The Lord of Heartbreak

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Lord of Heartbreak

  Claudia Stone

  Copyright © year Claudia Stone

  All rights reserved.

  For Joseph, the most inspirational English teacher I know.

  About the Author

  Claudia Stone was born in South Africa but moved to Plymouth as a young girl. Having trained as an actress at RADA, she moved to New York to pursue her dream of acting on Broadway in 1988. She never did see her name in lights, but she did meet a wonderful Irishman called Conal who whisked her away to the wilds of Kerry, where she has lived ever since.

  Claudia and Conal have three children, a dairy farm and a St. Bernard called Bob. When she has any time left over, Claudia enjoys reading Regency as well as writing it.

  Fans can write to Claudia at claudiastoneauthor@mail.com

  If you would like to hear from Claudia about her new releases, you can sign up for her newsletter by clicking the link below:

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The whole of the ton was in agreement that it was the love story of the season. Miss Emily Balfour had not taken two steps at her coming out ball when her eyes met with those of Julian Deveraux, Viscount Jarvis from across the crowded ballroom. Those present on the night swore blind that every guest there fell silent in that instant, as though sensing that the epic meeting of two perfect souls had just occurred.

  Matchmaking Mamas watched with surprise as the previously recalcitrant Lord Jarvis danced attendance on Miss Balfour for the whole of the evening. He danced not once, not twice, but thrice with the dainty debutante, whose hair was as bright as spun gold and whose smile lit up the room. After the final strains of their last dance of the night ended, many a knowing eyebrow was raised: it appeared that Lord Jarvis, the seemingly untameable rake, had finally fallen in love.

  The next day, which was a Thursday, he called on Miss Balfour at exactly eleven o'clock. He was spotted on her doorstep by a member of White's who was out taking his morning ambulations around Grosvenor Square. The pot-bellied Lord, upon sighting the Viscount, instantly forgot about his walk and instead hurried to the club to wager a bet on when Jarvis would propose to youngest Balfour girl. His entry into the famous betting book in White's initiated a flurry of similar wagers and soon the male half of the beau monde was watching the couple's every move with an exaggerated interest that matched their female counterparts'.

  On the Friday the pair were again seen together, driving on Rotten Row in the Viscount's sleek, new Phaeton. They were accompanied by Miss Balfour's mother, who was said to have been positively preening at the attention from the crowds. On Saturday, at Lady Jersey's annual midnight ball, Miss Balfour again danced twice with the Viscount Jarvis; the quadrille and the waltz. She also stood up for two dances with a dashing young man named Captain Black, which set tongues wagging. Could it be that Emily had transferred her affections elsewhere already, people whispered with dismay. On Sunday reports circulated that several footmen bearing towering bouquets of hothouse flowers arrived at the Balfour residence after Emily had returned from Sunday Service, and at this news another flurry of betting erupted in White's. The book was closed a few minutes after Lord Payne, who was the Viscount's closest confidant, wagered one thousand pounds that Jarvis would propose the next day. There was much grumbling about one so close to the Viscount being permitted to place bets, when they were so obviously privy to insider information, though this ceased when Monday passed without news of any betrothal.

  Tidings of the engagement came instead on Tuesday, in an unofficial whisper from the Viscount's butler, who shared the tidbit of gossip with the next door neighbour's footman. The footman promptly told the housekeeper, who informed the Mistress's Lady's Maid, who then took it upon herself to tell the Lady of the house. She, of course, told her husband, who promptly hurried to White's, to check the book and see who had won what was now an astronomical sum of money. And so, on Wednesday, when the official announcement was printed in the papers, there were few in London who could proclaim to be surprised by it, for even the bottom dwellers in the Seven Dials knew that the Viscount was to marry Miss Balfour. Though despite the lack of surprise everyone was still overjoyed: Who could not but be happy at the news that two beautiful, young people would be joined together in marriage?

  Well, perhaps there was one person...

  Jane Deveraux stiffened in her seat as she heard the front door of the Berkley Square townhouse slam loudly. This was then followed by her new sister in law's voice, loudly complaining to her mother about the decor of the front hall of the Jarvis's London residence.

  "It's positively medieval," Emily's whining voice drifted through the door of Jane's private sitting room,as loud and clear as if there was no door between them. Jane took off her spectacles and massaged her temples at overhearing this latest complaint from her new sister. Berkley Square had been built in the mid eighteenth century and while the decor of the house might be dated, it was most definitely not medieval. Classical Rococo would be a more historically accurate description, but unlike Jane, the new Viscountess Jarvis had little interest in history or accuracy— or anything bar gossip and ballgowns.

  "And where is the sister?"

  Mrs Balfour did not try to keep her voice down as she spoke to her daughter, her tone laced with barely disguised animosity as she queried as to Jane's whereabouts. Jane herself stilled, her heart racing erratically; since her brother had married she had begun to feel like a criminal in her own home. Emily and Julian had returned from Cornwall to Berkley Square two weeks after their wedding, and the new Viscountess had wasted no time in letting Jane know that her presence was not wanted, and would not be tolerated for very long.

