Page 57 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Six days later, Viv—this time accompanied by Quentin!

—strolled down a walking path, on their way to the Wynchester residence.

Jacob had told them both that they were welcome to spend as many nights there as they pleased, but Viv had insisted her moonstruck cousin not take advantage of the Wynchesters’ hospitality.

And maybe she wanted a chance to think, in private, away from the absolutely perfect book-filled basil jungle and the many temptations of Jacob’s embrace.

Not that the distance had helped. There were only ever five thoughts in her head.

To this latter point, she’d vowed not to push him again. He’d learned to give her the time and space she needed, and she could do no less for him.

Much as she loved giving advice, solicited or otherwise, she had come to realize that her suggestions weren’t necessarily the right answers, just different choices.

A pseudonym was not a moral failing. It simply meant Jacob was his own person, with his own desires and comfort to consider. Besides, the potential backlash from the duped public could end his career.

As for Viv’s authorial future, her stage debut was next Saturday.

The good news was that the theater manager had taken the majority of her instructions under consideration.

The bad news was, he anticipated a sparse audience at best. Wealthy aristocrats who could afford theater tickets would never attend a spectacle arguing in favor of equality and suffrage.

The poor who couldn’t afford a ticket didn’t need the lecture anyway. She was singing their song.

The rest of her thoughts were of Jacob, and her wish to be back in his arms. Or by his side. At his table, on his horse, in an armchair with a good book. She didn’t care what they were doing, as long as they were together.

In the days since she’d been gone, he’d dropped by every day with a basket of breakfast and one of the potted plants from his basil jungle. In addition to gluttonous proportions of foodstuffs, each basket also contained another book she’d admired from his bookshelves.

As a result, Viv snuck in a moment here and there to read a paragraph or two, then inevitably lost track of time until she discovered herself on the very last page. The house had never been less orderly.

Indeed, she and Quentin had set out for their walk to the Wynchesters this morning a full thirty minutes later than planned.

Which led him to grumpily complain on the way that if Viv wasn’t going to keep up with the laundry and have meals ready when he was hungry, maybe he ought to hire someone else.

She shocked him by responding, “Maybe you should.”

He stared at her now, with his mouth hanging open as they hiked the last quarter mile. “You cannot mean that. Why should I hire a maid when I have you?”

“Because I’m not your maid,” she answered simply. “I’m your cousin.”

It had taken a basil jungle and the freedom to read an entire book in one sitting to make her realize how much of her own needs she’d given up in the pursuit of assisting others.

Jacob had asked for nothing at all, and in doing so, had set her free.

“B-but,” Quentin spluttered.

“What if the theater manager asks me to write additional plays? What if I begin to receive offers to work all over England? Am I to tell paying clients that I cannot possibly pursue my life’s dream because my fully grown cousin cannot fathom any other way to clean his unmentionables?”

Her cousin stared at her in shock, his brain thinking furiously.

“I’ve nowhere for a servant to sleep,” he countered in triumph.

Viv raised her brows. “Did you think I would live in your guest chamber the rest of my life, regardless of how successful I became as a playwright? Or whether some handsome gentleman sweeps me off my feet to live in his castle?”

The expression on Quentin’s face indicated he hadn’t considered her future or her potential desire for independence at all. Now that she’d pointed out a few possibilities, it was becoming clear even to him that using her in place of an entire cadre of servants had never been a sustainable plan.

“But I’ve never lived without you,” he said in a tiny voice that sounded just like how he’d been as a small boy.

“You have,” she reminded him gently as they approached the Wynchesters’ front door. “You were simply too young to remember. Now you’re grown. You can make new memories. Perhaps find a trade, or make some profitable investments.”

“ You’re the one with brains and talent,” he burst out. “I’m no good to anyone!”

“What’s this?” said Mr. Randall, watching them avidly from the open doorway. “The founder of the first official Wynchester satellite brigade fails to acknowledge his own worth and brilliance?”

“The… what?” stuttered Quentin.

“There you are!” chirped Marjorie. She reached out from behind the butler to tug Viv and Quentin into the house. “We were just talking about you.”

“I wouldn’t miss your art school’s celebration for the world,” Viv assured her. “I hope you don’t mind the presumption that we might all go together.”

“Of course we should,” said Marjorie. “But we needn’t head to Vauxhall for another hour. We’ve spent all morning discussing how best to handle satellite brigades like Quentin’s.”

“You keep using words,” he stammered, baffled. “What do they mean?”

“It means,” said Jacob, swooping in to peck Viv on the cheek, “if we’d known what you were up to, we could have helped sooner. Meanwhile, you and your friends were trying to act as an extension of us, but without the supportive framework we could provide.”

