– Of course, my dear. Go on. But promise me that this night of alcohol and debauchery will be your last. – The Countess rose from her chair too. – My boy, everything I do, I do for you.

– I know, Mother. I thank you for opening my eyes to this embarrassing situation. – Anthony made a slight bow to his mother, left the study and hurried to his chambers.

As he walked down the long, bright corridor, young Cranford chuckled a little: did his mother really think he was willing to sacrifice his prosperous future for a penniless, albeit beautiful as an angel, cousin?

"No, I'm not in love with Vivian. Not one bit. I only admire her. And if she has any tender feelings for me, I will not reciprocate them," decided Anthony, and, locking himself in his chambers, fell asleep as a dead man.

Jane and Vivian spent the day visiting the best ateliers and the most expensive shops in London. Both girls were delighted: they joked, laughed, Vivian tried on everything she liked, and Jane ah-hahed in admiration.

Vivian's beauty was a magnet for the admiring gazes of the men around her and the envious gazes of the women. Everyone wondered: who was this red-haired beauty? And the young aristocrats who visited the same shops and saw this unknown miss could not get rid of the thought that the appearance of "that redhead" would spoil for them all the charm of the season.

– Who is that girl looking at the ribbons? And why is she following me? – Vivian quietly asked her new friend Jane (now the girls were really friends).

Vivian had noticed a young dark-haired beauty in the shop of fabrics and ladies' accessories a quarter of an hour ago, who, trying not to betray her curiosity, was glancing at Miss Cowell's figure and face. But Vivian did not pretend to notice this unwelcome attention, but only inquired quietly about her from Jane, who might have seen the beauty before at Lady Cranford's receptions. The stranger was an aristocrat, and there could be no doubt about it: her expensive clothes were conspicuous, and her dark, wavy hair, arranged in a high style, shone with a healthy shine.

– It is Mademoiselle de Croix! – Jane whispered in her friend's ear with a glimpse of the dark-haired beauty. – She is considered the first beauty of London! She has a lot of admirers! But when she saw you, of course, she realised she had a rival.

– A rival? I don't want to be anyone's rival! – Vivian frowned her eyebrows: it was the truth. All that the girl had hoped for was universal sympathy and favour!

– Alas, Miss Vivian, you must realise that you are now in London, in high society. And there, I tell you, such passions rage! And how much gossip there is every day!" Jane hastened to reassure her. – You see, everyone knows that this mademoiselle's father betrayed his master Bonaparte and fled to England. And there, in France, all his possessions were confiscated from him! Now he's not as rich as he used to be, and he's trying to marry off his daughter to someone richer. Many men have sought her hand, but she has refused them all: she wants an earl or a duke! Ha!" The maid snorted contemptuously.

– But what's wrong with wanting to marry a man who has a high title? – Vivian whispered.

– Why, there's nothing wrong with it! But rich dukes do not marry brides who are poorer than they are, not even one as beautiful as Mademoiselle de Croix. – Jane shrugged her shoulders. – She has chosen a game that is beyond her! She'll be a maiden all her life! And so be it!

Miss Cowell smiled falsely, hiding her bitterness behind a smile: if this beautiful French girl, the daughter of a rather rich and noble man, had only a tiny chance of marrying a member of English high society, what awaited her, Vivian, the daughter of a poor provincial gentleman?