Excerpt

Chapter One

Christmas Eve, 1818
Copley Grange

Near Corfe Castle, England

"Oh, dear.  Is that the best you have to wear, Miss Ambrose?"

"Your pardon, Ma'am.  I'm afraid it is," Vivian said, holding
her hands clasped tight in front of her and refusing to give in
to the urge to smooth the skirt of her navy wool gown.  It was a
gown meant for a governess or a paid companion, or for what she
was:  a poor relation.

"Dear me, dear me, this won't do.  This won't do at all!" Mrs.
Twitchen, her distant cousin, fretted.  "We are having Mr. John
Sudley, Baronet, for dinner, and his wife is the granddaughter of
an earl.  This won't do!"

"Perhaps, Ma'am, it would be better if I did not attend?"  Her
stomach growled and gurgled beneath her clasped hands.  She
could, though, feed it just as well off a tray in her room as at
the table.

"Nonsense," Captain Twitchen said, sitting by the fire where the
oak yule log burned.  He placidly read his paper, a rock around
which maids and footmen flowed as they hung greenery and
positioned silver candelabra newly polished.  "If the gown is not
suitable, wear one of Penelope's.  She won't mind.  Will you,
girl?"

"Papa!"  Penelope, aghast, turned from her inspection of a
towering centerpiece of sweetmeats, sprigs of poisonous mistletoe
tucked here and there in a creation of her own design. 

Vivian's eyes lingered longingly on the pyramid of goodies, even
as she felt the heat of humiliation in her cheeks.  'Twas bad
enough to be sent from one branch of the family to another,
treated like a hungry beggar.  'Twas worse yet to land upon a new
doorstep but a day before Christmas, when a family had its mind
on entertainments planned weeks in advance, and on private
traditions.  And worst of all was to feel that her presence was
an annoyance and an intrusion.

"They would not fit," Penelope said.  "Miss Ambrose is much
larger than I am, and the colors would be all wrong.  She cannot
wear one of my gowns."

"I don't see why not," Captain Twitchen said, folding his paper
in half to better read an article of interest.  "You've got more
already than you need for the season, and you'll be having a
bushel more made when we return to town, I warrant."  He glanced
up from his reading, examining the two of them.  "You look near
enough in size to me."

"Might there be one you could spare?" Mrs. Twitchen inquired
cautiously of her daughter.

"Let her stay in her room!  You do not wish to dine with a
baronet, do you, Miss Ambrose?"

She didn't much care where or with whom she dined, as long as
dine she did.

"Penelope," her father said warningly, and gave her a long look.

"But Papa, it isn't fair!  I suppose you'll want me to share all
my gowns with her for the season, as well, won't you?"

"Hush, child," Mrs. Twitchen said, coming and putting her hands
on her daughter's shoulders and steering her out of the room,
gesturing to Vivian to follow.  "You'll give him ideas."

Vivian cast a look back at Captain Twitchen, and found him once
more absorbed in his paper, the troubles of the females of his
house best left to those willing to bother with them.  She gave a
last, loving look to the tower of treats.

She followed the fiercely whispering, protesting Penelope and
the shushing Mrs. Twitchen up the oaken staircase of Copley
Grange, and down the hall to Penelope's room. 
Her prideful heart wished to refuse a gown so grudgingly lent,
while her reasonable mind ordered her to follow the dictates of
the Captain and his wife and accept one.  They were the ones she
needed to please, not Penelope, although she suspected Penelope
could make her life a misery if she wished.

It felt as if it had been a month ago, but it was just this
morning that she had arrived here at the home of her first
cousin, once removed:  Mary Twitchen.  They had never met before
this day, although the arrangements for Vivian's arrival had been
made some weeks past, as soon as old Ann Marbury had died.

Miss Marbury had been the spinster great-aunt of a previous set
of cousins, cousins who had found Vivian useful as a companion to
the wicked, dotty old monster.  For nine years she had fetched
and carried, read to and played at cards with the beastly old
woman, and endured increasing insults and pinches, and having
food thrown at her as the lady's mind deteriorated.
It had been a blessing to them both when she had died. 

Vivian
did not think herself hard-hearted for believing so, for as often
as Miss Marbury had been cruel and suspicious, she had equally as
often spent her days in tearful confusion, inconsolable, asking
after those who had died long before Vivian had been born. 

Farewell, unfortunate Miss Marbury!  And may the angels keep you
in good company!

And farewell horrid cousins, who had kept her caged with an old
woman for their convenience, and never spared a thought for
Vivian or her future.  She was twenty-five years of age, and had
never once attended a dance or assembly, although her family were
gentry and such should have been her right.  The horrid cousins
had rather keep her as unpaid help than spend the money to garb
her well and help her to catch a husband, and thus be free of
their charity.

