Lady Vivian

by Agnes Forest

  Sawyer decided to make his own daring fashion choice and exchanged his soldier’s uniform for that of a gentleman. His breeches were creme-colored and his waistcoat and tails were navy blue. He even sported a top hat.

  He feared that he looked like a dandy, but upon inspection of the other gentlemen, he knew that his choice had been sound. Most arrayed themselves in something similar to what Sawyer wore. The men that were more daring, or required more attention, sported Kelly green coats with the collar reaching high up into their chins.

  Almack’s was like a great fortress. From the street, one might assume that it was a vast concert hall or even a library. But upon entering the large stone structure, one was sure to be amazed by the pleasures within. Only those well-traveled would be able to compare it to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg.

  “Is that not Lieutenant Sawyer Cook? The newly commissioned officer that is turning heads throughout the United Kingdom?”

  Sawyer recognized the voice and turned to find Calvin Cain, the very rogue that he had been looking for. Where had the scoundrel been all this time? Surely, he had done it on purpose, for Calvin was the kind of person who preferred his presence longed for. He wanted others to feel the absence of it keenly.

  “The devil is in my midst,” Sawyer said, striding towards Calvin. “Do you hear that?”

  “What is it?” Calvin asked.

  “Another woman’s heart just broke.”

  “My, but don’t you clean up nicely. The second you buy a commission you receive a free top hat, as well,” Calvin joked.

  “I’m doing my best to fool the rest of society,” Sawyer said with a laugh.

  “Well, apparently it’s working. No one here has the slightest notion that you’re a hooligan. Well done,” Calvin said.

  Calvin Cain was alive with mischief, as was always the case, and it brought a Cheshire smile to Sawyer’s lips. Yes, whenever Calvin was around, things were bound to go wrong in the right way. His hair was raven black, eyes deep blue, sideburns reaching down to his chin, and collar up so high that Sawyer wondered how the man could breath. Calvin would explain that it kept those around him from going for the jugular.

  “Here we are then,” Calvin said, walking to the front of the line. A pack of ladies became indignant, but Calvin turned to them with a bow. “Ladies, you are the epitome of grace,” he said, and with that they blushed and let Calvin and Sawyer pass through.

  Their entrance being successful, Sawyer was again amazed by the splendor that met him within. Could it possibly be even more beautiful than last week? It was not outside of the realm of possibility, but Sawyer had read somewhere that the Patronesses of Almack’s were always inspecting the interior and making amendments and improvements.

  This was not the case with the food.

  “Spot of tea, then?” Calvin asked, having viewed the dance hall and not seen anything of interest. Calvin was rather picky when it came to the ladies, and since his considerable income did not require that he take a wife - as most parents would often stipulate - Calvin was free to be continuously window-shopping, as it were.

  “That would be fine,” Sawyer replied. He had not taken supper that evening, and hopefully tea would be served with even more stale bread and butter.

  Calvin showed Sawyer to a room on the top floor of Almack’s that he scarce knew existed. It was the gentleman’s room. Dark wood interior and leather seats were the setting, and there were antlers on the walls. Smoke filled the air and cards were played by most. Tea was served, and for those who wanted something stronger, their tastes would be fulfilled with a concealed flask.

  “Tea for now and brandy in a half hour,” Calvin said to the attendant. He pushed his tails aside and seated himself, crossing his legs like a fop.

  Cards were placed before them by a butler - the gentleman’s room had its own butler on call.

  “Why are you here?” Calvin asked, shuffling the cards in his hands and jumping to the chase.

  “To make sure that you don’t get into any trouble,” Sawyer replied. Tea was poured and he took a sip of the piping hot brew.

  “I’m afraid that you’re far too late,” Calvin quipped.

  “Alright then, I’m curious about a lady.”

  “That’s what I thought. I couldn’t imagine there would be any other reason for you to come here.”

  “You speak the truth. I look about this place and I feel like the orphan that I am,” Sawyer replied. There were no biscuits placed before them and Sawyer felt bereft. They’d have to go down to the supper hall.

  “I’m not so sure. Looking at you this evening, I would say that your disguise is perfect.”

