by Agnes Forest
“Why is that?” Vivian asked.
“Because you already have a future husband. One who can bring something to the family besides cheap paprika.” It was a low blow, considering that Lady Hattie’s husband was a spice merchant whose business had once been prosperous. Since their wedding, it had foundered. That fact had plagued Lord Benedict. Two daughters with unfavorable marriages. Vivian was considered the last hope.
“There is more to life than wealth and status,” Vivian said, already sensing that it would be hard to defend those words.
Lord Phillip brushed his hair back from his brow. The gesture was dismissive, as though he were offended by her naivety. Especially since she was to be the woman that would represent him on many future occasions.
“You wouldn’t speak so freely if you could see your father’s account books, as I have,” Lord Phillip said coldly. The words were meant to scare her, and they were successful at that. Vivian’s heart sank.
Yes, it was true - her duty trapped her to the household. A great wave of sadness came over her as she continued to dance, her legs becoming increasingly weak. Once again that evening, she felt as though she might faint.
“Will you excuse me,” Vivian said, stopping her motions and avoiding eye contact with Lord Phillip. She looked at his chest instead. “There are some matters that I must attend to at home and the journey is long.”
With that, Vivian strode from the dance floor and located Fanny over by the lemonade. The old maid appeared tired and confused by Vivian’s haste. But it could not be prevented; if Vivian didn’t leave that very moment, she did not know what she might do or say, in a company that would most surely scorn her for it.
As she reached the threshold of the club, her gaze cast down, she momentarily looked up to lock eyes with a gentleman in soldier’s attire. Vivian knew not why he stared at her so. The soldier seemed concerned. Vivian continued ahead, but during the long, dark carriage ride back to South Downs, she thought of him for a fleeting moment.
A thunderous snore from Fanny broke the reverie, and she returned to staring out the carriage window, considering her predicament. Her fate seemed sealed. Her duty should not be questioned. The most advantageous, wise choice would be to accept Lord Phillip Lockfield’s hand in marriage. High society would cheer her on.
And her soul would slip away a bit more each day that she awoke in Lord Phillip’s estate.
No, Vivian was determined to find another way. If being raised in the seaside beauty of South Downs had taught her one thing, it was that happiness did not come from wealth and appearances. The striking flowers that would greet her the following spring morning would remind her of that. Somehow, Lady Vivian Ravenswood would find a way out of this trap.
Chapter Two
Lieutenant Sawyer Cook was rather late to the party. For most, arriving in the early evening was respectable for a Wednesday night at Almack’s, but Sawyer had other matters to attend. He realized that arriving a tad late - yet still before the 11pm cutoff - may be rather cavalier of him, but he chose to do it anyhow. He didn’t care much for what society made of him.
Although, Sawyer had to admit that he was much anticipating his first admittance to the club. Watching beautiful ladies dancing was healthy for any man’s constitution. The food was abominable, he had been told, but Sawyer was the sort of chap that could subsist on anything. If he had his way, it would be tavern fare.
That he was admitted into Almack’s at all was a blessing. He had misplaced his voucher, and only upon inspection of his home in Bedringham Court did he finally retrieve it from beneath one of his hound’s paws. Come to think of it, that he even received a certificate in the first place was unfathomable. But apparently, the Grand Dames - the Patronesses - who stood at the entry gate had heard of the fabled war hero.
He resisted the voucher for months, thinking it far too out of his character to attend such an event, but eventually, even Sawyer had to admit that a solitary life of hunting and painting would not do. His handsome, mischievous exterior spoke for him all too plainly; he desired female companionship.
Upon entrance into Almack’s, Sawyer lost his breath. He was not born into money, yet he had still seen splendor in his day. An advantageous adoption was to be thanked for that. But nothing would compare to the dazzling circus of refinement that he stepped into. It seemed as though the gentlemen and ladies present were fashion plates, exquisite in their comportment and dress. No, Sawyer was not intimidated, but he very much felt out of place.
