– 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!