One Grand Season Page 3

  “If we are to spend the Season in one another’s company, we should not have secrets between us. Do you agree?” Lady Gregory paused, so Vivian nodded. “I am glad we are like-minded. So, that brings us back to the manner by which we are ‘family’, doesn’t it? Apparently your mother did not elaborate when she disclosed our association. I must admit, I am sorry to hear that bit of news. I always…well, I always wished Regina and I might have the chance to reestablish our friendship. The opening has never presented itself, and I regret that more than I can say.”

  With a gentle sniff, Lady Gregory stared down at her hands, which were clasped on her lap. Her distress was apparent but Vivian did not know how to comfort her.

  “I am sorry you and Mother have not been able to see each other more. I am certain she would love to see you. It would be a pleasurable experience for her, to sit and chat an afternoon away with a treasured friend—ah, treasured relation.”

  Vivian smiled when her hostess looked up at her, and wished she knew what else to say. Too many hours spent with a thimble on her thumb and nearly none in genteel circumstances had left her woefully lacking in the finer points of a lady’s sitting room conversation. Surely there was something appropriate she should be murmuring, some platitude or reassurance that would smooth the exchange—but what was it?

  She proceeded, emboldened by the lady’s wavering smile. She was, evidently, extricating her mother from leaving Lady Gregory—and her sensitive feelings—behind, something for which she was both sad and glad. It was regrettable she had to scramble for excuses.

  Why did life have to be so complicated?

  “I am sure you and Mother might renew your acquaintance easily. After all, you are related and that does give you a shared history. I am sure you have lost your closeness due only to…” She had done it again—put herself squarely in trouble with her mouth. The meaning beyond her words was clear. Even someone with more hair than wit—which certainly was not true of Lady Gregory—would see what she had been about to say.

  Had there been a cupboard nearby, she would have crawled into it and pulled its door closed behind her.

  Her hostess acknowledged the rest of the statement with a tight smile.

  “You are right, my dear. Completely and utterly correct, there is no denying it—even if you are too well-mannered to finish the statement.” She swept a hand at their surroundings, and then dropped it back on to her lap. “Regina and I married into different situations, it is true. She married my cousin Walter, who turned out to be a cad while I, of course, married well. I have always regretted Regina’s choice of husband, and have never once wished to trade places with her. No, it is the sad truth that my cousin, your father, could charm the bark off an elm tree but could not manage his affairs any more ably than the tree might have done. Oh dear! I hope I am not offending you, speaking thusly about your father?”

  “No offense taken. I am certain you are telling the truth. Besides, since you knew my father and I do not have any memory of him, surely your insights about the kind of man he was—or was not—are much more worthy than any fabrications I might attribute to him. Please, go on. I am interested in hearing all you are willing to share. Mother never speaks of him or of their time together.”

  A huff of distaste, so unexpected coming from the refined woman seated across from her.

  “I should say not. Why would she, when he turned out to be so much less than she hoped? He disappointed us all so much. I am supremely embarrassed that Walter Fox and I share the same heritage. He was, no matter how much I hate to say so, a rotten branch on an otherwise-healthy family tree.” She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from the cuff of her dress and wiped her brow. “More ghastly, your poor mother had to fall in love with him, and then find herself on her own with a baby. He took everything, every single bit of his inheritance, and frittered it away. Walter’s one wise move in a lifetime filled with selfishness and poor judgment was to leave you with your mother. I shudder to think of what might have become of you if he had taken it into his fool head to take you along with him when he left!”

  Shortly after her father deserted his family, he died of complications following a riding accident. The news had come by letter and was the last time his life had any impact on either Vivian’s or her mother’s lives. She had been five at the time, old enough to understand that the man she never knew was someone she was not going to know. His death did not upset her any more then than it did now.

