by Golden Angel
“He’ll make you a good husband,” said Mrs. Cunningham, being as comforting as she could, considering she truly didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. “His father is the Marquess of Salisbury. He’s twenty-eight years old, wealthy—obviously—and ready to settle down with a wife.”
“What does he look like? Is he kind?” Vivian didn’t quite know what to think, hearing how young he was. She would have made the best of a marriage to an older gentleman. In fact, she’d initially assumed a man who had picked her out for a bride would be an older gentleman in need of an heir. But that a young man should want a bride like her . . . Was there something physically wrong with him, which made him unattractive on the marriage mart? Or was he possessed of a mean temperament, which made him unable to find a bride by the more conventional process of courting her?
“Pish, what kinds of questions are those?” asked Mrs. Cunningham with a disapproving frown that made Vivian wilt a bit. “The important thing to know is that he’s taken care of both you and your family. Be grateful for what he’s given you.” The sudden shift into scolding had Vivian quite off balance, as it was meant to.
Mrs. Cunningham had every intention of making it quite clear how much Vivian owed the earl, therefore instilling in her the motivation to please him. Not that she would need much motivation, as Miss Stafford was already one of the most naturally submissive and eager-to-please young misses the school had ever had. Deciding it was time to end the interview, Mrs. Cunningham picked up an envelope on her desk with Vivian’s name on it. “This is a letter from your father, to be given to you today. You have the rest of the day free to do what you please in celebration of your birthday. Mrs. Banks will accompany you if you wish to walk around the grounds. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Stafford.”
Biting back any further inquiries, Vivian took the envelope with her father’s letter and made a small curtsy before leaving the room, moving as though she was in a daze. The door to the headmistress’s office closed with a decisive thud. A light touch on Vivian’s arm called her attention to her companion.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked Mrs. Banks, her gentle blue eyes looking rather concerned. Although she was much younger than Mrs. Cunningham, Mrs. Banks had a comforting air about her, like an older sister who was vastly more experienced and knowledgeable than the young ladies she was paired with. She was the kind of woman a young lady felt she could depend on and confide her secrets to, which was why she was always the companion to the sponsored students. It was often quite easy for her to establish a rapport with her students; by the time they commenced their special training, they trusted her instinctively, which was necessary since she would be their primary instructor in their new skills.
“Yes, I’m just . . . I’m a trifle overwhelmed,” said Vivian. With a bit of effort, she managed to summon a weak smile as they moved through the halls of the school, which was really more of a large manor house. Quite without realizing it, Vivian headed for the front door and the grounds. She needed to go outside and walk for a bit, read her father’s letter, and take the opportunity to think.
“Vivian!”
She turned, recognizing the sound of her friend Emily’s voice. With a rush of relief, Vivian turned to face her.
“Don’t tell her too much,” Mrs. Banks murmured behind her, but there was no threat in her voice, it was a true and compassionate warning from one woman to another. While Emily Warpoole, daughter of the Marquess of Deane, was probably the best friend Vivian had at the school, she would have no understanding of the kind of circumstances Vivian found herself in.
“Happy birthday,” said Emily as she drew closer, thrusting a small package at Vivian. They were opposites in many ways, and not just because of their differences in social station or finances. Emily was a hoyden who struggled with having a ladylike demeanor. Most of the other young ladies would have never dared call out another’s name as loudly as Emily had, or rush to meet the other, but Emily’s social status, as well as her natural charm and energy, allowed her to get away with what others could not.
She was a pert young lady, with more curves than was fashionable, freckles across her slightly upturned nose, and just the slightest tint of sun to her skin, as she spent most of her time outdoors either on a horse or doing some other activity about the grounds. Keeping Emily indoors was a chore that her companion, Miss Norton, despaired of. Emily was energetic, and it was that energy that gave her almost plain features the vitality needed to render her attractive. Ordinary brown eyes sparkled, cheeks flushed with good health, and a kind of vibrancy to her every movement made Emily quite the original. With her social standing, dowry, and natural friendly charm, there was no doubt she would take London by storm when she debuted.