  Sawyer glanced over at a mirror and caught his reflection. It did look as though he fit into Almack’s on that occasion. What a marvel. Maybe he should wear a coat and tails more often.

  “Who’s the lady?” Calvin asked, dealing out the cards.

  “Vivian Ravenswood,” Sawyer replied. He figured that he just needed to come out with it.

  “Ha ha!” Calvin laughed, looking up to his friend. “You like a good challenge, don’t you?”

  “It’s not about challenge, man. The lady has enchanted me,” Sawyer explained.

  “I can see the appeal,” Calvin replied. “Of course, you must be aware of the tangle that girl is in.”

  “I have been told of Lord Phillip Lockfield, yes. In fact, I’m also aware that the struggles of Lady Vivian are perhaps known by the entire British empire.”

  “Yes, society likes these little struggles and entanglements. They live for them. It’s all hogwash, if you ask me. These petty dramas are for entertainment purposes, only. I believe that the British aristocracy dallies in these stories to avoid thinking about death.”

  “That’s rather dark, old man,” Sawyer said, picking up his hand of cards.

  “It makes perfect sense,” Calvin said, looking about the room mischievously. “High society has nothing to do and is basically waiting around to die. The lower classes must work for a living and therefore spend every moment of their day in some form of labor, dreaming of when they can return to their home, sleep, eat, etc. They don’t have time for death. But the upper classes don’t have the luxury of labor.”

  “You should write a book,” Sawyer suggested.

  “Oh, these theories have already been written down. How did I get started on this?” Calvin asked.

  “Lady Vivian Ravenswood,” Sawyer said by way of refreshing his memory.

  “Right,” Calvin said, flooded with recognition. “Lady Vivian stands on a precipice. Every young aristocratic woman finds herself in that place. The only reason why it is spectacular is because society makes it so. Once she takes the inevitable leap, her story will be done and she’ll be on her way to forgotten.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “And why is that?” Calvin asked, their game of cards commenced silently.

  “Because I think that she is unique in every way.”

  “Ha ha,” Calvin laughed again. “Lieutenant Sawyer Cook wishes to save a woman from her fate of wealthy mediocrity. Spectacular.”

  “She has a spirit that is hard to describe. I have seen it in action,” Sawyer explained.

  “That’s what I’m trying to impart to you. They all have that spirit before they’re married. They ripen to perfection, like a plum in the sun, and then they begin to rot, the purple flesh turning black.”

  “Hearing you talk this way, it surprises me that you’re not married, yourself,” Sawyer said humorously.

  “I’m only speaking the truth.”

  The game of cards continued, and Calvin was winning. But since it was safe to speak plainly with Calvin Cain, Sawyer continued to pursue his line of argument.

  “I do not think that Lady Vivian is bound for the fate that you suggest. There’s something about her. I don’t know how to explain it,” Sawyer went on.

  Calvin eyed Sawyer suspiciously. He hated to see his dear friend so shoulder-deep in love - for that’
s certainly what he was - mostly because he didn’t wish to see the inevitable result. Sawyer would have his heart clawed from his chest and would eventually desire to jump off a bridge. This was the only outcome of love, in Calvin’s estimation.

  “Alright, let me tell you what I really think,” Calvin went on.

  “It’s about time.”

  “Lady Vivian is a free spirit for the time being. But you cannot tame a wild mare, and even her father, Lord Benedict, knows this. He has selected Lord Phillip because that man could domesticate an African leopard. You take one look at him and you turn to ice.”

  “I think that I prefer this analysis,” Sawyer said.

  “Listen then,” Calvin said, placing his cards upon the table and leaning in. “You don’t want a free spirit, old chap, and you don’t want an untrained horse. They’re a nuisance.”

  “I like a good untamed horse. There’s some wild sort of beauty to it,” Sawyer explained.

  “Suit yourself, I can’t help you further,” Calvin said, seeing that his talk had gotten him nowhere. He picked up and regarded his cards again. “I’ve attempted to sway you from all different angles and none of them worked. Brandy,” he called out to the butler. The old man just stared on in wonder. He had never served brandy at Almack’s in his entire career.

