Her Perfect Match

chapter Four


“You are distracted.”

“What?” Vivien blinked, dragged back to the present moment as Mariah stepped up to her side and held out a glass of sherry for her.

Her friend laughed. “You see, your response proves my point exactly. I have been standing beside you for nearly a full minute and you didn’t even notice me.”

Vivien downed a sip of the drink. Her friend was right, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“Of course I noticed you!” she lied through clenched teeth.

Mariah arched a brow and it was clear she did not believe that statement even for a moment’s time.

“Then why were you staring off into space, eyes glazed and in no way paying attention to your own party, even though your guests have slowly begun to depart? Is this some new technique to make yourself mysterious?”

Vivien rolled her eyes at her friend. “Very well, I was woolgathering. You would think that had become a capital offense to hear you grouse about it.”

“No capital offense, I assure you. Simply something I am not accustomed to.”

“I don’t know why,” Vivien protested. “No one can pay attention at all times.”

Mariah shrugged as if conceding the point. “I suppose not, but you have always been the most attentive hostess. Which begs the question—what was on your mind that would so thoroughly change that?”

Vivien pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t blurt out Benedict’s name. Whatever was happening between them was a private matter and she didn’t want her hawkish friends involved. Especially Mariah.

Of course, she didn’t have to say his name at all. Her silence made Mariah shake her head.

“And what was the news from Mr. Benedict Greystone?”

“What do you mean?” Vivien asked, but her tone was weak even to her own ears. She would not convince anyone that Benedict wasn’t on her mind with that waver to her voice.

Mariah set her drink aside, folded her arms and leaned closer. “I saw you talking to him a short time ago.”

Vivien darted her gaze away from her friend. Her best recourse was to say nothing. Mariah knew she and Benedict had been lovers but little else beyond that. She might suspect something more remained between them, but she had no proof. And as long as Vivien stayed quiet, neither Mariah nor anyone else would see how many secrets Vivien had to keep. And how many plans there were to be talked out of if she dared speak of them.

“Well then,” Mariah laughed when Vivien did not respond to her teasing. “Keep your council. I suppose you have earned your secrets and know very well how to keep them.”

“It is my duty to do so,” Vivien said with a false brightness her friend seemed to accept for her face changed from one of interest to one of warmth.

“Either way, thank you for tonight. I have missed being in the company of those you invited. I admit I was nervous to see old friends, but they have been very kind.”

Vivien set aside her own troubles and thoughts and reached for her best friend’s hands. She squeezed them gently. “You deserve all your current happiness and so much more.”

Mariah’s eyes swelled with sudden tears, but she shook her head.

“Don’t sound so serious, Vivien! When you do it makes your words sound like it is an ending of some kind.”

Vivien flinched. “I suppose it is,” she admitted.

“It isn’t.” Mariah laughed. “I am only going home and I’ll see you tomorrow for tea.”

Vivien blinked. That twinge of guilt that had started in her earlier in the evening grew. She should tell Mariah her plans to leave London, to start over. And she would.

But not tonight.

“Of course,” Vivien instead said with a laugh. “I will be at your house at three o’clock sharp.”

Mariah leaned forward to kiss her cheek. As she leaned back, she looked at her closely and said, “Good night. Sleep well tonight. You need it, I think.”

Vivien smiled as her friend moved toward her waiting husband and the door through the thinning crowd. Mariah meant well, but Vivien knew one thing for certain. There would be no sleep for her tonight, no matter what Benedict’s decision about joining her might be.



Benedict stood in one of Vivien’s parlors just outside her foyer and stared through the doorway as her party guests slowly maneuvered their way outside to their carriages with cries of farewell and orders to servants. Over half had gone home and still he debated with himself.

Should he leave and forget this night, with Vivien’s bewitching offer, had happened? Or should he stay and open himself up to powerful passions and equally potent old wounds?

He gripped his hands at his sides and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. His mind raced, but no matter how many options he considered, he could formulate no good answer to his questions. He was of two minds still—he wanted to stay, but he knew he needed to go for the sake of his sanity.

