by Agnes Forest
Their little tea party would take place not on the veranda, but rather, at a wrought iron table in the field. Vivian always loved taking tea there, because of the seclusion of it. Of course, Fanny would have to remain at her post. They wouldn’t be able to get rid of Fanny even for a moment.
Fanny was in better spirits, no longer trapped in the maze. As long as the estate was in sight, she was at peace.
The attendants brought out a silver tea tray. Sandwiches were cut to perfection, and raspberry cake and lime tart accompanied them.
How charming to see Sawyer behaving with such kindness towards the servants. Lord Phillip scarce acknowledged their presence.
“Asparagus is my favorite,” Vivian said, holding the little white sandwich aloft then taking a bite. “I taste thyme.”
Sawyer took a bite of his own sandwich to investigate.
“Definitely thyme,” he said.
Where Vivian was taking her dainty bites, Sawyer put the whole thing in his mouth. He was not trying to be gouache, but rather, the sandwiches were so small that what was a man to do? Sawyer noticed Vivian watching him - something that he was not displeased with - and wondered if he should have more decorum.
But no, Vivian did not wish that he would behave any differently. She was admiring his mouth, his chin, his hands, and knew that it was wrong to look at him so. She turned away in order to not debase herself, but looked back when he picked up a ripe tomato sandwich.
Yes, watching the lieutenant eat was very enjoyable. He had a keen appetite that he could not hide. Something about the it sparked Vivian’s own appetite and she ate four sandwiches.
“Watercress soup, M’am,” Sabina said, carrying a tray with three bowls.
“Oh, but this is a surprise,” Vivian said. It was rare to have a soup course over tea.
“Compliments of the kitchen staff,” Sabina said with a mischievous grin.
Either the staff was also admiring the presence of Sawyer Cook, or they could see the relaxed pleasure that Vivian took in his company, and were glad for it. Perhaps a mixture of both.
The soup was chilled, of course. Hot soup on a warm spring day was not agreeable. But cool watercress was ever so refreshing; creamy and herbaceous, buttery and thick. The kitchen staff always added potato to theirs, as well as leek, thinly sliced, chicken stock, and chives from the garden.
Vivian longed to pick up the bowl with her hands and chug it down, but this is only something she undertook in her room when dining alone. Little did she know, that Sawyer would have liked to see it.
“A fine diuretic,” Fanny said. She felt ashamed. Had she said that aloud? Apparently, she had become very relaxed in Sawyer’s company as well. But she couldn’t help but be pleased with the watercress soup as she had been suffering from puffy fingers for days.
“I admit, this is capital,” Sawyer said, in regards to the soup.
“I’m so happy that you enjoy it. It’s rather a surprise,” Vivian replied. The light came through the branches of the trees in glistening patches, and these illuminated Vivian’s face. Sawyer was transfixed.
Soup and sandwiches done, it was time for the pudding. The raspberry and lime tart had just the right note of sweetness. A bit of cream clung to Sawyer’s chin and Vivian wished to reach over and clean it with her napkin. She could not do so in Fanny’s company.
Vivian pointed to her own chin, indicating to Sawyer that something was there, and he quickly lifted his napkin to remove it. Vivian smiled and Sawyer had a bit of a laugh.
“Oh, but it is warm,” Fanny said, fanning herself. In truth it was not too warm in the shade, but Fanny was full up and in need of a nap. “Perhaps I can find more shade under this tree,” she said, walking several paces away and seating herself below the tree. Fanny quickly fell asleep, her bonnet falling over her face.
Sawyer and Vivian continued to sip their tea.
“May I ask you a question,” Vivian said.
“I wish that you would,” Sawyer replied.
“What is it about me that interests you?” she asked. It was a rather bold question but Vivian was dying to know. The way that he looked at her that first night at Almack’s, how he assisted her in the field, and then his determination to court her. It was a whirlwind of activity.
“May I be candid?” Sawyer asked.
“Please do,” Vivian replied.
