Her Perfect Match

chapter Two


Light peeked through the gap in Vivien’s curtain. She remained in her bed, though there was no rest to be found there. She had not slept since her visitors had departed a few hours before. She should have been sleeping in, luxuriating in the satisfaction of sin and pleasure.

Instead, she found herself restless and discontented, not by the pleasures of the night, but by her…life.

It was an odd feeling and she jerked herself out of bed to ring for her maid. As she pulled on a robe, she paced the room, trying to block out feelings that burned inside her.

How could she be dissatisfied? She had spent years, almost a decade, actually, building her life up to the standard she now kept. She had always taken pride in the vast fortune she had built and the reputation she had cultivated.

The door to her chamber opened and she turned to face the servant with a false smile.

“Good morning, Rachel. I believe I would like to start the day with a bath.”

The young woman, her servant and companion for five years, stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

“What is it?” Vivien asked, perhaps a bit sharper than she should. “Why should you look at me in such a way?”

The girl scuttled into the adjoining room and rang the bell for hot water to be brought. “I’m sorry, Miss Vivien,” she said with a shake of her head. “I only haven’t ever known you to be up before seven before.”

Vivien groaned. “Dear God, is it that early?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rachel said as she bustled for thick towels and soap. “It may take the staff a bit of time to ready the water. They won’t be but just starting their day, you see.”

Vivien moved into the room and sank into the lounge by the fire with a heavy sigh. She stared at Rachel.

“I hadn’t thought,” she said, apology thick in her voice. “There is no rush, I simply…couldn’t sleep.”

The girl turned toward her and there was concern in her dark eyes. “You have seemed…out of sorts lately.”

Vivien flinched. She had very few people she confided in. Even her best friend Mariah and their newest friend Lysandra did not truly know all about her. No one did—she made sure of that fact. But outside of her friends, she did trust her servants. And she believed they truly cared for her.

After all, with what they saw, they all had ample opportunity to destroy her if they desired to do so. None ever had, even servants who had been dismissed from her employment over the years.

“Have I been out of sorts?” Vivien asked.

Perhaps if she hashed this out with another person, she might uncover the source of her recent melancholy.

The maid nodded. “Of course, no one else in the world would see it, ma’am. No one who comes to this house or sees you in public ever says anything except that you are the most beautiful and accomplished woman of your kind.”

Vivien smiled, but inside her stomach clenched. Her kind. There was no doubt what that meant.

“But you can see something more,” she said.

Rachel waited until the first set of servants had come with steaming-hot water. Once they had dumped it into the tub and departed to fetch more, she continued.

“Yes, I can. It seems you have been different since Miss Mariah…I mean, since Mrs. Rycroft’s marriage.”

Vivien pushed to her feet in shock. Had this out-of-sorts feeling truly begun almost a year ago? She would not have said it herself, but now that Rachel had, the date rang true.

“But I am exceedingly happy for Mariah,” she whispered, more to herself than to Rachel.

She’d had a small hand in Mariah’s match with her new husband, John Rycroft. Just as she had with Viscountess Lysandra Callis and her husband Andrew. Her reputation as a mistress matchmaker had been damaged by those two marriages in two years, but both women deserved their happiness. So she ignored the “Mistress Matchmaker turned Marriage Matchmaker” whispers and instead smiled at her friends and their intensely obvious joy.

“Of course you are!” Rachel insisted as the second set of water was poured into the tub. Now it was more than half full and steaming.

Once the men with buckets had gone, Vivien slipped from her robe and stepped into the water. Her aching muscles relaxed in the warmth and she settled back against the curved tub to stare up at the ceiling.

“And yet, I cannot deny that seeing not one but two of my matches end in love has made me—” She broke off, for the word on her tongue was jealous.

But that couldn’t be correct. She had no desire for love or marriage or anything permanent. As Seymour Lawrence had said to her not five hours before, she valued her independence. She would not surrender that for something so fleeting.

“I’m tired,” she whispered instead.

Rachel handed her the soap. “Oh, and why wouldn’t you be? You hardly had any sleep. Perhaps the bath will help you relax and—”

“No,” she said as she lathered the soap in her hands absently. “Not physically tired. Something deeper. I’m tired of being the most celebrated mistress in Society. I’m tired of hosting fetes and pleasure parties.”

Rachel pursed her lips. “You have done so for so long. Who could blame you for feeling the shine has worn off the diamond?”

Vivien chuckled as she glanced up at her servant. The girl was very bright, really. “Yes. An apt metaphor.”

“I suppose you could…” Rachel trailed off, her lips pursed in concern.

Vivien sat up straighter. “I could what?”

“Well…” Rachel glanced down at her. “You could…stop.”

Vivien’s lips parted. Dear God, she had never considered that. Being Vivien Manning, Courtesan Extraordinaire had become her everyday life. But what if it wasn’t? What would she do if she was just…herself?

