Lady Vivian

by Agnes Forest

  Upon their marriage, Lord Phillip greatly anticipated getting rid of Fanny O’Malley entirely. Surely, the old crone would want to stay on and oversee Lady Vivian’s children, but Lord Phillip would not have it so. The chaperone was entirely too headstrong. Smithfield estate would rely on strong leadership, and there would be only one captain of the ship: Lord Phillip Lockfield.

  “There we are then,” Fanny said, Almack’s coming into view. “I thought we’d never arrive.”

  Vivian looked out the window and was filled with that same wonder and awe from one week earlier. A rush of excitement came over her. So much was bound to happen. If only Lord Phillip and Fanny weren’t there, like stones in her pocket. Yet still, she’d find a way to escape them and set herself free.

  “Thank goodness we avoided the queue,” Lord Phillip said. It was the only benefit to showing up late.

  Lady Vivian stepped out of the carriage using Lord Phillip’s hand. When he mentioned that pale pink was not her color, it was merely to play with her psyche. For truly, Lady Vivian looked like an absolute vision in the hue. It accented her pearlescent skin and brought an overall glow to her face. It always pained Lord Phillip when he saw Lady Vivian looking so bewitching. He feared that others were looking at her far too intently. When they were married, he would order that Lady Vivian Lockfield never wear pink.

  She looked up at Almack’s and was at a loss for words. The lady stood transfixed, still holding onto Lord Phillip’s hand.

  “Lady Vivian,” Fanny said, hoping to snap the girl out of her reverie. No response. “LADY VIVIAN,” Fanny said loudly. Finally, the girl came back to reality.

  “Yes, I do apologize,” Vivian finally said.

  “Have you your voucher?” Fanny asked.

  Vivian truly had to think about it. Did she manage to put her golden ticket in her reticule? It would be most unfortunate if she had forgotten, and she could be guaranteed that Fanny O’Malley would never forgive her.

  “Let me see,” Vivian said, digging into the stuffed reticule. There was lip ointment in there to contend with, as well as a small comb, smelling salts, even a sewing needle, just in case. Vivian found a tiny piece of candy, and made note to eat it later in the powder room.

  It was difficult to feel at the bottom of her bag, seeing as she was covered from the tips of her fingers to the middle of her arm with satin opera gloves. She considered taking one off and getting a better feel for the interior of the reticule, but to do so would not only create a scandal.

  “Give me that,” Fanny said, putting out her hand.

  Vivian handed Fanny the reticule and wondered how her chaperone could speak to her so.

  It only took Fanny but a moment to find the voucher and she heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I think that you did that on purpose,” Fanny said.

  “Come now, we’re already late,” Lord Phillip said. “Lady Vivian . . .”

  Lord Phillip presented his elbow so that Vivian might enwrap her arm around his. This was a test. If Lord Phillip could get her to walk with him arm in arm thus, then there was a good chance that he would be conveying the message that he wished to send to society.

  If she were to refuse Lord Phillip’s arm then she would be shamed or worse. Perhaps, as she deeply feared, the feeling of Lord Phillip’s arm would not burn her skin like the lava from Pompeii’s volcano. Maybe having physical contact with the gentleman would not set off a series of earthquakes and floods which would sink Britain into the ocean like the lost city of Atlantis.

  Oh, I do read too many books, Vivian thought to herself, entwining her arm into Lord Phillip’s. You see, no burning sensation whatsoever.

  Lord Phillip gave her a pleased grin. Although, it wasn’t a grin so much as a twisting at the sides of the mouth. He was a handsome man, she had to admit. There was no reason for Vivian to be repulsed.

  The two walked into Almack’s without the slightest delay. Their vouchers were swiftly accepted and the night was ready to begin. What would Lady Sophie Langton say if she saw Vivian and Lord Phillip walking thus? Vivian wouldn’t end up in the scandal sheets, but rather the gossip section. All of society who had a taste for intrigue could read that the match between she and Lord Phillip was bound to happen. The ton would tell themselves that all was right with the world.

