The Viscount's Lady Novelist

By Alissa Baxter

Harriet Linfield is a lady novelist who has been disillusioned by love. She sets out to write more realistic tales about the emotion when she returns home to Linfield Court for the summer. Vowing to avoid any romantic entanglements along the way, she focuses instead on her writing and her plan to turn the estate she inherited from her uncle into a refuge for orphans.

Oliver, Viscount Wentford, is determined to restore his family fortunes. But his plans for the estate he inherited are in direct opposition to the wishes of Harriet, his new neighbour. Upon meeting her, Oliver is amused when, in response to his provocative comments, she informs him that she intends to make him the villain of her next book. But his amusement swiftly turns to dismay when circumstances align to show him in that exact light.

When an enemy comes back into Harriet’s life, she sees that love isn’t as clear-cut as the romantic tales she pens. But will the viscount manage to discard his villainous mantle to become Harriet’s real-life hero?

• Language: English
• Publisher: vinspirepublishing
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005885502

Book preview

The Viscount’s Lady Novelist

Harriet Linfield is a lady novelist who has been disillusioned by love. She sets out to write more realistic tales about the emotion when she returns home to Linfield Court for the summer. Vowing to avoid any romantic entanglements along the way, she focuses instead on her writing and her plan to turn the estate she inherited from her uncle into a refuge for orphans.

Oliver, Viscount Wentford, is determined to restore his family fortunes. But his plans for the estate he inherited are in direct opposition to the wishes of Harriet, his new neighbour. Upon meeting her, Oliver is amused when, in response to his provocative comments, she informs him that she intends to make him the villain of her next book. But his amusement swiftly turns to dismay when circumstances align to show him in that exact light.

When an enemy comes back into Harriet’s life, she sees that love isn’t as clear-cut as the romantic tales she pens. But will the viscount manage to discard his villainous mantle to become Harriet’s real-life hero?

Praise for Alissa Baxter

Alissa Baxter’s writing is period perfect. ~ Mimi Matthews, USA Today bestselling author of The Matrimonial Advertisement

A truly traditional Regency romance, with lots of witty banter, very reminiscent of Georgette Heyer. Recommended for anyone who likes a completely clean traditional Regency, with strongly authentic writing, historical accuracy and a satisfying romance. Baxter’s writing is excellent, and her dialogue, manners and settings are true to the era. ~ Mary Kingswood, author of traditional Regency romances

While immersing the reader in the mores and life of the Regency era, Alissa Baxter manages to write strong, independent heroines whom modern-day women will cheer and root for. Plus the addition of little details that wrap around the plot and the characters make reading her books all the more special because you never know when you might land on a little Easter egg morsel in the beautiful and engaging prose. Historicals with heart and engaging characters that read real—that’s what you get in Ms Baxter’s books. ~ Zee Monodee, USA Today bestselling author

This book is gorgeous! ~ Rachel Burton, author of The Tearoom on the Bay

Other Books by Alissa Baxter

The Dashing Debutante

Lord Fenmore’s Wager

A Marchioness Below Stairs

The Earl’s Lady Geologist

Send and Receive

(republished as The Truth About Clicking Send and Receive)

The Blog Affair

(republished as The Truth About Cats and Bees)

The Viscount’s Lady Novelist

Alissa Baxter

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Copyright

Copyright ©2022 Alissa Baxter

Cover illustration copyright © 2022 Elaina Lee/For the Muse Designs

Formatting and Interior Design by Woven Red Author Services

First Edition

Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

All charactersin this work are purely fictional and have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the auth or, and all incidents are pure invention.

ISBN: 978-1-7363662-8-8

Dedication

For my husband

Chapter One

Home! Never had Harriet Linfield known such delight at approaching the dwelling in which she’d drawn her first breath and almost every breath since.

Now, she pulled the crisp evening air deep into her lungs and quickened her pace as she turned a corner in the sweeping drive. The old country house came into view, nestled at the bottom of a steep hill. Harriet stopped to stare at the majestic stone structure, seeing it with fresh eyes after being away for so long.

When Papa inherited Linfield Court many years ago, he hired landscape architect Humphry Repton to beautify the deer park. The famed designer had advised her father to plant thousands of trees. Consequently, oak, horse chestnut, yew and beech trees created a dramatic backdrop to the mansion. Woodland covered the hill behind the house and stretched along the sides, as well, framing the structure in a bowl-like fashion.

