Sara Bennett Read online

  This was the moment Vivianna had been waiting for. Even she, country bumpkin that she was, knew that fashionable London gentlemen were wont to go out in the evening. And from what she had learned of Lord Montegomery, he was a very fashionable gentleman indeed.

  Quickly, she moved into the shadows by the iron railings that protected the garden and the plane trees in the middle of the square. One of the passengers on the mail coach, with whom she had shared the long journey south, had been very informative when it came to London gentlemen of Lord Montegomery’s ilk, and with an eye to the future, Vivianna had encouraged him to talk of such creatures in general.

  “Gaming and drinking clubs, night houses, and disorderly women! My goodness, miss, you mind yourself in London, a sweet innocent little thing like yourself.”

  Vivianna did not consider herself “sweet,” and although she was “innocent” in the physical sense, she was very well read and informed. Nor did she believe herself to be in any danger from Montegomery. A man like that would prefer all the superficial womanly virtues—sweet and biddable, and certainly beautiful, in a wan and helpless sort of way. Vivianna knew herself to be none of these things; certainly she was not beautiful in the current fashion. To be like Queen Victoria was now the aim of every girl—short and pretty and plump.

  Vivianna’s eyes were large and hazel, and her hair was chestnut, thick and glossy when she allowed it its freedom. She was tall and buxom—Junoesque—with a voice both clear and precise. And she had a way of looking at men that tended to make them squirm nervously. A gentleman of her acquaintance had once said of her that when she turned her gaze upon him, he felt as if she were making judgment, and that in summing up she had found him lacking.

  No, Vivianna thought, she was in no danger from a known rake and scoundrel—she was well able to protect herself—and she doubted she would need the riding crop to drive him off. Her aim was to confront Montegomery, make her appeal to him, and persuade him to her point of view.

  And Vivianna knew she could be very persuasive indeed.

  The front door had opened. She could see the gleam of mirrors and marble within, and the bright splash of flowers. No doubt Lord Montegomery’s house was very beautiful, and Vivianna admired beauty, but she did not envy him. Her mother came from a family, the Tremaines, who had made their money by “trade”—Lady Greentree’s grandfather had been a seller of meats. The Tremaines were not at all blue-blooded, and Vivianna’s mother had gained her title from her husband, Sir Edward Greentree. She had also gained a beautiful, if isolated, home in Yorkshire and, more importantly, a family who loved her.

  Surely that was the point, wasn’t it? That everyone should have someone to love them? Even a man like Lord Montegomery would understand an appeal put to him in those terms.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Suddenly there he was, the gentleman himself: Lord Montegomery. Vivianna’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward to see him better.

  Obligingly, he paused a moment on the doorstep, the light falling upon him. He was tall, with broad shoulders shown to best advantage by his well-made coat, and a lithe, physically fit body. He swung a cane in one hand and held his top hat in the other, as he turned his head toward the approaching vehicle. His hair was dark and glossy, combed back at the front and longer, curling over his high white collar, at the back. He glanced nonchalantly in her direction, seemingly enjoying the clear, crisp evening air, and Vivianna was presented with a face that was angular—a straight nose and high cheekbones with dark side-whiskers and a square jaw—and handsome. And yet more than that. There were plenty of handsome men in London. This man, for all his fine clothes, looked like a pirate. Someone of whom to beware.

  A shiver of awareness made her draw her cloak closer about her.

  Had she really expected him to be a kindly old gentleman? Besides, Vivianna told herself, she had faced more hopeless tasks in her twenty years. Persuading a rich and selfish gentleman to change his mind, to do some good for others less fortunate, should be a simple matter. She had no reason to be afraid of him—for surely it was fear that had brought that heaviness to her chest, and anxiety that made her skin tingle and her breath quicken?

  With another shiver, Vivianna moved closer to the garden railings.

  Lord Montegomery had left his doorstep for the street, swinging his cane as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Vivianna supposed he hadn’t. Well, that was about to change. As she watched, he climbed into his carriage, and soon the vehicle rattled around the square and out in a southerly direction.

