Chapter Twenty-Four
V iv had little time to be heartbroken. She did not think of her brief, false engagement above once or twice in the quarter hour. It did take a bit of resolution at night when the house at last grew quiet not to wonder who Lark, her mysterious lover truly was, and why he had made such a game of her. If she could only write, she believed she would forget him.
By her count, Viv had not written a word in nearly a month, not since a week after she’d returned. Somehow a regular writing schedule eluded her in her mother’s house. Today she would begin again. A thin shaft of morning light fell on the bare wood floor as she reached under her bed to draw out her box of pencils and paper. For a moment the room she shared with Charlotte and Pippa was blessedly quiet. She realized how spoiled she had been in Lady Melforth’s house with a room of her own and a desk and endless supplies of paper, ink, and candles. And, a thing she never had at home, time alone.
She had little to show for her London sojourn, but her fashionable gowns. As she had predicted, they had already been remade for her sisters. London’s wide skirts had no place in their cramped Lennox Street rooms. Tonight, Charlotte and Pippa would wear real silks to the local assembly celebrating the twentieth anniversary of Waterloo. In a few hours there would be a parade along the Esplanade past a viewing stand erected near the old king’s statue, later the tea shops would open, the assembly would begin, and the evening would end in a fireworks display over the bay. With luck her family would be out on the town for hours and Viv could work on her latest project, the idea that had come to her in front of the Penitent Women’s Hospital. It was near enough to midsummer that the sky would stay light, and she would not have to borrow a candle from her mother’s supply.
Below a door banged open, and the latch to the girls’ shared room gave. The mingled scents of coffee and porridge and the sound of her stepfather’s half-joking grumble carried up the stairs. He complained that Waterloo, the army’s triumph, and not Trafalgar, the navy’s grand victory, always got the parades and fireworks. Then the twins, Anne and Eliza, began one of their usual quarrels. No one seemed to notice that it was Viv’s birthday. She knew that her mother had not forgotten, but she could detect no sign that the event would be mentioned.
“Well, we shouldn’t celebrate Waterloo at all if there are to be fireworks,” Anne said. “They disturb the gulls.”
“No fireworks because of gulls! Whoever heard of such a daft idea! When did gulls ever save the nation!” replied Eliza. “Gulls are a pure nuisance. They interfere with the economy and drive visitors away.”
“If the visitors had any sense, they’d not feed the gulls. Then the gulls would not dive at their hats and snatch food from their hands. The gulls would eat fish instead. ”
“They’d still be useless. Visitors spend money. Gulls only scavenge and leave droppings. I say, bring on the fireworks!”
The quarrel was escalating as it usually did between the twins.
“Girls,” said their mother. “Your father is trying to read his paper.”
Viv heard the rustle of her stepfather’s newspaper and the snap of it closing. “This house has too many damned females. I’m going out.”
There was a flurry of apologies, cut off by the slamming of the front door.
“Sorry, Mama,” said Anne.
“Sorry,” murmured Eliza.
“Eat your breakfast, girls,” said their mother.
The front door opened again, and Viv heard Charlotte and Pippa enter. “You should see the Esplanade, Mama,” said Charlotte. “It’s very festive with bunting and flags, and the Assembly Rooms are nicely done up with flowers.”
“And so many gentlemen and ladies,” added Pippa.
Viv felt the happy energy return to the room below. She set aside her box and began straightening the sisters’ shared room until a light knock on the door interrupted her. “Viv,” her mother said.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You aren’t dressed for the festivities?” Her mother frowned at Viv’s writing box.
“Surely, the nation’s grand celebrations can happen without my presence.”
“Perhaps,” said her mother. “But this family needs you to find a husband. We really can’t afford your keep. You must see how on edge everyone is when there is less to go around.”
Viv started to say that Pippa and Charlotte would soon find husbands, but checked her words. Her mother’s helplessness was as immovable as iron. Her coppery hair had grown thin and wispy. Her pretty face had a dogged, settled look of resignation. The once white kerchief around her shoulders was gray and limp with repeated washings.
“You cannot languish at home spinning daydreams. You must make a push to be noticed. You must dress in your finest frock and attend the assembly tonight.”
“Yes, Mother.” The idea that Viv would meet a suitor there was laughable.
“And put that box away. I can’t have you taking candles from my cupboard.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Her mother stood frowning at her a moment longer, as if puzzled to have such a daughter.
“The girls will wait for you, but be quick.” Her mother turned away, and Viv heard her light footfall on the stairs.
Viv tucked away the box. From the wardrobe she chose an old lilac gown with a white lace collar, a bit out of fashion, but suited to the warm day. When she had dressed, she pulled her hair into a loose knot at her nape. She was reaching for a straw bonnet of Charlotte’s when Eliza and Pippa burst into the room.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” Eliza whispered in a voice Viv was sure could be heard below.