“Greystone?”

He opened his eyes and blood rushed to his cheeks when he found Viscount Andrew Callis, an old friend, standing before him, staring at him in concern.

“Are you well?”

Benedict considered the question and ultimately gave the polite response over the truth.

“Of course, very well,” he said with a false grin that made his cheeks hurt. “Thank you again for including me in the invitation tonight. It has been an interesting evening.”

An understatement if he had ever made one.

“I was happy we ran into you so that the invitation could be made.” Andrew tilted his head slightly and examined Benedict closer. “Though I admit, I was a little surprised when you agreed to come.”

Benedict tried not to show his reaction to the statement on his face and feared he failed. “Why wouldn’t I? I am very happy for you and for Lysandra.”

Andrew pursed his lips. “I appreciate that. Any friend we have in a higher social sphere is most welcome, considering the basis of our union. But I meant I was surprised given your history with Vivien.”

“My history,” Benedict repeated with a humorless bark of laughter. “Oh yes, I thought it was ancient history.”

“Isn’t it?” Andrew asked with lifted eyebrows. “It has been, what, two years since you two parted ways?”

“Three,” Benedict corrected, his voice quiet. “Three years and nearly a month.”

Images of the night Vivien rejected him flashed through his mind in rapid succession and he forced them back so they would not buckle him with renewed emotion.

Andrew’s stare transformed from one of vague interest to concern with the specificity Benedict chose to use in his description. He leaned back on his heels and his appraising glance seemed to pierce through to Benedict’s very soul. Benedict shook his head at the look. Damn it, but he was going too far.

For years he had successfully protected himself from the prying of others when it came to Vivien and his feelings for her. Only his brother knew the truth about the emotions that remained. But now, raw from her request, confused by his reaction to it, he could no longer seem to maintain control over himself.

“Is there something you wish to discuss?” Andrew asked, stepping closer to give them more privacy. “You seem very much ill at ease and I would like to help if I am able. I could promise you utmost discretion.” He chuckled. “Even from my wife if need be.”

Benedict turned on his heel and paced farther into the parlor. Andrew likely did not know how tempting an offer he presented. There was a large part of Benedict that wished to hash out his conflicted feelings and Andrew had always been a good friend when he needed one.

But once he said the things inside of him, they could never be taken back or pretended away again. And while he knew Andrew meant the offer of discretion when it came to Lysandra, if he betrayed that promise, there was no doubt that all of Benedict’s words would come right back to Vivien. And the power they would give her…

It was too much.

“I trust your discretion, of course,” he croaked past dry lips. “And I appreciate your offer of an ear. But at this point, I do not think I can explain what I do not understand myself.”

He glanced over to see if Andrew would accept this mysterious explanation.

His friend continued to look concerned but said, “Very well. I would never demand a statement you didn’t wish to share, of course. But I hope you know that if you need to talk, I am here in London for the remainder of the Season.”

“Thank you,” Benedict said, facing his friend straight on so that Andrew would know how much he meant his gratitude.

Andrew shrugged and stepped back. “Now I should go back to what I was doing, which was searching for my dear wife. It is late and I would much rather be at home in my bed than fighting the crowds through the London streets. Good evening.”

Benedict nodded his goodbye and turned to face the low fire in the grate behind him. Though his emotions might remain conflicted, what he had to do was suddenly as clear as the freshly cleaned window across the room.

He had to leave.

If he couldn’t control his emotions with a friendly acquaintance like Andrew Callis, then he had no chance with Vivien. And he already knew how sharing his emotions with her would turn out. He would be crushed. Rebutted. Rejected.

And that would not do. Not now. Not ever again.

He exited the room and passed through the crowd waiting for their carriages at the entryway to the house. His horse was tethered nearby and he didn’t wait for a servant to fetch it. He released the animal himself, swung into the saddle and rode away.

But it was more difficult than it should have been not to look back in regret just one more time.