by Agnes Forest
No, Sawyer would return to Bedringham Court. The house would be empty and silent, and the rest of his hounds would greet St. John and question why the devil they didn’t get to come along on the day’s adventure. Sawyer would explain to them that it was due to their general poor behavior.
Riding through the night, Sawyer looked up at the stars. What a remarkable, unexpected day. He said a prayer to the heavens, in hopes that Lady Vivian Ravenswood would attend Almack’s the following Wednesday.
Chapter Nine
“No biscuit with the tea?” Lady Vivian asked the following morning. Apparently, her father had caught on to the fact that she was taking breakfast in her room in order to escape Lord Phillip, but Lord Benedict had a plan of his own. Tea would be delivered, hot and fresh, but biscuits would be denied.
“Only tea, mLady,” Georgette said, clasping her hands behind her back.
“I think that my father is intent upon starving me to death,” Lady Vivian said, taking her teacup and saucer over to the window. She gazed down upon the garden, the bees, the labyrinth.
“There are fresh scones downstairs,” Georgette said enticingly. No doubt, Lord Benedict had set her on to it, as part of his plan.
“Nonsense,” Vivian replied. “I’m not hungry in the slightest.” She seated herself upon the damask chair and opened her book of poetry. “I shall sit here for the better part of the morning,” she added in protest.
“Very well, then,” Georgette replied, excusing herself from the room.
Vivian was determined that, even though she felt a tad peckish, words would be her sustenance. The poetry would fill her with nutrition, and there would be no need to go downstairs and indulge in scones and eggs, bacon and sausage, baked beans and roast tomatoes, toast and marmalade, mushrooms and black pudding, cakes and . . . “
No, the poetry would not suffice. Vivian looked out the window again and noted what a beautiful day it was; perfect for a ride. Sadly, her hot bath and warm pudding from the night before had put her in such a languid state that she did not arise as early as she had hoped. Her surreptitious ride on Caelus was thwarted.
Lord Phillip’s carriage was still in front of the Stockwood Park, and she sighed. Would the man never disappear? Did he not have a home of his own? Unfortunately, the east wing was all too welcome to him and so he remained, determined to win his prize.
The breakfast room was directly below Vivian’s and the smell of bacon wafted up. It was vexing, as though her father was purposefully funneling the smell into her room.
“Georgette!” Vivian called out, the need for food prevailing.
“Yes, M’am?” the girl replied from outside the door.
“I think that it’s time to dress,” she said, and pulled herself from her chair.
“Very well, then.”
A simple yellow cotton gown would do for that morning. It was going to be a warm spring day, and the cotton would ensure that Vivian was comfortable throughout. Georgette helped to set her hair just so, with little tendrils of brown curls falling carelessly about her face. Simple pearl earrings would do the trick, as well as an abalone bracelet about her wrist.
Vivian only indulged in the smallest bit of powder upon her nose, as she found that cosmetics made her look much older than she really was. Although she did admire the subtle pigments that ladies applied to their lips. It had become all the rage at Almack’s.
Almack’s. What a revelation. She thought of the remarkable club again, and of course, this brought up thoughts of Sawyer. How she longed to see him once more. Perhaps if she returned to the club the following Wednesday he would be there. How thrilling. What would she say to him? How would he respond? Most importantly, what would she wear?
“You look radiant this morning,” Georgette said in wonder.
“I thank you.”
“Your father is waiting for you.”
“I have no doubt,” Vivian replied. “And Lord Phillip.”
“Yes, such a fine gentleman,” the girl said dreamily. Georgette often imagined what it would be like to marry such a man.
“I have met someone that puts Lord Phillip to shame,” Vivian said, amazed that the words came from her mouth. She did not often confide in Georgette, but she needed to speak. Certainly, she couldn’t tell Fanny of those longings. She’d be met with scolding.
“Why, is that even possible?” Georgette inquired.
“Most certainly,” Vivian replied. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes, miss,” Georgette said.
“Well, I met a man. A soldier.”
“How remarkable.”