Passing by a mirror, Sawyer inspected himself; something that he never did. At home, he didn’t even own a mirror. But he had to admit that he cleaned up thoroughly. The choice of wearing his uniform was akin to wearing armor. He would not be trifled with and would even command respect. After what he had seen and been through in the war, it was just. But more so, he still very much felt like that young man on the battlefield from months ago. Those fields were his home, and the soldiers that stood beside him were his family. He was still having difficulty letting go of it.
Sawyer's collar was crisp and straight, coming up just under his chin. His reddish-brown hair was kept short and plain, tossed about to and fro as was the custom of the day. Skin tan, cheeks ruddy, and large eyes a dark brown, his appearance smacked more of the poet than the soldier, but one does not choose their destiny.
Sawyer’s breeches were too loose, and it upset him. Had he indeed lost his bulk since returning home? It could not be prevented. He often forgot to eat whilst busy in the field. When such pleasures of sport and nature were readily available, who had time to stop for a warm meal. Except at noted tavern.
Just because it was his first time at Almack’s did not mean that Sawyer didn’t know a soul. In fact, quite the opposite. Sawyer was well acquainted with many. Fellow soldiers raved that the women were like precious pearls, and one need only choose the color and size that they desired. He was also told that the gentlemen’s room was well-appointed, with ample space for cards and cigars. He even heard that the dancing was capital, and the music quite refined.
For all these reasons, Sawyer decided that the time had come to use his golden ticket purchased on Bond Street for ten shillings, and made the journey from Bedringham Court.
There was so much to see and do inside the luxurious confines of Almack’s that Sawyer did not know where to begin, but rather, hoped that he might quickly find someone that he was acquainted with. His wishes were mostly granted when Sawyer ran into someone who recognized his face.
“Might I ask, sir,” a voice said. “Are you Lieutenant Cook of the Regent's Navy?”
Sawyer turned to regard the gentleman. He was older than Sawyer, and from the glimmer in his eye, Sawyer could see that he was the kind that followed the goings on of the military closely. The fellow memorized all the players and positions like a game of chess.
“I am, sir,” Sawyer replied, happy to engage in a conversation about something he knew of.
“I have read of you in the papers numerous times,” the man went out, sporting a fashionable cane.
Sawyer loosened his cravat a bit. It was warm inside the greeting hall, and he did not care for the idea that he was written about in papers.
“Would you care to join me for a cup of tea, or something stronger? I have read of your commission, and I believe that celebration is in order,” the man said, no doubt as anxious to engage in manly conversation and put all the pageantry behind him.
Sawyer glanced about the room and saw a dizzying array of colors and sounds. Impenetrable. The offer became appealing.
“Very well, then,” Sawyer replied, and the two gentlemen made their way to the supper hall.
“I’m Lord John Glenmire,” the gentleman said by way of introduction.
“A pleasure,” Sawyer replied.
“Did you know that you’d return from the front lines with such prestige?” Lord John asked.
“No, I daresay I did not,” Sawyer replied with a bashful laugh. The fact that he returned
at all was the real accomplishment. Many of the best men did not.
“A weighty purchase, that commission,” Lord John said, carrying on towards the supper hall.
“Indeed,” Sawyer replied flatly. Of all things, discussing the purchase of his commission was perhaps the last that he had hoped to. In fact, any discussion of money was deplorable to him.
“Here we are then,” Lord John said, having finally made their way through several crowded rooms to enter the supper hall, which was also elbow to elbow. For those lucky enough to secure a large wooden table, the situation was cozy. But for those who were forced to take a seat along the wall, or worse, to stand, the arrangement was unsuitable. But such as it was, Almack’s wasn’t about the dining, it was about the spouse-hunting.
Tea was ordered, and Sir John took it upon himself to remove a flask from his waistcoat and pour a touch of brandy in his. Sawyer declined. Thin slices of bread with butter were served.
“And now that you’re home dear boy,” Sir John went on, “what are your plans for the future?” he asked. It was as though he were living vicariously through Sawyer.
