Page 23

Vivian made a mental note to look it up in her book. She turned to Alexander. “And yours?”

“The nightingale,” her companions replied together, and the duchess laughed. “He has loved the nightingale since he was a little boy. I think it's the bird’s beautiful song that captured Alex’s heart.”

The wind picked up, and Vivian trembled from the cold. Thankfully, they decided to head back. Duchess Torrington threaded her arm through Vivian’s. “I hope we didn’t bore you too much, dear.”

“Quite the opposite,” Vivian replied, meaning it. “I may have found a hobby that I enjoy.”

Lark’s Song came into view, reminding Vivian of what Penelope had said the night before. “Do you prefer to live here or in London?”

Duchess Torrington spoke with a light smile. “If given the choice of where to remain, I would always pick Berkhamsted. London, although vibrant and full of activity, is good for short spurts. Here, life is slower, and each day can be savored.”

“What do you think, Miss Vivian? Would you be able to live here?” Alexander asked.

She studied his face for a long moment, assessing what he thought, but he did not show any expression. Tilting her head, Vivian considered what exactly she felt at the moment.

If every day were to be like that one, she would not have any qualms in remaining there. Her answer was different.

“I must admit having done more enjoyable things here than I usually do in London. Is it the exception or the rule to keep busy?” She continued. “How often do you eat together, go birding, or do other family activities?” Vivian did her best to keep a critical tone from her voice, but she wasn’t sure she had achieved it.

It was Alexander who replied. “I would say we have dinner as a group about three times a week. At least once a week, someone from another estate or London joins us. My aunt and I are sometimes joined by the duke or William for our weekly walks.”

“There is more time for such things here,” Duchess Torrington said. “We do not have the many social obligations of society. Although we’re often invited to things here and there, it is never because of our station, but because of friendship.”

The reply surprised her; she’d not expected for there to be such a vibrant existence in the countryside. When her family reposed to their small country home, it was for a month or two of long days, where the most exciting thing they did was go for walks. Admittedly, her mother did go to neighboring homes ever so often for tea.

Upon nearing Lark’s Song, Duchess Torrington hurried through the gate. “I look forward to a warm drink.”

Alexander placed a hand on Vivian’s arm, slowing her, and she looked up at him. “Is there something wrong?”

“You didn’t answer the question.” It was hard to tell if he jested as his expression was unreadable.

She considered her reply. “If I had to live here, I think it would be enjoyable. My sister is here, and I adore the duchess.”

Just as he took a step, she spoke again. “Why do you ask?”

“I am curious. You are hard to read.”

The honesty of his reply made her eyebrows lift. “I can say the same about you, Alexander. Perhaps it is that we do not know each other well enough.”

His brows lowered. “I am usually very good at assessing people’s thoughts.”

Vivian studied him for a moment. “I present a challenge, then?” Purposefully ensuring a blank expression, she met his gaze. “Interesting.” Deciding it was a fun game, she hurried after Duchess Torrington.

Alexander and William played chess, and Penelope pretended to read while she and Clara discussed the upcoming Twelfth Night celebration at the Torringtons’.

“Mother and Father should be arriving tomorrow,” Clara said, peering at the paper where Vivian was writing notes.

“We should invite the Fosters for dinner,” Clara remarked and continued. “Mother will adore Mrs. Foster. They have much in common.”

Vivian hadn’t the opportunity to speak to the woman, and although she seemed pleasant enough, she’d not smiled even once.

“Are you certain? She didn’t seem particularly friendly.” Vivian slid a look toward Alexander and William. “Are they friends with Anthony Foster?”

Her sister nodded. “They are acquaintances.” She let out a breath. “Mrs. Foster is a patron of roses and runs a local group of gardeners. You know how much Mother adores roses.”

“That could be something,” Vivian reluctantly admitted.

* * *