Suddenly Miss Cowell's sharp green eyes caught sight of Anthony Cranford in the courtyard: he was striding towards a waiting, new-looking open carriage with a pair of snow-white horses. As if sensing someone's eyes on him, the young aristocrat stopped, turned round and looked up at the window at which his cousin was standing. Not expecting this act of his, Vivian did not immediately find what to do, but smiled and lightly waved at him. Anthony smiled in return, and touched his tall black hat with his fingers, and then deftly jumped into the carriage, which immediately drove him to the great iron gates leading from Greenhall to the centre of the town.

"My cousin is so gallant… And just how did my cruel aunt have such a marvellous son?" – Vivian thought as she looked at the carriage.

There was a knock at the door.

The girl took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and once again hid her true feelings behind a dazzling smile.

– Come in! – she said.

Jane entered the chambers.

– I apologise, Miss Vivian, for disturbing you. I only wanted to know if you needed anything.

– How good of you to be here! – Vivian said sincerely: in this big, dead house Jane's maid was almost the only flame of warmth that warmed her soul. – I wouldn't mind a hot bath. Oh, and bring me a couple of blank sheets of paper, ink and a quill: I must write home.

– As you say, Miss Vivian! – Jane brightened up and ran out of the door.

In the time it took Jane and Emily, whom she had summoned to help her, to carry buckets of hot water into the spacious bathroom in Vivian's chamber behind a beautiful portable screen, the guest had written a lengthy letter, which Jane handed to Philip, the coachman. Soon Vivian was lying in hot water mixed with rose oil, and trying not to think of the heavy tete-a-tete with Aunt Beatrice that awaited her in the evening.

But the tea party in the gazebo by the lake was much friendlier than both ladies had expected, and within an hour they had arranged all the details of the future debut of the "dear" niece, as well as a sumptuous reception in her honour at Greenhall. It was decided that Vivian's first appearance should be a real furore, and this furore was scheduled for Friday: that was the day of the ball at the Duchess of Marlborough's – the most popular woman in London and the kingdom after the wife of His Royal Majesty the Prince Regent.

– I hope we shall soon find a good husband for you, my dear," said Lady Cranford, as if in passing, as the tea party drew to a close.

– I hope so too, dear aunt," Vivian smiled at her.

– This season promises to be a very good one for both you and Anthony: he has a rich bride to find. – This time the mistress of the manor decided to kill all possible hopes of her niece for marriage with her son and directly stated what fate awaited Anthony.

– Your son is a very handsome man. I am sure he will make a very good match," replied her niece calmly. – But now I would like to retire to my chambers: this day has been full of events and impressions. I confess I am very tired, and long for rest.

– Of course, my dear. Rest, was her reply.

– Thank you, dear aunt. – Vivian sat down in a deep bow and left the gazebo.

The exciting event was only a week away, but in anticipation of it, Vivian had lost sleep and appetite, and she had a great deal on her mind, the most immediate of which was a complete overhaul of her wardrobe according to the latest London fashions.

Fortunately, Anthony Cranford did not have to drench himself in sweat sitting in his open carriage under the searing summer sun: the sky was suddenly covered with heavy grey clouds, and the streets of London were filled with the stuffiness that usually sets in before a storm. There was no doubt: it was going to rain soon, and the young aristocrat thought wistfully that he had done wrong in choosing this particular Cranford carriage, bought only five days ago.