“In other words,” said Marjorie, “we can all assist each other. My siblings and I already field more cases than we have time to handle. More hands helping will be better for us and clients alike.”

Jacob nodded. “Your team can call upon any or all Wynchesters, whenever you have need of one of our services—”

Quentin swayed, as if light-headed.

“—and we will assign appropriate missions for your crew to aid with. You’ll earn a salary, and of course mission-related expenses will be covered.

All of our resources will extend to your team, including maps, spies, access to lawyers, the Faircliffes’ influence in Parliament, medical care, a full library, in-person training, and appropriate disguises. ”

His eyes met Viv’s as though to say, I listened to your words.

I understood your concerns. You’re right.

We do have a responsibility to protect everyone our actions impact, not just our clients.

Your cousin is in good hands. Our privileges are now his.

Our influence will be positive from now on. We’re a team.

“If such an arrangement is acceptable to you, of course,” Jacob added.

“Acceptable to me,” Quentin echoed faintly.

Philippa led him to a vacant armchair and handed him a cup of chocolate.

Graham lowered the newspaper he’d been reading. “Such partnerships make sense. The more good people we can empower to stand up for others, the better.”

“But I’m not a Wynchester,” Quentin protested.

Elizabeth and Marjorie exchanged secretive smiles.

“You are if you want to be one,” said Jacob. “Those who act like Wynchesters are Wynchesters. Your legal surname is irrelevant.”

Quentin almost dropped his hot chocolate as he spun toward Viv. “I told you so!”

Tommy rushed forward to rescue his steaming cup and replaced it with a sturdy plate of pies.

The tips of Jacob’s fingers touched Viv’s.

“Remember when I said you balance us?” he asked quietly.

“So does Quentin. So do his friends. Your advice was sound: Having the right impact is more important than hurling ourselves into a tempest without a thought to what else would be tossed asunder by the wind. By accepting help, we can do better for our clients. We can be better to each other… and to allies like Quentin.”

She squeezed Jacob’s hands. His was a thoughtful solution. Quentin and his friends were never going to cease copying the philanthropic actions of their idols. Like her, they needed the freedom to forge their own paths, even if their decisions weren’t always what Viv would have liked.

This way, they’d have a robust network of helping hands at their disposal. Support, in any way one might need it, at any time, no questions asked.

There would always be risks, but when it was spread amongst dozens of willing co-conspirators, each with their own skills and privileges and talents… They wouldn’t just be a force for good. They’d be a force of nature.

It was enough to start a revolution.

Viv nodded. “Thank you for listening to me. We do make a good team, and now we’ll be an even better one. Though I’m not sure we truly achieved justice in Quentin’s case.”

Graham handed her the newspaper he’d been reading. “Don’t be so certain, until you’ve read tomorrow’s edition of the Times . I managed to get my hands on an advance copy of the society pages. What you want to see is front and center.”

Viv shook out the paper. Her jaw dropped at the bold title across the top:

D ISGRACED A RISTOCRAT L ORD U PPINGTON TO B E T RIED ON C HARGES OF B LACKMAIL, B URGLARY, AND K IDNAPPING

The article scornfully detailed the lengths to which fashionable Uppington and his plantation-owning father had gone, in order to keep the imbalance of power favoring the upper classes and subdue the will of their common countrymen.

She jerked her head up toward Jacob, eyes wide. “Will the earl sue for libel and defamation?”

“Any investigation would only further prove his involvement. The handkerchief you removed from Quentin’s mouth was the cloth Uppington impulsively gagged him with during the abduction. His distinctive monogram is embroidered in the corner.”

Exactly like the one Uppington had used to wipe Viv’s touch from his aristocratic elbow.

“Couldn’t he claim he’d lost a handkerchief months ago?”

“We don’t need it,” said Kuni. “Uppington’s mistress, Miss Yates, and her entire staff are willing to bear full witness against him.”

“Apparently, their working environment left much to be desired,” Stephen said dryly. “The servants were coerced into their supporting roles as well.”

“I’m shocked,” said Elizabeth, pressing a hand to her bosom. “Shocked, I tell you.”

“The best part,” Adrian added, “is that Uppington merely has a courtesy title. He cannot claim ‘privilege of peerage’ to weasel out of the charges. His trial will be scandal fodder for months.”

“And ruin his despicable father by association at the same time,” Faircliffe concluded with satisfaction.

The loud sound of a popping cork made them all jump.

Tommy grinned as she held up a foaming bottle. “Pre-celebration champagne, family?”