Her Perfect Match

chapter Twenty


Vivien stared at the ledger before her, adding up columns of numbers, making notations about additional payments her accountant should prepare and giving herself a general sense of her financial health. Most women of any station did not involve themselves in their household budget as she did, but she found that the absolute value of the numbers gave her some kind of peace. In math, there was a right and a wrong answer, no gray to muddy things.

And she needed that black-and-white view at present to calm her ever-confused mind as it spun on questions of her future and her heart.

Her office door opened and Nettle stepped inside. “Miss Vivien, you have a visitor.”

Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. She was in no mood to see anyone at present. She could barely stand to put on her public persona for an uninvited guest.

“Oh, please tell whoever it is that I am not in residence at present.”

Her butler shifted slightly. “I would do so, madam, but it is Lord Abbotton who calls and he insists on waiting for you if you are not at home.”

Vivien’s hand hovered over the ledger until a drop of ink splashed down on the column she had been reviewing. With a curse, she jerked the quill aside and shook her head.

So, Derek had come. Of course he had.

“I see the problem,” she said softly as she began to tidy up her work space. “Why don’t you show the Earl to—”

She broke off. The public rooms in her home were designed to celebrate her position in Society, but with Derek she had always felt awkward and uncomfortable with herself. She didn’t want him sitting in her parlor, staring at the erotic wallpaper and judging her even more harshly than he normally did.

“The terrace off the breakfast room is very pretty this time of year,” Nettle provided with swift efficiency. “And the weather is warm and still, so he shall not be soaked or blown away during his time there.”

Vivien nodded. “Yes, that should be perfect. Tell him I shall meet him there momentarily. And have tea brought. I doubt he’ll lower himself to share in it, but we mustn’t base our manners on the reaction of our guests, must we?”

Nettle nodded and his chin lifted with pride. “Indeed not. I shall bring a spread that will rival that which was served to the Queen today.”

Vivien smiled as he executed a stiff bow and let himself from the room. Her servants had always been of the highest quality, with the kind of loyalty anyone would pray for. At least she didn’t feel entirely alone as she put the ledger away and took a quick glance at herself in the mirror.

Since she was not going out today, she had dressed herself more conservatively than she normally would. She wasn’t certain if that fact made her happy for she would present as a lady of a certain level…or horrified because she wasn’t wearing her armor when she went in to treat with the enemy.

Perhaps something in the middle was the best reaction.

She smoothed her hair, drew a deep breath and headed out of the room, down the hall to the breakfast room. It was one of the more benign of her public chambers, though even it had a large portrait of a naked woman hanging on the wall above the fire. She sighed as she walked toward the terrace doors.

She could see the Earl of Abbotton through the glass, pacing her terrace even though there was a table there with comfortable chairs that overlooked her pleasant little garden.

She stared at him while she had an unguarded moment. He had qualities that put her to mind of Benedict. They shared a broad-shouldered build and bright gray eyes that were telltale signs they were related. Beyond that, though, she had never felt they were much alike.

Derek was so stern and proper, so much a part of Society in a way Benedict never seemed to fit. He would always do the proper thing, whereas his brother…well, Benedict would more often do what was right, despite any consequences.

As if he sensed her watching him through the window, the Earl turned and looked directly at her. Immediately, Vivien’s palms began to sweat at his stern expression, but she wiped them on her skirt and came onto the terrace with as bland a look as she could muster. She could only hope it reflected that she did not have a reaction to his unexpected presence, not that his being here made her nervous and, frankly, terrified.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

He nodded. “Miss Manning.”

“I must admit, I was surprised to be told you were here. I was not expecting you—did I miss your card?” she asked, very happy that she could remain calm and polite.

He shook his head. “I should have made an appointment, I know, but I feared you would not see me.”

She pursed her lips. “Despite what you think of me, Lord Abbotton, I would never be so uncouth as to refuse a meeting with you.”

She might have considered it, yes, but would never have done it.

