Page 27 of The Lady and the Lion (Victorian Outcasts #9)

twenty-five

V ivienne couldn’t focus on her needlework after Samuel had left, and for once, her chronic fatigue had nothing to do with her lack of concentration.

Seeing him after so many years had been a shock, even though she’d been aware of his coming. Her body still trembled from the encounter, and dozens of thoughts piled up in her mind. She hadn’t been able to exchange any words with him also because…she wasn’t the same woman he remembered.

Her body had changed and not for the better.

She’d never cared too much about her excessive paleness, gaunt cheeks, and straw-like hair.

Not when her health was most important. But in the mirror of his deep amber eyes, she’d seen her reflection as a ghastly woman, more dead than alive, which was exactly as she felt.

Shame had paralysed her, especially in front of his now-charismatic presence.

Samuel wasn’t as she remembered. He looked strong and handsome with his dark golden hair cut above his jaw and fine suit. He was taller and broader than she had remembered, and simply magnificent. Looking at him, he had nothing left of the shy, worried young man she had known.

He was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.

And she…she was afraid of everything.

“Are you tired, darling?” Mother sat on the armchair in front of her and picked up her own needlework.

“Not really.”

“What do you think of Mr. Lyon?” Father asked, lowering his newspaper.

She thought the world of him. “Mr. Lyon is an interesting gentleman. He has seen much of the world.”

Mother resumed her work. “His good luck is impressive. Such an adventurous life, but his health is strong.”

She didn’t say anything, worried she might say something wrong. Health was a delicate topic in her house. She loved her parents, but Samuel wouldn’t have been welcomed in Huntington Hall if not for his ridiculous fortune.

Her father embraced the association he had developed with Lyon Gold Corporation, welcomed the prestige and notoriety. The nouveaux riches were no longer snubbed by the aristocracy. Their money meant power, and its influx was welcomed by those who had before consider it vulgar and parvenu.

“I admire Lyon,” Father said. “He’s a man with determination and strong will.”

Mother arched her brow. “Doesn’t his muteness bother you?”

“He earns more respect because of it,” Father said. “Another man would let his inability to speak rule his life. He has flourished despite his situation.”

Vivienne smiled at him. Father didn’t care only about money.

“I’m going to be honest, Vivienne.” Father folded the newspaper and grinned. “If Lyon should become your suitor, I would welcome the match.”

She didn’t say anything. Surely Samuel had better options than a dying woman.

“Edward, you can’t be serious.” Mother lowered her voice. “Lyon isn’t aware of Vivienne’s condition, and she isn’t strong enough to be courted by anyone. We agreed on that.”

Vivienne hunched her shoulders. The words weren’t cruel, but sometimes truth and cruelty were siblings.

“I have hope for a bright future for Vivienne.” Father held her hand tenderly. “Given more time, I’m sure she’ll improve, and maybe I’m a fool, but I’m convinced Lyon’s vibrant energy is contagious and is what you need, darling.”

Mother pressed her lips together, stabbing the fabric with the needle.

Vivienne didn’t have the strength to be as hopeful as Father was.

After the skating disaster in The Regent’s Park, her pneumonia had gone from bad to worse in a matter of weeks.

She would have died if not for Dr. Tucker’s dedication and expertise.

Instead, she’d improved, but her health had never fully returned.

Her lungs were scarred, and her heart suffered, too.

Some weeks were worse than others. Sudden fevers would torment her for days, tremors and stomach aches would force her to stay in bed, and catching a cold was a normal occurrence.

But her spirits had been damaged more than her body. Every time a disease afflicted her, her wish to live was eroded. Like the tiny drop that corroded the rock with its persistence, so the constant illnesses and aches were winning over her life.

She had nothing to offer Samuel aside from her fragility.

Her hand quivered, and she pricked herself with the needle. A ruby drop of blood blossomed on her fingertip. She sucked it before it stained the needlework. The blood itself didn’t cover the flavour of the countless potions she took every day; their metallic tastes remained in her mouth forever.