  “I cannot imagine having been raised by anyone besides Mother. She never gives up hope. I thought she might, when Grant, her second husband and a man I admired greatly, was stricken by influenza during the epidemic. I suppose having to nurse Liam through the illness, and worrying she or I might come down ill, took her through the worst of it. Mother is wonderful—although I do wish she saw fit to fill me in on some of the twists and turns that lie between us.”

  Lady Gregory reached between their chairs and placed her hand atop Vivian’s. She gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze before she sat back.

  “That is what I am here for, my dear. You and I shall become fully acquainted, and I shall divulge the secrets your mother has not been able to tell. She will not mind if I do; in fact, I believe her sending you now is due in part to her wanting you to know the truth about your history. Regina knows I will say what she will not. I will be the voice she has kept silent all these years.”

  “I will appreciate all you can tell me. It is difficult not having all pieces of the puzzle that is a person’s past. I have wondered often about what went on when I was young but there never seemed to be the right time to ask. Besides, Mother has been so busy…” She swallowed hard around the lump which had grown in her throat. Her mother toiled day after day and year after year to provide the necessities of life, without once looking for anything for herself. The enormity of her mother’s life came as a cold, hard shock and for a while all she could do was sit quietly, trying to take it all in.

  “What a tangled mess Mother’s life has been.” Vivian looked up, catching Lady Gregory watching her closely, and said, “Why, it is a wonder Mother hasn’t been in her cups all this time. No one could blame her if she was, that’s for certain.”

  Tension broke when Lady Gregory laughed the notion away. “Oh, my dear, that is preposterous! I have never known your mother to take as much as a sip of anything stronger than ginger tea—and that only when her stomach was in knots. No, she is not the tippling sort which, I suppose for you and your brother, is a very good trait.” She stopped, her expression thoughtful. “I do believe, with all my heart, that Regina would not change one instant of her life with you and Liam—not one single, solitary instant. You shall learn, when your time comes, that a mother will do anything at all to keep her children safe. No sacrifice is too large when it is for one’s children. I know Regina has not changed so much that she would not agree with me, so don’t waste a precious minute thinking your mother’s life has been horrid. She has two lovely children to show for her efforts and that, my dear, is something that cannot be trumped.”

  Her reply died on her lips. A brisk knock on the door, followed by its being pushed inward, stilled her mind.

  ****

  Oliver had not expected to find their visitor in the sitting room. Had he known she was there he would have waited until later to approach his mother. But he entered the room as he usually did, with his thoughts tumbling from his mouth almost before the door was completely open.

  “Mother, I wonder if you would care to give me an opinion on something. Will and I have just been discussing—”

  With an indulgent shake of her lovely gray head, Mother looked up at him. A small fire crackled merrily in the grate, lending warmth to the room the thick stone walls did not provide. The manor was old, drafty and, unfortunately, often chilly even during the summer months. A week or two in July was just about the only time when hearths stood empty.

  There was a serenity about his mother these days. It gave her a glow and made her
look years younger, almost as youthful as he remembered her being during his childhood. Now that Father’s health had improved and Lucie was married to Nick, she seemed at peace with everyone and everything. He knew her relaxed attitude was also due in great measure to his being restored to health. His parents did not know the full extent of his madness and illness but they had seen enough to know it was a terrible time.

  “Pardon me! I did not realize you were not alone, Mother.”

  “Evidently.” With a smile, his mother reached a hand up to him.

  It never crossed Oliver’s mind not to take it, so he took a few steps into the room, took his mother’s hand in his own and leaned down. Brushing a gentle kiss across her silky skin, he murmured, “Mother.” Then, straightening, he stared down into her eyes and attempted to gauge how she felt. She was not as young as she once was, despite her renewed vigor, and he worried about her. Sometimes he wondered if everyone’s concern over Father’s heart and his “vapors” deflected interest from Mother’s health. However, when she smiled up at him she looked in fine form, so he said, “You look well this afternoon. I see having someone here to keep you company has already done you some good.”