He shrugged. “I shall recall that fact for next time, Miss Manning. My most sincere apologies once again.”

He looked ready to launch into whatever he was going to tell her, but Vivien interrupted him, unready for the onslaught about to come.

“Won’t you sit, my lord? My staff is about to bring us tea.” She motioned for the table with one hand, expecting his refusal.

He stared at the table for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll join you.”

She nearly fell over in surprise. Derek had never made his distaste for her a secret, not three years ago, not now. To have him decide to break bread with her was utterly unexpected.

“V-Very good,” she managed to stammer. She took her place and he joined her as the door opened and a few servants came out with tea and food. She poured him a cup, proving him with milk when he asked for it, but no sugar. She prepared her own cup and only then did he settle back and look at her evenly.

“I think we both know why I’m here today,” he said.

A hundred sharp retorts balanced on her tongue, but she bit them all back. He had been polite to her thus far—there was no call for her to be otherwise.

“I assume you have come to speak to me about your brother,” she offered as she took a bite of one of her cook’s delicious cakes. Because of her nervousness, it tasted like sandpaper. Damn him for ruining cake.

“Yes,” Derek admitted.

She arched a brow. “In fact, that is the topic of a conversation we had many years ago, isn’t it? The last time you lowered yourself to darken my door.”

He flinched ever so slightly at her directness, but then nodded. “Yes. I did not think I would have a need to return here and discuss this matter with you again. And yet here we are, three years past, and I feel as though I have traveled through time.”

She shook her head as she thought of Benedict. The last time they had been together, she had not dared to admit her feelings, even to herself.

“No, everything is different,” she said softly.

He looked at her sharply with that answer, but continued, “But it is not, Miss Manning. Just as we discussed when I came to you three years ago, my brother’s well-being and future are being damaged by his obsession with you. He needs to move on. He needs to focus on the future he must fulfill.” Derek sighed. “He needs to be free.”

Vivien’s own sigh caught in her throat. The Earl was not incorrect in his assessment. She knew that more than anyone. In fact she had told Benedict that very thing just a few nights ago. But Derek’s attempts to intrude on the delicate situation did not please her.

“You do realize that your brother is a grown man, very intelligent and well-capable of establishing his own needs,” she said softly.

“On most subjects, I heartily agree with you.” Derek shook his head slowly. “But on this one, I fear he is not. You are his Achilles’ heel and I do not think he will, or perhaps can, let you go, Vivien.”

She drew back at his use of her first name, as well as the fact that he would be so direct in his words. Words that pierced through her armor and made her heart swell with joy at the idea that Benedict would hold her forever.

But the joy faded at his brother’s drawn, unhappy face. He was living proof that if Benedict chose her, if she gave him what he desired, it would hurt him. He would be brought low in the judgment of others, even his own family.

At first Benedict would weather that storm, but she couldn’t believe it wouldn’t take its toll over the years. That it wouldn’t destroy their love in the long run, after he realized how much he had sacrificed for her.

“I believe you care for him,” the Earl continued.

She stared, snapped from her reverie by his utterly unexpected words. “I…what?”

He smiled at her confusion. “I believe…no, I know you care for him. It is evident by the way you look at him, talk to him, and in the fact that you gave him up all those years ago, though it must have brought you pain.”

She blinked. Was her heart so plain then? So obvious now? She had fought years to hide it, yet this man seemed to see it.

Benedict saw it.

“It did bring me pain,” she admitted with great difficulty. “I don’t know why I began again with him this time.”

He tilted his head. “Do you not?”

She pursed her lips at his implication, but did not respond to it.

He sighed. “The facts are clear, Miss Manning, my brother will be destroyed socially if he remains with you. I don’t want to see that happen.”

She held his stare with great difficulty. “You mean you do not wish to be embarrassed by him or by his choices.”

“No.” To her surprise there was no anger in his voice or face. “No, this has nothing to do with me. I would be hurt by his regret. As would you, I imagine.”

