by Liz Tyner
‘How are you acquainted?’ Alexandria purred, but the tightness in her grip gave Vivian the feel of being prodded with a stick.
‘I’ve had occasion to meet most of the men my father knows.’
‘Is your father matchmaking for you?’ Alexandria’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re barely on the shelf. Not a true, true spinster. He might be thinking it’s past time for you to marry.’
‘I’m perfectly happy being unmarried.’
‘That’s what all women say who haven’t been asked. Just don’t have designs on Everleigh.’ Alexandria pulled back, unlinking their arms. ‘He doesn’t plan to wed, or he would have married me.’ She held her gloved hand in front of her, as if examining where a wedding ring would go. ‘I will miss him.’
Any semblance of friendship left Alexandria. ‘I know you were at his house. I saw the carriage, and I waited to see who was visiting him. You followed him to the country. I saw you and your companion leaving. You stole him away from me and I don’t take that lightly. Watch your step.’
‘I always watch my step,’ Vivian said, ‘so I will know where to put my foot. I wouldn’t want it in my mouth. I would not want anyone to know I had been rejected.’
‘It doesn’t matter to me.’ Alexandria moved closer and lowered her voice, tapping her fan on Vivian’s arm. ‘I’ve a vengeful spirit and I assure you that I will remember that you tried to turn Everleigh’s attention to you—what I simply do not fathom is why you thought he might fancy you.’
‘It shouldn’t matter to you at all. If his wishes are considered, by the time he marries he may be so doddery that he can’t remember you.’ Vivian could still feel where the fan had tapped her arm.
‘No. He’s going to marry soon. I’ll see to that.’ Alexandria flicked open the fan.
‘You should be careful, Alexandria. You might appear desperate.’
‘Desperate? And, what were you doing at Everleigh’s house?’
‘What makes you think it was me?’
Alexandria threw back her head. ‘I saw you leaving with my own eyes.’
‘I assure you, I don’t care. The important thing is whether Everleigh wants to marry and we both know he does not. There is nothing either of us can do about it and I’m thankful it doesn’t matter...much to me.’
Alexandria grinned when she caught the hesitation in Vivian’s words.
It did matter. She had promised the old crone she would marry. She hoped Ella Etta was simply jesting and hadn’t taken that seriously.
Alexandria said, ‘Watch yourself, Vivian, you could so easily be ruined and it would not break my heart to see you in a heap of misery.’
Just as Alexandria tapped her fan at Vivian again, she moved away. ‘Lovely accessory, Alexandria. Please take care with it. No one need be scared of a fan.’
Alexandria fluttered the ornament open. ‘I will remember you said that.’
* * *
Everleigh watched the billiards game, making a wager because it was expected, without caring about the outcome. The men talked loudly enough to cover the sounds of the music in the ballroom, which pleased him. He let the jesting fade into a buzz of noise, drowned out by his own thoughts.
He’d not had a complete night’s sleep since Vivian had visited with him at his father’s. He’d known she was ill and the anger he’d felt at not being able to mend things had almost consumed him.
He’d accepted the invitation expecting—if she attended—to see frailty. Instead, he’d almost not recognised her. She’d gained weight and the weakness had vanished from her frame. He’d caught himself as he’d taken a step to her side, but then he’d stopped.
He wanted to lift her from the floor, swirl her around and make her laugh with the joy of being alive.
Euphoria floated inside him. More happiness than he’d ever felt and it wasn’t because of anything except the life he’d seen in Vivian. She’d blossomed.
Something jarred his shoulder. A gruff voice jabbed into his ears. ‘You just lost your wager.’ Vivian’s father stood at his side.
Everleigh left his reverie. The game was over. Men laughed. The winner blew a puff of air over the tip of his cue stick. Everleigh didn’t even remember which man he’d bet on.
‘I saw you...watching...earlier.’ Lord Darius acted ready to dash his drink over Everleigh.
Everleigh looked at the glass in Darius’s hands, half-expecting to be wearing it soon. One couldn’t throttle the host in his own house, particularly as he understood Darius’s anger. ‘I enjoy watching a good game.’