Over the centuries, each generation of Linfields had added to the original 15th-century manor house. Linfield Court now comprised a number of architectural styles, ranging from the Strawberry Gothic wing projecting to the left, with its fairy-tale towers and battlements, to the English Renaissance windows on the right.

Harriet wrinkled her nose. No wonder she had considered it a perfect setting for all the Gothic novels she had read as a young girl. Her ancient home fuelled her imagination as she eagerly devoured any number of tales about innocent damsels locked up in castles, in grave danger before being rescued by their (obligatorily) handsome heroes.

Harriet studied the picturesque vista, then walked along the drive again, this time more slowly. Linfield Court presented a romantic appearance. While she could not dispute that inarguable fact, she no longer imagined any scenes of courtship taking place within its walls. She had outgrown such silly fancies. Now she simply appreciated the Court as her home, the place where she was inspired and at peace.

What a pity that peace was about to be broken.

Harriet released a long breath. Having so recently returned from Edward’s nuptials at Rothbury Park, the last thing she wanted was another house party. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed being a part of her older half-brother’s wedding party—she had been delighted to join the celebrations. Now, however, she sought only solitude and her long-neglected writing.

But when her brother James had announced his betrothal to her closest friend Lavinia Wynn, Mama had written to invite the Wynns to Rothbury Park for the summer, and then on to Linfield Court. They were due to travel here from Rothbury today. Indeed, they may have arrived while she was out walking in the park.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Things often happened in threes, but even though her two older brothers had entered the state of matrimony this year, she would not be following in their footsteps. Not any time soon. Not after what had happened.

Turning yet another bend in the road, she came to a sudden stop. A tall, lean gentleman, dressed in buff-coloured pantaloons, a form-fitting coat, and highly-polished Hessian boots, strolled in her direction, accompanied by James.

Harry! Her brother quickened his pace. Mama sent me to look for you. She said you went out an age ago. He nodded at the man beside him. May I make Viscount Wentford known to you? Wentford, my sister, Miss Linfield.

Lord Wentford doffed his curly-brimmed beaver hat and bowed. Your servant, ma’am.

Harriet’s cheeks warmed as she curtseyed and murmured a polite greeting. The viscount possessed an unusually attractive smile—one that lit up a lean, rather grave countenance and lent an air of warmth and cordiality. The smile faded as quickly as it appeared, however, and Harriet took a tiny step back. Why the sudden notion that he was weighing her in the balance?

Harriet creased her brow. James had frequently spoken of his friend and fellow geologist, Lord Wentford. He had invited the viscount to Linfield Court just before he became betrothed to Lavinia, as he was eager to collaborate with the older man on a paper about the geology of North Somerset. Bound by a prior engagement, Lord Wentford declined the invitation. Evidently, his plans had changed…

James rocked back on his heels and grinned. Do you know that Lord Wentford is your neighbour, Harry? He inherited Greenacres. Old Johnson was his cousin and left it to him.

When did Mr Johnson die? I had no idea. Greenacres ran along the eastern border of neighbouring Beverton Manor, the property Harriet had inherited a few years ago from her Uncle Gervase.

While you were in London. Mama didn’t tell you? It must have slipped her mind. James turned to his friend. Beverton Manor is a snug little property if ever there was one.

Lord Wentford bent his head. I am familiar with the manor.

James returned his attention to Harriet. Wentford came to set Greenacres in order, but the house isn’t habitable right now. That little misfortune serves us well, as he can stay at Linfield, and we can work on our paper together.

A smile played about the viscount’s lips. I would not have imposed upon you had I known of your betrothal. Particularly as your future bride’s family is in residence.

James scratched his ear. Eh? Shouldn’t change a thing, old fellow! He peered over Lord Wentford’s shoulder. There are Lavinia and her mama now, come outside to take the air. I must be off. He hurried towards the Wynn ladies, who strolled on the lawn near the front of the house.

Harriet gazed after her brother. How typical of him to leave her in the lurch in this manner. She glanced at Lord Wentford. A rather thoughtful expression on his face, the gentleman studied James’s fast-retreating back.