  "Oh probably stuck with her head in a book somewhere," Jane heard Emily sniff disdainfully, "Honestly, no wonder she's a spinster— men detest women with notions of intellect."

  "There's nothing less attractive than a Bluestocking," Jane heard Mrs Balfour agree with her daughter, before both women's voices receded as they ventured further down the hallway.

  "Oh, goodness," Jane whispered, pushing her chair back from her writing bureau. She stood up and began to pace the small sitting room, overcome by a sense of nerves and agitation.

  "Is something the matter?"

  Belinda Bowstock, who was employed as Jane's companion, looked up from the stockings she was attempting to darn; the same ones she had been attacking with a needle for nearly a fortnight. Jane glanced at the young, blonde haired woman, trying to mask the fit of giggles that were threatening to erupt. Emily's first act as Viscountess had been to find Jane a paid companion, as though Jane were a woman approaching her dotage and not a lady of eight and twenty. Belinda had arrived at the house two days later; she was a dreamy girl with an artistic temperament, whose scatterbrained ways exasperated Emily as much
as Jane's studious inclinations did.

  "Did you not hear them?" Jane asked wondrously, for the two women had been standing just outside the door and their voices had been as clear as if they had been standing in the room.

  "Hear who?" Belinda blinked in confusion, setting aside the stockings which were thick with lumpy cross-stitches and patting Henry, her King Charles Cavalier, affectionately on the head.

  "Oh," Jane ran a distracted hand through her hair, marvelling at Belinda's wonderful ability to be oblivious to everything going on around her. "Never mind. I've finished the last of the corrections on my paper, shall we get ready to leave?"

  The only upside of having a companion, which really was quite humiliating for a woman of her age, was that Jane was free to go wherever in town she pleased, without consulting her brother. Belinda happily followed Jane to circulating libraries, museums and philosophical saloons, without so much as raising an eyebrow. A different, more serious, companion might have raised an objection to attending such unladylike events, but Miss Bowstock did not seem to realise, or care, that Jane's interests fell far away from the dictated past-times that ladies were supposed to enjoy. If her miserable attempts at cross stitch was anything to go by, Jane supposed that Belinda's interests also lay elsewhere.

  The two ladies quickly readied themselves and soon they were in one of the Viscount's carriages, headed in the direction of Bloomsbury. Jane held in her hands her paper on the moralities of the Romans, which she had been invited to present to a small audience at Montagu House. She nervously smoothed the sheaves of pages, reading the words aloud to herself as the carriage made its way through the busy London Traffic.

  "You seem nervous," Belinda observed, tearing her gaze away from the window and glancing at Jane curiously.

  "I am nervous," Jane replied, exhaling and inhaling in a manner that she hoped would steady her nerves, but instead only left her feeling dizzy and light headed. "I have never spoken in front of such a large crowd and the members of the Historical Society are very distinguished gentlemen."

  "Well they obviously think very highly of you, if they have invited you to speak." Belinda said with a shrug, "For most men don't seem to think that women should speak at all, unless it is to offer vague comments on the weather and hair ribbons."

  Jane blinked at the astuteness of Belinda's statement. Most men didn't think that women should talk, or hold opinions, or give presentations of historical research papers. Perhaps the young woman was right, that she did not have anything to be nervous about, for if the men of the Historical Society had not wanted her to come, they simply wouldn't have invited her.

  After a half an hour's journey, the carriage drew up outside the front door of Montagu House and the footman quickly opened the door to allow the two ladies out. Montagu House was a grand affair; three stories high, seventeen bay windows wide and had a Mansard roof with a dome at the centre. Jane gulped at the grandiosity of it, though tried not to let the imposing building of the Museum intimidate her.

  I have been invited, she reminded herself sternly as she swept up the front steps and into the main atrium of the Museum.

  "Miss Deveraux," Sir Edward Smirke, a rotund man in his late fifties, came forth to greet Jane and Belinda as they entered the cavernous hall. "We are so pleased that you could make it. The members have been very eager to hear you present your paper. Albert Ruddhall has said that he has been corresponding with you on it for many months."

  "Thank you," Jane replied with a bright smile, trying not to stammer with nerves. "And thank you for asking me to come today. It is an honour to be asked to speak with such distinguished historians."

  "The honour is ours, Miss Deveraux," Smirke replied with an extravagant bow, before gesturing for the two women to follow him inside the hallowed halls of the museum. The two ladies trailed a little behind Sir Edward as they followed him to the auditorium. The hallway was one of the grandest that Jane had ever seen, with domed roofs carved with ornate Roman frescoes and heavily gilded portraits of grumpy looking gentlemen lining the walls.

  "This used to be the home of the Duke of Montagu,before the British Museum purchased it." Jane whispered to an open-mouthed Belinda, who seemed struck dumb at the grandeur. She knew very little of the girl's past, only that she had been born into a genteel family which had suffered great poverty after her father's death.