Darius’s brows shot up. ‘This isn’t the only game in London. Some have higher stakes. Some have less to lose. At my house, the wagering is done with me.’
‘Just pay up, Everleigh, so Darius will not have his feathers ruffled,’ one of the older architects, a man whose white whiskers were in need of a shave, interrupted. He clapped a hand on Everleigh’s shoulder. ‘That was such a small wager, I’ll cover you if you’d like.’
Everleigh reached into his purse for a coin and, with it trapped between two fingers, he held it out to Darius.
Darius didn’t move. Everyone in the room watched.
Everleigh adjusted his stance slightly, so he and Darius were not side by side, but facing each other. Everleigh put the coin away.
‘I say that, if you wish to continue,’ Everleigh challenged, ‘we finish this discussion somewhere private.’
‘If you do not take care—’ Darius raised his glass to Everleigh ‘—you can count on it,’ he said, walking from the room.
‘Imagine how upset he would have been if you’d won the bet,’ one of the older men said. ‘He’s been a bear since he cut out the brandy. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. Probably had something to do with your waltz with his daughter.’
‘That was a most proper moment. We hardly exchanged a word.’
The man laughed. ‘I saw it. Everyone did. The two of you were so obviously, and perfectly, avoiding each other while you danced that I would have guessed a quarrel was underway. Only married people are that put out while with each other, or ones who have a few secrets tucked away. Darius might have reason to be upset.’
* * *
Vivian awoke to the sound of a maid’s quick knock. The door opened before the sound had faded. She’d slept raggedly the previous night and the refrains of the waltz had resounded in her head long after the musicians had left the house. She’d dreamed of waltzing with a blasted butterfly in a sea of rainbows.
When she’d awakened the violins had faded and the room was silent, chilled, empty and dreary.
The gathering had been disastrous, she feared. Her father had left the billiards room and put his glass down on a tabletop, glared at her and stalked over to some of his cohorts. Everleigh had walked out soon after, avoided everyone, then walked to her father, put a coin on the table beside him and left.
Several men appeared to have followed Everleigh out of the billiards room and they’d hidden laughter.
The wives had been puzzled about their husbands’ behaviour and whatever had occurred would likely have been shared on the carriage ride home.
Now the bedroom door opened and the servant rushed in so fast her skirt whirled around her. The girl held a silver salver, but it trembled in her hands. On the plate sat another bundle of thorns tied around a bottle.
‘A person—a beggar, I expect—is at the servants’ entrance. She said you must have this,’ the maid apologised. ‘I did not want to bring them to you, but she said she would put a curse on the whole house if I didn’t.’ She shuddered, glancing at the wardrobe where the first packet of thorns sat. ‘I’ve seen that one. I know you are aware of her. I put her at the servants’ table and gave her tea and biscuits.’ She crept closer to Vivian. ‘I didn’t want your father aware. He’d be upset.’
Vivian rose from the bed. ‘I underst
and.’ She pointed. ‘And, yes. Put it in the wardrobe.’
‘She insists she must speak with you.’
Vivian touched the ties of her chemise and a shiver of concern formed in her stomach. ‘Does Mother know?’
The maid’s head quivered in denial. ‘She’d get us all cursed.’ The maid opened the wardrobe with one hand and sat the bottle inside. ‘Not ’a purpose, of course. Not that I believe the beggar. But, miss, the hag’s stare is pure evil. She frightened me.’
Vivian considered her choices. She had only one. She couldn’t let her father find out what was going on. ‘I’ll see her.’
The silver salver scraped where the maid placed it on the table before reaching to pull out a day dress. ‘Beware of upsettin’ her. Your sickness could return.’
Whether her illness came back or not, her father could not learn what had happened.
The maid worked quickly, then stood at Vivian’s back, fussing over the chignon she had crafted from Vivian’s brunette locks, commenting on how her hair texture had regained its former glory.
Vivian had felt stronger each day—except today. Today she felt drained. Tired. When she’d awoken, she’d detected smudges when she checked the mirror. But the exhaustion thrilled her. It was from a night of dancing.