  Vivianna picked up her skirts and ran. Her hackney cab was waiting for her on the other side of Berkeley Square, hidden by the central gardens.

  She wrenched open the door and sprang inside.

  “Follow the black carriage!” she called, and was flung back against the worn squabs as the driver enthusiastically obliged.

  Are you certain this is appropriate behavior for a young lady? Would it not be more sensible if you came back in the morning and left your visiting card? Lady Greentree’s softly modulated voice sounded in her head.

  Perhaps, she acknowledged, under other circumstances her actions would be considered impetuous and a little improper, but these were desperate times. She must speak with this man, convince him to change his mind and save the Shelter for Poor Orphans. She could not see the hard work of so many, the happiness of so many more, come to nothing because of the spoiled and rich Lord Montegomery.

  Yes, my dear, that is all very well and fine, but are you sure you are not enjoying your adventure just a little bit more than necessary?

  Vivianna thought it better to ignore that question.

  The hackney was rattling along nicely to wherever they were going. Her righteous anger gave way to a new spurt of anxiety. She hoped his destination was not Seven Dials or St. Giles’s, or one of the other dangerous areas of London. Even though she had been in the city for such a brief time, she had seen the overcrowding and smelled the horrid odors.

  She hoped that Lord Montegomery really was going to one of his clubs, or even to one of the gentlemen’s gaming houses or rowdy drinking dens to be found in the capital. A respectable lady like herself may not be exactly welcome in the last two, but with a crowd about her she would feel safe enough, and if she kept her mouth closed and her eyes down, surely she should not attract too much unwanted attention.

  The hackney’s wheels rumbled over a cobbled section and turned another corner. An omnibus, full of passengers even at this time of night, groaned by and the two drivers exchanged shouts she found incomprehensible. Just as well, perhaps. Vivianna’s thoughts turned inward once again, settling on Miss Susan and Miss Greta Beatty and their frantic letter. The words seemed literally burned into her brain.

  Dearest Miss Greentree,

  As our most respected and beloved friend, and our supporter from the very beginning, we write once more to beg for your assistance. Awful news! We have just heard that in nine weeks our Shelter for Poor Orphans is to be taken from us. Demolished! Please, Miss Greentree, there is no time to be lost! Come to London as soon as you may. Do make haste if you would see this dreadful wrong made right before it is too late….

  The rest of the letter had been almost illegible. That the gentle and practical Miss Susan and Miss Greta should be driven to write such wild prose could only mean that the matter was very serious indeed. It was impossible for Vivianna to deny them her help and support, despite the fact that she could hardly credit what she was reading. The Shelter for Poor Orphans to be torn down in nine weeks?

  She would not allow it.

  The hackney rattled again, turning into a broader and certainly more sober street, lit by soft gaslights. Vivianna closed her eyes. The Shelter for Poor Orphans had been her triumph, a dream she had long held close to her heart, and which had finally been brought to fruition by hard work and much stubborn determination.

  The shelter was a place for abandoned children, those poor mites who had not been lucky enough to have a
darling Lady Greentree come to their aid. It was a place where they could be cared for, fed, and given an education. It had been Vivianna’s dream alone, until Miss Susan and Miss Greta had come to Yorkshire to contribute to a group of lectures at the annual Hungry Children’s Dinner. The talk given by the two sisters had riveted her. They had spoken so passionately, they had been so heartfelt in their determination to help these orphaned and abandoned children. Vivianna realized at that moment that their dream was also hers.

  The following day they met over tea at a respectable hotel and found that they did indeed share a desire to save those children unable to save themselves. The two sisters had inherited a bequest from a rich uncle, and they meant to put it to good use. Vivianna had no money in her own right, but Lady Greentree was comfortably wealthy, and generous, and she had entrée into some of northern England’s most influential families.

  Their partnership was born.

