Page 13 of Just a Little Daring

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Aisling Baxter (Daughter of the Right Hon’ble Luke and Kitty Baxter, the Earl and Countess of Trevick) to Miss Vivien Anson (Daughter of the Right Hon’ble Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish).

1st January 1841, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

“There, there, love. You have a good cry,” Ash soothed as Viv snivelled and blew her nose. “It’s only the hangover making you blue devilled, and January is such a vile month to have stretched out before one. All those grey skies and drizzle, it’s enough to give anyone the pip.”

“It’s snowing,” Viv said crossly, too out of sorts to be reasonable.

“Even worse, though it’s pretty to look at, I’ll grant you.”

Viv sighed and told herself to buck up. She was not a watering pot by nature and Ash was right, her head was throbbing, and she was tired after all the excitement which was making her wretched. It wasn’t the only reason, though, not when remembering the way Mr Lane-Fox had walked away from her without a backwards glance, after the wonderful time they’d had dancing together it made her feel weepy all over again.

Ash took one look at her glum expression and sighed. “Well, the fellow has told you the problem, hasn’t he? You cannot pretend he’s led you up the garden path, so either you leave him be and find someone else, or you must expect things will not go entirely your way. If you want him to change his mind about you, the only thing to do is show him what he’d be missing out on, which is a great deal.”

Viv swallowed hard and reached for her brother’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Though they bickered and teased each other mercilessly, underneath it all was the knowledge they would do anything for each other. If one was down, the other one would always do whatever it took to lift them back up again. Taking a deep breath and determined to heed her brother’s sound advice, Viv nodded.

“Yes. You’re right, of course. I’m being foolish because I’m tired and my head hurts. I shall have another cup of tea and some toast and feel much more the thing, I promise. I’m sorry for being such a bore.”

“You are never a bore,” Ash said with a laugh. “Many, many things, but never that.”

Viv snorted with amusement, and her brother grinned.

“That’s better,” he said with approval, reaching for the teapot and pouring her another cup. He added two generous lumps of sugar, a dash of milk and stirred before handing her the cup. “The sugar will help your head.”

“And did you meet any lovely young ladies?” Viv asked him, sipping the oversweet brew with a grimace.

“Dozens,” Ash said, smirking.

“Arrogant devil. I suppose they batted their eyelashes at you and sighed and flattered you.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, a devil dancing in his eyes.

“But no one special.”

“I am not yet looking for anyone special,” Ash reminded her. “Unlike you, my poor darling, I have longer before I am considered past my best.”

Viv huffed with irritation and lounged back against the pillows. “It’s so unfair.”

“Life is, meri shona,” said a familiar and amused voice. “Though I am far from past my best yet, you young pup. In my prime, rather.”

“Good morning, Nani Maa,” Ash said, leaping up to arrange the pillows on his grandmother’s favourite chair as her maid, Mary, helped the old lady to sit down. Mary, who admired and was extremely fond of her cantankerous mistress, fussed about making sure her cushions were plumped and her spectacles were in reach, as well as whatever scandalous novel she was currently engrossed in.

Their grandmother sighed with relief as she settled her feet on a padded footstool. “Ah, that’s better, and good morning to you, mera tota.”

“Nani Maa, must you?” Ash grumbled whilst Vivien smothered a grin, knowing how the childish nickname tota, meaning parrot, annoyed him.

He bent over the old woman, arranging a cashmere shawl over her knees with care. No one knew exactly how old their grandmother was, as she refused to tell them. Anywhere between seventy and a hundred seemed possible, but her skin was the warm dark of well-loved mahogany and her hair a startling white in contrast. Now her head tilted to one side as she considered Vivien, bright, intelligent eyes putting her in mind of a blackbird listening for worms. The wicked old woman missed nothing, and they never had pulled the wool over her eyes, no matter how clever they thought they’d been. They both adored her.

“Well?” she demanded of Vivian, shooing her maid away with a little wave of her hand to get the woman to stop fussing over her.

“Well, what?” Viv asked, perplexed.

“Tell me about him.”

Heat rose under Viv’s cheeks, and she darted a glare at Ash, who shook his head. “Never uttered a word, I swear.”

Viv sighed. Nani Maa knew everything. She ought to be used it by now.

“He’s lovely. Tall and handsome, hair the colour of ripe wheat, blue eyes, kind and funny and, I suspect, just a bit wicked. Utterly perfect,” she added with a dejected huff.