That Jeremy Wington was crazy about his beautiful wife was as evident as the fact that she was already well into her role as the life partner of an untold rich man, and was enjoying it: the dress in which she had given the ball was magnificent, embroidered with patterns, and sat on her beautiful figure as if it were a perfect fit. The young Mrs. Wington looked like a real model of modern fashion: her hair was braided into a beautiful plait, which in turn was fastened at the back of her head with an antique comb, and her beautiful white forehead was framed by fiery twisted strands, which gave her the appearance of a Greek goddess, and her emerald eyes shone proudly, as if to say, "Now I am one of you, and you dare not refuse to accept it!". And she was right: the recent waif had become too rich for high society not to accept her and treat her favourably, but still with some apprehension.
Vivian had received so many compliments when she met her guests that she was disgusted by the overt flattery, but her husband quietly reminded her that this was the real face of London's upper class-it was full of poison and sweetness at the same time. Jeremy squeezed the palm of his wife's hand, clad in a white glove above the elbow, and encouraged her with smiles and quietly mocking jokes at the arriving guests.
Until a month ago, Jeremy's thoughts had been free of Vivian and her beauty, and he had no intention of marrying her. Yes, he was dazzled by the fire of her hair, her white skin, her witchy green eyes, and her bright, most beautiful smile, but his mind wouldn't let him think about her. Besides, content with his bachelor life and his amusements in the Lair, the young man didn't even think of marrying at all. "Why should I marry so young, if I am soon to inherit all my sullen father's fortune?" – he thought, and preferred to give his younger years to alcohol, friends and girls who he knew were not trying to pull him into the bondage of marriage, namely prostitutes and residents of London's brothels. But the morning he had picked up Miss Cowell in one of the noisy squares, sick and tired, and the day he had spent with her, so pale, haggard, but still angelic, had made his heart and soul inflame with passion and love for her. He brought Vivian to his father's house, even though the latter was clearly displeased and even against it. Jeremy was ready to tear his strong heart out of his chest and offer it to the poor girl in place of her weak one. She charmed him with her illness, with her helplessness, as a fragile flower suddenly charms a knight long since calloused in body and soul. He fell at her feet. He desired her. When she asked him to take her to the Saltons', Jeremy was surprised at her request, for he thought it his duty to notify the Cranfords that Vivian was in his house, but she insisted, and Jeremy had no choice but to fulfil her wish…
– Smile, my dear," Vivian whispered in her husband's ear, breaking him out of his memories. – And what made you think so much?
– Oh, my love, I am only remembering the day when my heart was set on fire with love for you," he whispered to her, and his eyes, shining with happiness, confirmed his words. – Do you remember that misty cold morning when you were lost and I found you and took you to my home?
– That morning… My dear, I couldn't forget it even if I wanted to," Vivian answered quietly with some irony in her voice, remembering how her aunt had thrown her out on the street.
But she had only learnt that it was Jeremy who had found her on the street, taken her in and taken care of her, when three weeks ago he had come so unexpectedly to the Salton house and, after spending a couple of hours with her and Charlotte in the garden, had suddenly asked Charlotte to leave him and her friend alone. When Miss Salton left the drawing-room with a broad but uncomprehending smile, Jeremy got down on one knee before Vivian and, without wasting time on a long monologue, confessed his love for her and asked her to be his wife.
– That morning I didn't know that my life would change so drastically! – Jeremy laughed softly. – I wish your cousin had been at our wedding. He's my best friend, you know.
– You're the one who insisted on the wedding happening so soon! – Vivian reminded him with a laugh. – So soon that my family could not have travelled from Casterbridge in time to attend!
– Forgive me, my love, I was so eager to possess you that I could not wait. But, as you asked, I have sent your family five thousand pounds sterling, and I think they should be pleased with it," Jeremy whispered, running his fingers along his wife's neck.
– 'Darling, you're forgetting yourself! We're not in our bedroom now, we're in the middle of guests! – Vivian frowned and gently pulled her husband's fingers away from her skin.
– To hell with these puffed-up hens and turkeys! You know I want you with every fibre of my being! – Jeremy whispered assertively, touching his lips to his beautiful young wife's cheek. – And, my love, when this damned ball is over, I will not let you sleep before I give you my caresses.
– Jeremy, darling, I promise you I will," Vivian replied patiently. – But at the moment, we are hosts to a ball and we have to entertain the guests whether we want to or not.
– You are simply irresistible, my love. No woman can match you in beauty or grace. But you're right, and I'll save my desires for later," Jeremy agreed with a predatory smile. His eyes followed every emotion on his wife's face, every movement. He needed to know that she belonged to him alone and thought of him alone. He loved her. Hotly and fiercely. Vivian had become the centre of his universe.
Instead of answering, Vivian gently ran her palm over Jeremy's cheek and looked into his eyes, as if confirming that he was the master of both her heart and her body.
"My body belongs to you, but you will never command my heart or my soul," the girl thought smiling sweetly at her spouse. She had no feelings for her spouse except gratitude that he had descended from the height of his golden mountain to her and made her his lawful wedded wife.
Mrs. Wington. Mistress of the huge Wington Hall, a mansion built of light-coloured stones, more like one of the royal palaces than the residence of persons who do not possess even the most trifling of titles. But who needs a title when all that London high society values is money? And the Wingtons had plenty of money. That's why that evening those who held titles, with smiles of envy at the new position of the former streetwalker and admiration for her beauty and majesty, came to this mansion to drink expensive wines and champagne, eat expensive food and desserts, dance and gossip.
– And what a gossipy girl that Miss Cowell is! – standing in a corner of the ballroom, with a glass of champagne in her hand, whispered in her friend's ear one of the mothers of this year's young debutantes. – They say her aunt has not given a cent of dowry for her! Lady Cranford had left London in such a hurry… was it not for that reason?
– Beatrice is a decent lady. I'm sure if she hadn't helped her niece with the dowry, Mr. Wington would never have married her. He cannot be so foolish! – replied the second lady, and, hiding her face behind her lace fan, glanced at the owners of the house, who were still standing at the door, talking to Lady Marlborough. – Look how beautiful Vivian is! Lily confessed to me that she was afraid to appear in the same hall as her… But, thank goodness, now this red-haired angel is married, and our girls just need to make her acquaintance!
– Yes, such a fiancé is missing… We must find our girls now, and order them to try to become Mrs. Wington's friends… Here they are! Come along, my dear, let's not delay! I'm sure everyone wants to be friends with the newly married wife of such a rich man!