  The Beatty sisters and Vivianna had decided upon London as the best place for their Shelter for Poor Orphans. “London,” said Susan Beatty, “is where there is the most desperate need.” Vivianna had never been to London, but she saw the less salubrious parts of the city starkly through the eyes of her new friends.

  The Shelter for Poor Orphans took shape.

  They found a building, and though in poor condition, it had far exceeded their hopes. Called Candlewood, it was part of an old estate, falling down from lack of funds, and stood some miles to the north of the city. Indeed, it was almost in the country, and there was plenty of room for a garden to grow vegetables, and for long walks in the adjoining woods. In no time at all it was the home to twenty-five needy children, and the women had plans to take in many, many more.

  And then that unfeeling wretch threatened to ruin everything.

  Vivianna had known as soon as she read the letter that she could not let that happen. She was not the sort of woman to stand by and watch her dream be destroyed. She would come to London to take whatever action was necessary.

  Lady Greentree, though worried and concerned at her going, had learned long ago that once Vivianna committed herself to something this passionately, there was little anyone could say or do to stop her. Or even to slow her down. Vivianna did not care for the strictures that society tried to place upon her, a young spinster. She believed there were more important things to life than adhering to so many—to her mind—pointless rules.

  “I will not be made helpless just because I am a woman,” she had told Lady Greentree. “I am going to London to save the shelter.”

  Her sister Marietta had begged to be allowed to come, too, but for less noble reasons—“To see the sights and the shops, Vivianna!”—while Francesca, the youngest, had declared that nothing, not even the sights of London, would ever entice her away from her beloved moors. Vivianna promised to write to them when she reached London, to tell them how long she was staying.

  So she and Lil, her maid, took the mail coach for the Great Northern Road, and London.

  Before they left, Lady Greentree spoke frankly to her.

  “You will of course be staying with your Aunt Helen in Bloomsbury. I have put a letter for her in your trunk explaining, but I am certain she will not mind your impromptu visit, Vivianna. You will be company for her, poor Helen.” For a moment Lady Greentree’s face clouded as she thought of her sister, married to the disreputable Toby Russell, and then she rallied. “I have also written a letter for Hoare’s Private Bank in Fleet Street, so that you can draw on my account there. You will have expenses, and who knows, you may want to buy a new dress or two!” She smiled fondly at her eldest daughter, as if she didn’t really think it likely. “Now, have you everything, my dear?”

  “Yes, Mama, I have everything. Don’t fret. I will be perfectly all right.”

  Lady Greentree had sighed, then nodded. “You have always been a headstrong girl, Vivianna. I knew it when you brought home that tinker’s child when you were ten and informed me he needed a new pair of shoes. In some ways, Vivianna, it is a blessing to be so sure of your direction in life. In others…I fear for you. Do not be too impetuous. I beg you to think first, or you may find yourself in a great deal of trouble.”

  Seated now in the hackney cab, Vivianna wondered if Lady Greentree’s prediction was about to come true. Because not only had she gone rushing off to London, but upon her arrival at her aunt’s home, Vivianna had pretended to have a bad headache and had promptly retired to her room. Once there, she paused only to change her clothing, snatch up her riding crop, and creep out.

  Lil, her maid, had been her unwilling accomplice, as she was in many of Vivianna’s schemes. Lil found her a hackney cab, and sent her on her way with the admonishment to come back “in one piece, miss, for Gawd’s sake!” And as for poor Aunt Helen, if she were to discover her gone…She was already quite mad with worry concerning her rackety husband, and Vivianna knew it was wrong of her to add to the woman’s burden.

  But somehow all of that paled to insignificance when she thought of the children.

  The carriage containing Lord Montegomery drew to a halt in front of a long, three-story building. A doorman, who had been standing at attention dressed in a red coat with a military cut, strode down to meet Montegomery like a soldier marching proudly into battle.

