Her Perfect Match (14 page)

“I do not think I’ve ever seen you so flustered,” Mariah said, taking a seat on the settee and motioning her over to join her.

Reluctantly, Vivien did so and allowed Mariah to take both her hands.

“What is it?” her friend encouraged.

Vivien had spent a lifetime pretending away her thoughts and feelings, pushing them aside so no one would see. Tonight, she found she had no energy to do so.

“I do not belong at this party,” she whispered as hot blood rushed to her cheeks.

Mariah tilted her head and there was true surprise on her face. “My dearest, you are nervous. I had no idea. But you have been to many a public gathering with lovers in the past.”

Vivien bit her lip. “There is a great deal of difference between a small gathering at a home of a lover or his friend, or even the opera or the theatre, and a soiree like this one.”

Mariah smiled. “Yes, there is. But again, you have come to these sorts of things before, and your friends who are mistresses have attended them with your specific orders to keep their chins up and proud. What makes it different that you are so anxious now?”

Vivien swallowed and turned away, not wanting Mariah to see what she feared she couldn’t keep from her face. She drew a few breaths to calm herself, to formulate some kind of answer that would diffuse her friend’s curiosity before she delved too deep. But it was all too late. Mariah leaned back.

“It is because of Benedict Greystone, isn’t it?” she whispered.

Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. “No, of course not.”

But there was no strength to her refusal and Mariah was too clever not to know that. Her face crumpled with pity and understanding.

“He asked you to attend tonight, Vivien. He is not ashamed and neither should you be. He wants you there.”

Vivien nodded slowly. He did want her there, and not only because they would enact their plans against Dersingham tonight.

“I’m certain his brother will be none too pleased to see me, though,” Vivien said with an empty laugh as she got up and paced to the fire.

“And since when do you care what a lover’s family thinks?” Mariah chuckled.

Vivien bit her lip. It was a valid question. But she did care, and always had. Hell, it was partly because of the Earl of Abbotton that she had parted ways from Benedict before. Not that he knew that. Nor would he ever know it.

“Are you in love with Benedict Greystone?” Mariah suddenly asked.

Vivien turned on her. Her friend had not moved from her place on the settee, but there was tension in her stare and a knowing in her eyes that unsettled Vivien. Was the truth so patently clear? Or had Mariah just managed to get close enough to see it?

And how to respond? Part of her wanted to admit the truth, to admit everything, including how she had decided to leave London, that she was pursuing this list of loose ends, that she didn’t know what to do. If she confessed all, Mariah would be sympathetic and helpful. Her friend would do anything and everything in her power to assist.

And yet, as she opened her mouth, Vivien found she could not do it. She couldn’t reveal herself, not even to her friend. The weight of her loneliness crushed her as she said, “Of course not. Don’t be foolish.”

Mariah hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Very well. But I hope you know that—”

Vivien bit her lip. Mariah was going to keep pushing. “Oh, look at the time,” she interrupted, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “We have chattered too long. We should depart now.”

Mariah stared, but then slowly got to her feet and nodded. She turned toward the foyer. Vivien nodded as she followed Mariah out to her carriage.

Mariah’s husband had been out of London on business for two days and they would reunite at the ball tonight. And since Vivien hadn’t wanted to share a carriage with Benedict thanks to her raw emotions, she had agreed to ride with her friend instead and meet him there.

But as she stepped into the vehicle and settled across from Mariah, Vivien couldn’t help but think that somehow this was all a terrible mistake. That she would come to regret this night. But the carriage was already moving and it was too late to turn back.

Benedict glanced down yet again and soaked in the image of Vivien on his arm. This was everything he had ever imagined in troubling dreams over the past few years.

She shifted and glanced up at him. Through clenched teeth, she managed, “They are all
looking
at me.”

Benedict looked into the crowd. Most were very content to talk to their friends, but a few extra glances were being spared his way. The gentlemen had knowing in those glances, which was not unexpected. Most did have an awareness of who Vivien was. The women seemed to look for
another
reason.

“I believe they may be looking at me, not you,” he said with as much reassurance as he could put in his tone since she seemed unexpectedly uncomfortable.

She blinked. “Because you are on the market?”

He nodded and just held back a sigh at the thought. His mother, who was not in attendance tonight thanks to a prior engagement, had been working at a massive rate to ensure every chaperone and debutante knew that he was on the lookout for a bride sooner rather than later. The result was all these appraising stares.

“So even though you are with a mystery woman, they would still pursue you?”

He glanced at her again. Her tone and face were both perturbed. “Jealous?” he asked.

She jerked her face toward him, but before she could answer, she looked past him and squeezed his arm. “
There
is your American,” she whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder and found that Felicity Beecher and her father were indeed coming across the ballroom together.

“Excellent, then the game begins,” Benedict said and maneuvered them into the path of the pair. He felt Vivien tense as the pair stopped.

“Ah, Mr. Beecher,” Benedict said with a slight bow to the gentleman and his daughter. “And Miss Felicity. I did not know you two would be in attendance tonight.”

Beecher eyed him in the same way all chaperones did now—with interest, even though this man intended his daughter for someone else. But Beecher wanted a title, which Benedict did not and would never have, so he felt quite safe in the other man’s analysis.

“Mr. Greystone,” Beecher finally said with a slight smile. “I have not seen you since that gathering at Rockholm Center a few weeks ago.”

“Quite a boring fete,” Benedict laughed and it was genuine.

“I certainly thought so,” Felicity interjected with a bright smile for him. Then her gaze flitted to Vivien. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.”

