by Golden Angel
Looking in the mirror in the retiring room, she patted the unfashionable locks of her hair, which were pulled back from her face and hung down her back. She made a face at herself, wishing her hair wasn’t so blazingly bright. If she’d been old enough to have her hair up, perhaps the overly bright color wouldn’t have been as noticeable.
Patting her hair again, although it did nothing to change its hue or length, Vivian pasted a demure smile on her face and forced herself back out of the room to return to the party. She’d barely stepped out of the door before coming to an abrupt halt as an incredibly handsome man practically melted out of the shadows across the hall, his dark eyes fixed on her.
Everything about him was dark, from his black hair, to his eyes, to the nearly unrelieved black suit he was wearing. It was far too formal for a breakfast, and yet it suited him. The stark white of his collar and the charcoal grey of his cravat were the only variations of color in his attire. He was intimidatingly attractive, with broad, muscular shoulders and a strong jawline, and wreathed in an aura of confidence. Everything about him screamed danger to a young, unwed innocent like Vivian. A voice in her head called for her to run, but she stood there, as if her slippers had nailed themselves to the floor.
“Hello there,” he said, his voice deep and almost hypnotic.
Vivian looked back and forth down the hall, unsure of how to respond. They hadn’t been properly introduced, after all, and she was sure this was exactly the kind of man her mother had warned her not to be caught alone with. Young ladies’ reputations were so easily ruined— just talking to him alone could be the end of her before she’d even debuted. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like the organ might burst from her chest, and yet it wasn’t just from fear. She also felt excited.
She focused on him again, folding her hands in front of her and twisting her fingers together nervously.
“Good morning,” she said softly, trying to keep her trembling in check. She glanced up and down the hallway. “If you’re waiting for someone, the retiring room is empty.”
“I think I might have been waiting for you,” he said, his voice sounding almost contemplative. Vivian’s breath caught in her throat as he stepped forward. She trembled, she quivered, but she didn’t run. He approached her slowly, studying her, and she stared back at him, completely entranced. When he reached out towards her face, she froze. Two fingers pressed against the bottom of her chin, tipping her face up.
He was so close she could see his eyes weren’t actually black; they were grey with hints of green flecks in them. He stared at her so intensely, she felt as if he could see into her very soul. She wondered if she’d fainted and this was some kind of dream she’d somehow stepped into.
“Are you a good girl, my dear?”
Vivian flicked out her tongue, licking her dry lips, her heart stuttering when his gaze dropped to observe the small movement. There was something in his eyes. “I try to be, my lord.”
She didn’t know why she tacked on the “my lord.” It was pure assumption, but it fit.
A small smile of acknowledgement made his lips curve, somehow making him even more breathtakingly handsome, which she hadn’t realized was possible. He moved closer, and Vivian’s chest constricted. She imagined she could actually feel the heat of his body through their clothing. She’d never stood so close to a man who wasn’t a family member. And she’d never stood next to a man like this.
“How old are you?” he asked, his thumb tracing over her lower lip.
“Seventeen, my lord,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. It was all she could manage when she could hardly breathe. “I come out next year.”
“Would you like for me to look for you then?”
“Yes.” The word was out before she could think; a breathy, honest answer to his unexpected question. Heat filled her cheeks as she realized how brazen she sounded, but he looked pleased.
Stepping back, he took her hand, bowing over her glove and then kissing the back of her hand. “Till we meet again, my dear.”
And then he turned and walked away, leaving Vivian feeling strangely drained, as if all her energy had flowed out of her like a river. Her legs were trembling so badly it felt like it would take hours before she was able to move again, but when she returned to the breakfast, no one had noticed her absence. Everything was as it had been. When she looked around, she didn’t see the handsome stranger anywhere; it was as though he’d melted away into the shadows of the hall from whence he’d come.
A week later, at home and in her familiar surroundings, she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined the entire episode.
When George returned from his honeymoon with his new bride, there was a note waiting for him on his salver.
Tell me everything about the finishing school Mary went to.
~Gabriel
CHAPTER ONE
MRS. CUNNINGHAM’S FINISHING SCHOOL, the school Mary had attended before her marriage to George, was located two miles outside of London. It resided on three square acres of land and included a pond, a riding course, a large garden and hedge maze, and a hunting lodge. On the rare occasions men stayed overnight at Mrs. Cunningham’s Finishing School, they were required to stay in the hunting lodge, so as to ensure the reputation of the school and its pupils.
The majority of the young ladies at Mrs. Cunningham’s Finishing School were the daughters, nieces, and granddaughters of viscounts, barons, and younger, untitled sons of titled nobles. These young women were looking to marry above their current stations and so needed the proper training if they were to marry an earl, a marquess, or as one notable graduate did, a duke. The funds earned by providing the proper training for these young women to enter into advantageous marriages netted a tidy sum of profit; however, not nearly as great a profit as the much smaller minority of sponsored students provided.