“Yes, he’s ever so handsome, and he’s a war hero,” Vivian said.
“A true war hero?” Georgette replied in amazement.
“Truly. And I must say that I can’t help but compare this fellow to Lord Phillip.”
“Why, they’d be like night and day,” Georgette replied, thinking to herself how Lord Phillip wasn’t anything like a war hero.
“I knew that you would understand,” Vivian replied, leaning in. “You see, I can’t even imagine Lord Phillip wielding a sword. In fact, I daresay that he has scarce picked up a sword for any other reason other than to attach it to his fashionable sash.”
“I have seen him with a sword at his sash, miss,” Georgette echoed.
“Precisely,” Vivian replied. “Anyhow.” She got up and walked towards the window, her back towards Georgette. “Lieutenant Sawyer Cook is a man of courage and character, whereas Lord Phillip Lockfield is merely a bore.”
“I can’t leave you alone for one second,” a foreign voice said. It certainly wasn’t Georgette. Vivian turned in panic.
“Oh, heavens,” she said to herself.
“Why haven’t you come down to breakfast?” Fanny, the intruder, asked.
Good lord, how much of the conversation did she hear? Where did she come from? Whatever happened to Georgette?
In truth, as soon as Georgette saw Fanny come into the room, she scurried away affrighted, knowing just how scandalous it was that her lady was confiding in her so. But oh, how Georgette had enjoyed it. She would go back to the servant’s quarters that evening and replay the exchange in her memory.
“Georgette was preparing me for breakfast and I must say that it took a good deal of time,” Vivian replied, aloof.
“Ever since your father gave you that new horse, you’ve become a changed person, and I can’t say that I like it,” Fanny said, folding a shawl that was draped upon a tasseled chair.
Vivian wanted to protest that that only happened yesterday, but she refrained.
“Whatever do you mean?” Vivian asked, knowing full well what Fanny meant.
“I heard what you said just now. I’m not deaf!” Fanny replied. “Lieutenant Sawyer Cook, eh? Sure, he’s a nice bit of man for the eye, but if you were to marry such a rake, you’d be in the poor house by the time you turned one and twenty, I can tell you that.”
“He’s not a rake, I assure you.”
“And how do you know that? You met the fellow for but a moment and your imagination has gotten the best of you,” Fanny said.
The conversation remained unchanged whilst Vivian put the finishing touches on her ensemble for the day. Tiny crystal earrings replaced the pearls, white flats were placed upon her feet, a dab of pink ointment on the lips, and Vivian’s breakfast ensemble was complete. She would decide later whether a new look for the afternoon would be necessary.
“Relinquish any thoughts of the soldier, I beg you,” Fanny said as Vivian looked into her vanity mirror. “If only for my sake. I’m getting along in years and I think that all this Sawyer Cook business will be the death of me.” Fanny plopped into a chair. It was an honest moment - and a genuine plea - and Vivian was moved by it. Yet still, her youthful will and passion were too strong.
“Until I am married, my mind is my own. After I’m married, I shall mourn the loss of my brain,” Vivian replied.
“Heavenly Father,” Fanny said, look
ing up to the ceiling. She crossed herself and said a prayer.
“Lady Vivian,” Georgette’s voice said. She had popped her head inside the door ever so slightly. “Your father is asking for you.”
“Well, it’s perfect timing because I’m now ready,” Vivian replied.
“He wishes—,” Georgette added, stepping into the room and giving curtsy, “— that you might have a song prepared, and if you’re not in the mood for a song, then a poem would suffice.” Georgette said the words carefully, as if she had practiced them verbatim.
Will wonders never cease? Vivian thought to herself, in no mood to either perform a song or a poem. She was starving, and needed more tea, that much was certain. Who chooses to begin their day by performing like a circus monkey? It was out of the question. No doubt, it was on Lord Phillip’s behalf. Her father would never make such demands on her for no reason.
Georgette stood at the door in an uneasy manner. Having a better understanding of Vivian’s mind and heart, she felt bad for her mistress. She would scarce desire to perform in the morning, either.