  Manners had been hammered into him from the time he wore leading strings. When his mother took her hand from his, he turned to the guest and bowed. “Miss Fox. How pleasant to see you again.”

  She remained seated, inclining her head to acknowledge his words. “And you, as well.”

  Will had come into the room with him, and now bowed to both women in turn. “Lady Gregory. Miss Fox.”

  “William, have you met my cousin’s daughter?”

  “Not officially. We, ah, we passed each other in the front drive upon the lady’s arrival.”

  Leave it to Will to be so tactful. Oliver fought the twitch of a smile. It was his way, to fit seamlessly into every situation.

  “Well, then let me properly introduce you. Vivian, this is William Fulbright. He is Oliver’s…hmm…” Turning with a vexed expression pulling her mouth into a straight line, she said, “Will, you are not a valet any longer. You are not just an ordinary household servant. You are more—goodness, we all know you are like family to us, my dear man. But really, what are you? Is there a title I should apply to your introductions from this point onward?”

  Oliver smirked at his friend, but gentled his grin for his mother’s benefit. “Will is my right-hand man, Mother. It is the truth, and the label fits, I think. What do you say? Does the reference suit him?”

  She cast a thoughtful stare upon Will, tapping a fingertip against her cheek as if assessing the number of table scarves in the upstairs linen cupboard. Then, looking from one to the other, she gave a decisive nod.

  “Yes, I do think it suits William perfectly.” Her hostess’s demeanor returned, and she gave her full attention to the waiting guest once again. “As I was saying; this is William Fulbright, Oliver’s right-hand man. William, may I present Miss Vivian Fox of Stropshire.”

  Will bowed so low he looked ready to fall over onto his nose. Just when Oliver thought that might really happen, he straightened. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Fox. How long will we have the pleasure of your company?”

  “Why, she is staying the entire Season.” Mother clapped her hands like a child given a chocolate. The exuberance made Oliver grin even more broadly. How wonderful to see his mother this excited. It occurred to him that perhaps they should have visitors more frequently. He had not known how deeply Mother felt the emptiness created by Lucie’s leaving.

  Mother pulled William right into the thick of things, giving Oliver a chance to get his thoughts in order. Their guest’s sudden appearance had turned the household topsy-turvy, and all in a matter of hours. He knew his mother observed his attitude toward Miss Fox, so he concentrated on being cordial but not effusively friendly.

  It was hard to believe that one tiny female could bring such drastic change with her but, strange or not, Miss Fox had done just that. His mother tittered like a schoolgirl and Will dipped and bobbed like some overactive puppet on strings, and all the chatter and laughter in the room brought the noise level higher than it had been in ages.

  For her part, Vivian became animated as Will peppered her with polite questions about her home, family and the journey between Stropshire and London. Her face lit up when she spoke of her mother and brother, and it was apparent she loved them dearly. No one made any reference to the family’s impoverished station, of course, and she did not offer any information about their living situation other than to say they occupied a flat.

  Oliver wondered what flats in Stropshire looked like. Even during his darkest days, during his mental illness, he had never seen any of the less prosperous areas. He knew of their existence, of course, but he had never observed anyplace, or anyone, below his means.

  Caught up listening to the fast-paced conversation, he had almost forgotten that he had come to pose a question.

  Turning to face him, Mother asked, “You wanted my opinion on something, didn’t you? What is it you need to know? Surely it cannot be anything too terribly important, or you would have gone in search of your father and not me.”

  She giggled—she actually giggled. Oliver could not help himself—his mouth hung open when he heard the sound.

  It was a joke, of course. Anything and everything having to do with the manor or the people housed within—be they family members, houseguests or servants—came under Lady Gregory’s meticulous care. Her husband took charge of running the stables and overseeing the estate, but the issues involved in running the household had never been, and probably never would be, his jurisdiction.

  Lady Gregory was the one to seek when an important decision—or even a minor one—regarding the manor was in the air.