“Oh Viv,” said Pippa. “You look like a charwoman. Let me do something with your hair.” She took Viv by the shoulders, pressed her down on the bed, and took up a brush.
“And hurry,” said Eliza, “because I swear Mama is struck dumb, and Charlotte is trying to flirt with him, and she’s very bad at it.” Eliza dashed off.
Two minutes later when Viv descended the stairs, she had to stop and grip the banister tight while her heart careened wildly between pain and senseless joy.
Lark, the object of five pairs of dazzled female eyes, stood in the dark, wood-paneled room where her family ate at a plain deal table, even now untidy with empty porridge bowls. Viv’s gaze took in the rich chestnut hair, the deep blue eyes, the stark symmetry of his face with its sensuous mouth, and the wayward bend of his once-broken nose, his broad shoulders in a plain buff-colored linen coat, over a white waistcoat, and gray trousers that could not conceal muscular legs above the gleam of his boots. If she thought she’d forgotten him, she had been wrong.
“Why are you here?” Viv asked.
“To wish you a happy birthday,” he said.
“We don’t celebrate Viv’s birthday,” said Eliza.
Anne nudged her hard.
“No? I’ve come a long way.” He turned to Viv’s mother. “Mrs. Pennington, if it does not violate your family prohibition against celebrating, may I take Viv on a birthday walk?”
Viv’s mother seemed to wake from her trance then. “Yes, Mr…”
“Edward Larkin. Viv and I met in London at Lady Melforth’s. I meant to call upon her earlier, but business in town delayed me.”
“And now? ”
“I’ve taken a house in Brunswick Terrace.”
Her mother rose shakily to her feet. “Brunswick Terrace.”
“Are you rich, then?” asked the irrepressible Eliza.
This time their mother quelled Eliza with a hand on her shoulder. Their mother addressed Lark. “Yes, you may take Viv on a walk. And you are welcome to call any time while you are here in Weymouth, Mr. Larkin.”
He turned to Viv, with that same cheeky, challenging gaze that had met hers in the drawing room of the Henrietta Street house. He offered escape and maybe something more, but she wanted no games. She would walk with him and find out his true purpose. She came swiftly down the stairs, swept past her sisters and Lark, and out the door.
Viv strode rapidly along Lennox Street toward the Esplanade. She didn’t let herself look at him. “Who are you now? A fine gentleman or a pickpocket?”
“I am who I have always been.” His voice was sober, sure, not teasing.
“A deceiver, an actor?”
“I think you’ve had enough of deception, haven’t you?”
“And games.” She stopped and faced him in the middle of Lennox Street with its shops and shabby lodging places. “Why are you really here?”
“To court you properly. You may have to help me, or we may have to figure it out together, as I’ve never courted anyone before.”
“Court me? You can’t mean it. You see me as I am. You saw my family’s house. You see the neighborhood. As Lady Melforth told you, my parents can do nothing for me. I am nothing but a burden to them.” Hot tears welled up in her eyes, and she dashed them away.
He took her by the shoulders in the dingy street. “I don’t need you to come to me with anything more than yourself.”
She closed her eyes against the tears. She wanted to believe him. When she opened her eyes again, there was no denying the warmth of his gaze. She had to laugh.
“Will you pick pockets to feather our nest?”
He turned her toward the sea, and took her arm through his. “It turns out that I won’t need to, but why shouldn’t you support me ?”
“And how would I do that?”
“By writing.”
“Hah, I haven’t written a word in weeks.”
“But you will. I will insist. I will bring you coffee every morning and demand a thousand words before you are permitted to leave our bed.”
“ Our bed? You do get ahead of yourself.”
“We will be married first. In London, I think, from your aunt Louisa’s house.”
Viv was speechless. He spoke with such certainty and confidence as if he had arranged everything while her mind was struggling to catch up, consumed with questions and doubts. They reached the Esplanade with its grand hotels draped in England’s colors. The wide bay spread out before them, the ocean gray green, with little peaks glinting in the sun and waves lapping the shingle. To their right along the shore stood a long line of tall white-painted bathing machines waiting for swimmers. To the east the shore curved out to sea and rose to a grassy headland .
He pointed. “This morning I found a knoll with a nice prospect in that direction. What do you think? A birthday stroll?”
“Very well,” she said. “I have questions, you know.”
“Ask,” he said.
“How did you find me?”
“Lady Louisa was most helpful and encouraging.”
“And what did you do with those proofs?”
“I read them.”
“Oh, then you know.” She stopped.
