Page 78 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
The next afternoon at dusk, Tate’s coachman pulled up to his house, 44 Berkeley Square. Viv had never been here before, and the façade of the house, only three stories tall, appeared modest. How wrong she was.
The entrance hall quickly took her breath away. She stood before a double Carrara marble staircase leading straight up to the first floor, then on to a balcony accessed by stairs against the back wall. Above her head was a plastered ceiling etched in gold filigree. The family crest took center stage, glimmering in the fading light of day shining through the tall Palladian windows at the front of the house. She stood, counting the plaster cherubs who danced upon the walls of the stairs.
“I’m not sure I am equipped to become lady of this house, sir.” Viv was agog at the beauty of the house and its furnishing and appointments.
Tate tipped up her chin and, in front of his butler, kissed her on the lips. “I have no doubts.”
Minutes later, when they were alone in the grand salon, she sought to explain. “I am sorry to be so…contrary. I do not question my desire to marry you.”
“Never question it, please. I love you, Vivienne. We will be good together.”
As solace for her weary mind, his words had her walking into his arms…and never parting from him again that night. The servants, she concluded, would think whatever they wished. They would marry. In a few days, too. And she loved him.
More than that, she had not yet told him.
First she would free her mind of the past. Settling her affairs with Charmaine would do much for how she faced a vast and glorious future with a man she adored.
*
Charmaine’s little cottagealong the banks of the Thames was a charming brick and timber with a stone floor and three fireplaces to keep the great room warm. Viv climbed down from Tate’s traveling coach, her hand in his. They had spent only two nights in London. She wanted to confront Charmaine as soon as possible, for Viv could not live with the hideous facts she had learned.
She stared hard at the cottage.
Tate nodded. He would wait for her. His handsome blue-green eyes widened with a reassuring smile, and she had to reach up on her toes to kiss his firm lips. She marveled each day that he was to be her husband. In truth, he had been meant to be her mate in temperament and heart since she was sixteen. To have him soon in the sight of God and man overwhelmed her with humility and gratitude.
She let go of his hand and left him.
She had not written to alert her sister of her visit.
At that moment, a few sharp barks alerted Viv to the advance of an overjoyed Louis. The dog ran around the far corner of the cottage like his tiny heart depended on it, and as he drew nearer, he launched himself into Viv’s arms.
“Hello, pet! You missed me!” She giggled while the dog licked her throat and chin. “Take him, will you, Tate? I need to go in.” She handed over the squirming animal, who proceeded to lick Tate’s chin in welcome.
Viv trod onward to knock on the rough wooden door.
A maid Viv had hired last spring to assist Charmaine opened it and stepped aside with a soft welcome. The older woman was from Richmond’s town center, a person who had seen life and did not flinch from the looks of Viv’s sister. Mabel had previously assisted Alice, who had traveled with Viv to Paris.
“Your pelisse, miss?”
“No, thank you, Mabel. Is Alice not here?” From Norfolk, Viv had written to Alice and instructed that she was to take Louis and go to Charmaine’s. Viv would meet her there.
“She went into town, miss. She’s doing the shopping and returns soon.”
“I shall not stay here long. So if Alice returns and I have left, please give her my regards. I am pleased to see you are well.” Indeed, the woman was stout of body and of mind. Prior to working for Viv here, Mabel had nursed the ailing Duke of Banfield and his cantankerous wife on their nearby estate for many years. She was used to those who were diminished of body and spirit.
Charmaine sat in an oversized Chippendale chair, her posture erect, her arms to the rests, her gloved hands tapping the blood-red upholstery with her characteristic impatience.
For one wild moment, Viv saw her sister as the duplicate of Jocelyn Gatel’s invalid mother. Confined forevermore to the chair, she tried to maintain some dignity.
She spun to Mabel. “Do please wait outside while I speak with my sister.”
Charmaine leaned forward, dropped her head when she heard the door open and close, then asked, “Who’s there?”
Her hearing, like her eyesight, had begun to deteriorate before Viv had left England. Now too, her hair was gone. Or, at least, from the wisps Viv saw beneath the tight black cloche on her head, Charmaine had few strands left.
Viv strode forward, her compassion rising in her chest for the thin figure before her.
Charmaine wore a clean white muslin gown in voluminous folds around her. She also wore a veil. A woven net of gray, the veil obscured details. But the fall of the net from the brim of the cloche told Viv that her sister squinted at her. “Vivienne?” Charmaine’s voice cracked with strain. “Is that you?”