“Just a little morning entertainment,” Fanny said, hoisting herself up from the chair.
“Tell father I’ll be right down,” Vivian said to Georgette.
“That’s a good girl,” Fanny added, shuffling out of the room.
Downstairs, the piano had been rolled into the breakfast room, and Vivian sat at it like a graceful swan. She pressed upon the keys with such practiced and skillful musicality that Lord Phillip and Lord Benedict stood rapt. Each time that they would look away to either regard the morning paper or take another bite of their full English breakfast, Vivian would conspicuously stuff a scone into her mouth and make funny faces at her audience, eating with her mouth wide open. As soon as Lord Benedict and Lord Phillip looked back her way, she would quickly drop the monstrous face and return to being a swan.
They asked for entertainment and they received it. Although it was really the servants that were viewing the best entertainment of all, for they had the chance to witness that marvelous facial acting firsthand. They stifled their laughter, but once they returned to the kitchen to procure more food, the servants would finally be able to set their giggles free. So, the beautiful Lady Vivian Ravenswood had a sense of humor after all, they said to one another. How charming to see it.
Vivian was an expert pianist. The music filled the breakfast room and traveled all the way up to the frescoed ceilings. The chandeliers practically tinkled from the sound. The melodious notes gave Lord Benedict an appetite and he made it through nearly two plates of food. Lord Phillip, on the other hand, had tremendous self-control over his diet and thus would consume the same breakfast every day no matter what hunger dictated. It was two soft boiled eggs, two pieces of toast - buttered with great attention - two pieces of sausage from which the grease had been squeezed out (a servant would do this) and half of a grapefruit. The grapefruit was imported from Spain, but Lord Phillip argued that the fruit was good for the waistline and therefore worth the extra expense.
Vivian managed to, amidst her concert, put down two and a half scones in the span of a quarter of an hour. There was never a pause in the music whilst she did so. It was a magic trick, of sorts. Even Fanny wasn’t aware of it, and that was saying much.
“Have you any plans for the week-end?” Lord Benedict asked Lord Phillip.
“I shall undertake a good, long ride,” Lord Phillip began ruminating. “Then there is an important dinner at the Whitehead’s on Saturday, a rather pressing tea engagement on Sunday, and for the following week, I have in mind to return to Almack’s.”
The music stopped playing. All eyes turned towards Vivian. What had happened to their entertainment?
“I’m sorry, but did you say Almack’s?” she asked.
“That is what I suggested, yes,” Lord Phillip replied.
“I should very much like to go as well,” Vivian said, taking her hands off the keys completely.
“Come now, child. Think of how late you returned home the last time,” Lord Benedict protested. Fanny rolled her eyes. She remembered all too well how late she had returned home.
“It’s alright. Lord Phillip will escort me,” Vivian said, batting her eyelashes ever so slightly.
Lord Phillip was emboldened. If he were to escort Lady Vivian to Almack’s, then it would prove to everyone that she was to be his wife. It was the perfect idea, and everything that he desired.
“I think that’s a charming notion,” Lord Phillip agreed.
“It’s set then,” Vivian said, returning to her piano as those about the table looked at one another in amazement. Vivian managed to stuff the remainder of the half scone into her mouth and chewed it rigorously.
The plan was not ideal but would still work out in Vivian’s favor. She was given leave to return to Almack’s and there was a very good chance that Sawyer Cook would be there as well. Of course, she would have to attend with Lord Phillip, but no doubt her father would convince Fanny to stay behind. Vivian knew it was easy to escape from Lord Phillip because he was always chatting, trying to make connections and assert himself as a man of importance. He was so self-involved that he’d never notice when Vivian stole away.
“Vivian, you haven’t eaten a morsel,” Lord Benedict scolded.
He was not aware of the three scones.
“I’m not terribly hungry, father,” Vivian said, continuing to play.
“Nonsense, come to the table and take in some nourishment,” Lord Benedict replied. He wasn’t going to watch his daughter waste away.
Vivian was mortified. She was so full-up that she could barely stand. Only the servants knew all that had passed through Vivian’s lips. They watched her with fascination, wondering how she was going to get out of this predicament.
