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“S URELY THE OCCASION DOES NOT have cause for you to dress in black.” Charlotte removed the bombazine-and-crepe mourning gown from Vivienne’s arms and instead selected a darling blue morning frock.

“Lady Larkby is such a significant part of me now. To see her taken away … It feels much like losing a dear friend.” Vivienne followed the black piece with her eyes.

Charlotte nodded. “I know it does, but your readers will follow you to a new name. Perhaps it may even cause a sensation.”

“Sensation?” She snorted. “My dear Charlotte, I think you meant to say scandal .”

“Whatever it is, news is news. Why don’t we try to come up with new names for you?”

Charlotte continued her attempts to encourage as she finished helping Vivienne before heading down to the kitchen to pack a breakfast. Vivienne drafted letters to her publisher regarding her new pen name, but nothing sounded so beautiful as Lady Larkby.

At Charlotte’s call from the bottom of the stairs, she gratefully tossed aside her latest attempt.

She took the traveling tea service leather case from Charlotte, and they made their way toward Pulteney Bridge and across to Sydney Place’s hexagonal pleasure gardens, showing the man at the front their brass admission token.

He allowed them through. They passed the Sydney Hotel and their garden dining booths, where members of polite society dined on Sally Lunn tea cakes and a repast of cold meats, cheeses, and hot beverages.

Beyond the hotel’s garden dining, couples lounged atop luxurious oversized blankets in the pleasure garden while the elderly in attendance reclined in chairs brought by servants, propping their fine-china dishes on their laps.

Beaver hats and parasols abounded, with flashes of bright-colored clothing and the clink of silverware on china and glass goblets.

Charlotte and Vivienne shared a glance at their meager basket and tea service case and then back at each other, bursting into giggles at their country feast.

“Shall we return home and see if Brexton can bring something for you to sit upon?” Charlotte whispered. “Most of these ladies are sitting on feather pillows.”

Vivienne nodded to the basket and blanket draped over Charlotte’s arms. “I am not above sitting on a plaid, especially as my title of Lady Larkby is about to be stripped away. I am plain Vivienne Poppy of Chilham, and I might as well act the part now.”

“You are the daughter of a gentleman, and there are benefits that come from such birth,” Charlotte reminded her, helping Vivienne spread the blanket upon the grass.

The ladies set out the fare of lovely pastries and meat pies, which the footman had fetched this morning from the bakery, and the hot tea.

It had been a splurge, but when one was about to undergo the worst sort of embarrassment, indulgent food was necessary to endure the coming conversation.

As Charlotte adjusted the three plates, a gentleman in a striking, well-tailored hunter-green coat approached them from the tree-lined path.

“My ladies, what delightful fare. I trust you rested well?” Sir Sebastian bowed to them before sitting cross-legged on the now-too-small blanket.

His knees grazed Vivienne’s, but there was nowhere else to scoot. She squinted in the morning light, studying him. His eyes were red, the dark circles beneath nearly gaunt from strain.

She handed him the plate of pastries. “Please have something to eat, Sir Sebastian, and tell us how your grandmother is faring.”

At the mention of his grandmother, he ducked his head. “The doctors haven’t much hope, and I have to admit—” He cleared his throat and brushed at his eyes with his fist. “I have to admit that I do not hold much hope either. I fear she will be gone within the fortnight.”

Vivienne’s stomach twisted from shame. She had been selfishly planning on pleading her case one last time, and this man was losing the closest person in his life.

She rested her hand on his arm. “I am so sorry. I well know the pain of loss. I shall keep you and your grandmother in my prayers throughout the days ahead.”

His piercing eyes met hers, the desperation there shocking her, along with a flash of something familiar. But perhaps it was her own desperation that made her conjure any sense of familiarity with this man on whom all her future hopes rested.

“My lady, you said that you depended on my name for your very freedom.”

She blinked at the sudden change in topic. Was he changing his mind? Had his grandmother’s state rattled him so much that he no longer cared? He did say his main objection was because of his grandmother’s eagerness for grandchildren. Her heart careened toward hope. “I do.”

He tore the chocolate-filled pastry and popped half into his mouth. She resisted cracking her knuckles as she waited for what he would say next.