“I must say, there were plans,” Sawyer began, and then regretted it. His voice trailed off, and Sir John leaned in further, demanding embellishment. Sawyer cleared his throat and went on. “Those plans have been dashed, unfortunately. Due to . . . “
It was a mess. Sawyer was kicking himself. He should never have said it, and he desperately hoped to move on.
“What has dashed your plans?” Sir John asked, taking a hearty sip of his boozy tea.
“Nothing particular, I suppose,” Sawyer replied, evading the question. He sought a change in subject and found it in the form of a collection of beautiful ladies at the table across the way.
“That lady looks quite familiar,” Sawyer said, nodding towards Lady Sophie Langton, someone whom he had never seen before in his life. In truth, Lady Sophie’s bosom was so impressive that it was the first thing to catch Sawyer’s eye.
Sir John turned to see who was being referred to.
“Aha! Lady Sophie is of marvelous repute,” Sir John said. “Just don’t get trapped in a conversation.”
“The ginger is impressive as well,” Sawyer said in regards to Lady Blythe Hennessy.
“A remarkable creature,” Sir John corroborated.
Sawyer’s eyes continued to move about the ladies’ table, happy that the subject was changed so expertly, but once his gaze landed on Lady Vivian, the mood shifted. Sawyer’s brow knit ever so slightly at the sight of her.
“Who is that, pray?” Sawyer asked.
Sir John turned again to examine the subject. Although the lady was new to Almack’s, she was not unknown to decent society.
“That would be Lady Vivian Ravenswood,” Sir John said, taking a swig of his tea. He could see at once that the soldier was transfixed. Sawyer couldn’t tell what it was about her. On the surface, one might think that she was pretty, but also plain. Her gown was unembellished, her face was radiant, and she sat there with a simple, relaxed grace. Sawyer decided not to ask about the angelic creature in white. He did not wish to hear Lord John’s opinion on the matter.
Lady Elizabeth Danvers caught his eye, as well. No doubt, she was the most traditionally pretty of the group, yet still, she did not intrigue him.
“Is it truly your first time to Almack’s?” Sir John asked in disbelief.
“Yes. I finally gave in to all the pressure,” Sawyer said with a wry smile.
“I’m sure that you can now understand the appeal,” Sir John replied.
“It’s a marvel, really,” Sawyer mused.
As with all the attendants at Almack’s, supper and tea turned into strolling. It was a natural progression. Sawyer found himself walking from room to room and floor to floor, and all the while he was rather impressed with the arrangement. What he saw before him was the upper echelon of British society, descended upon King Street, St. James to sell their wares, as it were. There was nothing tawdry about it. Sawyer understood the need to find an eligible partner. He had experienced the value of it. Although, unlike those that surrounded him, his search had very little to do with finances.
The home in Bedringham Court was lonely enough, although he rather liked the loneliness. Some nights as he reveled in a good fire and the friendly eyes of his hounds, he wondered why he might even need a wife in the first place. But that was all hogwash. In truth, he had purchased the home with a wife in mind . . .
The answer couldn’t be any less simple. Sawyer had been orphaned as a child and knew what it was like to be bereft of one’s blood. Always, the thought emboldened him - nay, on the battlefield, it was the only dream that pushed him forward - to one day have a family that he might call his own. To experience something that he never thought possible. The notion filled him with courage and energy, and so first, he must find the lady.
“Might I be introduced?” a pretty young slip of a girl asked as Sawyer stood watching the quadrille.
“Most certainly,” Sir John said, sensing that they had made a catch. ‘This is the honorable Lieutenant Sawyer Cook, m’lady,” Sir John said.
“Most remarkable,” the young lady replied.
Sawyer’s cheeks were naturally ruddy like a royal, and so such attention did not make him blush. But he was aware that his presence was often noticed by young ladies, for reasons that he could not understand. That being said, he did not mind the attention so much, but rather hoped that it might come from a lady of some substance, as opposed to one with hungry eyes.
He was content to watch from the sidelines. Other men in uniform crossed Sawyer’s path, and they nodded in acknowledgment. It was comforting to see them in their formal attire. Sir John continued to introduce him to eligible young ladies, and within an hour’s time Sawyer’s collar was loosened, his senses stimulated, and the evening became altogether intoxicating.
