“Maybe he wants you to sit down, too. Eat something. You’re always doing a thousand things at once.”
“If I don’t do them all, who will?” she pointed out.
But Viv’s belly chose that moment to let out a lusty growl. In surrender, she set the pans she was scouring aside and took her seat at the breakfast table.
Rufus immediately tried and failed to hop up into her lap.
“By all that’s holy, Quentin, if you do not call your creature away from me—”
“He’s not mine anymore and you know it. Anyone can see he’s adopted you. You’re his pet now.”
“Did I ask to be anyone’s pet?” She nudged the toast and blackberry preserves toward her cousin.
“Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about the matter,” Quentin said peevishly. “Rufus hates me, just like Sally does.”
“You can’t keep acquiring animals and pawning them off on me,” Viv began.
“I’ll raise your pin money,” he interrupted, chewing with his mouth open. “Sally feeds herself anyway. I’m too busy fighting crimes.”
As far as Viv was concerned, the worst crime was the horror Quentin had committed against his hair. She would be the one spending her evening washing and restyling it instead of penning Act Two of her play, in which her villaindu jourmade an attempt upon the Crown Jewels.
Perhaps if she could finish this bloody script, she could earn enough income not toneedto siphon any pin money from her younger cousin’s limited quarterly trust.
“Oof.” Quentin slumped backward in his seat and patted his nonexistent belly. “That was good.”
Viv scooped up the dishes and headed for the sink. “Can you see if the newspaper has arrived?”
He brightened. “Perhaps there are more articles about the Wynchesters!”
“What is left to say about them? Six orphans adopted by a rich foreign baron, who had nothing better to do than spoil them rotten—”
“—and instill lifelong values of empathy and philanthropy. He gave them a purpose in life: helping those who have nowhere else to turn. Of course they’re mentioned in every newspaper! Everyone loves to read about the powerless beating the powerful, and the oppressed triumphing over their oppressors.”
Viv couldn’t argue with the last part. Many of her plays featured unlikely protagonists rising out of hopeless circumstances. She swung a heavy pot filled with simmering water from the stove to the sink, so she could soak the soiled dishes and scour them clean.
Her cousin soon returned with the newspaper and a stack of correspondence.
“More post than usual today,” Quentin said cheerily, then waggled his eyebrows. “Are you receiving love letters from your adoring fans?”
“I’m not known for my sweet and warm personality. Lately, it’s been mostly comedians and a few nutcakes wanting help with their crimes. No one adores me but you.”
“Someone out there will appreciate your sharp edges,” Quentin assured her. “And isn’t your reputation the newspaper’s fault, anyway? They specifically asked you to be harsh and direct, because it generates bigger reactions from subscribers.”
“They didn’t have to ask,” she said dryly. “Plain-spoken and brutally honest is the only way I know how to be.”
This was also one of the many reasons why a suitor was not in Viv’s foreseeable future. Her minimum requirements were high. If a man did not meet her qualifications, she would not waste either of their time with a prolonged courtship. Telling him he didn’t suit would be the first words out of her mouth.
Which unfortunately meant, she didn’t meet the average gentleman’s minimum requirements, either.
It didn’t matter. Viv didn’t wantaverage. She expected more from a partner, and from herself. Besides, she was far too busy managing her own affairs to worry about an alleged phenomenon as unlikely as true love.
Quentin glanced up from the newspaper with a sour expression. “Only a tiny little paragraph on the front page today. What a travesty. Their successes are so inspiring.”
Viv said gently, “I admire your big heart, and your friends’ unflagging compassion, but living the same lives as the rich and well-connected isn’t an attainable goal.”
“They’re role models,” Quentin said stubbornly. “And they’re mostly not aristocrats. Many started out poor. Several are Black, likeus, or have other characteristics that society spurns. But they made a name and a place for themselves anyway! They’rerespected. They have value.”
That was his usual response to any criticism against his idols, but something was different today. There was an unusual tenseness in his shoulders. A vein she’d never seen before pulsed at his temple. As if whatever they were talking about was no longer just about the Wynchesters.