Now that Miss Marbury was dead and her own use as unpaid help
done with, she had been passed on to the next relatives willing
to take her in and provide for her.   She could only hope the
Twitchens proved kinder and more generous than her other cousins.

"Penelope, do stop pouting and fussing.  You will put wrinkles
in your face with such expressions," Mrs. Twitchen said, and
opened Penelope's clothes press to examine the possibilities
therein.

"Not the green silk, that is my favorite," Penelope said, seeing
her mother reaching for the garment.  "It brings out my eyes, and
would not suit another."

"Miss Ambrose has green eyes as well," Mrs. Twitchen said.

"She cannot!" Penelope said, and turned to examine Vivian and
find the truth of the distressing statement. 

Vivian was equally as surprised:  she had dark hair where
Penelope had fair; she had a strong build that was underfed where
Penelope had a fine build that was too plump.  She would not have
thought they shared a trait in common.  Yet as her seventeen year
old cousin came near, she saw that indeed they had the same
sea-green eyes with dark grey rims.

Penelope's face grew red in anger, and she turned away with a
flounce.

Mrs. Twitchen was still talking.  "She is our cousin, after all,
and blood will show.  Dear me, we must dress her suitably.  I
will not be embarrassed in front of the baronet!"

"It is only cousin John, Mamma.  I do not see why you need make
such a fuss."

Mrs. Twitchen chose several gowns and lay them out over the bed
and two upholstered chairs, then spoke to Vivian.  "My husband's
sister made an excellent match in a baronet.  The title has since
passed down to Sir John, Captain Twitchen's nephew, whom we have
had the great good fortune to entertain on many an occasion, as
he adores his uncle so.  His wife is descended from the Earl of
Surrey."

"Indeed, ma'am," Vivian said, for want of any better comment.

She was beginning to wish most heartily that she could be left
alone in her new bedroom while the family entertained their
guests.  Meeting the Twitchens and being installed in their home
was strain enough for one day, without the addition of baronets
and granddaughters of earls.

"He is not half so grand as to deserve such care," Penelope put
in.

"Hush, child.  You say that because you know no better.  When
you come out this season, you will see what difference it makes
to say your cousin is a baronet."

"And my great-grandfather a baron.  I know, Mamma."

"You help Miss Ambrose to choose something, and give her earbobs
and a necklace to wear if she has none of her own, and perhaps
some silk flowers for her hair.  Really, we cannot have her
looking so shabby, and she a relative of mine!"

Mrs. Twitchen hustled off, murmuring worries about Cook and the
footmen, and Vivian was left alone with her cousin.

"I am sorry about this," Vivian said to the girl, feeling
awkward and unwelcome.  And hungry, to add to her misery.  "If I
had new gowns meant for my season, I should not like to have
another wear one of them first, and she a stranger to me."

"I have been looking forward to my first season since I can
remember," Penelope said, a quaver in her voice.  "And here you
come, right before it is to start!  And we will have to have
dresses made for you, and take you about, and all our
acquaintances will be asking who you are when this was supposed
to be my time.  And you're too old for a season, too old by half!
It's not fair!"

Vivian could tell the spoiled creature a thing or two about
fair, she could!  But she would not.  Such a protected creature
as Penelope Twitchen could not know of what life was like outside
the loving care of her mamma and papa, and

Vivian herself would
have rather been a spoilt creature than an impoverished one, had
she the choice.  So she held her tongue.

"Please, choose your least favorite," she said, knowing that
that was what Penelope had in mind anyway. 

Penelope chewed her upper lip, frowning at the dresses.  "I'm
not over-fond of the yellow," she said.  "It makes my hair look
dull, although it does have that lovely Valenciennes lace."

"I would be glad enough to wear it," Vivian said.

"You won't spill gravy on it?"
As if she were a child who could not use a spoon!  She counted
to five, unclenched her jaw, and said, "I shall take great care
not to."

"Well, all right, then."  Penelope picked up the dress and held
it against Vivian's shoulders.  "I suppose it might fit, and the
color is not completely unattractive on you.  Do you have hair
ribbons, earbobs, anything?"

"I'm afraid I will have to ask those of you, as well."  She
would rather stick a sprig of holly in her hair and call herself
decorated.  Mrs. Twitchen would be displeased, though.

Penelope sighed, leaving the dress in Vivian's arms and going to
her dressing table.  "This is really most unfair of Mamma and
Papa.  This was to be my season."

"I do not like it any better than you," Vivian said, her
weariness, tension, and hunger getting the better of her tongue.