Benedict jolted as if he had all but forgotten his companion. “Great God, my manners. This is Miss Vivien, a friend of mine.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Beecher, Miss Felicity.” Vivien’s tone seemed strained as she extended a hand, but Benedict assumed this was because of their plan.

Benedict leaned a fraction closer to Beecher as Vivien made vague small talk with Felicity.

“I have heard that there are congratulations in order.”

Beecher arched a brow. “Congratulations?”

Benedict grinned. “Come now, do not be coy. It is common knowledge that your daughter has matched with the Earl of Dersingham’s son. I believe he is currently Viscount Topperly?”

Beecher smiled slightly. “Ah, word does get around in a Society such as this. We have not announced the engagement yet, but yes, we intend to do so tonight.”

Right on cue, Vivien turned from Felicity with a laugh. “Oh, did I hear you say Topperly?”

Beecher glanced at her with uncertainty and Benedict almost had to laugh. Americans who were hurtled into their realm were almost always staggered by the connections of their Society. At this moment, the poor man was probably trying to figure out exactly who and what Vivien was. In a moment, he would know.

“Yes, indeed I did,” Beecher said with a quick glance around due to the loudness with which Vivien had asked the question.

“Good old Tops,” Vivien said with a sentimental sigh. “Most men aren’t like him.”

“What do you mean?” Felicity asked slowly and her stare was quickly becoming concerned.

Vivien leaned toward her father instead. “You needn’t worry about him, sir. The man has taken very good care of his other families. I’m certain he will take care of the one he creates with your daughter.”

Both the Beechers gasped in unison and Felicity took a step away from Vivien like she had suddenly become poison. Benedict stifled a smile. This was perfect.

“Oh dear,” Vivien said with a glance up toward Benedict. “I thought they knew…”

Benedict patted her hand. “My dear, we do not usually speak of such delicate topics at events such as these.”

Vivien’s expression of embarrassment was so true that even Benedict almost believed it. “Oh my,” she said, her tone strained. “I do apologize!”

Beecher was sputtering, maneuvering his daughter away from them as he stared at Vivien almost as if she had sprouted a second head. “I—I…good evening!”

With that, he grabbed his daughter and dragged her away. Benedict grinned after them. “Now he will go to some friend he trusts and ask about what you’ve said.”

Vivien nodded slowly. “And I’m certain said friend will tell them exactly who and what I am, which will lend credence to my accusations.”

Benedict glanced at her. Her tone was very flat, but her face revealed nothing.

“Indeed, it will,” he reassured her. “The damage is done. I hope you are happy about that.”

She lifted her face to his, examining him closely, but she didn’t have a chance to speak because at that moment another person spoke. From behind him, Benedict heard his name. And when he turned, he found his brother and his brother’s wife standing there, staring at him…staring at her.

The tension in her hand against his arm tightened and for a moment her face revealed pure terror. Benedict had no understanding of why. She had met his brother a few times during their first affair, but why she felt so strongly about him, Benedict did not know.

“Lord and Lady Abbotton,” he drawled with a smile that challenged his brother to say something about his companion. “I did not realize you two would be in attendance tonight.”

Derek arched a brow. “I imagine you did not.”

Benedict ignored the judgmental tone of his brother’s answer and turned his attention toward Jocelyn. His sister-in-law kept casting side glances at Vivien but had not yet acknowledged her. Nor had his brother.

“Jocelyn, you look lovely.”

She smiled, but the version of it was weak indeed. “Thank you, Benedict.”

“And I do not think you have met my companion—” he began.

His brother moved forward slightly, almost as if to protect Jocelyn. “My wife knows who she is.”

Vivien sucked in a breath but did not move nor allow her reaction to be present on her face.

Derek turned to her. “Vivien,” he said, the barest of welcomes said on the barest of polite tones.

She swallowed. “Lord Abbotton.” She glanced at his wife with a shaky smile. “And Lady Abbotton, congratulations on your marriage.”

Jocelyn nodded, but there was stiff discomfort and confusion about what to do on her face. Benedict couldn’t understand it. He knew her to be a kind woman, friendly to all, and yet she could scarcely look at Vivien.

There was a moment of the awkwardness that stretched between them for what seemed like an eternity and then Vivien broke it in the most unusual way possible.

She turned to Benedict. “I am afraid I find myself with a headache. Thank you for including me tonight, but I think I shall return home.”

Benedict stared at her. She was running? “Vivien—”

She held up a hand and faced his brother and sister-in-law with false brightness. “It is always a pleasure to see you. Do enjoy your evening.”

His brother seemed to feel no pleasure as he bid her farewell and watched her turn to depart the ballroom. His face was grim.

Benedict couldn’t help it, he rushed to follow her, proving to himself yet again that he was bound to this woman in ways he could hardly explain. Ways she did not desire.

There seemed to be no escaping that fact, no matter what he did.

Chapter Thirteen

Vivien could scarcely breathe as she made her way across the ballroom. It felt like every eye followed her, disgusted expressions greeted her, the walls closed in on her and she could barely contain an urge to run toward the carriage she knew awaited her on the drive.

Guests were still entering the ballroom as she burst into the cool night air and looked for her driver in the fray of servants and partygoers. Suddenly a servant for the house was at her elbow, looking at her benignly.

“May I assist, miss?”

She nodded. “I am looking for my friend’s driver, I must depart immediately.”

The servant did not register a reaction to this statement, despite the early hour, but merely took her information and set off to find the man in the collection of servants who had taken their masters’ vehicles behind the house to wait for the party’s end many hours from now.