“I’ve spoken too plainly,” Rachel fretted, ringing her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Miss Vivien.”

Vivien glanced over at her. “No, no, Rachel, not at all. I asked you for your counsel and you have given that to me. In more ways than I could have imagined when I invited you up here to forget my feelings. But I think you may be…correct, though I cannot believe I am saying so.”

Truly she could not, but when she said those words out loud, they gained even more power. She tingled with them, more excited by the idea of walking away from this life than she had been by any lover in…well, since her last protector.

“Correct?” Rachel whispered.

She nodded. “Having you say these things has made me realize I don’t want to do this anymore. To be this person anymore. I—I want a new life. Where I can start over.”

Rachel stepped back until she bumped the settee arm with her backside. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Miss Vivien…”

“Oh, please don’t look so forlorn!” Vivien burst out. “I could not just disappear in a moment’s time. I wouldn’t do that. I need time to arrange for a new home, a new name, to make sure my servants were taken care of. And have you ever known me not to make my exit spectacular?”

Rachel laughed. “No, miss. You have always sparkled on your way into any room and on your way out. No one could miss your entrances or exits.”

“And this shall be no different.” Vivien clapped her damp hands together as her mind raced. “If this Season is to be my last, I shall make it such a Season that when I disappear, my legend will be whispered of for years to come.”

Her servant’s eyes widened and then a grin began to spread across her pretty face. “Miss Vivien, that could be…”

“Spectacular?” She laughed. “Oh yes. I very much intend it to be so. Now run into my dressing room and fetch a piece of paper and a quill. I have much to plan if this is to truly end my reign as Master of the Mistresses!”

The girl giggled as she rushed into the other room and brought back the items Vivien had required. She sank back into the tub and pondered. Oh, there were many lists to be written. Things to do. Money to spend. Homes to find. Ways to remain anonymous in whatever new place she arrived in.

But right now she had an entirely different list on her mind.

“At the top of the paper, write ‘Loose Ends to Tie Before Deparing London’,” she ordered.

The scratch of the pen made her smile as she thought of everything she wanted to do to make this last Season oh-so-memorable.

“First, celebrate my friends.” She sighed as she thought of them. She had many acquaintances and clinging hangers-on, but there were only a few people she counted as true friends. Mariah and Lysandra were chief amongst them. Before she vanished, she wanted them to know how much they were appreciated and loved.

“Yes, miss,” Rachel said. “Second?”

“Destroy someone evil,” she said with a frown. There were many she could count in that number. She had always remained silent to protect her reputation, but without those bonds? Oh, she could destroy. “And third, protect someone good.”

“I like those,” Rachel said as she scribbled away.

“I rather do myself. Fourth, indulge in pleasure.” She hesitated. “I realize that may seem silly coming from me, since that is the life I intend to leave. But once I am a respectable woman with a new name, I do not think I shall have the freedom to carouse as I can do now. I shall have to get it all out of my system.”

She glanced up to find Rachel blushing as she wrote down the item. But she was also smiling.

“Fifth?”

“Give away that which I do not need,” Vivien said.

There was much that fit that description. She had amassed a great deal of wonderful things, some of which would come with her wherever she ended up, some would be sold. But if she could bestow some happiness from her things on to deserving parties, she wanted to do so.

“Sixth,” she continued, “Enjoy London. For I do not think I will be able to return until age has changed my face enough to make me unrecognizable.”

“Oh, Miss Vivien,” Rachel sighed. “I do not like to think of that.”

She shrugged, though in truth she didn’t like to think of it either. London had been her home for ten years. It had given her wealth and solace after a painful childhood. She would miss it.

And yet, she did not feel a desire to alter her course.

“Number seven, I wish to revisit the past.”

She hesitated as Rachel scratched out her sentence on the list. There were many things left unresolved in her past. Things that she dreaded facing. But she would. Once and for all.

“And while I am pursuing number seven,” she said with false lightness. “I would also like to complete number eight and settle a debt.”

“A debt?” Rachel said in surprise. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I did not realize you were a gambler.”

Vivien barked out a laugh. “Oh, all mistresses and courtesans are gamblers, my dear. But that isn’t the kind of debt I mean.”

No, she meant a debt to the man who had plucked her from a path of ruin and made her something more. She owed him something. She intended to repay that debt now.

“And finally, I suppose my final loose end will be to disappear,” she said with a smile.

Rachel’s hand faltered. “Disappear.”

“Yes. That will lend the right twist to this grand gesture, I think. I shall vanish on the wind and leave the world gossiping.”

Rachel slowly wrote her mistress’s last loose end and then set the paper aside with a sad sigh. “Are you certain this is the course you wish to follow?”

Vivien hesitated. “I am not certain of much lately. I suppose that has been the cause of the malaise you have noticed. But of this course I am certain. And now, help me out.”

