twenty-seven
Vivienne wasn’t a pessimist. Not in this particular situation, at least.
But when Samuel had said that everything would go smoothly, he’d been naïve. After the party was over and the guests had left, she’d had barely time to drink her purple potion before her parents summoned her.
So here she was, sitting in the drawing room with her father and mother without having any conversation with them. They were arguing with each other, and she waited for them to stop.
“Lyon is a robber baron,” Mother said, pacing along all the lengths of the room. “Anouveau riche!”
“An extremely richnouveau riche.” Father stood next to the fireplace, as composed as Mother was agitated. “And he isn’t a robber baron but a tycoon.”
“I don’t care what you want to call him. He can’t marry Vivienne.”
“Why?” Vivienne and Father said together.
Mother glanced from one to the other. “Vivienne is too sick for starters. The last thing she needs is a wedding.”
Father huffed. “Exactly because she’s sick, she needs a wedding. Something to look forward to. If she is…” He didn’t need to end the sentence.
She understood him. Since she was dying, why not let her enjoy herself and marry Samuel?
Father rubbed his forehead. “What do you think, Vivienne? Is your health an impediment to the wedding?”
“No. I’m getting stronger.” It wasn’t true, but she believed Samuel. “And I like Mr. Lyon. He’s an interesting man.”
“He can’t speak,” Mother said.
“I’ll learn sign language.”
“You’re too weak.” Mother clenched her fists, shaking. “You can’t leave the house. Where are you going to live? New York City? You’ll be dead before you cross the ocean?—”
“Jane!” Father raised his voice. “That’s enough.”
“But it’s true.” Tears welled in Mother’s eyes. “Don’t you see it? She’s dying like Adele, in front of our eyes.”
Vivienne stared at her hands folded in her lap. Samuel made her doubt her grim future, but she wasn’t fully convinced. Her symptoms were real. She desperately wanted to believe him, hoping against hope.
Still, she could use her sickness to her advantage. “Then marrying Mr. Lyon is my last wish.”
Silence dropped in the room. Mother came to a halt, and Father stopped rubbing his forehead.
She tilted her chin up. “If it’s true I’m dying, then I want to spend my last months as Mrs. Lyon.”
“And I will honour your last wish.” Eyes shining, Father held her hand gently. “I have no objections to the marriage, especially if it makes you happy.”
“Thank you, Father. This is what I want.”
“No.” Mother pressed her lips hard. “I won’t let you. It’s madness.”
Father worked his jaw and straightened. “I’ve never imposed my will on this family. I’ve always believed in having a discussion. I’ve always listened to everyone and respected your opinion, Jane. But this time, it’s different. Vivienne will marry Mr. Lyon, and I don’t want to hear a single complaint from you.”
Mother paled, her eyebrows lifting to her hairline.
It was the first time Father had blatantly ordered Mother to do something…or not do something.
Mother regained her composure. “You’ll have her death on your conscience.” She ran out of the room, shaking with sobs.
Father didn’t go after her but sat next to Vivienne. “Forget what that know-it-all of a physician says. I want to know your opinion. Do you really feel you’re dying?”