  Vivian was thinking of ways to escape their little promenade, but Lord Phillip would make it easy for her.

  “If you’ll pardon me, ladies. The young ambassador to Switzerland is here,” Lord Phillip said, quickly untying himself from Vivian and making his way across the hall and up the creaky stairs to the gentlemen’s room.

  Well, that was simple enough, Vivian thought to herself. And yes, if they were to be married, it would be much the same. There would always be that initial, necessary entrance to show his wife off, and then Lord Phillip would disappear. Vivian was sure of it.

  “You were daydreaming out there,” Fanny said in reference to the business with the voucher.

  “A little bit,” Vivian admitted, wondering how she’d get Fanny off her back.

  “Thinking about so and so,” Fanny added. Sawyer had become Mr. So and So.

  “A little bit,” Vivian repeated with a warm smile. Fanny’s head turned swiftly to Vivian in reproach. “But do allow me to explain myself as I’ve been giving this much thought,” Vivian said.

  “You may do so, but it’s going to have to take place at the sideboard. I feel shaky all over,” Fanny complained. She had been emphasizing her shaking all throughout the carriage ride, giving off little “oooohs” and “aaaahs” of discomfort.

  Vivian knew not what these sounds had meant.

  “A bit of cake might help,” Fanny said, looking down upon the assortment of dry cakes. “She took a heaping portion of lemon cake upon her plate and added a turkey leg for good measure.

  Vivian wasn’t terribly hungry, but she did take a glass of lemonade and a tiny dish of cake. The two ladies procured seats on the perimeter of the room and the scene was set.

  “Tell me of these thoughts you’ve been having,” Fanny said. Her demeanor was transformed, and Vivian felt as though she had a window of opportunity to share.

  “I wish to hear of Mr. So and So’s stories, from the war. As you may or may not know, I admire the war stories that father told me as a child. It fills me with much pride when I think that father has served our country honorably, and I see this same nobility and honor in Mr. So and So.”

  Oh, but this is rather good, Vivian wanted to say.

  “I can scarce taste this cake. Where’s the flavor?” Fanny asked, examining the nearly demolished dessert on her plate as though she were trying to locate the flavor with her eyes. It could not be found.

  “You are trying to ignore my words,” Vivian said, taking another dainty bite.

  “I am paying full attention to your words, young lady, but can’t you understand that I have a heart condition?” Fanny protested.

  It was a complete non sequitur and Vivian did not know how to respond.

  Fanny went on. “I want you to look about this room and examine the waist coated gentlemen in attendance,” she added, placing her empty plate upon a side table.

  “Very well then,” Vivian replied, doing as she was told.

  “These are the ones to keep in sight. Any one of them would bring prestige to the Ravenswood family. Pick one. Any one.”

  Lady Vivian saw a particularly handsome man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was tall and appealing.

  “I pick that one,” Vivian said.

  “Lady Vivian!” Fanny said in a huff. “I did not mean that you should literally pick one,” Fanny protested.

  “Oh, I misunderstood then,” Vivian said.

  “What I meant was to figuratively pick any gentleman.”

  Vivian eyed the tall blonde gentleman one more time and then looked away.

  “I take it back. I do not pick him.”

  “Now, I want you to look about the room at those men in unifo
rm.”

  Vivian did so.

  How marvelous, Vivian thought to herself. Fanny saw the little glint in her eye and pursed her lips.

  “There is no separating the commissioned officers from the lowly enlisted sort. I read in Almack’s newsletter that a few of the basic Foot Guard were given entré. Even happening upon a commissioned officer does not guarantee an income. These days soldiers can take out a loan.”

  She made it sound like low.

  “Does it make them any less distinguished?” Vivian asked, thinking that those who purchased a commission were just as honorable as those who could not; low or no low.

  “They might still be considered brave, but that should not gain them admittance to the Beau Monde, in my opinion,” Fanny said, looking to her empty plate.

  “If only Lord Phillip weren’t such a tyrant,” Vivian said, taking the last bite of cake.