He proffered his arm. May I escort you home, Miss Linfield?

Harriet bit back a gasp, reminded of another outstretched arm, on another occasion not so long ago. She had placed her hand on it and agreed to a dance...simple actions that started a chain of events that eventually broke her heart. She swallowed the painful knot in her throat.

I don’t bite, you know. Lord Wentford’s quiet words sliced through her reverie.

She jerked her head up. Forgive me, my lord. I was miles away. Placeing her hand on his sleeve, she strolled alongside him in the direction of the house.

I met your younger brother and sister when I arrived. They were leaving the house, and Miss Georgiana had a net. She said she was searching for a specific type of butterfly.

Georgiana is obsessed with all living creatures. She always has a net in hand. Stephen is nearly as bad, although he prefers beetles.

It seems you are a family of natural historians.

Yes. Harriet’s tone was colourless. I am the odd one out.

Lord Wentford halted. Indeed?

Mmm. She studied her half-booted feet. My interests are more literary and artistic. Raising her gaze to his, she blinked at the keen expression in their depths.

And yet... According to your brother, you know the estate like the back of your hand and have a great appreciation of nature.

Her lips curved into a half-smile. I love Linfield’s natural beauty—but I appreciate its outward appearance. I am not at all interested in the internal workings of the earth. If you analyse the parts of something too much, it can take away from the whole.

You have romantical ideals.

She hesitated. In some ways. I suppose it is rather an isolating characteristic to have—well, at least in my family.

"I wandered lonely as a cloud…"

Narrowing her eyes, she sent him a sharp glance.. Was he mocking her?

It is possible to have a poetic appreciation of nature as well as a scientific understanding of it, Miss Linfield.

I, unfortunately, lack balance in that regard, she said, frowning a little.

"You are not unique in your singular focus. In the preface to his work, Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth defines poetry as the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings which take their origin from emotion. I doubt he views his subject matter with any scientific perspective."

You appreciate Wordsworth’s writing?

I do—although I have no romantical notions myself, so my appreciation of his work must necessarily be blunted.

Indeed. A romantical man of science is an oxymoron.

His steady gaze held hers. You have a very decided opinion on the matter.

I am intimately acquainted with the thought processes of my family members. She raised a shoulder. They are at all times rational, analytical and systematic. I doubt they would ever get carried away by any emotion—except excitement, of course, over the discovery of a rare butterfly, beetle or fossil.

Or rock formation? His eyes twinkled.

Or rock formation. She hesitated. I imagine my brother may be caught up in a variety of social commitments while you are here…

"You think my presence is de trop." He started to walk again, matching his strides to her slower pace.

Oh, no! Not at all, my lord. Geology is James’s passion. He is very eager to work on this paper with you. Only…

Miss Wynn will, in all probability, demand your brother’s full attention.

I expect so.

Lavinia and Mrs Wynn were heading towards the ha-ha at the other end of the garden when Harriet and Lord Wentford arrived at the front of the house. Harriet’s mother stood on the lawn in conversation with James but smiled when Harriet and the viscount approached.

My love! Her warm smile welcomed them. Did you enjoy your walk?

I did, thank you. Forgive me for being late. I forgot the time.

Harriet’s hand still rested on Lord Wentford’s arm, and she hastily withdrew it. Her cheeks warmed in mortification when, darting a glance at him from under her lashes, she caught his amused expression. He probably saw her as the veriest greenhorn.

You have made Lord Wentford’s acquaintance. Her mother nodded at the viscount, and then said with a studied simplicity Harriet did not trust: My dear, James and I have put our heads together and come up with what I believe to be an excellent scheme. Lavinia is eager to be shown around her new home, and his lordship is equally keen to explore the estate as he wishes to gain an understanding of the general lie of the land before he and James start working on their paper. I hope you won’t be averse to joining the party of explorers? You could keep Lavinia entertained while James and Lord Wentford discuss geological matters.

Could she indeed? Harriet clenched her fingers as her gaze travelled from her mother to James, who smiled expectantly. Extending her visual study to Lord Wentford, she raised her chin a bit. The man’s grey eyes brimmed with laughter, despite the serious lines of composure on the rest of his face.

James stepped forward eagerly. Please, Harry?

She contemplated her brother for a long while and then pressed her lips together. Very well.

