Chapter 123

Vivienne Ashford knew exactly what it took to remain at the top. Since becoming a countess, cultivating advantageous connections came naturally to her. The elite of Arden were her usual targets. After all, who would not want to associate themselves with a family as prosperous and influential as the Ashfords?

Most of these friendships were shallow, built on little more than mutual benefit and social convenience. The others were far more complicated, riddled with jealousy, manipulation, and toxicity.

Her friendship with Lady Margaret Radford belonged firmly to the latter category.

They had been acquainted for years, had attended countless balls and musicales together, had exchanged compliments, confidences, and insults disguised as concern.

Each knew enough about the other’s family to inflict considerable damage should either of them ever become careless with her words. More importantly, each understood the other’s nature well enough to know that such a possibility could never be dismissed entirely.

And yet, they continued to maintain the elaborate farce of their friendship.

They still sat beside one another at dinners, exchanged gossip at soirées, and extended invitations to each other’s homes for afternoon tea.

There was a peculiar comfort in dealing with a woman whose malice was so familiar. Margaret was a wolf prowling in the open. Neither had to pretend the other was kinder than she truly was, and in a society built on polished smiles and carefully concealed intentions, there was something reassuring about that.

That afternoon, Margaret sat opposite Vivienne in the drawing room at Ashford House, one gloved hand resting elegantly against the arm of her chair while a maid poured fresh tea into their cups.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling across the polished furniture and the small table between them.

Margaret had enough acquaintances, and enough curiosity, to remain thoroughly informed about everything happening within their circle. She frequently regaled Vivienne with her findings, whether Vivienne wished to hear them or not.

Indeed, Margaret had spent nearly fifteen minutes discussing her eldest daughter.

"She is due any day now," she said with considerable satisfaction. "The physicians say everything is progressing beautifully, and naturally, we are all quite eager. It will be the first grandchild on our side of the family."

Vivienne lifted her teacup and took a measured sip.

Her friend was boasting. There was no mistaking it.

Margaret was rubbing her happiness in Vivienne’s face, and for someone as prone to jealousy as Vivienne, it was difficult to feel genuine happiness on her behalf. She could appreciate another woman’s good fortune, but that did not mean she had to enjoy having it paraded before her.

Margaret’s smile widened, relishing her triumph.

"I confess, I had begun to wonder whether she intended to make me wait forever. Fortunately, everything worked out in the end."

Her daughter had married a wealthy viscount, an excellent match. She was the third child in the family, following two sons.

Men could remain unmarried for years without anyone batting an eye. Women were not afforded the same luxury.

A daughter who reached her mid-twenties without a husband invited questions. A daughter who reached her late twenties unmarried inspired concern, speculation, and, worse still, pity. In certain circles, she could even become the subject of scorn.

Margaret had always understood that distinction very well.

"So you see," she continued, "I shall soon have the pleasure of being called grandmother. I cannot tell you how satisfying that is, especially after waiting so patiently."

Vivienne forced a smile that barely reached her eyes.

"I am sure it is," she said, doing her best to suppress the sudden surge of bitterness and envy rising within her.

Their situations were so vastly different that it was almost impossible not to compare them.

Margaret’s daughter was only twenty-two and had already accomplished all that was expected of a young woman. She had secured an advantageous marriage and was now carrying her first child.

Cassandra, by comparison, seemed woefully deficient.

Nearly twenty-eight. Still unmarried. Still without a child.

Margaret knew it, that was precisely why she had chosen the subject.

Vivienne’s son, Edmund, was only twenty-two and therefore still considered young enough to have years before marriage became an urgent concern. No one expected a young man to rush into matrimony merely because he had reached a certain age. There was no social pressure hanging over him in the same way.

There was nothing Vivienne could do about that.

She could hardly force her son into marriage simply to satisfy her own ambitions.

Margaret appeared thoroughly pleased with herself. She lifted her cup, took a leisurely sip, and then gave Vivienne a slow, sweeping glance.

"But you mustn’t feel too badly, my dear. I hear your daughter is presently engaged. It cannot be long before she is married and presenting you with a grandchild of your own."

The sweetness in Margaret’s voice did nothing to disguise the taunt.

Vivienne was taking another casual sip from her cup when Margaret added, almost as an afterthought, "And those Montagues do seem quite efficient when it comes to producing heirs."

The tea went down the wrong way.

Vivienne spluttered, immediately breaking into a violent fit of coughing. She lowered the cup before it could slip from her fingers, her breath catching as another cough tore through her.

The maid standing nearby reacted at once.

"My lady!"

She hurried forward and carefully took the teacup and saucer from Vivienne’s hands before either could fall, placing them safely upon the table.

Vivienne raised one hand, stopping her before she could do anything more.

"It is fine," she managed between coughs. "I am fine."

The maid hesitated before finally bowing and stepping back, though the concern remained evident in her expression.

Across from her, Margaret watched the entire spectacle with a faint curve at the corner of her mouth.

She did not even bother pretending to be concerned. She was far too pleased with herself for having elicited such a reaction from Vivienne.

Vivienne finally managed to draw a proper breath, delicately dabbing at her lips with the handkerchief resting beside her.

Margaret’s amusement only deepened.

At first, she had assumed Cassandra’s engagement was common knowledge by now. Ever since the news broke days ago, it was all everyone was talking about. How had Vivienne remained unaware of something that concerned her own daughter?

Surely a mother would know when her daughter became engaged to one of the most powerful men in Arden. Surely an event of such magnitude could not have occurred without the rest of the family being informed.

And yet Vivienne’s reaction had not been that of a woman receiving confirmation of something she already knew. It had been genuine shock.