She’d never expected to see the old woman again, but a bargain had been made. Vivian felt a pang of guilt. Everleigh hadn’t had a say in the transaction. But surely he’d not want her dead. If the situation were reversed, she’d marry him to save his life.
He’d thought he needed a wife, but Alexandria had convinced him that was a bad idea. But if Vivian could change his mind... If she could convince Everleigh that marriage didn’t have to be more than a few words on paper.
She stood. She was a baron’s daughter. Suitable to marry. She’d bring him a dowry. Children hopefully. And, if he wanted her to live in one house while he lived in another, she’d agree. The marriage wouldn’t be morally binding, just legally. She would be happy to become whatever kind of wife he needed. A small sacrifice for life. Deep within herself, she knew she would have died without the woman’s remedy. The thorns...those were just nonsense.
‘There, miss.’ Her maid put the brush down on the dressing table. ‘You’re radiant this morning.’
Vivian contemplated the maid. ‘I don’t seem pale to you?’
Her maid hesitated. ‘Well, miss, you had a late evening. It’s normal to be tired after all that dancing and lateness. Especially when you’re not used to it.’
‘Of course,’ Vivian answered and stood, taking the stairs to learn what waited for her.
* * *
Vivian wanted to slide quietly into the room, but, instead, she strolled nonchalantly into the servants’ dining room, straight into Ella Etta’s line of sight.
The vagabond sat at the table, her clothing still the same vibrant shades as before. A teacup and empty plate sat in front of her. Ella Etta stood, yawned and scratched her belly. Vivian knew the gesture didn’t show boredom, but a belief in superiority. She was staking her right to be in the house.
Ella Etta moved around the table, trailing her fingers across the wood, tapping as she meandered. Her boots, possibly a man’s cast offs, clumped on the floor. Vivian realised one boot had a yellow ribbon holding the eyelets closed.
Ella Etta didn’t stop until she stood directly in front of Vivian and she glared at her with the same respect a bear might give its baiters.
‘Your payment, Miss Baron’s Daughter?’ Her chin gave an extra wiggle with each word.
‘Of course.’ Vivian tensed her shoulders, not moving far from the door. ‘I have coin. I’ll pay.’
Ella Etta tilted her head and stared into the wall. ‘I believe I hear wrong, I do. You can’t have said what my ears tell me.’ Dark eyes swivelled to Vivian and her voice softened. ‘Gold? No. I mentioned no gold. Though I should have it for being kind enough to bring you another potion to keep you alive.’ She pulled the edges of her shawl together and folded one side over the other. ‘Alive. Not mouldering in the dirt. Alive.’ She reached to Vivian, but she dodged. Ella Etta grinned like a demented hangman anxious to begin his task. ‘Alive. How does it feel to breathe? Or—even more important—how would it feel not to breathe?’
‘I am grateful.’
Ella Etta pulled at the fraying fringe at the end of her shawl, frowning over the wayward thread. ‘Your mother has never even sent a flowery note around, thanking me for saving her girl’s life. Why would that be?’
‘I...’ Vivian let out a puff of breath. ‘We shouldn’t spar. I doubt I’d win.’ She kept her voice soft, making sure no ears outside the door could hear. ‘To marry Everleigh is no curse. It’s a boon.’ She held her hands wide. ‘His shoulders alone... And they’re not the best part of him. They might be his worst feature.’
Vivian raised her palms. ‘What I see isn’t going to get a complaint. He’s...pleasant. I am working to see if he might wish to court me. I had a soirée and he attended. Just last night.’
‘Words you say mean nothing.’ She waved her hand, rings snapping against each other. ‘You agreed to marry. I hear of no marriage banns.’
‘I shall marry him if he asks me. But he might have a say in the outcome.’ Vivian stumbled through the words. ‘I’ll marry him, if he’ll just show up and say the proper words.’
