– I'm sure he will. I will see that your coachman and your horses are fed and sheltered," she said.

"God almighty! This girl must have come from Paradise itself!" – thought Jane, listening intently to the conversation between her masters and their guest.

Before meeting Vivian, neither Lady Cranford, nor her son, nor Jane's maid, had even suspected that on sinful Earth one might meet a very real angel: so dazzlingly beautiful was Vivian Cowell, the daughter of the Greenhall mistress's fallen sister, a poor relation and an unwelcome guest.

The first thing that caught her eye was her red, wavy hair, so bright as if it blazed with wild flames. And despite the fact that this hair was tucked into a high modest hairstyle, a couple of locks came out from under the hairpin and fell on the snow-white, thin, surprisingly beautiful face of the girl, as if giving her interlocutors a hint of what fiery splendour awaited them when Vivian got rid of the hairstyle holding it back. Surprisingly, there were almost no freckles on her face, only a few red dots covering the delicate bridge of her nose and milky white cheeks with rather sharp cheekbones. Her plump red lips smiled the most charming smile imaginable. Small round gold clips shone softly in her beautifully shaped ears. But Vivian's most magnificent jewel were her eyes: green as emeralds, framed by long red lashes, they captivated the gaze, and the gently arched thick red eyebrows gave them mystery. Despite her dusty, outdated green cotton dress, her rather shabby white silk gloves, and her shoes, with their obvious bunched-up toes, Vivian Cowell was a delight to everyone in the mansion. Everyone except Lady Cranford.

Anthony never took his eyes off his cousin, and it worried and even frightened his mother. What if her niece turned her son's head? What if he wanted to make Vivian his wife? It must not happen! He is to be matched with one of the wealthy heiresses of London nobility!

The heart of the one whom Vivian called "dear auntie" was filled with vexation and dislike for her "dear niece." How dare this person be so unheard ofly beautiful? What did she need this beauty for? What would she, Lady Cranford, do with all the suitors and admirers of this beauty with green, witch-like eyes?

"Not a bit like her mother! She must have inherited that awful red hair from her pauper father. Ah, Catherine, my foolish sister! If you had married the man our father chose to marry you, you and your children would have been close to me, but you chose to chase love and chose exile!" – This was the woman's thought, and she did not take her eyes off her beautiful niece.

But Lady Cranford was a lady for a reason: she hid her dislike and annoyance behind a false smile, and comforted herself with the thought that, no doubt, Vivian would be sold out of her hands on her first outing, as her aunt wished.

As for plain Jane, she was ready to follow Vivian to the ends of the earth, into fire or water, as soon as she saw the lady she had been fortunate enough to serve. From the moment the guest came into her sight, this angelic-looking girl became her idol. What was the cause of this adoration? Vivian's beauty? Her melodious voice? Her enchanting smile? Oh, no! The reason was simple: Jane's keen eye, which had seen the upper classes of London and England every day, recognised from the first glance at her guest that she was poor. Vivian's dress was simple, elegant, but poor, too poor by London standards. Jane's heart filled with sisterly love for this beautiful but alas, poor relative of the rich and noble Dowager Countess Lady Cranford, a woman like an ice statue.

– You must be hungry, my dear," said Lady Cranford to her niece. – 'Fortunately, there will be lunch soon, but surely you can have sandwiches and tea now. c

– Thank you, dear auntie, you are so kind! But I would prefer to share a meal with you. Don't worry about me. Could you order my luggage to be taken to my room? – Vivian answered her in a calm tone. She was not frightened by her aunt's coldness, nor deceived by the deliberate nobility of this beautiful lady, nor disturbed by the thought of what her rich relatives thought of her and her poor attire. She only continued to smile, for she knew that there was no weapon stronger than a beautiful smile.

She could see the admiration in the blue eyes of the handsome young man standing beside her aunt: he was tall, trim, dark-haired. There was no mistaking it: he was Lady Cranford's son. But which one? Thanks to her father's stories, Vivian was aware that she had two cousins in London. One was the heir to the vast Cranford fortune, the one who had inherited the title of Earl; the other was the younger son, who had also received his share of the inheritance, but had neither the title nor even a quarter of what his brother had inherited. Vivian knew the bitter truth: her mother, married for love, had lost everything. All her relatives seemed to have forgotten about her existence, and enraged by the disobedience of his eldest daughter, Vivian's grandfather had rewritten his will, in which he, though he had no title, but was one of the richest men in the kingdom, left everything he had to his youngest daughter, Beatrice, who submitted to his will and became the wife of the man he had chosen for her. And as the Earl himself was immensely rich, his marriage to Beatrice only doubled his fortune, and at his death this fortune passed to his eldest son. Lady Cranford, on the other hand, was content with a widow's share, which did not in the least induce her to change the luxurious life to which she had been accustomed.

– You must be my cousin? – Vivian addressed Anthony politely. – Your features are unmistakably those of my dear aunt.

– Exactly, my dear cousin," he smiled, and, taking her gloved hand, kissed it gently, causing Vivian's neck and cheeks to blush against her will.

"What impudence! Only just arrived, and already she's flirting like a skilful minx… And with whom? With my son! And Anthony himself? He keeps his eyes on her! – Lady Cranford thought angrily as she watched the young people smiling at each other. – This must stop!"