He had put her earlier thoughts into words perfectly and hearing them was a jolt of reality that pulled Vivien from whatever faint fantasies she had allowed herself of love and a future. Jolted awake, she blinked at the bright sun and the pain of reality.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He nodded slowly, pained, like saying this hurt him as much as it hurt her. “Then we understand each other, I believe.”

“We do,” she said. “Just as we always have, I suppose.”

He pushed to his feet, leaving his half-full cup and an uneaten cake behind on the plate. “Excellent. Or at least as excellent as this untenable situation could be called.”

Her nod was slow and pained. “Thank you for your concern for him,” she said as he smoothed his jacket. “Perhaps I had become blind to what was best over the past few weeks. But I do promise you that I will do it.”

“Thank you, Miss Manning,” he said and his hand came out unexpectedly toward her.

She stared for a brief second, then took his gloved hand and shook it once.

“Please be there for him once I’m…gone,” she whispered.

He nodded before he headed back into her home and left her on the terrace, staring at the open door into a home that suddenly felt nothing like it.

She stepped into the parlor and rang the bell for a servant. Nettle was the first to arrive.

“Yes, miss?”

She could scarcely find her voice. “You may clear the tray,” she whispered.

He stared at her a moment, as if he could sense her pain, but he said nothing about it, only nodded. “Of course, I’ll have them take it right away.”

“And ask Rachel to bring me my stationary,” she said as she all but collapsed into the nearest chair. “I have a letter to write to my solicitor. Now, before I find a reason to change my mind.”





Benedict paced the parlor in his mother’s townhome, restless and anxious as he awaited her arrival. Being called here, just a few days after his last encounter with Vivien, gave him no relief. In fact, it only made his entire emotional state that much worse.

His mind was clouded with thoughts, with memories, with frustrations he could no longer ignore. How many times could he declare his love only to have it denied…or worse, ignored. This was the second time he had done so with similar results.

The first time he told Vivien he loved her, it had been foolish and he knew it. She had made it clear she could not be with him and in his desperation he had blurted out the truth. As expected, she had recoiled and their relationship had swiftly ended afterward.

But this time…well, things had changed. She had changed. They were closer than ever and he thought, for a brief moment, that she had come to care for him. Love him.

In truth, he still believed that. She did care for him, he had sensed that dozens of times since they were brought back together with such unexpected intensity. And yet something held her back.

Something kept her from being able to accept him.

But what? He kept racking his mind, trying to find the source of her hesitance, her desperation, the distance she kept between them even as her eyes brightened with emotion around him. But there was nothing, nothing except the same old questions that had been plaguing them for years.

The door to the parlor opened and Benedict scrambled to his feet as his mother unexpectedly entered the room.

She was a tall, slender woman, with eyes like his and his brother’s. She had always been beautiful, a Diamond of the First Water her first Season when she caught the eye of their father. They had married within that year and somehow, over the time they spent together, had developed a love match made of deep affection and respect.

His father’s loss had taken its toll on his mother, but she was beginning to come out of her grief and regain some of the sparkle and shine that made her unique.

“Benedict,” she said, holding out her hands in greeting.

He crossed the room to her and took her gloved fingers. She turned her cheek so he could press a kiss on the smooth surface and then backed away. She had never been overly demonstrative in her affection, though he knew she loved her children greatly. But she was proper.

“Mama, you look well,” he said as he allowed her to take a seat on her favorite chair and then found a place on the settee across from her.

She shrugged. “I need a new maid. Isabel is leaving and she’s begun knotting my hair as she thinks of her future husband rather than my needs.”

“I actually know of a few servants who will need new positions soon.”

Benedict smiled. Their plan for Dersingham had worked in spades. The Earl was utterly ruined, his own wife had left to stay with her mother and the women who had once been tortured by him were beginning to find new places of employment, thanks to a little help from Benedict and some friends. Vivien would be pleased about that, at least.

