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“I am pleased he plans to marry.” Lady Yarnsby studied her. “Please convince him to take his title. Although I already address him as Lord Yarnsby when speaking of him in social circles. Everyone is aware he does not use it. Most irrational.”

“Are you aware that a man is dead because whoever poisoned the brandy thought it was him?”

“Of course, most dreadful situation. I am sure it was someone here whom Alexander has some sort of quarrel with. It should not impact my life in London.”

Vivian stood, unable to keep her tongue in check any longer. “He is your son. His life is in jeopardy, and all you can think about is your social agenda? I fear that I cannot remain in the room with you right now, madam.” She turned to walk out to see that Alexander stood in the doorway.

“I am glad you are to marry someone who truly cares for you, Alexander,” Lady Yarnsby said, not at all bothered by her outburst. “As for me, I have decided not to marry. I find that widowhood suits me much better.”

“If that is what you prefer, Mother.” Alexander met Vivian’s gaze. “Please stay.”

With measured movements, Alexander went to his mother and kissed her cheeks. He sat on the settee with Vivian.

“I apologize for the effect this unfortunate situation has had on you. Once I return to London and speak to the inspectors and visit the banks, and once those responsible are found and apprehended, you may return to your active social schedule.”

The woman looked to him without warmth. It was as if Vivian watched two mere acquaintances. Then again, most people would find the fact a man’s life was threatened distressful. How different this relationship was from his with the duchess.

“Well, I suppose it is only a week,” she replied, then brightened. “I hope there will be many guests tonight. Perhaps I will hold a holiday fête at Woodhall.”

“You can cohost with me for Twelfth Night,” Duchess Torrington said, walking in.

Lady Yarnsby wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps.”

Vivian and the duchess exchanged looks. “Claudia, we should adjourn to the parlor. Alexander is about to ask for Vivian’s hand. We will be celebrating.”

At the words, Lady Yarnsby stood. She looked around. “Where is Doxie?”

“Your little dog is in the parlor,” Duchess Torrington replied.

Lady Yarnsby took Alexander’s arm and practically dragged him out of the room.

Duchess Torrington shook her head. “You will not see her often. Claudia prefers superficial friends to a relationship with Alexander. Some women are like her; they cannot help the lack of maternal emotions.”

“I do not understand it, Duchess Torrington, I really do not.”

“Call me Theresa, please. You are about to marry a man I consider a son.”

Vivian nodded, unable to do so just yet. She still couldn't believe what was happening was real.

* * *

Vivian’s head swam from all the activities of the evening. Toasts and good cheer ended the evening with everyone celebrating the arrival of a New Year. She’d barely had an opportunity to speak to Alexander as all his time was monopolized by his rather indulged mother.

As horrible as it was to think about, she was glad that Lady Yarnsby would be keeping her distance. It was obvious everyone tolerated her for Alexander’s sake. The woman was insufferable. Just when Vivian thought to have found common ground upon learning Lady Yarnsby enjoyed helping the needy, the woman exclaimed on how taxing it was to send people out to do the work.

By the time everyone went to bed, Vivian was utterly exhausted.

She rolled to her side and looked at the door. Alexander slept just two doors down. It was possible to slip there unnoticed and have a word with him. They’d not had a chance to speak alone before he’d approached her father to ask for hand. Her wonderful, darling father, who’d asked her if she was in agreement before granting his blessing. Vivian had cried in that moment upon realizing that once she and Alexander married, she’d no longer have his company in the evenings.

Although his research of social matters was interesting, the depths to which her father delved were at times overwhelming. Despite being bored to tears, she did it because helping him sort through articles was time they spent alone together.

Slipping from the bed, Vivian pulled her robe on and tiptoed to the door. Once in the hallway, it would be impossible to hear anyone approaching as her heart hammered so hard, it echoed in her ears.

“Crumpets,” she hissed when her toe slammed into a table in the hallway. Thankfully, she was able to grab the vase atop it before it crashed to the ground.

Limping the next few steps, she arrived at Alexander’s door and lifted her hand to rap on it. Soft murmurs permeated through her heart’s hammering.

“Oh no.” Vivian opened Alexander’s door and ducked inside just as Clara’s voice became clearer.