Page 141 of A Waltz on the Wild Side

She ran from easel to easel, whipping off the curtains draped over the canvases, to reveal twelve exquisite portraits.

To the left of each pair was a Wynchester sibling, between eight and eleven years of age. They looked far too young, yet world-weary. Skeptical, but achingly hopeful.

To the right was a contemporary portrait of each Wynchester as they were now. Grown, adult, safe, confident, happy. With the love of their life at their side.

“This would’ve been awkward if you hadn’t said yes,” Jacob murmured.

“Or if you hadn’t asked,” Viv whispered back.

“I saw your true colors the first day I met you,” said Marjorie, smiling. “I knew I just had to wait until you two saw them for yourselves.”

“Isthiswhy you kept pushing me to find a wife?” Jacob said suspiciously. “Because you wanted to finish a series of unsolicited paintings in time for your public exhibition?”

“Anyway, no time to chat.” Marjorie swiped the speaking-trumpet from Stephen’s hands and faced the audience. “Enjoy your stroll amongst the students’ artwork! Bid high, and take home your favorite pieces! We give lessons five days a week. You can sign the waiting list up here on the dais. There are cakes and punch awaiting you in the piazza. Thank you for coming!”

Quentin was the first to scramble onstage. He grabbed Viv’s hands and danced her around the dais. “You’re a Wynchester! A real Wynchester!”

“So are you,” she reminded him. “Those who act like Wynchesters are Wynchesters.”

He looked like he was going to swoon. “My friends are real Wynchesters now, too! Everything we’ve ever wanted will now come true. We’re going to change the world!”

“Easy there,” she said with a laugh. “We’ll do what we can to help those who need it, but neither I nor anyone else can single-handedly improve the entire world.”

“Of course we can,” said Tommy, chewing a mouthful of pie. “Wynchesters do impossible things every day!”

EPILOGUE

The next Saturday, it was Jacob’s turn to sit in the front row. This evening was the stage debut of Vivian’s first publicly performed play:Suffrage & Suffering.

She’d worried no one would come to the show, but the Olympic Theatre was packed to the rafters. The Duke of Faircliffe had spent the past week telling every aristocrat who would listen that everyone who was anyone dared not fail to be seen here on opening night.

Those who had experienced the wild spectacle at Marjorie and Adrian’s art school celebration also wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see a play written by Mrs. “Sir-Gareth-Jallow” Wynchester.

All those witnesses had told everyone else they knew, which resulted in the theater manager needing to sell thousands more tickets than the theater could hold. Instead of a single-night debut, Vivian’s drama about suffrage would own the stage for at least a fortnight.

Tonight, the current crowd displayed mixed reactions to the play’s central theme. Women and commoners cheered and booed at all the right places, whilst the lords scowled down from their luxury boxes at the unflattering portraits painted of themselves onstage.

They might criticize the content in private tomorrow, but the play had already achieved its goal of giving context and voice for those who could not speak for themselves with votes, as well as for their allies in Parliament who could agitate for change.

When the actors and actresses took the stage for their final bow,Jacob was the first on his feet to applaud them—by only a second. Half of the house stood up with him in an enthusiastic ovation.

The actors and actresses parted down the middle of the stage, to reveal none other than their playwright, Vivian, who looked dazed and overwhelmed at the sight of so many paying theater-goers on their feet applauding her work.

With shock, Vivian’s wide brown eyes met Jacob’s.

Rather than throw roses at her feet, he tossed fistfuls of basil leaves.

She burst out laughing and held out her hands to him. “Get up here, Sir Nepotism. Tonight is your achievement, too.”

Jacob not only joined her onstage, but also waltzed her in a circle. Then he delivered a scandalous kiss, much to the delight of the audience.

“Champagne when we get home?” he murmured.

“How about the reading room?” she countered with a wicked sparkle in her eye. “I’m sure there’s a good book or two whose pages you could distract me from.”

He swung her into his arms. “Mmm, I’ll give you something to write about.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. “You already have, my love.”