Of course, the general public knew nothing about the special arrangements for sponsored students. There was not even a hint of gossip among the ton that the advantageous marriages the occasional sponsored students made were anything but respectable marriages of financially disadvantaged but beautiful and accomplished young women to particularly wealthy noblemen—noblemen who didn’t need their nonexistent dowries. Sponsorship was always handled discreetly and was assumed, by society, to be at the behest of a wealthy but distant relative. There were rarely more than one or two sponsored students a year, and sometimes none at all, so they attracted very little attention.
Not a single person ever suspected the funds for the sponsored students came from the pockets of their future husbands, or that a large amount of the profits made from Mrs. Cunningham’s Finishing School came from those select students. There were a few who were sponsored by distant family members, but only a very few, and their fees were not so great. Men who were part of the secret accounted for nearly all of the sponsored students, and quite a bit of the school’s intake, as they were paying for very specific services.
Miss Vivian Stafford, daughter of the impoverished Baron Charles Stafford, had been completely unaware of the special services the school offered when she began attending the school on a sponsorship several months following the wedding of George and Mary Howard, and currently remained so. Although that was all about to change.
Possessed of an innate sense of grace, Vivian was considered a model student. She fairly floated whether she was walking or dancing, she could hold a steady curtsy for hours, her skill at pouring a cup of tea was the envy of all the other students, and she was a rather dashing rider on a horse. She excelled at the pianoforte, archery, pall mall, and water colors, and was the most sought-after partner for any game of charades.
Two days before her eighteenth birthday, Miss Stafford attended a tea party. The formal tea was one of the events Mrs. Cunningham provided for her older students who had been at the school for at least a year, allowing them to make their first appearance before the matrons of society. In that setting, they were able to practice their polite conversati
on and attempt to make a good impression on those women of the ton who could—and would— make or break their futures. Although her flaming red hair and green eyes were not at all fashionable, Vivian Stafford was wonderfully charming, impressively elegant, and modestly demure, emerging from the pack of students as the veritable queen of future daughters-in-law. The matrons were charmed and immediately applied to Mrs. Cunningham to discover when she would be making her debut, already plotting to push their sons into making her acquaintance.
With a small smile, Mrs. Cunningham managed to neatly sidestep their questions, as Miss Vivian Stafford was already spoken for, although the young lady did not know it yet. As far as Miss Stafford knew, a distant relation was paying for her to receive some extra schooling before her debut, which had been pushed back to allow for extra training.
So Vivian had returned to the school, flush with triumph and dreaming of the dashing young men who would, hopefully, be one day falling all over themselves to court her. If she were lucky, one of them would not only love her, but be willing to assist her family financially. All six of the young ladies who had attended the tea were aflutter with excitement over their eventual debuts, but Vivian was the only one whose family desperately needed her to marry well.
Occasionally she would dream of her future husband, who would save her family from their financial straits. Often, in her imagination, he looked like the stranger who had approached her at cousin Mary’s wedding. Sometimes she wondered if she had imagined him as well.
On the day of her eighteenth birthday, Vivian was called to Mrs. Cunningham’s office. She was, as always, accompanied by her companion for the meeting. Mrs. Banks was a rather attractive young widow in her midthirties; she attended Vivian at all times in order to provide advice and correction as needed, although Vivian only occasionally required the former and rarely the latter. Mrs. Cunningham would not allow any young woman under her care to have even the slightest hint of impropriety attached to her, so each student always had a companion at her side.
In Vivian’s case, it was especially necessary, as her companion was about to become her most trusted confidant as well as her tutor.
Vivian sat down gracefully in the chair in front of Mrs. Cunningham’s desk, aware of Mrs. Banks’s presence, but not looking at all flustered. However, behind her demure social mask her insides fluttered wildly. She’d been a fairly new seventeen when she was delivered to Mrs. Cunningham’s school, and Vivian was well-aware of the difference it had made in her life already. Her father had kissed her forehead and told her to be a model student and to make him proud, which she’d endeavored to do.
She had no idea the plans that she’d laid out for her life were somewhat different from those others had laid out for her.
“Vivian, dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham with a maternal smile that looked odd on her stony face. The years had not been kind to Mrs. Cunningham, and it was reflected in the harsh lines of her face and body, despite her fashionable dress. “I wanted to personally wish you happy on your birthday.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham, how thoughtful of you,” Vivian replied with one of her brightest smiles. As Mrs. Cunningham was the power in the school, Vivian always made it a point to stay on her good side. Vivian had always been easily led by the authority figures in her life; she was happiest when she knew what was expected of her and was able to meet those expectations.
“I also wanted to have a little talk with you. Now that you’re eighteen, we’re going to be moving you into a new area of study here at the school we call marriage training.”
Vivian blinked, surprised out of her usual social mask. “Marriage training? But I’ve never heard of it. I thought I would be debuting with the other girls.”
“Most girls do follow that program,” said Mrs. Cunningham smoothly. “But you are one of our special students. When your father brought you to us he did not have the funds to pay for your schooling; your schooling, since you arrived, has been sponsored by a benefactor.”
