Lady Vivian (Almack's Assembly Rooms Book 1) Read online

  Lady Vivian

  Almack’s Assembly Rooms Vol. I

  Agnes Forest

  Copyright © 2018 by Agnes Forest

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Afterword

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  Chapter One

  Lady Vivian Ravenswood felt as light as air. The supper hall of Almack’s Assembly Rooms was stifling, the refreshments stale, and the lemonade far too tart, but she couldn’t help but be enlivened by the whirlwind of activity, and yes, the presence of handsome gentlemen. Vivian took another sip of her drink and felt her lips curl like a fish. Oh, what just another teaspoon of sugar could do to amend it.

  All at once it struck her that she felt as light as air because she was quite faint, as though filled with hot air and about to float up to the ceiling. The excitement had gone to her head, and the supper was so inedible that she hadn’t eaten but a morsel. In shaky times such as these, Vivian employed the same tactic: observation; focusing her attention. She was a keen observer behind her soft, intelligent brown eyes. The eccentricities and intrigues of society brought a Mona Lisa smile to her pink lips. A demure flush came to her cheek, thanks to the heat. But that flush would always be there more and less and had nothing to do with bashfulness. Vivian had nothing to be bashful about.

  “Lady Vivian, you’ve scarce said a word. Have you gone quite dumb?” Lady Sophie Langton said with a hoarse laugh. Short, stout, and mouthy, it was well-known at Almack’s that Lady Sophie’s family pocketbook would garner her a husband in no time, but certainly not her excessive chatter.

  Vivian was snapped back into the present by Lady Sophie’s question. Seated about the table were three other ladies, chirping like hens and carrying on whilst Vivian had day-dreamt. She spotted her chaperone, Fanny O’Malley, sitting miserably far off in the corner with a cold cup of tea in her arthritic hands. Fanny’s cap was still tied to her frothy curls, but it would fall to the floor once she inevitably drowsed off.

  “I can’t help but marvel at how many guests have attended,” Vivian said by way of conversation, taking a hopeful bite of thinly sliced bread and butter. I must eat something, she thought.

  “Oh, Lady Vivian, you’ll be used to it soon enough,” Lady Sophie replied, taking a generous portion of her fish pie and accompanying it with a harried spoonful of buttered peas. “Every Wednesday night is just as lively.”

  Vivian chose to turn away from the sight of Lady Sophie chewing - and talking at the same time, how was it possible? - and instead turned her attention to Lady Elizabeth Danvers, the only one in attendance whom she had any prior acquaintance with.

  “We’re so excited that you’re finally here,” Lady Elizabeth said, touching a cloth napkin to the side of her rosy mouth.

  “I’m excited myself,” Vivian replied warmly.

  “Have you been out this entire season, Lady Vivian, and never once come to Almack’s?” Lady Blythe Hennessy asked haughtily.

  “It was rather unexpected, really; my cue to enter society,” Vivian began, realizing that it was a fine opportunity to put some rumors to rest. “As you may know, my sister, Lady Margaret Ravenswood, was unexpectedly wed right around Christmastime. . .”

  Lady Sophie gave a genteel cough in disbelief, but Vivian persevered.

  “It was fortuitous, really,” she went on. “The Duke of Hillshire arrived on business with my father, met my middle sister, and the rest was history,” Vivian said with a delighted smile. Three pairs of glassy eyes viewed her like a hawk’s prey. Of course, the truth was much unseemlier than that. Her sister Margaret fell in love with a barrister and moved to Wales, against her father’s wishes. Although Vivian knew the true story was not respectable, it all seemed romantic.

  “And now, you see,” Lady Elizabeth chimed in, anxious to add to the story. “Lady Vivian is the only remaining Ravenswood daughter not to be wed.”

  And my father put me on the chopping block with haste, Vivian thought to herself. No, she was not truly upset that she had to be married, nor even that she had unexpectedly entered the remainder of the London season. She found it all amusing, and even, more than a tad exciting. It was as though the world was opening up to her with each coming day. There was only one element of the situation which Vivian did not care for. That element would be arriving at Almack’s shortly.

  “What a quaint story,” Lady Sophie replied, her voice expressing that she was bored. She had heard all the chatter about Lady Margaret Ravenswood and her barrister, and she did not approve of the bland version of the story. She wanted the dirt. “I do believe that it’s time to take a turn,” she said, hoisting herself up from the ornate wooden seat to traverse the parquet floor.

  The other ladies followed suit, commenting on how a bit of exercise was just what was required after such a meal. In truth, they had their sights set on meeting the gentlemen in uniform, being in the front row to view who was dancing with whom, and, perhaps, to heed the call of the dance floor themselves.

  Vivian heaved a sigh of relief and followed. She patted Fanny on the shoulder, who managed to awake from her snoring and set down her tea. “Crickey,” the elderly chaperone said with a weighty brogue. She was aware that funny business might transpire. Her face was sullen and her cheeks red as raspberries. So much was bound to go wrong with her young charge.