Thank you. Did I ever tell you that you are the best of all my female relations?

That isn’t in the least true, James. Please don’t try and flummery me.

He grinned. Well, at least allow me to express my sincere appreciation of the sacrifice you are about to make.

Hmm. I can just imagine what will happen. Whenever you and Lord Wentford discover a fascinating rock formation, you will abandon Lavinia and me for hours while you thoroughly investigate it.

No, I say! James protested, indignant. Not hours, Harry!

You know you tend to lose track of time when you are investigating geological matters.

James rubbed his chin thoughtfully. You must drop a hint in my ear if I do that, Harry. Don’t wish to distress Lavinia.

I am sure you don’t.

Or you, for that matter!

I appreciate your consideration.

"Not at all, not at all! Although you’re not keen on geology, you are a good sport. That I will say. James spread his hands wide as he turned back to the viscount. Well, that’s all right and tight then. Good thing we’ve come up with a plan." He nodded in their general direction and hurried across to the Wynn ladies.

Mama gazed after him and then nodded at Harriet. Thank you for your cooperation, my love. Now, I must see to some household matters. If you will excuse me…

She hastened away, leaving Harriet and Lord Wentford alone on the lawn.

Harriet gave the viscount a sidelong glance and then turned to face him. I hope you will enjoy your stay here, my lord.

I am certain I shall.

It may not be quite what you expected. She eyed him doubtfully. Our entire family is in residence, and as you must have observed, we are not a conventional household. My family members have a variety of strange interests.

"I have never given undue value to conventionality. Besides, variety is the very spice of life, is it not?"

"William Cowper’s The Task?"

He bowed. It is regrettable that you’ve had my company forced upon you, Miss Linfield.

Oh no, indeed, my lord. Forced is far too strong a word.

Is it?

Glancing down at her hands, she sighed. I suppose I have been impressed upon…

You took the words right out of my mouth, Miss Linfield. Although I mean them in a different sense.

She jerked her head up. Was he flirting with her? After her last disastrous experience of taking a man’s flattery at face value, she was inclined to doubt the sincerity of sweet-sounding words. Far too often, they were used to further a man’s nefarious ends. Mr Anderson had given her his compliments freely, and fool that she was, she had lapped them up like a cat desperate for the milk of human kindness.

Surely his lordship had no nefarious intentions, though? She had to be careful not to fall into the trap of doubting the character of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance simply because a cad took her in. Lord Wentford did not know her, and he wanted nothing from her. Except perhaps a little flirtation to liven up a rather dull house party.

If she was honest with herself, this man’s unexpected gallantry was a balm to her spirit after her recent discovery that Mr Anderson had never loved her. Instead, the cad had used her as a convenient means to a very shady end.

The viscount smiled at her, and Harriet lost track of time and place and reality, as she gazed up into his fathomless blue eyes. Her heart galloped frantically, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, heating them so that she was tempted to raise her hands to her face, to cover her confusion.

She intertwined her fingers instead, keeping them firmly in place, and tore her gaze away from his. How susceptible she was to a handsome face! She must be far more careful than she had been in the past. If she was desirous of remaining single, she had to put a guard on her madly racing heart. Especially if she was to set in motion her plan to create an independent existence for herself when she reached her majority three years from now.

She must remain resolute in the face of the temptation to fall at the feet of yet another personable male. Not literally, of course. She just prevented herself from shuddering as the horrid image of herself lying prostrate at his immaculate Hessian boots flashed through her mind. Yet it could not be denied that she hadn’t only fallen at Mr Anderson’s feet—she had all but thrown herself at them—all because she had believed in the myth of love at first sight.

Well, she had learned that such a thing did not exist, and if she ever contemplated matrimony again, Harriet would be far more discerning about how she allowed herself to think about it. She would measure a gentleman’s character instead of drinking in his compliments, and she would ensure that she chose a suitor with similar interests to hers, who would not stand in the path of her dreams. She wanted a good man, a man who was pure in heart, as opposed to someone obsessed with mercenary considerations.

But she was in no fit state to think about marriage at the moment. And she most definitely would not do so when she had such slight trust in her own judgement. The viscount’s smile might indeed be charming, but she must not allow herself to be swayed by it. Her romantical notions