“Emily, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Vivian said as she took the small package and undid the ribbon. Emily practically bounced with exuberance as Vivian opened the box. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”
“Isn’t it lovely? I thought you could use it on one of your debut gowns.”
Emily clapped her hands together excitedly as Vivian picked up the lace, doing her best to keep the smile on her face at her friend’s inadvertent barb. There would be no debut gowns for Vivian, but the lace was still beautiful. Perhaps she could use it on her wedding dress. Her stomach churned nervously at the thought, as she still was not quite accustomed to the idea of being married so quickly.
“Thank you so much,” she said, but her voice wavered a little and Emily’s bouncing stilled as she peered into Vivian’s face.
“Are you all right?”
Realizing she wouldn’t be able to hide everything from her friend, and that some events would come to light soon enough, Vivian thought quickly about what she could and could not tell Emily. “I would love to wear the lace for my debut, but I’m not going to have one,” she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. Emily’s eyes grew round with shock, but before she could say anything, Vivian continued, not wanting her friend to ask too many questions. “Mrs. Cunningham just told me—I’m betrothed. Once I leave the school we’ll be wed immediately, so there’s no need for a social debut. But I would be happy to wear the lace on my wedding dress.”
“Oh yes! How wonderful! Let me be the first to wish you happy—if I am indeed the first.” But Emily’s face remained somewhat concerned, even as she smiled encouragingly. “Is this . . . Are you sure?”
“I’m just a bit surprised,” Vivian said smoothly, feeling Mrs. Banks radiating approval behind her. “I wasn’t expecting it you see. I hadn’t realized—”
“No one told you?” Her friend sounded a bit outraged on her behalf, and Vivian realized she was going to have to do better to soothe her friend’s ruffled feathers.
“Mrs. Cunningham just did,” she said with a light laugh, pretending an indifference that she didn’t feel. She was a bit put out that no one had told her either. It was like being the only one who didn’t know a secret, one that affected her entire life. “She gave me a letter from my father, which I’m sure will explain things in more detail.” Vivian held up the envelope and Emily made a little “oh” noise, her indignation on Vivian’s behalf quickly subsiding. “I’m just disappointed over the loss of my debut, of course.” She said the words almost teasingly.
“Oh, but the whole point of a debut and the balls is to find a husband,” said Emily reassuringly. She smiled in delight at Vivian, immediately finding the best possible way of viewing the news. “You’ll be entering society without any of the pressure the rest of us will! I can’t tell you how relieved I would be if my parents were to tell me I had a match and the whole thing was over and done with.” The most wonderful part about Emily’s reassurances was her obvious sincerity. “Well, as long as the man wasn’t unbearable. Who is your husband?”
“A . . . an earl,” said Vivian. “I’m sure I’ll know more once I get a chance to read my father’s letter.” At least she hoped so. The name “Cranborne” didn’t mean anything to her. Emily would surely
know something, but Vivian wanted to read her letter before she requested Emily’s opinion.
“Ah, well then, I will leave you so that you may read your letter,” Emily said with a laugh, her infectiously high spirits rising again. She and Vivian clasped hands and touched each other’s cheeks, mimicking the gesture of affection they’d seen their mothers use with their closest friends. Vivian thanked her again for the lace and then Miss Norton dragged Emily off to practice her embroidery while Vivian and Mrs. Banks headed outside.
Ensconced beneath a tree, with Mrs. Banks fanning herself on a bench a few yards away, Vivian read through her father’s letter. It contained a birthday greeting, words of obvious joy at hearing of her excellence in her studies, and an apology for not telling her sooner about her betrothal to Lord Cranborne.