  The sitting room door opened wide, pushed so forcefully the door handle banged against the plaster wall behind it. This was not the first time the handle had met the wall; a small indentation in the space testified to the fact.

  Lord Gregory, pipe in hand and trailing a thin plume of gray smoke behind him, entered. He laughed as he crossed the room. When he reached his wife, he leaned down and brushed a kiss across her temple.

  “Why, I thought I heard a party in here.” His ruddy complexion, round cheeks and wispy white hair made him look like Father Christmas. “It is unthinkable, that you would throw a party without inviting me. Why, I feel entirely left out.”

  “We are just welcoming Vivian.” Lady Gregory nodded to the young woman, who looked delighted to be the center of attention. “You remember my cousin Regina, don’t you? This is her daughter. Vivian has come to spend the Season with us, darling.”

  With less bluster than he had shown when he entered, Lord Gregory went to the visitor. He took her hand in his, leaned down and touched her knuckles to his lips. “Why, my dear, I would know you anywhere.” He straightened. “You are lovely, and have your father’s remarkable purple eyes. They are, I believe, simply spectacular in such a lovely face. Wait until Lucinda sees you. She will be tickled to see those eyes again! When will we see Lucinda next, dear?”

  Lady Gregory clapped her hands a second time. “Tomorrow afternoon. We are invited to a lawn party at Waltham Hall. Lucinda’s daughter-in-law, Lady Blakely, says she is ‘in the mood’ for merrymaking.” She rolled her eyes, looking quite comical. “And we all know that when Claire is ‘in the mood’ for something, she gets it. Now do not let me give you the impression she is spoiled or even pampered, Vivian. You shall meet her, and form your own opinions. I look forward to hearing your impressions, not just regarding Claire but about the rest of our set. It is always refreshing to take an account from a fresh perspective.” Then, she caught her husband’s gaze and said, “Tomorrow, one o’clock. And I completely agree—Lucinda is going to be agog when she gets a look at these lovely lavender eyes.”

  “Hmmph.” Lord Gregory drew deeply on his pipe. “One o’clock, eh? I shall count the hours until the event, then. Surely there will
be some fuss when Lucinda sees we have Regina’s daughter with us. Remarkable…simply remarkable, those eyes…” He turned to Oliver and said, “Don’t you agree, son? Aren’t these the most amazing eyes you have ever seen?”

  Chapter 3

  Sleep was an elusive bedfellow, despite the silkiness of the sheets that covered the most comfortable bed Vivian had reclined—because she did not sleep more than a wink or two—upon. It did not matter that the soft pillow slip beneath her cheek reminded her of a mother’s caress. And the soothing hiss and pop of the low fire burning in the grate did not lull her into dreamland.

  She tossed and turned like a cork bobbing in a rough sea, and when the first fingers of sunlight crept through the slit in the draperies at the windows she was exhausted. She did not need a looking glass to know there were bags beneath her bloodshot eyes.

  How in the world could she possibly get a minute’s rest when day followed night? And as surely as dawn would arrive, so would the dreaded lawn party.

  Oh, it was not the event itself to blame for the restless night. The prospect of merrymaking—and at a lawn party, no less—excited her. Or it would have, had she anything suitable to wear. The only dress marginally good enough for being seen in had been worn yesterday. Now she wished there had been two frocks among the castoffs.

  What she would not give for a more promising wardrobe. Elegant, fashionable clothes had never been an extravagance Vivian could afford. Truthfully, she had never acutely felt the loss. Creating items of beauty had been enough to satisfy any craving she had for fabulous clothing.

  Now, however, all those feelings of satisfaction were swept away. She wanted to fit in to the Gregory family’s social scene. Her serviceable garments would have everyone believing she was a party-crasher rather than an invited guest. Or, rather, the guest of an invited guest.

  Vivian was not one to believe people divided by social and economic conditions were all that much dissimilar. People were people—her mother had hammered that into her head for as long as she could recall.