“You remind me of someone,” Sawyer began.
Oh heavens, I hope it’s not his little sister or dead cousin, Vivian thought to herself.
“Explain,” Vivian replied.
“I was engaged to be married.” Sawyer cut to the quick of it. “I loved a woman keenly. I believe that she - Constance - shared your same spirit. Your love of exploration and adventure, as well as your vivacity.”
Vivian leaned in. She sensed that the story would end in a very sad way.
“Whatever happened?” She asked.
“We shared letters whilst I was abroad. We made so many plans for when I returned and we’d begin our life together. Sadly, upon my arrival, Constance had fallen to an illness that claimed her life,” Sawyer explained.
“How ghastly,” Vivian replied, wishing that she could use the right words. But what are the right words when commenting on someone’s tragedy?
“Yes. I must explain that Constance had not been well for some time. In all our correspondences, there was a sense that something terrible might happen. We were prepared for it, in a way. If anyone can be prepared for such a thing.” Sawyer looked down at the table, staring at the raspberry cake.
“Did you get to say goodbye?” Vivian asked with hushed tones.
“Sadly not. But perhaps it was for the best. The memory of Constance in a state of health lives on. She would not want me to see her in those last days.”
Silence, followed by the chirping of birds and a slight breeze that rustled the trees. Thank heavens Fanny had the decency on that occasion not to snore.
“I would imagine that you still think of her a great deal.”
“It’s true,” Sawyer admitted. “I think of her often, but this is where you come into the story.”
“Me?” Vivian asked in amazement. She was so humbled by this.
“I thought that I would never love again. That first night that I came to Almack’s I had it in my head that I should pick a wife, if only to banish the memory of Constance and replace it with someone new. But then I saw you . . . “
“Oh,” Vivian said, looking down bashfully.
“Yes, that first moment I saw you, your spirit showed through. I felt a glimmer of hope, or longing or —" Sawyer stopped his tongue and shook his head. Oh, but he must sound like a capital ass.
“It’s alright,” Vivian said, sensing his discomfort.
“I’m unsure of what you must think of me now,” Sawyer said, laughing to himself.
“I think you’re remarkable,” Vivian said.
Oh, Vivian Ravenswood that was beyond the pale, she scolded herself.
Sawyer cleared his throat, overcome by Vivian’s words.
“One past-time that I had given up entirely was painting.”
“You paint?” Vivian asked, scarce able to believe it.
“It is something that I have loved for some time. After meeting you in the field, I went home and brought out my supplies again. I had hidden them from view.”
“Wonderful,” Vivian said dreamily.
“Well, that’s not entirely true. When I left you, I got impossibly drunk with my mates first, but then I went home and retrieved the painting supplies,” Sawyer said humorously. Vivian put a hand over her mouth and laughed, as well.
“Oh, but you must show me some of your paintings,” Vivian said.
“They’re silly, really. Animals and countryside and such.”
“Most extraordinary.”
“The current piece is a cardinal.”
“The Catholic kind?” Vivian asked.
“Heavens, no. A bird,” he replied. Vivian was relieved. T
he Ravenswoods were Protestant.
“Well, I would love to see the bird,” Vivian said with a warm smile.
Sawyer stopped speaking and regarded Vivian with deep affection. The sun was still flitting across her face; Vivian’s visage glistened like a diamond.
Sawyer leaned over, bringing his face close to Vivian’s. Her heart began to race. Was the lieutenant about to kiss her? It very much felt like it. His nearness gave her goosebumps. Yes, Sawyer was going to kiss her on the mouth. She just knew it. Vivian turned her face in order to prevent it, longing for the kiss as much as Sawyer did, but wishing to give them both something to look forward.
Sawyer gave Vivian a loving peck on the cheek. He knew the game that Vivian was playing, and was a willing participant. He kissed her softly, and Vivian felt the smoothness of his lips and the warmth of his breath. The kiss was gentle and sweet. She longed for another kiss, and another, and another.
