Much as she loved giving advice, solicited or otherwise, she hadcome to realize that her suggestions weren’t necessarily the right answers, just different choices.
A pseudonym was not a moral failing. It simply meant Jacob was his own person, with his own desires and comfort to consider. Besides, the potential backlash from the duped public could end his career.
As for Viv’s authorial future, her stage debut was next Saturday. The good news was that the theater manager had taken the majority of her instructions under consideration. The bad news was, he anticipated a sparse audience at best. Wealthy aristocrats who could afford theater tickets would never attend a spectacle arguing in favor of equality and suffrage. The poor who couldn’t afford a ticket didn’t need the lecture anyway. She was singing their song.
The rest of her thoughts were of Jacob, and her wish to be back in his arms. Or by his side. At his table, on his horse, in an armchair with a good book. She didn’t care what they were doing, as long as they were together.
In the days since she’d been gone, he’d dropped by every day with a basket of breakfast and one of the potted plants from his basil jungle. In addition to gluttonous proportions of foodstuffs, each basket also contained another book she’d admired from his bookshelves.
As a result, Viv snuck in a moment here and there to read a paragraph or two, then inevitably lost track of time until she discovered herself on the very last page. The house had never been less orderly.
Indeed, she and Quentin had set out for their walk to the Wynchesters this morning a full thirty minutes later than planned.
Which led him to grumpily complain on the way that if Viv wasn’t going to keep up with the laundry and have meals ready when he was hungry, maybe he ought to hire someone else.
She shocked him by responding, “Maybe you should.”
He stared at her now, with his mouth hanging open as they hikedthe last quarter mile. “You cannot mean that. Why should I hire a maid when I have you?”
“Because I’m not your maid,” she answered simply. “I’m your cousin.”
It had taken a basil jungle and the freedom to read an entire book in one sitting to make her realize how much of her own needs she’d given up in the pursuit of assisting others.
Jacob had asked for nothing at all, and in doing so, had set her free.
“B-but,” Quentin spluttered.
“What if the theater manager asks me to write additional plays? What if I begin to receive offers to work all over England? Am I to tell paying clients that I cannot possibly pursue my life’s dream because my fully grown cousin cannot fathom any other way to clean his unmentionables?”
Her cousin stared at her in shock, his brain thinking furiously.
“I’ve nowhere for a servant to sleep,” he countered in triumph.
Viv raised her brows. “Did you think I would live in your guest chamber the rest of my life, regardless of how successful I became as a playwright? Or whether some handsome gentleman sweeps me off my feet to live in his castle?”
The expression on Quentin’s face indicated he hadn’t considered her future or her potential desire for independence at all. Now that she’d pointed out a few possibilities, it was becoming clear even to him that using her in place of an entire cadre of servants had never been a sustainable plan.
“But I’ve never lived without you,” he said in a tiny voice that sounded just like how he’d been as a small boy.
“You have,” she reminded him gently as they approached the Wynchesters’ front door. “You were simply too young to remember. Now you’re grown. You can make new memories. Perhaps find atrade, or make some profitable investments.”
“You’rethe one with brains and talent,” he burst out. “I’m no good to anyone!”
“What’s this?” said Mr. Randall, watching them avidly from the open doorway. “The founder of the first official Wynchester satellite brigade fails to acknowledge his own worth and brilliance?”
“The… what?” stuttered Quentin.
“There you are!” chirped Marjorie. She reached out from behind the butler to tug Viv and Quentin into the house. “We were just talking about you.”
“I wouldn’t miss your art school’s celebration for the world,” Viv assured her. “I hope you don’t mind the presumption that we might all go together.”
“Of course we should,” said Marjorie. “But we needn’t head to Vauxhall for another hour. We’ve spent all morning discussing how best to handle satellite brigades like Quentin’s.”
“You keep using words,” he stammered, baffled. “What do they mean?”
“It means,” said Jacob, swooping in to peck Viv on the cheek, “if we’d known what you were up to, we could have helped sooner. Meanwhile, you and your friends were trying to act as an extension of us, but without the supportive framework we could provide.”
“In other words,” said Marjorie, “we can all assist each other. My siblings and I already field more cases than we have time to handle. More hands helping will be better for us and clients alike.”