‘My love potion would not mix with the medicine I gave you. Of course I’d use it—but then you’d turn back into a bag of bones and I’d be wasting a potion. It’s harder than owl’s ears to get,’ Ella Etta grumbled. ‘Matchmaking wears on a body so. The lucky woman or man wants to escape. Sometimes both try.’ She kicked at the floor and gave a soft groan. ‘But it’s my calling.’
‘I’m not opposed to Everleigh.’
Ella Etta worked a crumb free from her teeth, then arranged the scarf at her temple with the care a queen would give a tiara. ‘You’d be daft in the head not to want him. But you are too careful. I cannot do everything.’ She rapped her knuckles on a bowl someone had left on the table. She lifted the vessel and thumped its bottom. Her teeth showed when she smiled.
‘I’ll take this present—not much to it—in exchange for giving you more time to marry. I would say my patience grows thin—but then I’m not known for tolerance. If truth be known, I’ve no patience. Threw it in front of a galloping horse and haven’t missed it.’ She contemplated the ceiling. ‘Wait. Memory fails me. That might not have been my patience, it might have been my husband.’ She chuckled.
Ella Etta held the bowl up to the window light and squinted, examining the crockery. Then, she tucked the cookware under her arm. ‘You have until the potion I brought today is used. If you’ve not married by then, you’ll not get another.’ She gave another tap to the vessel. ‘You’ll either be a lovely bride or a fetchin’ corpse. No matter to me.’
Ella Etta walked to the door, then twisted around. ‘If you choose the path of bein’ dead, don’t worry about your mother mourning you. I’ll take her health as well so she doesn’t suffer your loss.’ She touched her shawl. ‘I’m just inclined that way.’
She left the room, the basin tucked tightly under her arm.
Vivian felt her strength wane. All she had left in her bag of seduction was a book of martyrs.
* * *
That afternoon, Vivian tried to think of how best to approach Everleigh and she remembered the only excuse she had.
She gathered Mavis and dressed for an outing, offering to go to the lending library to select a book her mother might like to read. Her mother was so pleased to see Vivian active that she beamed over the suggestion.
Vivian took the brimmed bonnet which would sit back on her head and arranged it not to cover the careful curls the maid had fashioned. She checked the placement, pleased that the pink ribbons matched her dress.
The door to her chamber opened and Mavis stuck her s
ilvery head around. ‘Carriage is at the front, ready for us.’
‘Is the book too heavy for you?’ Vivian asked.
Mavis smirked, grunted as she raised it with both hands and spoke. ‘I’ll tell you the good parts on the way down the stairs. That’s all the time it will take. If the conveyance is slow, I’ll tell you the unpleasant bits on the ride. I am now, too, officially a martyr and have been punished for all the embellishments I made in order to get this job.’
Vivian bustled Mavis from the house, shushing her.
When the coachman moved to help Mavis up the steps, she grabbed the side, gave a startled pause, gripped the volume close and squirmed her way inside.
Vivian didn’t see inside the carriage until she was halfway in the door. She stopped. Her father sat, staring forward, arms crossed, mouth in a straight line. His cravat wasn’t the normal showy burst at his neck she was used to seeing on him, but a flat, drooping twist, and his brows were narrowed.
‘Do you...want to visit the library?’ she asked him. ‘I will be pleased to select something for you.’
Mavis raised the tome. ‘Builds your constitution, reading. If you’ve not heard about all these saintly folks, you could enjoy this one.’
‘I’ll travel with you. Wouldn’t want the two of you to get lost. Who knows where you’d end up?’
‘You don’t enjoy the lending library,’ Vivian insisted, one hand clutching the door frame.
‘Much more enjoyable than an outing to the dressmaker or a shop to get hair ribbons I’d never wear.’ He thumped his hat. ‘Get in. You’re holding up our departure.’
She settled herself beside him, arranging her skirts to keep wrinkles away.
Mavis held the book for him to see the title.
He pointed to the word martyr. ‘Is it about fatherhood?’ He reclined fully against the seat.
‘No,’ Vivian grumbled. ‘This is a ladies’ outing. To return that book and then search for one for Mother. And a detour to select fripperies. Ribbons. Reticules. Pelisses. Perfumes. Scented soaps. Things I like.’