Amid the throng of attendants, Sawyer had to ask himself where Calvin was. I used my golden ticket to amuse him, Sawyer thought. But no doubt, Calvin Cain was most likely so immersed in the festivities that finding him would be like locating a needle in a haystack.
Within the dancehall, it was hard to move about. The majority of the space was used for dancing, and those standing on the sidelines took up a considerable amount of room as well. Sideboards boasted of tea, cake with no icing, and lemonade. Sawyer caught Lord John using the very same flask to spike the latter.
“There’s your Lady Blythe Hennessy!” Sir John said with excitement, spotting the girl from across the room. He had already assumed that she was perhaps the object of the young soldier’s affection. Of course, he was off the mark.
“Ah, yes,” Sawyer replied, noting the embellished redhead with the cupid lips and the heart-shaped face. He also noted Lady Elizabeth Danvers by her side. Lady Elizabeth’s hair was a golden brown, like dark wheat in the sunshine, her brows were bow-like, her mouth small. Sawyer observed each woman like a painting, but there was only one that remained in his imagination.
Just then, the very object that captured his attention came into view. Off near the dance floor, he finally caught sight of Lady Vivian, in what appeared to be a heated conversation with a gentleman of some stature. Sawyer’s eyes remained fixed upon the vision in white, and Lord John followed the direction of his gaze to see whom the subject was.
“Are you gawking at Lady Vivian Ravenswood?” Lord John asked with a laugh.
“Not at all, it was the gentleman that I was regarding,” Sawyer replied, hoping to amend the situation. “I believe I know him.”
“I assure you that Lord Phillip does not associate with the rank and file,” Sir John explained, hoping not to sound too harsh. “But since you’re an honorable soldier, I know that I can introduce you,” Sir John boasted. In truth, Sir John himself recognized that if he approached the likes of Sir Phillip, he would be met with an empty stare.
“No, that’s quite alright,” Sawyer replied, turning down the offer.
; “Suit yourself,” Sir John replied, wondering if it was time to seek out better entertainment. It wasn’t that the young soldier wasn’t amusing, but it was hard for Sir John to feel confident in his general comportment standing next to someone who was the veritable marble bust of a dashing hero.
That was the moment when the quadrille began, and Sawyer beheld the beauty of Lady Vivian in motion. The grace of her form left him speechless and transfixed. But Lady Vivian was not dancing for long before Sawyer saw her pause, say a few choice words to Lord Phillip, and abruptly leave the dance floor.
This quick escape sent a chill down Sawyer’s spine, and he wondered what might be the matter. There was distress on the lady’s face. He watched her as she crossed the hall and requested the presence of an older, portly woman whom Sawyer assumed to be the lady’s chaperone.
Sawyer knew not by what luck he had positioned himself between the dance floor and the door, but it ended up being fortuitous. As Lady Vivian made her hasty exit, her path crossed his almost perfectly, and it allowed him to see the lady from a closer vantage.
Her eyes were brown, he noted. They darted down to the floor but momentarily met his. The gaze was not mysterious. Nothing was being concealed, and this is what stirred Sawyer the most. Honesty and integrity could be read there. Tight curls fell upon her forehead, and he was grateful that they did not obstruct his view of those eyes, as was the fashion for many other ladies.
Within a moment she was gone, and Sawyer felt the absence keenly.
Chapter Three
Lady Vivian had returned home the evening before veiled by the dark of night and with a heavy heart, but the light of morning revived her. Stockwood Park stood on a premier overlook, giving those in attendance a view of the rolling hillsides, lush fields with roaming sheep, and the English Chanel. On a clear day, one could even see a distant island.
The happy spring sunshine greeted her once the curtains were pulled open by her maid. The colors that flooded through were striking to the sleepy eye, but Vivian had learned to enjoy this burst of morning light and birdsong. She stretched languidly and alighted from the bed, walking to the window to gain a better vantage.