Lord Cranborne had apparently seen her at a wedding breakfast and been instantly smitten. The only wedding Vivian had attended in her entire life was that of a distant relation, a cousin several times removed named Mary. That had been only a few months before her father had brought her to Mrs. Cunningham’s school, but she felt quite sure she hadn’t actually met any earls there. Unless . . . But she was so sure he’d been a figment of her imagination.
Sudden uncertainty and even a bit of hope welled up in her. Except the dark-haired man had said he would look for her when she debuted. So even if she hadn’t imagined him, he probably wasn’t the earl of Cranborne. But why would a man who’d never spoken to her be willing to assist her family so greatly with their finances?
She should feel grateful, but instead she felt more anxious than ever. She had been a little frightened of her debut and the pressure to marry well, so she should have been relieved that those burdens had been taken from her. But now she felt anxious about what her husband-to-be would expect of her and whether or not she could please him.
Of course, it seemed that Mrs. Cunningham thought she could mold Vivian into exactly the kind of wife that would please Lord Cranborne best. Vivian had excelled at her studies ever since arriving to the school. Now, she vowed she would continue to do so with this new course of study.
Lord Gabriel Cecil, the Earl of Cranborne and son of the Marquess of Salisbury, came to Mrs. Cunningham’s Finishing School early in the morning the day after Vivian’s birthday. His dark, wavy hair, just a bit longer than the fashion, fluttered gently in the breeze as he rode up on his horse, Lucifer. It had amused him to name his horse after the devil, and it was an apt name, considering Lucifer’s temper. Only an experienced and skilled rider would be able to handle Lucifer; he was Gabriel’s favorite mount.
Gabriel had waited impatiently for this day, for the beginning of his future wife’s training. Ever since seeing her at Mary and George’s wedding, he’d practically become a monk. He’d never replaced his mistress, and he’d found that even the temptations of private parties had begun to wane. In fact, it had been nearly a year since he’d indulged in the pleasure of a woman. He didn’t plan to share his wife with any other man, and it seemed hypocritical of him to spread his favors with other women just for appearance’s sake.
He hadn’t been able to get Vivian out of his mind. The way her green eyes had filled with cloudy desire when he’d touched her. The innocence in her every move. The inherent submissiveness he saw when she’d stayed in place under his touch, rather than running, the way she’d undoubtedly been told to do. The obvious attraction between them had drowned out his passion for any other woman.
Discovering Vivian’s family’s financial situation had made everything even easier. Both George and Mary had raved about the school’s curriculum, and Mary herself said it was the best way she could have imagined to be introduced to the pleasures of the marriage bed and George’s particular preferences. As much as Gabriel would have liked to train Vivian himself, he ultimately decided it would be best to have her fully trained by professionals with experience, so as to ease her into it.
The time since George and Mary’s wedding had crawled by as Gabriel had looked forward more and more to Miss Stafford’s birthday and the commencement of her new training. Brokering the negotiations with the baron had been the easy part. Waiting had been much more difficult.
Today, he would talk to Mrs. Cunningham more specifically about the training he wished his future wife to receive and he would finally be able to see Vivian for the first time since that fateful day at the wedding.
He handed Lucifer over to one of the grooms, who looked askance at the feisty horse, and was then escorted up to the school and to Mrs. Cunningham’s office by one of the footmen. The severe woman was already seated behind her desk, and she immediately popped up and curtsied as he entered the room.
“Mrs. Cunningham,” Gabriel said, taking her hand and bowing over it elegantly.
“My lord,” she said, the almost simpering expression on her hard face looking quite at odds with her usual demeanor. Gabriel had that kind of effect on women, and Mrs. Cunningham was not immune. “Thank you so much for coming this morning.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said, smiling. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
He was finally going to see his bride-to-be again.
CHAPTER TWO
THE DAY AFTER HER BIRTHDAY STARTED out like any other day. Vivian woke, dressed, arranged her hair in a simple but elegant chignon, and broke her fast in the dining room with Emily and their friends Charity and Lily. They chatted and Vivian told them the little she knew about her intended husband, which they were much more interested in than anything else. Especially once they found out who it was. Lily recognized the name immediately.