“Good. Have your servants send a list and I’ll make some inquiries.” His mother arched a brow. “And what about you, son? You say I look well, but you do not.”

He stifled a chuckle. “Direct, as always, Mama.”

She shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I be direct, especially when it comes to those I love? You look tired.”

“I am tired,” he admitted.

“I hope this isn’t because of that woman,” his mother said with a sniff.

Benedict jerked his gaze to her with wide eyes. “W-Woman?” he repeated.

She arched a brow. “Please don’t treat me like one of those simpering fools who pretend not to know anything. I know you’ve taken back up with that woman. What is her name again? Vivien or Violet or something else with a V? For vulgar, no doubt.”

He swallowed hard. This was a most indelicate topic and one he had never imagined he would be openly discussing with his mother, of all people. But then again, perhaps it had not been brought to her attention by a stranger.

“Derek must be very desperate indeed, if he brought you into such an indecent subject,” he said, gritting his teeth with every word.

She shook her head. “You needn’t get your feathers ruffled at your brother. He has said nothing to me. You think we ladies do not hear about the antics of the gentlemen? We simply have the control not to bring it up.”

He stared at her. “Then why bring it up now?”

“I had no desire to do so, I assure you. In fact, I have tried to ignore it, but the situation has begun to get out of hand,” she said with a sigh. “It is one thing to have an affair or to obtain a mistress, but it is another to ignore your duties in order to keep the company of that lady. How do you think our Prince became a laughing stock?”

“My duties are fulfilled,” he said, though his voice croaked.

She shook her head. “You told me you intended to look for a bride this Season. I was thrilled to hear it. Your brother has married and I’m certain that he will begin producing heirs in good time, but you are still his spare. If something happens or if he is only able to have daughters, you will be obligated to create heirs to carry on the family name.”

“So all this is about heirs?” he repeated, overcome with disbelief even though Derek had said as much during their last encounter.

“You can be terribly modern about all this and pretend that your father’s name doesn’t matter, but it does,” his mother snapped. “I owe it to him to ensure it carries on. And in all honesty, I think settling down with a lady of proper value would be good for you. You have been…unpredictable as of late and it troubles me. I’ve always believed I could depend on you.”

He clenched his hands as he tried with all his might to retain some civility. “So you think that by involving myself with someone outside the realm of your approval, this somehow proves I’m not dependable?”

She shrugged one slender shoulder. “It could create problems for me, for your brother, for yourself if you got carried away and believed yourself in love with this person. Or are my reports incorrect?”

He pursed his lips. “I do not think I want to discuss that with you, Mama.”

She held his stare for a long moment and then tilted her head. “Very well. You say that you can handle yourself and I have no choice but to have faith in you. But that does not mean I cannot encourage you. So I have made a list.”

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut. “A list,” he repeated with as much pain in his voice as he felt deep in his soul.

“Of women currently on the market who would be the most appropriate matches for you,” his mother said as she dug into her reticule to pull out a folded sheet of vellum.

As he watched her, Benedict had a flash to something very familiar. A memory of being in Vivien’s chamber and seeing a list of hers on her end table. Her reaction had been powerful and she had snatched the paper away before he could read anything on it beyond the words in the title that read “Loose Ends”.

“Benedict,” his mother said, her tone sharp as she shook the paper in front of his face until he took it. He looked at the neat line of names, almost two dozen, but could hardly focus as his mind returned again and again to Vivien and her mysterious list.

Why had she wanted to hide it from him? Did her reaction have something to do with her behavior in the weeks since that night?

“Are you not even going to pretend to examine the names I have so carefully compiled?” his mother asked.

He glanced at her. Her arms were folded and one slippered foot tapped beneath her gown. He shook thoughts of Vivien away as best he could.

“Of course,” he said, looking at her chosen names with a little more focus. But even as he scanned them with increasing dread, he knew one thing above all others.

He needed to find Vivien’s secret list. And he would.