“Come now, Lady Vivian. You will be faint for the better part of the afternoon,” Lord Phillip said. He did not wish to have an emaciated wife - It was a horrid sign of poverty - but rather a plump wife, and it was going to take considerable effort to get Lady Vivian to reach that stage.
“I must protest,” Vivian replied, unsure how she would endure another bite.
“That was not a request, young lady, but an order,” Lord Benedict added sternly.
Vivian slowly rose from the piano bench and glided over to the breakfast table, looking to the servants for support. They were all wide eyed with wonder, and wished to help the situation in any way they could.
“Now then, a full fry up for my daughter,” Lord Benedict called to the servants. Vivian closed her eyes in dread.
“Father, you know that I’m not one for a large breakfast.”
“Nonsense. Who doesn’t love a good morning repast? The Prince Regent is keen on it,” Lord Benedict reasoned. And surely, whatever was good enough for the Prince Regent was good enough for the Ravenswood household.
Vivian watched as Lord Phillip scooped out his grapefruit segments and collected the remaining juice on his spoon. He would not stop until every last drop was consumed. She found it as irksome as the way that he buttered his toast.
A servant walked towards Vivian and slowly placed a hot, steaming plate in front of her. Vivian wanted to cry. The servant looked penitent.
Yes, her father was putting in a great deal of effort. First the morning’s entertainment, then the full English breakfast, and now the servants having to plate it all up. She missed the old days where the Ravenswoods would serve themselves.
Vivian stifled a gag as she looked down on the plate. Black pudding, roast tomato, beans, two fried eggs, toast already buttered, two moist sausages, and a collection of broiled mushrooms. It was a daunting sight.
“Well, go on then,” Lord Benedict said, raising his newspaper aloft and, from time to time, lowering it to check Vivian’s progress.
Each bite was slow and painful. It was one of the most difficult meals of Vivian’s life, and she counted how many bites it took. She would make a little dent of progress and place her cutlery by the sid
es of her plate. Her father would protest and Vivian would pick up the cutlery and begin anew.
Eventually, to Vivian’s great amazement, she managed to finish the massive breakfast - in the name of England - and the rest of the day was ruined. Vivian felt as though she couldn’t move and was secretly thankful for her Empire cotton gown which allowed for some breathing room.
What would have been the perfect day for a ride on Caelus, or reading in the garden, became a day of lying in bed and bemoaning her state of fullness. Georgette brought her endless cups of steaming mint tea, and when it was time for afternoon tea, Vivian sent down word that she was unwell.
The afternoon of sickness did allow for one of Vivian’s favorite past times: daydreaming. She would think of Sawyer for the better part of the day, plan what she would wear to Almack’s that Wednesday, and organize her jewelry which had been in disarray for some time.
Despite the stomachache, it was a successful morning. With Almack’s on the horizon, hope and energy coursed through her. But what if Sawyer is not there? she wondered from time to time. No, he will be there. Vivian knew it within the marrow of her bones.
Chapter Ten
Such was the nature of time that before he knew it, Saturday turned into Sunday, Sunday into Monday, and so forth. Sawyer made it to Wednesday unscathed.
He could have ridden his horse to Almack’s, but on that evening it was out of the question. Sawyer was going to arrive in style, and he did just that by hiring a hackney coach. The ride was not long from Bedringham Court, yet still, the carriage ride would be expensive.
Looking out at the streets of London, Sawyer was in awe. Such a grave contrast between those areas where the monied lived and those where the impoverished resided. He was grateful that he lived in the country. Sawyer was not someone who could handle city life on a daily basis. All those crowds, the air filled with soot, the mud in the cobblestone streets. No, Sawyer should rather call an open field his home.
As the carriage pulled up to Almack’s, Sawyer could scarce believe the queue that had formed outside. There were no crowds on his first visit because he had shown up late. Now that he was right on time, he would wait in line with the rest of refined society. Ladies’ gems and jewels glittered in the light of the lampposts, shining more brightly than the stars overhead.