  “My dear child, hold your tongue,” Fanny replied. “If Lord Benedict hears you speak so, he’ll confine you to your room with bread and water for a week.”

  “It has been done before and I do not fear it.” The situation in question ended up being pleasant because Georgette smuggled in whipped butter and Fruit of the Forest jam, imported from Italy. “What I do fear is spending the rest of my days in the confines of a parlor; sitting at my sampler, looking out the window, and watching the world go by.”

  “That sounds like a rather remarkable existence to me,” Fanny said.

  Vivian took a sip of her lemonade and feared that it was spiked.

  “Fanny, you must be parched,” Vivian said, getting up to procure Fanny some punch as well. It would do the chaperone good. As she strode across the room - not yet too stuffy - Vivian perceived her pink gown falling perfectly around her. How wonderful; the sensation of a new dress that fits just so.

  The lemonade was procured, and all the while Vivian glanced about looking for Sawyer. Of course, she needed to be inconspicuous when she did so.

  Vivian returned with the lemonade and was sorry for it. Even the gossiping of Lady Elizabeth Danvers was preferable to the scolding of Fanny O’Malley.

  “Here you are, my sweet chaperone,” Vivian said, buttering her up. Or rather, liquoring her up, if her tastes did not deceive her.

  “I thank you, child. I was parched.” Fanny took the goblet and had her fist sip of the yellow liquid. Vivian watched Fanny’s face light up with wonder. “My, but this is refreshing,” Fanny said, taking another delighted sip. “What was I saying?” she asked.

  “Duty,” Vivian said. She herself was unsure if they were discussing that specifically, but it was the magic word and would ring some kind of bell.

  “Correct. Duty,” Fanny said, a little red flush already coming to her cheeks. “I do not need to remind you that I am here to attend to your happiness.”

  “Is that so?” Vivian asked. If it was true, then Fanny was not fulfilling her post.

  “And in that vein, so long as you remove this Mr. So and So from your mind, I’m sure that any other waist coated gentleman should suffice. Particularly if his income exceeds that of Lord Phillip.”

  Well, that was a change in tactic, indeed.

  “Very well, I choose that fellow,” Vivian said, nodding her head towards the aforementioned tall blonde man.

  Fanny looked in the man’s direction.

  “Oh, truly. Now I can see you’re just being playful,” Fanny replied with a laugh.

  It was the lemonade.

  “He looks far too German,” Fanny said dismissively.

  Well, alright then. Vivian wanted to continue their little game, and she eyed the room humorously.

  Vivian’s eye came across Lord John Glenmire.

  “How about that fellow?” she said. Fanny narrowed her eyes in inspection.

  “Don’t be foolish, child. No one even knows who that is,” Fanny said.

  “Very well, then. How about that one?” Vivian asked, in regards to Lord Christian Sherbet.

  “Already married,” Fanny replied. She recognized Sherbet well. “And besides, such a man is not good for a lady’s constitution.”

  What Fanny was suggesting was that a woman married to Sherbet might be killed by the weight of him. Bawdy talk, indeed.

  It was the lemonade, yet again.

  Time stood still, and Vivian became rather faint, for off in the distance stood a man at the window, peering out. She could swear that rain was trickling down the latticed window. Could it be who she thought it was? And where did that storm come from?

  He turned slowly. The moment was surreal. Lieutenant Sawyer Cook eyed the room from right to left, somewhere in the middle, he caught Lady Vivian’s gaze.

  A chill went down Vivian’s spine. Not attired in his uniform that evening, he looked exceedingly dashing in his blue waistcoat and cream breeches.

  “And what of that one?” Vivian said.

  Fanny turned her gaze towards the window where Sawyer stood. The man was transformed, to the point where Fanny had absolutely no idea who he was. Her recollection of the handsome soldier was not as keen as Vivian’s. And besides, he had had dirt upon his face that day in the field.

  “I wish that you might choose an ugly husband,” Fanny said earnestly. “You always select the one that just stepped out of a Botticelli tableau.”

  “Might I speak to the gentleman?” Vivian asked, amazed at her good luck.