  "Lud," Belinda breathed, gazing up at the dozens of chandeliers, which lead like a trail of breadcrumbs down the hallway, "Imagine how difficult it is to clean all those."

  Jane blinked as a small stab of shame filled her at Belinda's words; she would never think of a thing as trivial as cleaning when she saw a chandelier, because she had never had to clean one. It was strange how two people could view the same object and be struck by totally different thought processes because of the family they had been born into.

  "Here we are ladies," Sir Edward said,interrupting Jane's philosophising, a smile stretching his thick moustache. Jane wondered if it tickled, it was so big and bushy. "The members are all seated, so I will introduce you and then you will take to the podium."

  "Wonderful," Jane replied, trying to quell the colony of butterflies that had erupted inside her stomach.

  Sir Edward pushed open the heavy mahogany doors and led Jane and Belinda into a small, circular room, ringed by seats which were filled with most serious looking men. Sir Edward descended the steps, to the small podium at the centre and gave Jane a flattering and florid introduction that made her beam with pride. This was followed by muted, polite applause from the audience, except in one corner, where a gentleman gave a cheer more suited to a horse-race at Ascot.

  Jane started and glanced to where the noise had emanated. Her face paled as she caught sight of the man who had cheered; it was her brother's closest friend: James Fairweather, Lord Payne.

  What on earth?

  She tried not to look at his handsome, smiling face as she took to the podium to begin her short lecture. Lord Payne was one of the ton's more notorious hellions. He adored women, wine and carriage races -- occasionally all at the same time if the rumours were to be believed. He had never once, in all the times that Jane had spoken with him, expressed any interest in history, or anything at all past the usual male interests of horseflesh and...flesh of another kind. She could think of no good reason for Payne to be here, unless he was up to some kind of mischief. Steadfastly she decided that the only way to deal with Lord Payne was to ignore him completely, so she turned her attention to the rest of the audience, her back to the corner where the blonde Marquess sat.

  "The excavations of Herculaneum in the middle of the last century, unearthed a veritable feast of murals and frescoes which gave an extraordinary insight into the morality of the Romans," Jane began, her voice starting low and shaky before she became comfortable with speaking to the room. "From the studies of Wincklemann, who applied empirical categories upon the findings, it has become easier to analyse the behaviours of the Romans — which ranged from devoutly religious to extremely base."

  "Oh-ho," Jane heard Lord Payne exclaim to the elderly gentleman beside him, "Now this sounds like my kind of history."

  Jane gritted her teeth and willed herself not to glare at Payne; luckily the men seated around him, hushed him and tutted in disapproval and he was mercifully silent for the rest of her lecture. Jane focused her attention on the other members of the audience, who reassuringly were nodding and taking notes as she spoke, and who began to clap politely when she finished.

  That went well, she thought with relief, before a shout of "Bravo" from Lord Payne startled both her, and every other member of the audience. Lord Payne was on his feet, his tall frame towering above the other men who had remained seated, clapping enthusiastically and seemingly oblivious to the bemusement of the other audience members.

  "Well done Miss Deveraux," Sir Edward said, as she descended the podium."You've gained such fascinating insights from all your studies, it was most interesting. And some members seem to
have been overcome with enthusiasm for your chosen subject."

  Sir Edward glanced at Lord Payne, who was pushing his way through the crowd to get to where Jane stood.

  "I did not know that his Lordship was such a great fan of history," Jane said with a blush, hoping that Sir Edward would not associate her with the wild, young man and think less of her because of it.

  "Nor had I," Sir Edward stroked his moustache thoughtfully, glancing between Jane and the approaching figure of Payne. "His father has paid for his membership since the Marquess' first days in Oxford, but this is the first lecture that Lord Payne has deigned to attend."

  There was a twinkle in Sir Edward's eye that Jane did not like, not one bit. He seemed to be insinuating that Payne was interested in more than history, which was, of course, preposterous. Lord Payne was infamous for associating with only the most beautiful of the demimonde, and his fiery affair with the Italian actress Marina Fusco had acted as fodder for many a gossip. He would have very little interest in a woman like Jane; from her mousy, brown colouring, to the spectacles she wore at the end of her nose, every part of Jane was the total opposite to what would attract a man like Payne.

  "There you are Jane!"

  Lord Payne's achingly handsome face broke into a charming, boyish grin as he finally reached his target. To Jane's dismay, Sir Edward hastily excused himself with a knowing wink, and she was left alone with the heir to the Dukedom of Hawkfield, who seemed even more buoyant than usual.

  "Lord Payne," she said stiffly inclining her head. She gazed past him to the crowd, hoping to sight Belinda, who might save her from what promised to be a torturous conversation, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  "She's gone into the pottery room," Payne offered helpfully, as he noted Jane scanning the room. "She seemed to be looking for somewhere to freshen up; hopefully she'll not mistake the Greek pots for chamber pots!"