Page 3 of Inventing Vivian

“A very good likeness,” Miss Thornton said. She rose from her chair and moved closer to examine the illustration. “You have quite a talent.”

Vivian studied the picture as well. “I agree. I’ve always considered your illustrations to be exceptional. Though, I admit, I rarely care for the content of the articles.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could capture them and stuff them back in. She clenched her fist, reminding herself to think before she spoke.

“Neither do I,” Lady Sophronia said, seeming not at all offended by Vivian’s bluntness. “My hope is working for the society column will lead to a position as a news reporter.”

“That is indeed a worthy cause,” Miss Miller said. “You could report on the plight of the poor, the residents of the rookeries whose homes are being demolished to make way for the railroad, or the lack of women represented in local government.” She gave the paper a shake and jabbed with her finger. “This, this is all nonsense. In two months will anyone bother to recall which hat Dahlia wore to the Queen’s garden reception, whether her underskirts were trimmed with French or English lace, or who accompanied her to the opera? Of course they won’t. Society only cares about the latest scandal, not the true suffering directly beneath their noses.” She frowned in disgust. “But I hope to change that, to do something more, just like you, Lady Sophronia. I intend to establish a finishing school for underprivileged young ladies. Poor children miss so many opportunities, as their entire purpose is survival. They have few chances of bettering their situations, especially the young girls.”

Listening to the others made Vivian feel brave. “I hope for more as well,” she said, watching closely to make certain her audience appeared interested. “Unfortunately, the scientific and academic communities rarely acknowledge a woman’s work. If I could—”

She stopped when the door opened and Dahlia Lancaster burst into the room.

Miss Lancaster looked agitated, her gaze moving between them and finally resting on her cousin. “Oh, Elizabeth, here you are.” Her shoulders drooped, and she whined, “Oh, whatever am I to do?”

Miss Miller blinked and set the broadsheet with Miss Lancaster’s picture behind her. “Cousin, this is thelibrary.” Vivian thought she infused a hint of sarcasm into the word. “Surely you’ve made a mistake. Your friends—”

“Friends!” Miss Lancaster’s voice rose in tone, sounding shrill. “How can you call them my friends?” She crossed the room in an agitated manner and fell onto the sofa, sobbing.

The other women looked at one another and then at the weeping young lady, unsure of what to do. Vivian didn’t know Miss Lancaster at all. They didn’t move in the same circles, though they were often at the same events. She didn’t believe they’d ever exchanged as much as a brief greeting. Miss Lancaster was a member of a close-knit group of young ladies who went by the moniker the Darling Debs, and Lady Sophronia’s own sister was a member. The young women in the group came from the wealthiest families in the kingdom. They were not only fashionable, but their clothing sparked trends that others were desperate to emulate. They were thehaut ton’s beauties, their images as well-known in the society pages as reports of their latest obsession with a particular type of hosiery or style of shoe. The Darling Deb’s attendance at a play or patronage of a tearoom gave instant fame while a snubbed invitation could devastate a host’s reputation.

The Darling Debs were hardly to be seen without their male counterparts, who flippantly called themselves the West End Casanovas. Powerful young gentlemen who had been friends since childhood, each the heir presumptive to a title, the Casanovas were an exact reflection of the ladies, only in male form. The leader of the group, Lord Ruben, Miss Lancaster’s soon-to-be betrothed, had famously bestowed a ruby tie pin on each member of his band, who wore it proudly to set themselves apart.

Vivian did not have kind feelings toward the Casanovas, some of whom were responsible for her expulsion from the Newton League of Young Inventors twelve years earlier, when she was only eleven.

Miss Miller sat beside her cousin, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Cousin, whatever is the matter? Where is Lord Ruben? Shouldn’t you be—?”

“He’s marrying Lorene.” Miss Lancaster’s sobs muffled her voice.

“I don’t...” Miss Miller glanced at the others. “What do you mean, dear?”

Miss Lancaster lifted her head and wiped at her tears. Vivian couldn’t help but think of the sodium, fatty oils, and proteins (of which there were more than fifteen hundred—to look at a tear in a microscope was to see an entire world) the young lady had just smeared across her cheeks.

“Lord Ruben,myLord Ruben, is engaged to Lady Lorene Stanhope,” Miss Lancaster said in a broken voice. “The marquess announced it just now.”

Lady Sophronia and Miss Thornton gasped.

Miss Miller covered her mouth with her hand, speaking between her fingers. “Had you any idea?”

Miss Lancaster shook her head. “None. He... we... I thought we... that I...”

“Those arrogant Casanovas.” Miss Miller scowled, an expression Vivian noticed the young woman utilized often.

Although she didn’t feel a particular affection for Miss Lancaster, pity for the young woman blossomed inside Vivian’s chest. Her reputation may never recover. She must be utterly humiliated. “I am sorry, Miss Lancaster,” she said.

Lady Sophronia came to sit on a chair beside the sofa.

Biting her lip in an expression Vivian thought was a combination of concern and nervousness, Miss Thornton took the chair on the opposite side.

Vivian remained where she was. She glanced toward the library door, wondering if she should find an opportunity to leave. Miss Lancaster could hardly want a stranger witnessing her falling apart.

At last, Miss Lancaster spoke. “I don’t understand. What am I to do now?” Miss Miller handed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed at her eyes. “My heart is shattered, and I... I simply can’t go on.” She choked on a sob and sniffled. “I just can’t.”

“You most certainly can.” Miss Miller straightened and spoke decisively. “The world will not end because you do not marry Lord Ruben.”

“But how could he do this? He loves me.” Miss Lancaster twisted the handkerchief.

“Men of his rank do not always have the privilege of marrying for love,” Miss Thornton said in a gentle voice. She looked toward Vivian as if imploring her to offer words of comfort as well.

Vivian said the only thing she could think of. “Perhaps it is best that you found out now what sort of man he is, instead of once you were married.”

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