Rachel moved to the edge of the tub with a towel in hand and helped Vivien step onto the floor. As she wrapped the towel around her mistress, Vivien sighed.

“I can dry myself. Go and finish whatever your normal morning routine is. I shall ring to be dressed in a few hours.”

“Yes, miss,” Rachel said with a quick curtsey.

“Oh, and Rachel?” she called out as the girl moved toward her door.

She turned back. “Yes?”

“I trust you, but I must ask you to be discreet. Please do not tell anyone, not even the other servants, of my plans. I will do so myself, when the time is right.”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, miss. I will not speak a word of this. You may depend on me.”

The girl slipped away. Once the door shut behind her, Vivien tucked the towel more firmly around her and moved to the list Rachel had abandoned on the seat. In her neat handwriting, the girl had marked out a plan for Vivien’s explosive departure from the life she had been living.

And when she looked at that list, she thrilled at its nine points. And realized there was one missing.

One loose end she had never resolved. One loose end that haunted her daily, weekly, monthly.

She caught up the pen, dipped it in ink and added a final number to the list:

10. Benedict Greystone.





Benedict Greystone lifted a slice of toast to his lips and took a bite as he scanned over the paper before him. Having dispatched with the business sections and important news, he had moved on to the large portion of the paper that dealt with Society and gossip. Most of the items were benign enough, a party here, a piece on the Regent and his estranged wife there.

But it was the blind items that often caught his eye. There, the writers sometimes made reference to people outside the normal social circles in circuitous descriptions one could easily decode if aware of the parties involved.

And there, the third item in, was the one he had been seeking, though he would deny it if asked.

A certain popular “lady” celebrated her birthday last night with a fete that would turn real ladies into vermillion-cheeked messes. The author wonders which of the gentlemen in attendance stayed after-hours to offer her a gift.

Benedict gripped the paper so hard that it crumpled and glared at the mess in his hands.

“Vivien,” he murmured.

The woman was entirely inescapable. Not that he did a very good job of trying.

Behind him, he heard his brother clear his throat, though he had not heard Derek enter the room. He set the paper aside, but the Earl was already leaning over his shoulder glancing at what he had been reading.

“Vivien Manning?” his brother said with a cluck of his tongue. He took a seat at the head of the table next to Benedict and took the mangled paper. There was no masking his disapproval as he sighed, “Still?”

Benedict leaned back in his seat and shrugged. There was no use denying what Derek knew and had known for years.

“We cannot help who we love, my lord,” he said softly. “Only what we do about it. And my duty is very clear.”

Derek glanced at him with a brief flash of concern, but then he smiled. “Does this mean you will be taking my advice and begin a search for a bride, then?”

Benedict let his brother’s question sink in and wished there would be a moment of excitement of pleasure at the thought. There was none. Only drudgery and duty and dread.

His brother turned the paper away from the Society page and Benedict let out a sigh. Now, at least, he no longer felt as if she were watching him.

“Yes,” he finally responded. “It is time, I suppose. After all, you have married. As spare, I should be certain I too am doing my level best to protect the family name. The Earl requests it, does he not?”

His brother laughed. “Oh, please do not refer to me as if I’m not in the room.”

“My apologies, I am merely still growing accustomed to your lofty title, brother,” Benedict said with a smile of his own.

“Marriage is not as terrible as you make it sound with your tone,” Derek reassured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You should consult with Mother on the matter. I would wager she has suggestions for ladies who would be perfect for the job.”

Benedict’s smile fell and he paced away from his brother. “Oh, I’m certain she does. Horse-toothed heiresses abound, I imagine.”

His brother folded his arms. “She chose my wife.”

Benedict’s heart sank at his brother’s stiff posture. He had certainly put his foot in it this morning.

“Of course, I know that. And Jocelyn is beautiful both inside and out. You are lucky to have her as a bride and I am proud to call her my sister. I’m sorry.”

Derek’s countenance softened a fraction at Benedict’s sincerity. He moved closer.

“You believe you love that Manning woman,” he said softly. “But if you open your heart, you might find something similar with a woman of a proper class. A woman who would not use you.”

Benedict gritted his teeth so that he would not tell Derek that Vivien had never used him. That would only cause a fresh argument on an old subject. Instead, he nodded.

“Perhaps you are correct that I will somehow stumble upon happiness in the ranks of the debutantes. You never know, stranger things have happened.”

Derek hesitated and Benedict could see his brother had more to say. But he didn’t. Instead, he glanced at his pocket watch and swore beneath his breath.

“I have an appointment I must leave for now. But we should talk about this again soon, Benedict.” His brother clapped him on the shoulder as he passed by and out of the dining room.

Benedict sighed as he heard his brother depart and was left alone. Whatever his brother thought, whatever his mother said, the life that would greet him through their matchmaking was a very empty one.

And he was left feeling that none of it had meaning anymore.