Fanny cleared her throat rather loudly and the couple pulled away. Fanny did have the mind to scream in that moment and drag Vivian from the field, but she refrained. She did like Sawyer - was perhaps rooting for him - but duty called.
“I think that’s enough for this afternoon, then,” Fanny said with great dignity.
One could scarce call it afternoon, as their lazy tea had gone on for so long that soon night approached. It didn’t seem like they’d been sitting there that long, but such was the nature of being in a lover’s company. Time just melts away.
“Very well, then,” Sawyer said. “I do thank you for your assistance this afternoon,” he said to Fanny.
“There were a few moments that were trying,” Fanny admitted.
Although Sawyer was composed, Vivian felt a tinge of fear. Would Fanny tell her father about the kiss? Surely, she’d inform him of the damaged hedge. That would be bad enough. But to learn that the soldier both ruined his bush and kissed his daughter; that would be too much.
Walking back to the house, Vivian lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Promise me that you won’t say anything, Fanny.” Vivian didn’t need to mention the kiss in order to express her meaning.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as you behave yourself tonight with Lord Phillip,” Fanny said.
“I promise,” Vivian said, crossing her fingers behind her back.
The temperature outside was already cooling. They passed by the outer wall of the hedge and recalled the afternoon’s adventure. They visited the hole, and Sawyer humorously tried to put the bush back together by picking up a few branches.
“I could fix it if I had my tools,” Sawyer said, and both the ladies laughed at his antics. “Do you think your father would notice if we built a door in its stead?” he asked.
“Perhaps I will use it as a hat,” Vivian said, holding a branch up to her head.
“I do think it could be a whole new trend,” Sawyer quipped. “You would be the talk of Almack’s.”
“Oh stop it, both of you,” Fanny said, laughing hysterically. It was disastrous for her heart condition to be laughing so.
The funny business done, the trio finally arrived back at the house and were greeted by Lord Phillip on the veranda.
Oh, no, Vivian thought to herself. That was the very last person that she would like to greet them when they returned.
“An afternoon walk?” Lord Phillip asked, his face like stone.
“I wanted to show the gentleman the maze, and then we took tea in the field,” Vivian explained, her demeanor changing at once.
“I see,” Lord Phillip said, not pleased in the slightest. “You must be Lieutenant Sawyer Cook.”
“I am,” Sawyer said with a bow.
“The messenger said that you’re a commissioned officer,” Lord Phillip went on.
“His name is Basil,” Sawyer replied.
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Phillip asked.
“The messenger’s name is Basil,” Sawyer repeated.
“I see.”
It was inconceivable to Lord Phillip that the messenger should have a name. He quickly forgot it.
“Well, congratulations on the commission,” Lord Phillip said. “I do hope that you can pay off your loan soon.”
Oh, that horrible word. Fanny cringed, and Vivian wished to beat Lord Phillip with her own hands.
“I was not in need of a loan, but I thank you for the sentiment,” Sawyer replied.
“I see,” Lord Phillip said.
Vivian was beside herself. Could they not at least go inside and have their uncomfortable conversation in the library, like gentlemen? To be standing there, on the veranda of all things, just seemed too cruel.
“Lord Phillip, why don’t we let our visitor inside where he can relax himself,” Vivian suggested.
“Lady Vivian, why don’t you go inside and wait for me there while I continue my discussion.” It was not a question so much as an order. Things were getting tense, and Fanny didn’t care for it one bit.
“If you choose to stand here and talk with the lieutenant then I would prefer to be in attendance,” Vivian replied.
Lord Phillip turned to look at Vivian with fire and brimstone in his eyes.
Such remarkable spirit, Sawyer thought to himself.
“Lady Vivian, I don’t wish to tell you again —” Lord Phillip went on, and Sawyer stepped in, prepared to take action.
“Say now,” Lord Benedict said, popping onto the veranda. He found himself amidst two quarreling, overheated dogs, and wished that he had a bucket of cold water to dash them with. “Let’s go into the library, like gentlemen.”