  As they strolled, the ladies arm-in-arm, Vivian felt her heart soar yet again. The interior of Almack’s was undoubtedly the stuff of dreams - once you left the supper hall - with its pink satin curtains, towering green walls dotted with sconced candelabras and intricate oil paintings, frescoed ceilings with dancing cupids and Greek gods, and the most stunning of all, the massive chandeliers that hung silently like crystal clouds.

  With each expansive room came more excitement, chatter, and glares. There were many glares wherever one went at Almack’s, and they traveled from head to toe. But Vivian had nothing to be ashamed of. She was dressed in the most fashionable gown that her father could afford; the richness of it could be felt on her skin. Pure white satin encased her, accenting her chocolate brown hair and fair complexion. Although Vivian was always one to wear color - and simple cotton - on such an occasion she saw it fit to start with a clean palette, and as the season progressed, she could evolve to pale pink or yellow.

  And there certainly were many colors to choose from. In fact, Vivian beheld every pigment of the rainbow that evening, and each one in innumerable shades, like a prism of satin and silk. Some young ladies resembled peacocks, sprouting feathers in their hair. Then the
re were those who were more stately, in pale pinks and blues, their pearls sitting delicately along their collarbones, small crystal earrings dripping from their earlobes like tears.

  Vivian could see that Lady Elizabeth, too, was practically drunk from all the splendor.

  “I do wonder if Lord Phillip Lockfield shall be in attendance,” Lady Elizabeth said, nearly winking at Vivian when she did so. Vivian went cold. It was as if the band had stopped playing.

  “Lord Phillip Lockfield?” Lady Blythe echoed, twirling a tendril of her red hair. Her green eyes searched deep into Vivian’s, demanding to know what was going on between the pretty brunette and the wealthy, eligible Lord of Smithfield estate.

  “Yes, they are engaged,” Lady Elizabeth went on, thinking that by doing so, she was somehow helping Vivian to garner favor with the loquacious, socially-advantageous women. All eyes turned on Vivian again, and this time her face could not hide her feelings. She was bereft. How could Lady Elizabeth trust the rounds of gossip more than she might trust Vivian’s confiding?

  “There is no engagement,” Vivian said, her brow knit. “There has been no official proposal of any kind.” The little troop went silent, but one could hear the questions floating in the air:

  Did Lady Vivian want Lord Phillip to propose to her and he refrained from doing so?

  Was Lord Phillip on the cusp of proposing to Lady Vivian and she was quite frustrated that the proposal had not transpired?

  Did Lady Vivian not want Lord Phillip to propose?

  The last question was the most unbelievable of all, for who wouldn’t want to marry Lord Phillip Lockfield? The age difference was not ideal, but not unfathomable either. It was customary, in fact. They all agreed: the little tuft of salt and pepper at his temples was disarming, his upright bearing, aquiline nose, defined cheekbones, and general comportment were admirable. Like a general, he stood. Come to think of it; he always had the steady, measured gaze of someone in charge; the result of years of strict breeding. And he had a great deal of wealth. What else could be said?

  Yes, the match between Lady Vivian and Lord Phillip would be just what her father wanted, but it made Vivian wish to disappear.

  “Have you told us a lie, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Sophie asked, wanting to know whom to blame for the horrible gaff so that it might end up in the society scandal pages the very next morning. All at once, Lady Elizabeth was under attack.

  “No, I . . . “she looked to Vivian for help but found that her acquaintance had grown distant. “I have merely been told that Lord Phillip has been in attendance at Stockwood Park for a fortnight. I suppose I assumed . . .”

  “Yes, I believe you did,” Vivian said, looking to the ground. She was disappointed in Lady Elizabeth but did not wish to harbor ill will. Vivian was reminded of her acquaintance’s past, and why Lady Elizabeth had become so prone to the very gossip that Vivian detested. Compassion filled her.

  “It was a simple misunderstanding,” Vivian said. Lady Elizabeth’s bearing softened, and the tension was all at once released.

  “Well, such misunderstandings can be dire,” Lady Blythe said, heaving a sigh of relief, mostly for the knowledge that Lord Phillip was still on the market.

  The discomfort lifted, and the troop returned to their tour and all-around gaiety. The cold dread was draining from Vivian’s heart, and she was free to be the observer yet again. She had the sudden inclination to join the quadrille, but doing so without the request o a gentleman would be the unsightliest behavior ever to grace Almack’s.

  Such a pity, Vivian thought to herself, that so much of a lady’s life must be spent waiting for an outstretched hand, or a name on a dance card.

  But Vivian very much desired to have a closer look at all the excitement.

  Her momentary pluck was encountered by a wall. Only a second later did she realize that the wall was a man, and not even a moment after that did she discover that the man was Lord Phillip.

  “If your father could see you now,” Lord Phillip said with a dash of smugness.