He tugged her along. “I know what Lady Melforth did, if that’s what you mean. Is that why you resigned? Jenny insisted that you were not sacked.”
“I hoped that she would change her mind. That she had only given into her fear that she’ll never write again, or travel again. She’s always been the Traveling Viscountess. She’s climbed volcanoes, you know. I could not blame her for being afraid. We all make bad choices when we’re afraid and there seems to be no other way, but I hoped, hoped she would change her mind. I hoped we could talk, and I could convince her that I wasn’t trying to take anything from her.”
“Then I took the proofs.”
“Why did you? It made, makes, no sense to me.”
He stopped and turned her to face him. The breeze off the bay ruffled her skirts, brushing them against his boots.
“I did not do it to hurt you, Viv. You were already hurt. I wanted to know what had caused your distress.”
Viv nodded. That unwavering gaze made her pulse kick up. She began walking again, wanting to finish her own explanation. “There was a moment when it seemed that Lady Melforth might change her mind, but it passed, and I knew I couldn’t stay and pretend that the work was all hers and not mine. So, I came home.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No.” She wondered that he would ask.
They came to the end of the last row of cottages along the beach front where a path led upward through tall grass into open fields. He gestured for Viv to take the path.
“Wait,” she said, taking hold of his sleeve. “What did you do with the proofs when you read them? Why did you speak with Jenny?”
“Let’s find a place to sit.”
She looked at him in his exquisite coat. “You must not get grass stains on that coat. My mother would never forgive me.”
She took his hand and dragged him along the beach to a line of boulders making a natural jetty. She scrambled up, and waited while he shed his boots, and came up after her, nimble as if he climbed rocks daily. A large boulder with a rough, sun-warmed surface accommodated them both.
“I don’t understand how you could see Jenny. Lady Melforth meant to have you arrested. Your partner Rook was arrested, wasn’t he?”
“My former partner. For other crimes. He is now on a ship bound for Sydney and a new life.”
Viv stole a glance at him. He was perfect, exquisite, and seemed to have answers for all her questions. She wanted to undo him, to ruffle him the way the breeze dared to ruffle his hair. She was a mess in an old muslin gown and a borrowed straw hat, the wind pulling strands from her barely contained hair. She had accused him of deception, but that first day, she had been equally false, dressed in borrowed plumage, her purse full of pebbles.
“Did you ever love me?” she asked.
“From the first moment I saw you, like a piece of sky fallen to earth.” He was staring out to sea.
“You could not have. I shot you.”
He turned to her, and his mouth quirked up in a grin. “And changed my idea of who and what a woman could be. Will you marry me?”
“Madness! You are a pickpocket, and I am the dowerless daughter of people who cannot manage their pennies.”
“Actually,” he said. “I am a banker’s grandson, and you are a published author, Viv. I brought you a birthday gift to prove it.”
“What do you mean a banker?”
“Remind me,” he said, “to tell you the true story of my life someday, but first, I want you to open this.” He handed her a brown paper package.
Viv took it into her lap.
“Go on,” he said.
She unknotted the string and unfolded the wrapping. There was the lady’s guide to London. She shot him a worried glance.
“Open it. Look at the title page.”
She did as he bid. There was her name, right where she had dreamed it would be. She turned to him astonished. Tears came and rolled down her cheeks unchecked. “You did this?”
“Happy birthday, Viv. Lady Melforth chose to do right by you.”
A plaintive cry interrupted him. Viv turned to locate the sound. Below them on the sand was a gull chick, with the dark gray plumage of a young bird. It limped toward the water, crying its sad cry, dragging one wing that didn’t fold properly, leaving an odd trail in the wet sand. At the water’s edge a white gull hovered briefly above the chick, then landed, bustled to the sad one’s side and offered a morsel of food. The desolate cry ceased. The two birds nestled into the sand, facing out to sea.
Viv turned away from the birds to find Lark watching her. She wiped the tears from her wet cheeks. He reached into a pocket and pulled out something that flashed briefly in the sun as he held it out to her in his open palm, a gold chain run through a small lead ball. Her gaze flashed up to his. “You kept it.”
“Do you love me, Viv?”
She reached out and took hold of his perfect silk tie and tugged it loose, exposing the column of his throat. “I didn’t want to love you,” she said. She flattened her palm against his chest. “I didn’t think I did.” She pushed against him. His arms came around her and held, but she kept pushing until they keeled over, coming to rest against the warm rock. Looking down into his face, she said, “I couldn’t explain to myself why I was so out of reason sad without you. Now, I know. I love you, Lark.”
“I love you, Viv.” His arms tightened around her, and his mouth met hers, and she did not think she would ever stop kissing him, until she stopped thinking at all.