"There is one possibility of a match," Penelope said, coming forward and tucking the silk rose into Vivian's hair. "And he will be visiting us this very night!"
Chapter Two
Whatever weariness Vivian had felt was burned away by a new tension. If Penelope had her way, she would be meeting her future husband tonight. And the cruel child refused to tell her anything about him!
"He'll be the only single man present. You can find out what you will about him on your own. I shan't spoil the fun of that for you," Penelope said, then took the curling tongs to Vivian's hair.
As she sat and endured Penelope's primping and trimming of her, she wondered what it could be about this man of which her cousin was unwilling to speak. She did not fool herself: there had to be something wrong with him. Very wrong. Why else would Penelope believe he might be interested in Vivian's own impoverished self, and so eager to wed that the engagement could be accomplished in a mere two weeks?
Penelope was treating her as a large doll to be dressed and rearranged without complaint. No longer did she fret about her Valenciennes lace garbing another, nor about loaning her yellow topaz ear bobs and the necklace that went with them. She dabbed Vivian's face with powder, and tinted her lips and cheeks with a faint trace of carmine.
"Shhh," Penelope said. "Don't tell Mama I have it."
Penelope held a needle over the candle and used the soot to fill in the spots where Vivian's brows were sparse or uneven. She was as determined as a mama preparing her daughter to snag a young peer at a ball. Her concentration was a testament to her desire to have her season all to herself, yet at the same time it showed a certain pride in her handiwork. Vivian recalled the carefully arranged mountain of sweetmeats and mistletoe, and hoped her own appearance fared better under Penelope's artistic guidance.
She also felt a bit of a fool while Penelope fussed over her. She was twenty-five and had never been a beauty even when she had the freshness of youth to her face. She feared that when at last she was allowed to look in the mirror, it would be a caricature of a young woman that looked back at her, and it would be plain to all that she was pretending to be something she was not, and with only one goal in mind.
There was, though, a small part of her that began to come alive under the attention, watching with interest the way in which Penelope wielded the cosmetics and chose ribbons and flowers for her hair. With a start she realized what it was: vanity.
And so what if it was? It was long past time she had the chance to indulge in that vice that women were said to have perfected.
"There. I think that is the best that can be expected of us," Penelope said, standing back and examining her handiwork.
At last Vivian was allowed the mirror. She stood in front of the cheval glass and blinked in surprise. She had not been transformed into a beauty-that much even Penelope's pastes and lotions could not achieve. But what charms she had were brought out while the flaws were concealed.
Her brow that was too high was shortened now by the dark brown curls that covered it, and that brought attention to her eyes, whose color was brighter for the contrast with the red of her lips and cheeks. The powder helped to conceal the one or two faint pink blemishes, while allowing the whiteness of her skin to shine through.
"Astonishing!" Vivian said. She touched lightly at her hair, the back brought up in a braided coil, flowers and ribbons tucked around it. It was so much lovelier than the plain chignon she usually wore. She could not quite believe it was Vivian Ambrose in the mirror, it was such a change from the familiar reflection.
Penelope tucked her chin in, a tight-lipped smile of pride and satisfaction on her face. "Don't spoil it by acting as if you think yourself plain. He'll value you as you value yourself, or so Mama has told me a thousand times."
At that, the tension crept back, for how could she value herself any higher than what she was? She saw now the way her collarbones were sharp under her skin, and the boniness of her wrists. Her shoulders were too square and broad, and her jaw as well.
She had a prodigious appetite that had never been satisfied with the stingy trays of food sent up to her and Miss Marbury. Her cousins' servants had sensed the disregard with which she was treated, and had in turn treated her accordingly, ignoring requests she made for extra food. The effects showed in the angular body beneath the lace and silk of this new dress, the powders and the ribbons.
She looked what she was: a nervous, hungry spinster.
Noises came from below, voices raised in greeting. Guests were beginning to arrive.
Vivian felt, all at once, the true loss of those years at Miss Marbury's bedside. She had had no training in the rules of society, knew little of making pleasant conversation, and even less of how to win the heart of a man. She was going to make faux pas left and right, and the baronet would wonder indeed where this graceless cousin of his aunt's had come from.
This, though, was her chance, and she would not-could not-let her lack of experience stop her. She straightened her spine and raised her chin.
She had spent nine years waiting for her life to begin, waiting to live as other people did. Her patience was worn away, her hunger all-consuming. She wanted a snug house; she wanted children she could spoil as badly as Penelope had been spoiled; she wanted a husband who, however old and smelly, would look upon her as a treasure and call her "my dear." And she, in return, would make certain he was well fed and that his clothes were fresh and mended, and treat him with tender regard and gratitude.
If Penelope thought Vivian had a chance at this unnamed man, then perhaps she did. And she would take it.
"Mr. Brent, it is good to see you again," Captain Twitchen said. "I hear you'll be giving us Tories a hard time of it."
"As hard a time as I can possibly manage," Richard Brent said. "What's the good of buying oneself a seat in Parliament if one cannot obstruct Tories?"
"By Jove, you're as blunt as I remember! You won't go far without a bit of finesse, though, Mr. Brent. Politics, you know. Can't always say what you think. I shouldn't go about advertising my seat was from a rotten borough, if I were you."
"I don't see why not. I am always honest about my corruptions."
"Ha! Ha! And so you are. If nothing else, you'll be an entertainment this session; that you will."
"I'll do my best to distract you and your cohorts from your duties," he said, grinning. He couldn't help but like the bluff old captain.
"That you will!" the man agreed.
"Richard, you naughty man," his sister Elizabeth said, coming up and taking his arm. "Talking politics? I'd say you should know better, only that would encourage you all the more. Come, there is someone you should meet."
"Must I?" he asked, and the question was not in jest.
"You must. Captain Twitchen," she said, nodding her head to her uncle-by-marriage.
"Lady Sudley," the captain acknowledged with a brief bow.
"Who now?" Richard asked as Elizabeth led him away. He was visiting her and her family at Haverton Hall for the Christmas season, a tradition he had been faithful to since she had married some five years previously. In that time he had met a goodly number of the eminent citizens of Dorset County, and of Corfe Castle, the small village named for the ruined keep that loomed above it.
"You shall see."
Worrisome words. Elizabeth was forever trying to reform, if not his behavior, then at least the appearance his actions took, and her chosen method was unfortunately matrimonial. Despite the evidence that no well-bred gentlewoman would have him, Elizabeth persisted in thinking one would.
Her disappointment was greater than his when most declined so much as even a dance with him.
Blind Elizabeth -she could not see that her brother's presence in the same room with gentlewomen was tolerated only because his family had rank and he had money. For that kind, honest toleration of society he was suitably kind in return, and he gave its hypocrisies the respect they deserved.