa will allow that? And in his ballroom, too.’
‘I don’t see why not. Don’t you remember that ball Stepmama arranged at Corringham House three years ago for that first orphanage in Maiden Lane? The most unlikely people came, some not haut monde at all, and she did not turn anyone away who was prepared to pay the entrance price.’
‘That was before she married your father and it was not the same thing at all. A ball is not a play.’ He paused, watching as she picked up another brush and dipped it in paint to put the finishing touches to a spotted snake shedding its skin. There was no doubt she was a very talented artist, a talent which had been nurtured by their mutual stepmother, herself a highly acclaimed painter.
‘Am I to suppose from that, that you will not be favouring us with your presence?’
‘Oh, I shall come, if only to watch.’
‘And laugh when things go awry, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Oh, Vinny, I would never do that.’ He watched her deft strokes, hating to act the devil’s advocate, but he could see her riding for a fall and wanted to prevent it if he could. ‘And there’s another thing that might divert the ton away from your play: the King’s efforts to rid himself of his wife.’