  Within moments brandy was served.

  “In the end, I must say that I wish Lady Vivian Ravenswood the very best,” Calvin said, lifting his glass. “But I do hope that whoever gets stuck with her manages to break her in.” He took a hearty sip.

  It certainly won’t be me, Sawyer thought to himself. I have more a mind to set her free.

  “Thank god,” Sawyer said, seeing the plate that was set before them. “I thought that I might die of hunger.”

  “Not at Almack’s, man. But you may die of scurvy,” Calvin replied.

  Indeed, this was in reference to the bland nature of the repast that was set before them. It was the customary bread with flavorless cake.

  “Tell me your opinion, since you’re so ripe with them, about why the food at Almack’s is notoriously bad,” Sawyer said.

  “I do have a theory about this,” Calvin replied.

  “And I’m dying to hear it.” Sawyer picked up the bread and spread it with butter.

  “It’s to get people drunk.”

  “Come on man, this isn’t an ale hall.”

  “Not on liquor. To get them drunk on society, courting, jewels, power, wealth, marriage,” Calvin explained. “You know that feeling when you have scarce eaten a thing and are surrounded by beautiful ladies, dancing, gossip?” Calvin was leaning in again.

  “Yes,” Sawyer replied.

  “You feel quite drunk, do you not? It all becomes some fantastical whirlwind. You’re dizzy. You’re ready to marry the first woman that comes into view.”

  “I have experienced that before.”

  “That’s why the food is so bad —,” Calvin said, putting down his stale piece of bread and pursing his lips. “— because this is an oven. The dough comes in fresh and it is quickly baked and consumed so that the next bit of dough can come in.”

  “You’re referring to marriage, I assume.”

  “It is the ultimate goal. The lack of food makes one lose their senses, and the loss of clarity leads to marriage.”

  “Calvin, my dear man. I must say that I enjoy your company and I can’t stand it for a moment longer,” Sawyer said with a laugh.

  “And that’s because you’re in love,” Calvin said, annoyed. “It’s vexing. You’re going over to the dark side.”

  Sawyer did not respond to this. He could understand Calvin’s morbid perspective on things, and he even found it wildly entertaining, but he could not be converted, as it were. Deep down, Sawyer was traditional; he liked to see the good in things.

  “Come on then,” Calvin said, throwing his napkin upon the table and standing. “We’re going to need to visit a pub.”

  Tavern food! After the endless philosophical rant, there was nothing that sounded more appealing. But he had not yet encountered Lady Vivian and couldn’t leave until he did. Sawyer was almost certain that she would arrive at Almack’s that night. Perhaps she already had.

  Sawyer and Calvin exited down the creaky wooden stairs leading to the main ballroom. How remarkable, Sawyer thought to himself. The gentlemen’s room was a secret hideaway, never spoken of. In that sense, it was like any other club in Britain.

  Almack’s was filled to capacity. Dancing commenced in the main hall. Off on the second floor, the supper hall was brimming with hungry, underwhelmed diners, and in every nook and cranny of the building there stood refined ladies and gentlemen gossiping greedily.

  As the night wore on, ladies took out their fans and vigorously moved the air around their faces. Gentleman dreamt of the moment when they might return to their townhouses and remove their waistcoats.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go to the Golden Pineapple,” Calvin said in full voice. The music had gotten loud.

  The Golden Pineapple was a notorious pub just adjacent to Almack’s. Those in the know would venture there when hunger dictated.

  “I cannot go yet,” Sawyer explained.

  Calvin knew what it was all about, and he refrained from rolling his eyes.

  “I’ll help you look,” Calvin conceded, and the two split apart in hopes of finding Lady Vivian.

  Although on a mission, Sawyer couldn’t help but get swept up in it all. How remarkable to see all of the young, prosperous society of Britain under one roof. Sawyer felt like an imposter, of course. The very notion of it was nonsense. Sawyer was raised in a wealthy household, but since it was that of his adopted parents, he still never felt like he belonged. In his mind, he was always the child of that poor sheep-herding family that gave him away.