  “He requested that I come,” Vivian said without time to think.

  “Did he?” Lord Phillip replied, his face stone-set. “From our conversation this afternoon, I was under the impression that Lord Benedict would rather you be at home. I believe we discussed it over supper.”

  “I hope it was a fine supper,” Vivian replied. It was the only thing she could think to say in light of her absolute discomfort that Lord Phillip had followed her to Almack’s.

  Vivian recalled it clearly. She had told her father that very morning that it was Wednesday and she had a dress fitting in town that afternoon, which made her first trip to the club ideal.

  “You shan’t go alone,” Lord Benedict relinquished, his countenance bull-like. He was stating the obvious, but it just flew out of his mouth. It couldn’t be prevented. He reasoned that since her sisters were gone, Vivian was in need of more youthful company.

  “Well, Fanny always accompanies me to town,” Vivian had said, regarding her sour chaperone. Why did Fanny always look like she was suffering from indigestion? “But surely you can’t expect her to escort me to Almack’s.”

  “I most certainly do expect Fanny to do so!” Lord Benedict had roared. His ascot was far too tight and was choking his thick neck. He loosened it. “The very thought of a club for both gentlemen and ladies is enough to bring a fit to my chest,” Lord Benedict had added.

  That was Fanny’s cue to exit the room in search of the her father’s pills.

  “I agree to it,” Vivian replied, knowing that if she were to have her way that day she must make allowances.

  And that was how the plan was hatched, and the day went from average to one of the most exciting in memory.

  Until she was followed by a brute, that was.

  “Did he send you?” Vivian asked calmly, veiling any emotion.

  “No, I came of my own accord,” Lord Phillip replied, towering over her. It was as though a metal shaft went through his spine, and the double-breasted waistcoat only enhanced the effect. Just then, the little troop wafted around them in a cloud of airy fabric.

  “I daresay, Lord Phillip, we have not seen you in some weeks,” Lady Sophie cooed.

  “I have been ensconced at the Stockwood Park in South Downs,” Lord Phillip replied, congenially nodding his head to the women. “There has been a great deal of business to attend to.”

  “So we have heard,” Lady Blythe said, pumping her lace fan in front of her face. She attempted a smile, but it was unsuccessful. One could tell that she was not happy that the rumor mills were indeed true; Lord Phillip undoubtedly was to be engaged to Lady Vivian. Such a pity, she thought.

  “Ladies, I must say that I am speechless. You are all visions,” Lord Phillip said, turning to regard each lady with gentlemanly care. Vivian nearly rolled her eyes. If only the other ladies could see what a cad he was behind closed doors.

  “Oh, Lord Phillip, every time you come to London you put the other ruffians to shame,” Lady Sophie added, her ample breasts heaving with admiration. Lady Elizabeth was emboldened by the opportunity and stepped forward.

  “Lord Phillip, if I might be so rash, I believe that all night Lady Vivian has been waiting to dance the quadrille,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  Vivian wondered if she might ever be able to speak to Lady Elizabeth Danvers again after what had transpired that night. Never had she seen such behavior.

  “Amusing that you should mention that, Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Phillip said with a dignified air. “I was just about to ask for the pleasure of her hand.”

  It took Lord Phillip a moment to realize that it was a slip of the tongue.

  “Her hand in a dance,” he added, hoping to amend it. But indeed, he would make no apologies. It was her hand in marriage that he would ultimately seek and attain.

  All eyes turned on Vivian yet again. She had memorized each set of eyes that night. They would get her to do something that she did not care to do.

  “
Very well,” Vivian replied. Approval and encouragement surrounded her. Oh yes, and jealousy.

  Led to the center of the hall, the orchestra began the next round, and the dance came to life. Gentlemen and ladies made their formations with expert care, as though they had learned to dance the quadrille the very day that they learned to walk.

  Lord Phillip was a deft and graceful dancer. Each move was practiced, and the motions highlighted his tall frame and athletic, though inexpressive, build. But it was Vivian who had her chance to shine. Her silhouette had a lovely curvature that was accentuated by her white gown. Lord Phillip, a man of impeccable breeding, was aware of Vivian’s graceful form but chose instead to keep his gaze on the horizon. He would have plenty of time to have a good look when she was his own. Like one of his fine horses.

  What was it about dancing that made words flow easily? It was a mystery to Vivian which never ceased to amaze her. On that evening, it was Lord Phillip who would be fluid with his dialogue.

  “It’s foolish of you to come here,” Lord Phillip said, his tone hushed, but of enough volume to make its way over the music and into Vivian’s ear, sticking into her mind like a paring knife. “You’d do best to spend more time in my company.”

  “I am told that you come here frequently,” Vivian replied, focusing on her movements and trying to remain as light as her feet. “My sisters were also encouraged to attend.”

  “You’re not like your sisters,” Lord Phillip said. Vivian frowned to herself. She admired Hattie and Margaret and did not like being told that she was dissimilar to them.