Vivian heaved a sigh of relief, but it was only the beginning of the battle.
Chapter Sixteen
Sawyer saw Vivian’s lighthearted spirit melt away. She was transformed by the presence of Lord Phillip and Sawyer didn’t like it one jot. He would do everything in his power to defend the lady and save her from what she assumed was her fate. He would prove to her that she was free.
Vivian complained of not feeling well and retired to her room. Lord Benedict led Lord Phillip and Sawyer into the library.
Let the games begin, Sawyer thought to himself.
“Takes a lot of gall, showing up here,” Lord Phillip said, walking over to the window and looking out.
“I don’t see it so,” Sawyer replied casually.
Everyone had a poker face on. It was going to be just like a game of cards in the gentlemen’s room of Almack’s. Sawyer was up for the challenge.
The library was dark and cool. A large chandelier dropped down into the center of the room, and despite being weighted by so many crystals, it was dim and mysterious when lit.
“Brandy or whiskey . . .” Lord Benedict was naming the refreshments, hoping that there might be something that would ease the tension in the room. Surely, a good, cool glass of lemonade would add some sweetness to an otherwise bitter situation.
“Nothing for me,” Lord Phillip replied, and Lord Benedict frowned.
“I’m quite alright, as well,” Sawyer replied. He would go cheek by jowl with Lord Phillip.
“Very well, then,” Lord Benedict replied, bereft. Perhaps he would steal a swig of brandy when no one was looking.
“You have captured Vivian’s imagination,” Lord Phillip said, very matter of factly. It was a clear as day.
“She has captured mine,” Sawyer replied, seating himself in a chair.
Lord Phillip darted a glance toward Sawyer. He did not care for the soldier’s honesty.
“If I might chime in —" Lord Benedict began to say.
“That will be unnecessary,” Lord Phillip replied, cutting the man off.
Lord Benedict went to go pour that brandy, after all.
“Do you know how long I have been here?” Lord Phillip asked, seating himself so that he could see eye to eye with Sawyer.
“I do not,” Sawyer replied.
“Sir, I have been here for over a month, and do you know why?” Lord Phillip asked.
“I have
the feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“Because Lady Vivian is going to be my wife, that’s why,” Lord Phillip said in no uncertain terms.
Lord Phillip realized that he did not like being seated at Sawyer’s level because he preferred the feeling of standing over him like a tutor.
Lord Phillip stood, and leaned upon the mantle of the fireplace. Yes, that posture was much better, and Lord Phillip even caught a glimpse of himself in a distant mirror and thought the picture was just right.
“What does Lady Vivian have to say about all that?” Sawyer asked, amused.
“Lady Vivian is ecstatic,” Lord Phillip replied, adjusting his pomaded hair. “Ecstatic,” he repeated, more softly.
“I see,” Sawyer replied, not wishing to argue with the clown. He’d wait until the moment was right.
“All this is to say that, even though Lady Vivian is swayed by the allure of a soldier’s uniform, his sad sob stories from the field, his scars, his medals, his overly toned thighs, in essence, his nonsense, that does not mean that anything will come of it. I command your respect, in essence.”
Lord Phillip’s little speech lacked cohesion. It was hard to follow it, and even Lord Benedict looked confused, seating himself and sipping his brandy.
“Respect,” Lord Phillip repeated. “A man is not measured by his false heroics. Strutting around like a godforsaken peacock with his well-polished boots and his red coat, golden cuffs and creme breeches. Adept at firing musket and canon. And petty — " Lord Phillip cut himself off. He was rambling.
Sawyer let him continue to speak because it was rather entertaining.
“And then I . . . I come into it all, and don’t have the same black boots, but rather, shorter ones that are quite comfortable and I simply don’t want to think anymore that perhaps this is all . . . because for me . . .”
It was getting pretty odd. For such a polished, held-together sort of fellow, Lord Phillip seemed to be unraveling.