  Fanny sighed.

  “You mustn’t be the one to approach him.”

  “Well, it’s just as well,” Vivian said in wonder. “Because I believe that he is walking this way.”

  Sawyer began his journey across the hall. A moth drawn to the flame. He wasn’t going to play aloof.

  Fanny saw that she best get out of the way.

  “Well, let me at least procure the tea.” Fanny got up from her seat and brought her punch with her. She quickly rifled through her bag and pressed a lace fan upon Vivian. “Hold this between the two of you,” she suggested. “And flutter it vigorously.”

  Fanny was suggesting that Vivian use the fan as all women must: a shield. Even a sword, if provoked.

  “I thank you,” Vivian replied, but as soon as Fanny was out of sight she placed the fan on a side table and stood to greet the soldier.

  Chapter Twelve

  To the outside eye, one would be amazed at how composed both Sawyer and Vivian were. In truth, Vivian’s hands were shaking and there was a twitch in Sawyer’s jaw, but these things could not be perceived. They were the very picture of youthful beauty. The exciting world of Almack’s whirled around them and they were unaware of it. The music seemed to go silent, the laughing and chatter melted away. All that remained were Sawyer and Vivian. They were like two long-lost lovers reuniting. For indeed, that week had been an eternity.

  “Good evening,” Sawyer began.

  “Most agreeable to see you,” Vivian replied.

  “Please,” Sawyer said, motioning towards Vivian’s chair.

  “I thank you.” Vivian slowly lowered into her seat. It was as though she were floating.

  Sawyer pushed his tails aside and did the same. However, his motion was not of the floating variety, but rather, he sat rigorously.

  “I could scarce recognize you,” Vivian said. She was lying through her teeth. She knew who Sawyer was with his back turned.

  “Some occasions call for a gentleman to play the part,” Sawyer said wittily. Unfortunately, this was also a lie and Sawyer regretted it.

  Lady Vivian will discover the truth sooner or later, he thought.

  Sawyer wanted to remark upon how lovely Vivian’s gown was. He never preferred a lady in pink, as the color could be so impossibly mousy, but Vivian made it look stately and refined.

  He did not say this. A true gentleman would not flirt with such a lady of distinction, even in a hot house the likes of Almack’s. Decorum was of the utmost importance.

  “As I was at the window just now, I saw that a storm has begun,” Sawyer remarked.

  �
��How terribly odd,” Vivian replied. “On the carriage ride from South Downs I could scarce perceive that a storm was on the horizon.”

  “The weather of this continent is as unpredictable as its inhabitants,” Sawyer suggested.

  “Oh, I do not agree with you,” Vivian said. “I find the British people to be as predictable as the yearly calendar. Is that not the point of proper behavior? Predictability?”

  Sawyer thought about it and was convinced that Vivian had a point. But under all that decorum, who knew what was brewing and simmering?

  “In the Americas,” Sawyer went on, delighting in the conversation. “People are much less predictable.”

  “Yes, I’m told they’re a society of great passion and expression,” Vivian said.

  How remarkable, she thought to herself. Her imagination took over and Vivian placed herself with Sawyer on the American plains, fighting Indians on horseback. I read too many books.

  “I would think that you have wonderful stories from your time there,” Vivian added.

  “There have been many adventures, yes.”

  “My father is a veteran as well, and I remember him telling tales when I was a girl.”

  “He did not tell you all of them,” Sawyer said, implying that the majority of the stories from war were not suited for children.

  “In that you are correct,” Vivian replied knowingly.

  Underneath the surface of this polite discourse, youthful passion was boiling like a kettle. Their longing was as rich as over-steeped tea.

  “There we are then,” Fanny said, handing Vivian a cup of steaming Darjeeling.

  Momentary tension.

  Sawyer thought that he might be shooed away, and Vivian feared that from a closer vantage Fanny would finally recognize the soldier.

  For Fanny’s part, she was in remarkable good spirits and hadn’t a clue who Sawyer was. In fact, she was rather pleased that the pair were sitting so far apart.