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Viv tucked away the box. From the wardrobe she chose an old lilac gown with a white lace collar, a bit out of fashion, but suited to the warm day. When she had dressed, she pulled her hair into a loose knot at her nape. She was reaching for a straw bonnet of Charlotte’s when Eliza and Pippa burst into the room.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” Eliza whispered in a voice Viv was sure could be heard below.
“Oh Viv,” said Pippa. “You look like a charwoman. Let me do something with your hair.” She took Viv by the shoulders, pressed her down on the bed, and took up a brush.
“And hurry,” said Eliza, “because I swear Mama is struck dumb, and Charlotte is trying to flirt with him, and she’s very bad at it.” Eliza dashed off.
Two minutes later when Viv descended the stairs, she had to stop and grip the banister tight while her heart careened wildly between pain and senseless joy.
Lark, the object of five pairs of dazzled female eyes, stood in the dark, wood-paneled room where her family ate at a plain deal table, even now untidy with empty porridge bowls. Viv’s gaze took in the rich chestnut hair, the deep blue eyes, the stark symmetry of his face with its sensuous mouth, and the wayward bend of his once-broken nose, his broad shoulders in a plain buff-colored linen coat, over a white waistcoat, and gray trousers that could not conceal muscular legs above the gleam of his boots. If she thought she’d forgotten him, she had been wrong.
“Why are you here?” Viv asked.
“To wish you a happy birthday,” he said.
“We don’t celebrate Viv’s birthday,” said Eliza.
Anne nudged her hard.
“No? I’ve come a long way.” He turned to Viv’s mother. “Mrs. Pennington, if it does not violate your family prohibition against celebrating, may I take Viv on a birthday walk?”
Viv’s mother seemed to wake from her trance then. “Yes, Mr…”
“Edward Larkin. Viv and I met in London at Lady Melforth’s. I meant to call upon her earlier, but business in town delayed me.”
“And now?”
“I’ve taken a house in Brunswick Terrace.”
Her mother rose shakily to her feet. “Brunswick Terrace.”
“Are you rich, then?” asked the irrepressible Eliza.
This time their mother quelled Eliza with a hand on her shoulder. Their mother addressed Lark. “Yes, you may take Viv on a walk. And you are welcome to call any time while you are here in Weymouth, Mr. Larkin.”
He turned to Viv, with that same cheeky, challenging gaze that had met hers in the drawing room of the Henrietta Street house. He offered escape and maybe something more, but she wanted no games. She would walk with him and find out his true purpose. She came swiftly down the stairs, swept past her sisters and Lark, and out the door.
Viv strode rapidly along Lennox Street toward the Esplanade. She didn’t let herself look at him. “Who are you now? A fine gentleman or a pickpocket?”
“I am who I have always been.” His voice was sober, sure, not teasing.
“A deceiver, an actor?”
“I think you’ve had enough of deception, haven’t you?”
“And games.” She stopped and faced him in the middle of Lennox Street with its shops and shabby lodging places. “Why are you really here?”
“To court you properly. You may have to help me, or we may have to figure it out together, as I’ve never courted anyone before.”
“Court me? You can’t mean it. You see me as I am. You saw my family’s house. You see the neighborhood. As Lady Melforth told you, my parents can do nothing for me. I am nothing but a burden to them.” Hot tears welled up in her eyes, and she dashed them away.
He took her by the shoulders in the dingy street. “I don’t need you to come to me with anything more than yourself.”
She closed her eyes against the tears. She wanted to believe him. When she opened her eyes again, there was no denying the warmth of his gaze. She had to laugh.
“Will you pick pockets to feather our nest?”
He turned her toward the sea, and took her arm through his. “It turns out that I won’t need to, but why shouldn’t you support me?”