“Oh,” said Vivian as her world realigned itself slightly. She’d known she was a scholarship student, but she hadn’t realized that would mean following a different school program.
Mrs. Cunningham continued, not giving Vivian the chance to ask any questions. “As a sponsored student, your marriage has already been arranged, in this case to your sponsor, the Earl of Cranborne. He agreed to pay for your schooling, and the marriage settlement agreed upon with your father is very generous. As long as you become his wife, there is no need for you to ever concern yourself over your family’s circumstances, as he will settle all their debts. To that end, you will be trained to be exactly the kind of wife the earl requires.”
There was a long pause as Mrs. Cunningham gave Vivian a moment to assimilate this information. She obviously needed it; her heart-shaped face had paled to a chalky white as Mrs. Cunningham had explained. Vivian hadn’t realized the arrangements for her marriage had already been made without her knowledge. Nor that she owed the past year of her life, not to mention the wellbeing of her family, to her future husband. It was rather frightening, even though she knew that, especially among the upper echelons of society, arranged marriages were the usual way of doing things.
On the one hand, her marriage was going to be quite a coup—the daughter of a country baron to what must be an exceedingly wealthy earl. She wasn’t just moving up socially, she was making a leap in title and fortune. There had always been the chance that she might have to step down in terms of social status in order to bring money into the family. Although she’d raised her hopes that being a premier graduate of the finishing school might allow her to marry within the ton, she hadn’t expected to reach as high as an earl. Gratitude over her family’s new situation, combined with relief that she would not need to brave the marriage mart, swamped her. She need not attract a wealthy husband; she already had one.
However, on the other hand, not knowing who he was or what he might expect from her caused her quite a bit of anxiety.
Mrs. Cunningham continued, her next words both stirring and disturbing.
“This additional training will prepare you for the private duties of a wife, in which the earl has very particular tastes. As such, this training is of a rather intimate and physical nature, and you will be allowed to glimpse the secrets of the bedroom—knowledge no other well-bred young lady in this school can lay claim to. It is likely you will occasionally find yourself uncomfortable, frightened, and even pained by the methods we utilize, but all of your training will be conducted with the utmost care and the eventual goal of making you as comfortable and happy with your marriage as the earl will be.”
Vivian’s brow was beginning to wrinkle in confusion again, but Mrs. Cunningham pressed onward with her speech.
“Because of your family’s financial straits, the earl understands you might feel beholden to complete your training, even if you find it not to your liking. That is not the earl’s wish. He requires a wife who is as enthusiastic about the private side of marriage as he is himself. Therefore, you are to be assured that you may dissolve the marriage contract at any time, with no ill feeling, no need to pay him back for your schooling, and no fear of retribution on his part. All you will have to say is ‘I want to call off my marriage to Lord Cranborne’ to myself or to Mrs. Banks.”
“And . . . then I would not have to marry him?”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “Of course, that will also be the end of your time at this school, but you have enough of the traditional training we provide to make an exemplary wife.”
If Vivian could catch a husband, as poor as her family was. But if she completed this new training, then she wouldn’t need to. She would have a husband, one whom she’d been specifically trained to accommodate in the private sphere. Training that was certainly highly unusual but not a deterrent in and of itself.
Still, she couldn’t help but worry over Mrs. Cunningham’s description of the training as uncomfortable, frightening, and painful. Her mind
was awash with confusion and new pressures. All this time, she thought she had been diligently applying herself in order to please her parents and to make a good marriage. Instead, it turned out that she had been doing so to please a husband that she had never met or even seen. Now she would be embarking on a new course of study, one which had been specifically requested by her new husband—again, sight unseen.
“Once you near the end of your training, the banns will be read, and then you will be wed upon completion of your training.” Mrs. Cunningham smiled, trying to look sympathetic, seeing that Vivian felt quite overwhelmed by all the information she’d just heard. “I suggest you do not mention your new course of training to the other girls. None of them are sponsored students and they might not understand.”
By which she meant Vivian would not want to mention her family’s financial situation to the other girls. Vivian’s presence at the expensive school masked that, but if she let it be known how her schooling was paid for, it would reflect negatively on both her and her family, which was why she’d been very quiet about it from the beginning. It could harm her sisters, certainly, as they would be making their come-outs in a few years and would need the family’s reputation intact.
“May I ask a question?”
“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham. About half of the young ladies wanted to ask a question at this point; some were too flummoxed by their situation to gather their wits together. It didn’t surprise her that Vivian belonged to the former group.
“The earl, what’s he like?” That was the question foremost in Vivian’s mind. It was easy for her to accept her family’s future and fortunes rested upon her shoulders— she’d known that from the start. Less easy to swallow was the embarrassing fact that her schooling had been arranged by her future husband. That, combined with her anxiousness over being betrothed to a man she’d never even heard of, much less met—one who had mysterious and “particular” tastes—made her stomach slightly queasy. Other than her family, she’d had very little interaction with gentlemen, and even less since her arrival at the school.