  Vivianna’s hackney had also come to a halt. She peered out at the bland, respectable façade. The place looked mundane, but she supposed exclusive gentlemen’s clubs did not need to advertise their wares on the outside. As she sat, hesitating, Montegomery vanished inside and his carriage moved off. It was time to make her own decision. If she did not do something now, she may as well go back to Yorkshire.

  Vivianna was not a woman to retreat easily; she was a fighter. She climbed down out of the hackney and paid off the driver. His fingers closed over the shilling coins. “Here, miss?” he asked her, a strange expression on his face. “Are you sure? Right here?”

  “I am perfectly sure, thank you.”

  “But it’s an academy, miss. Run by an abbess. An’ I can see you is a laced-woman…eh, that is, a lady.”

  Vivianna only understood a few words of what he said, and even then they made no sense. Her chance of following Montegomery inside was dwindling. “I will be quite safe, driver, thank you,” she said coolly.

  The man opened his mouth, then closed it again, and with a flick of his wrists turned the hackney back into the sparse stream of evening traffic. Just as Vivianna drew the hood of her cloak up to hide her face, another vehicle pulled up outside the sober building, and another gentleman alighted. Ignoring Vivianna’s cloaked figure standing irresolute upon the footway, he strode briskly toward the open door.

  Here was her chance.

  Vivianna fell into step behind the gentleman, hurrying to keep up, as if she had every right to be there. The red-coated doorman was bowing him inside. Breath held, head lowered, her cloak wrapped tightly about her, Vivianna moved to slip by him and within.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs. She had run straight into a muscular arm, stretched out at waist height and barring her way. Gasping, Vivianna looked up and found the doorman, a sun-browned individual with a broken nose, staring down at her with hard gray eyes.

  “’Round the back, girl,” he barked, his demeanor disapproving.

  Vivianna hesitated, while behind her on the street another coach was drawing up.

  “’Round the back!” he ordered again, giving her a little shove, and brushed by her to attend the new arrival.

  The doorman seemed to have made an assumption as to who or what she was—just as the hackney driver had done, she remembered now. What that assumption was, Vivianna did not know, but it did not really matter. This was maybe her only opportunity to get inside and confront Montegomery.

  Vivianna hurried back down the steps and in the direction that the doorman was impatiently pointing out to her. There was, she saw now, a narrow lane running down one side of the building. As she stood peering into the shadows, a cart rumbled up b
ehind her, and she quickened her steps and found herself in a courtyard behind the house.

  The door into the back of the house had been left open and Vivianna darted inside as if she had every right to do so.

  The air was full of the smells of cooking and starch. A small room to her left looked to be a scullery. She kept walking down a long corridor of closed doors, leaving the kitchen and the laundry behind her. It wasn’t very well lit, and she felt her way by running one hand along the wall. Ahead, sounds of merriment grew louder. Another door, and a shorter corridor, and Vivianna blinked.

  Light, shining through a beaded curtain, and with it the movement of chattering people and the clink of glasses. Vivianna clutched the riding crop tightly in her hand, hidden by her cloak. She doubted she would need it now, but something made her loath to put it aside. The heaviness in her chest had increased, and she felt as if her corsets were too tight.

  “Montegomery can’t be far,” she murmured to herself, to keep up her courage.

  Vivianna lifted her chin, like Boudicca going into battle, and made her entrance through the beaded curtain.

  Immediately a warning note rang in her head. This was a gentlemen’s club? Vivianna gazed about in surprise. It was very elegant, done up in the French Rococo style, with pale walls and much curling gold decoration. Mirrors were everywhere, and the reflections of dozens of candles gleamed like stars. The furnishings were elegant and uncomfortable-looking—definitely not the overstuffed chairs and sofas that were currently in vogue.

  It was not as Vivianna had expected. She had been imagining sober gentlemen sitting about in leather chairs, reading books and newspapers, and discussing the unruly House of Commons over glasses of brandy. There were plenty of gentlemen in this large, elegant room, but there were also many ladies. She also saw an enormous table spread lavishly with plates of prepared food and glasses of champagne.