“They call him the Dark Angel,” she practically whispered, glancing around to make sure none of the companions were too close. Sometimes the older women took a dim view of gossip, though Vivian considered it more informative than anything. “They say he’s devilishly handsome.”
“That’s what my mother said,” Emily said, jumping into the conversation, although her whisper wasn’t nearly as low as Lily’s. “I’ve heard he has no need of padding for his shoulders or thighs.”
“Emily!” Although she knew she shouldn’t encourage her friend’s scandalous observations, Vivian couldn’t help but laugh. Lily and Charity were giggling just as hard at Emily’s scandalous description.
“He’s said to be a bit of a rake, runs with a wild crowd,” said Emily. “Mama won’t allow Sarah to go near him or his friends.” Sarah was Emily’s older sister—already into her second season, she would know everyone who was respectable. Of course, from the expression on Emily’s face, the danger of a wild, forbidden man was thrilling. But then again, Emily wasn’t the one marrying him.
“I’m sure that if he wants to be married, that means he’ll be settling down,” Charity said sympathetically, her hazel eyes warm as she looked at Vivian.
“Or maybe he’ll just keep to his wild ways on the side,” Lily said, in a voice so low they could barely hear her. “My mama says that it’s a relief if the men take their wildness to their mistresses.”
“My husband won’t have a mistress,” Emily said fiercely, glaring at Lily. “Your mother shouldn’t let your father get away with it, either. If my father did something like that, he’d be booted out of the house.”
“I think my mama really does prefer it,” Lily said, a bit defensively, although she looked glum. “I didn’t say I wanted it . . . unless I don’t like my husband. Then it’d probably be a relief.”
Ignoring the conversation going on between Emily and Lily, Charity turned her attention back to Vivian. “If you don’t remember meeting him, how does he know who you are?”
“Apparently, he saw me at a wedding, but I’m not sure I remember him.” She sighed, trying not to show her disquiet over Emily and Lily’s words. As far as she knew, her own father had never kept a mistress. But she had to wonder, would she know? She didn’t think she liked the idea of being married to a man who would have other women in his life. The man she’d met at Mary’s wedding popped back
into her head. Would a man like that be content with her for a bride? Still, she wasn’t convinced it was him, so she hadn’t mentioned him to Emily or any of the other girls.
“But he remembered you!” gushed Emily, clasping her hands in front of her in excitement. “How romantic!”
Looking at it in one way, Vivian realized it was rather romantic. She had to wonder why the earl had chosen her, a poor girl of much lower social standing, after only meeting her once. If he had met her at all. Objectively she knew she was considered beautiful, even if her red hair wasn’t fashionable, but was that all a man wanted?
Well, of course not, she told herself sardonically. If that was all a man wanted, then there would have been no reason for the future training Mrs. Cunningham had told her about. The other girls gushed about the romance of having a man fall in love at first sight, but Vivian still wasn’t sure if that was it. Knowing he was handsome and desirable was making her have more dire thoughts.
What if he just wanted a bought bride, one who wouldn’t protest? He could do whatever he wanted with his life and wildness and other women, while having his heirs with a respectable woman. What other reason could a man of his social standing, age, and attractiveness want with someone like her?
Obviously, she could not disclose her family’s financial circumstances to any of her friends, not even Emily. Even if Emily were to keep it a secret, Vivian couldn’t bear the shame of her friend knowing that the earl was paying for her schooling and for her family’s upkeep in return for . . . well, whatever she would be learning during her training.
After breakfast, she retreated to the music room to vent some of her feelings on the pianoforte. Today she was rather manic with it, pounding her way through Chopin’s Nocturnes in a manner that was not at all ladylike. Mrs. Banks said nothing, just sat in a nearby chair, reading the book she always kept in her skirt pocket, apparently understanding that Vivian was discomposed.