  Calvin viewed the proceedings with far less awe than Sawyer did. He was more or less sick of it all, and wished that their search could be done so that he might go to the Golden Pineapple and indulge in a meat pie.

  Sawyer spotted some familiar faces that night. Christian Sherbet was in attendance, of course.

  “Show them your commission!” he had wailed. Sherbet was already in his cups.

  “I have it right here,” Sawyer said, referencing his pocket.

  “Found a wife yet?” Rutherford had quipped.

  “I won’t leave without one,” Sawyer replied humorously.

  “See you tomorrow morning then,” another soldier said to Sawyer. He did not know who that fellow was but he pretended as though he did.

  All in all, there were far more soldiers at Almack’s that night than even the week before. Yes, they were returning home from the Americas by the boatload. Sawyer was glad to see it.

  Poking his head into the supper hall, Sawyer finally viewed some of the ladies that he had spotted the previous Wednesday. There was Lady Elizabeth Danvers - he had recalled her pretty face - and beside her sat the robust Lady Sophie Langton and the fiery Lady Blythe Hennessy. They were chatting, gossiping, and carrying on just as they had done previously, but sadly, Lady Vivian Ravenswood had not joined their company.

  Was Lady Vivian not coming? The heavens were purposefully trying to vex him. Sawyer feared that she had already, within the expanse of one week’s time, accepted Lord Phillip Lockfield’s offer and was done with it all. She had been married, settled down, tamed, and was content with planning her household’s weekly meals. Calvin would quip that she had been baked and consumed.

  No, no. Sawyer’s thoughts were grim because Calvin Cain was boring into his mind. He would not succumb to that dark philosophy.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Oh, but these streets are so untended to. In my opinion, I think that London is going to seed,” Fanny O’Malley said. The coach was swaying to and fro and it led the chaperone to believe that the roads had been altogether ignored. That was always the case in spring, when winter had passed and managed to destroy things. Winter never cleaned up after itself, in Fanny’s opinion.<
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  Oh heavens, what a dull conversation, Lady Vivian thought to herself, looking out the window. I’m beginning to think that Fanny has a desire to come to Almack’s for her own personal gain.

  Truly, the hefty chaperone had no reason to join them. Lord Phillip was just as frustrated by her presence as was Lady Vivian. But Fanny insisted, and Lord Benedict wasn’t going to argue with her. The more people to look after Lady Vivian the better.

  Yet still, it was ever so frustrating. Things weren’t going to plan. Now there were to be two sets of eyes looking after Vivian, and how could she escape them? That wasn’t the only problem. Since there was such a long conversation between Fanny and Lord Benedict in regards to her reasons for accompanying them to Almack’s, they had left Stockwood Park considerably late and there was a chance that the handsome soldier was no longer at the club at all. What a terrible situation that would be; traveling all the way to town in order to listen to Lady Elizabeth Danvers gossiping as fast as she could.

  Well, perhaps she wouldn’t mind that so much. Vivian was in need of womanly company her own age. Lady Elizabeth, and even Lady Sophie and Lady Blythe, could be a nice balm to her wounded soul should Sawyer Cook not be in attendance. And they would provide an excellent escape from Lord Phillip.

  “Pale pink is not your color,” Lord Phillip said to Lady Vivian.

  Truly, he has scarce said a word to me all night and the first thing that he utters is that pink is not my color? Vivian thought to herself. She didn’t even dignify the comment with a response.

  “Oh, but my back is aching,” Fanny said, rubbing it with her hand. “They don’t upholster these coaches like they used to. I daresay, they just lay a bit of wool and have done with it.”

  Yes, carriages are not as they once were before the founding of Magna Carta, Lord Phillip thought to himself bitterly. How utterly repugnant that Fanny had come along. It would not look as he had hoped. Since Lady Vivian’s chaperone was in attendance, her hand in marriage would not look guaranteed, and neither would her title. It would appear as though doubt was in the mix. Were Lady Vivian entirely confident in the match then she should have no one but Lord Phillip by her side. Clearly, there was much more work to do.