Page 2 of Inventing Vivian

Enjoy?Vivian pulled back, aghast.Does the popeenjoyreligion? Does Mozartenjoyopera?She was positively compelled by science and invention and technology. Understanding the mysteries of the physical world was more than simply a hobby. It was Vivian’s raison d’être. Her passion. Why would she wish to talk only about topics such as the weather and the betrothals of noblemen’s sons?

Aunt Winifred must’ve seen the argument building in Vivian’s thoughts. She patted her niece’s hand. “I know it isn’t fair, dear, especially for one with a mind such as yours. But such is a woman’s lot in life.” She let out a breath, and Vivian wondered if she was thinking about her late husband. “A gentleman isn’t looking for a stimulating scientific debate when he returns home in the evenings. He wants a contented wife, happy children, and a well-managed home.”

The idea of casting aside her own pursuits to make a pleasant life for someone who cared nothing for her interests was intolerable to Vivian. Why would she seek such a union? What was the point of it? With any luck, this would be the last Season her father would insist that she attend Society events, and Vivian could finally tuck herself happily away and live out her life alone in her laboratory.

Aunt Winifred patted her hand again.

Vivian knew her aunt genuinely wished for the best for her. Since Aunt Winifred’s husband had died and she and her young son had come to live with Vivian and her father, the woman had taken on a motherly role to Vivian as well as becoming a caretaker to her brother. And though the woman’s advice was often obtuse, her intentions were sincere, and Vivian loved her for it.

“I will do better,” she said, knowing the words would help alleviate her aunt’s worries about Vivian’s future.

Aunt Winifred’s shoulders relaxed, and her smile softened. “Enough said, then. Let’s find your father—I believe he is in the cardroom. The marquess should make his announcement any moment now.” She linked her arm back through Vivian’s. “And we won’t want to miss that.”

They came upon Vivian’s father at the door of the cardroom, speaking with his old friend Lord Strathmore. Mr. Kirby leaned heavily on his two canes. The sight of her once broad-shouldered and straight-backed father struggling to stand pained Vivian, but she knew he wouldn’t wish her to pity him. Mr. Kirby’s eyes crinkled, and a smile lifted his luxurious mustache when he saw them approach. “Lord Strathmore, you remember my sister, Winifred Larsen and, of course, my daughter, Vivian.”

“Always a pleasure, ladies.” Lord Strathmore bowed but did not take either of their hands, for which Vivian was grateful. His Lordship was a round man with a red face and suffered from hyperhidrosis, or overactive sweat glands. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Lovely to see you, Mrs. Larsen.” He turned to Vivian. “Miss Kirby, you have grown into such a beautiful young woman.”

Vivian curtsied. “Thank you, Your Lordship. But, of course, I can take no credit for that.” Of all her accomplishments, her appearance was the one Vivian was the least proud of—she’d done nothing to achieve it. But it was the one most often complimented. “Of course, as Darwin says,” she continued, “appeal to the opposite sex is simply a means of attracting a mate and ensuring survival of the species—”

Her father coughed, and at the same instant, Aunt Winifred cleared her throat. “Thank you, Vivian,” she said. Her voice sounded higher in pitch.

Vivian noticed that Lord Strathmore’s face was redder than usual, and her father’s and aunt’s faces were as well. She’d done it again. Her stomach felt ill. “I beg your pardon,” she said quietly.

Lord Strathmore coughed and wiped his neck with his handkerchief. “Ah yes, Darwin. Very forward-thinking man, isn’t he?”

Vivian’s father adjusted his collar, glancing around as if worried someone else might have overheard. “A chill wind today, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, chill,” Aunt Winifred said.

Vivian’s chest went hot, and she remained quiet as the ill feeling grew.

Lord Strathmore dabbed at his face, glancing along the passageway, and tucked the handkerchief into his waistcoat pocket. “I say, Miss Kirby, if it’s not too much of an imposition, perhaps you might check on my niece, Hazel. She’s had another of her attacks and has retreated to the library to... ah... recover.”

Vivian was glad the man had offered her an excuse to escape the uncomfortable situation. She was acquainted with Hazel Thornton, although the two had spoken but briefly on a few occasions. The young woman was very shy. Vivian knew only that Miss Thornton lived with her relatives in London while her father was stationed in Africa in his capacity as a general in Her Majesty’s army. Aunt Winifred had explained the young woman suffered from attacks of panic, and Vivian could imagine how distressing a crowded ballroom might be for Miss Thornton.

Vivian found the library easily and pushed open the door but stopped when she realized there were others in the room and her arrival had interrupted their conversation.

She stopped and drew back. “Oh, I was just—” She looked between the room’s three occupants. In one corner, Lady Sophronia Bremerton sat beside Miss Thornton. Lady Sophronia wrote for theIllustrated London News. From what Vivian had heard, she was also the artist of the drawings that appeared with her articles. On the other side of the room, reading through a stack of broadsheets, was Miss Elizabeth Miller. Vivian knew the young lady only by sight. She believed her to be a teacher of some sort.

Under their stares, Vivian felt like an intruder. “Miss Thornton, your uncle asked me to find you, to inquire as to whether you are recovered from your...” She stopped and looked between the other women, unsure whether or not she should mention the young lady’s health issues. “Are you quite all right?”

“Much better,” Miss Thornton said, a small smile on her fair face. “Thank you.”

Vivian turned, ready to leave, but her gaze landed on the rows of books in the library, pulling her to a stop. Lord Molyneaux had a splendid collection. “I apologize for the intrusion.” She kept her gaze on the books as she spoke. She recognized Louis Pasteur’s works on microbial fermentation and pasteurization. “It was not my intention to interrupt.”

“There is nothing to interrupt,” Lady Sophronia said. Her voice was friendlier than Vivian had expected it would be. “Unless you are opposed to a respite from a crowded ballroom.”

“Come in and make yourself welcome!” Miss Miller said, flapping her hand to wave Vivian inside.

Vivian closed the door behind her and greeted each of the young ladies. She still felt uncertain, but the women seemed genuinely pleased to welcome her. She wondered if they had planned to meet or if their coming together in the library at the same time was a coincidence. Had they each independently sought, as Lady Sophronia had said, “a respite from a crowded ballroom”?

Running her finger along the volumes, Vivian read the titles and stopped at a particular volume. “Sir Humphry Davy,” she muttered. “I wonder if this includes his writings on electrochemistry.” She pulled the book from its place and sat at the marquess’s table.

A few moments later, Miss Miller’s voice interrupted her reading of the humorous effects of inhaling nitrous oxide.

“Oh, what have we here?” Miss Miller held up a broadsheet. “TheIllustrated London News. And my cousin’s face is right on the front page.” She turned the paper around for the others to see. “Is this your artwork, Lady Sophronia?”

“It is.” Lady Sophronia seemed to tense, as if bracing herself for an unkind judgment.

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