He tossed the remainder of the pastry onto his plate and dusted off his hands. “As I feared, my grandmother heard of my supposed marriage to you.”

“No.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Sir Sebastian. I am sincerely sorry for all the pain I’ve caused—”

He lifted his hand. “I have a plan that will prove mutually beneficial.”

Surely he wouldn’t propose an actual binding marriage? Her stomach churned again, and she clutched Charlotte’s hand even as the tendrils of hope sprang to life in her heart. “P-pray tell.”

“When I arrived last night to find her so frail, I expected her to pass in the night, but when she saw me, she lifted a letter at her side. Her friend wrote to her, telling her of the arrival of Lady Larkby in Bath. Grandmother was aware I was on my way to visit and took the word of her friend to heart. She thinks you are a surprise for her—to bring her light in her final days on earth.”

She pressed the back of her hand to her neck to cool her skin. She had not meant her nom de plume to cause such a stir—to cause a dying lady to have false hope. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I beg you to believe me that I am in earnest. I thought the title was long out of use.”

“I’ll admit, I did not believe your intentions were pure when I first heard of a lady falsely bearing my title …

but rest assured, I do see that you are speaking the truth.

” He rested his hand on hers for a second before drawing back and taking his teacup with him, as if he had been reaching for his cup all along.

“The staff said that after reading the letter, she had color in her cheeks that her maid has not seen in months. I hope you understand that I cannot take away that spark in her final hours.”

“What are you asking, Sir Sebastian?” Vivienne lifted her linen napkin, fanning herself. “I am appalled that I have caused such a stir, but I-I cannot wed a stranger.”

“No!” He interjected so emphatically that a few about them turned to survey him. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “No, Miss Poppy, I am asking that you merely continue your charade as my bride … at Lark Manor.”

Charlotte gasped, and Vivienne dropped her napkin. “Sir. As much as I wish to aid a dying woman, I cannot—”

He lifted his palm once more. “I know. It is beyond scandalous to even utter a plan such as this, but you have your companion. Miss Vale can act as a protector of your reputation. I give you both my word—this arrangement is only until she passes. After …” He cleared his throat and paused as he gathered himself.

“After she goes to our heavenly Father, I vow that I shall not protest you using my name.”

“B-but what of a future wife? Even if you haven’t met her yet, you must consider what this would do to her feelings. She would protest such a plan.”

“I have no plans for marriage, as I serve the Prince Regent as a Yeoman of the Guard.”

“A yeoman … I suppose that does add some credence to your character.” Charlotte brushed a piece of grass from the edge of the blanket.

“Indeed. I’ve never met a guard to royalty.

” Vivienne eyed him. This explained his broad shoulders, his impossibly large muscles that only Corinthians sported.

This man was no simple sportsman but a knight in every sense of the word.

And if he was a yeoman, they would be safe to entrust him with their well-being.

“Because of my position, which I have no intention of releasing until I am too old to bear the role, you may have the use of my name without fear of any future wife laying claim to it.”

She dipped her head, her mind whirling. This is utter madness.

Foolhardy, but … The possibility of having control over her future was so close, if only she would have the courage to seize it.

Seize, or take leave of my senses. In this instance, they are one and the same.

But she had already been out in Bath society as Lady Larkby.

Everyone knew she had a husband. It was a wonder she had yet to meet anyone who knew of Sir Sebastian, given that Lark Manor was just a few miles outside the city.

I suppose it helps that most of Bath society only stays for a season.

However, the more time she spent in society, the more likely she would hear of someone who knew of Lark Manor.

If she did this, no one would ever suspect she was not married—except perhaps Bash, if he returned.

But he was a highwayman, and he had no room to judge her.

She could have the independence offered to a married woman, along with the supposed protection of a knight.

No one would dare harm her. This might be the greatest blessing ever placed before her.

This could work. But I need Charlotte to agree.

“Sir Sebastian, would you mind taking a turn in the gardens for a moment? I need to ask Miss Vale her thoughts.”

He rose, tipped his hat, and strode toward the path that led to the bridge near the labyrinth.

She turned to Charlotte, cheeks warming at the prospect before her. “What do you think?”