Surrender (Mockingbird Square 3)

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.”