“I hope you’ll enjoy yourself at the garden party,” Father said. “The fresh air will do you good.”

Not according to Mother, whose list of things harmful to Vivienne’s health had never changed.

Mother glowered. “I’ve never been convinced that fresh air is healthy.”

Father ignored her. “After your complete recovery, all I want is to see you married and settled, and finally happy.”

So did Vivienne.

Samuel stood still as Richard, his valet, helped him dress for the Earl of Huntington’s garden party.

His residence at the hotel had been a short one, since he’d bought a fully detached house in Belgravia and filled it with his household staff, people he’d chosen personally when he was in the Americas.

Richard was missing a few fingers on both hands—a tragic carriage accident while he’d worked as the valet of a rich businessman—so buttoning and tying Samuel’s suit required a bit of time. But he didn’t care. The accident that claimed Richard’s fingers had also shaken Samuel deeply.

If he hadn’t employed him, Richard would live on the streets. And he’d proved to be a damn good valet.

All his servants were knowledgeable in sign language, something he was proud of. He’d hired tutors to teach them, and they’d been eager to learn…with some exceptions, like his footman.

“All done, sir.” Richard brushed Samuel’s dark jacket.

“Thank you,” he signed, smelling, as Richard moved away, the lingering scent of the shaving cream.

A knock came on the door. “Sir?” It was his housekeeper, Mrs. Foster.

He nodded to Richard who said, “Come in. Mr. Lyon is ready.”

“Sir…” Mrs. Foster took a step in, stopped, then took another step.

Her tentativeness signalled it had to be bad news.

“Tell me,” he signed.

She stepped closer, and the sunlight lit her deformed face.

One side was pulled up as if an invisible force pushed it, making her face asymmetrical.

After working as a maid for years, her former employer had refused to promote her to housekeeper due to her looks.

She’d then found employment as the Monstrous Woman in a circus similar to Cade’s, and when he found her, he hadn’t hesitated to offer her a job.

Mrs. Foster lifted her chin. “Sir, it’s about William.”

Samuel exhaled. “What now?”

“I found a few pieces of our silverware in his bedroom.”

“I’ll talk to him. Again.”

“Sir, if I may, perhaps we should consider dismissing him.”

He shook his head. He wouldn’t give up so easily on someone who needed help.

While he didn’t regret having hired Richard, Mrs. Foster, and other people who had been as desperate for a chance as he’d been, William, his footman, was another matter. The young man had a compulsion for thievery that had granted him more than one brush with the police.

A few minutes later, he knocked on William’s door and entered, Mrs. Foster behind him. “What have you done this time?”

“Not what it seems, boss.” William held up his hands. “I just wanted to test how safe your safe was, sir, if you’ll excuse the play on words. A matter of research, not thievery, I promise.”

“Give Mrs. Foster the silver, William.” He pointed a finger at him before signing, “This is the last time. No more stealing in this house.”

William bowed his head as the perfect penitent. “Absolutely, sir. It’s that since you’re about to get married?—”

“Are you, sir?” Mrs. Foster said at the same time as Samuel signed, “What are you talking about?”

“That’s wonderful.” Mrs. Foster glowed. “A wedding. Sir, I need to know all the details.”

Samuel shook his head.

William glanced from one to the other. “Isn’t that why you dragged us across the pond? You want to marry that lady…” He snapped his fingers a few times. “Valerie, Vanessa…”

“Vivienne,” he signed before scolding himself for having revealed her name to William.

“Vivienne.” William nodded. “And I thought you wanted a safe place for your future bride.”

“How do you know about her?”

William smirked. “You can’t stop talking about her, and you leave your private correspondence on the desk, sir.”

“Yes, and it’s called private for a reason.”

“You shouldn’t trust just anyone, sir.”

“No more snooping and no more stealing. I’m serious.” He left the room, annoyance turning his steps heavy.

William. He knew he was too soft with the cheeky footman…although the thief had just voiced something that had been lurking in his mind since he’d met Vivienne.