"They must have kept their affair hidden for a long time. I remember what that cunning man said, that my cousin, though good, was too poor for him. He was lying, that cunning man! – Anthony blew thoughtfully on the ink, and realising that he was in no condition to reread his letter to his cousin, he put the paper on the table, rose to his feet, and went to the window. – But then why had Vivian insisted all this time that she wished to be the Duke of Nightingale's consort? She was so assertive! Anthony, you fool, isn't it obvious? She was deceiving you into believing her! I think it was all old man Wington's fault, and the couple were afraid that if he found out about their affair, he would disinherit Jeremy… My friend couldn't do that, so he waited until his father died… Clever! And yet… Vivian was deceiving me. – He grinned bitterly. – And I believed her with all my heart. But did Charlotte know about her friend and Jeremy's affair? They're so close. No. I don't think so. Charlotte's too naive to keep such secrets," he pondered, looking out over the beautiful green Devry Park. – I need to get Vivian or Jeremy to tell me the truth. But not in a letter. In person. When I get back to London – the first thing I'll do will be to visit the newlyweds."

Having made up his mind, young Cranford returned to his desk, looked longingly at the fresh mail, and, without reading the address of the senders, hid the letters in his desk drawer.

"And what kind of a fool decides to tie his letter with yarn? – He thought grudgingly as he headed for Kitty's room to visit her and play one of the children's board games with her. – It must be Jeremy who decided to play a joke on me, as if his sudden marriage to my cousin wasn't enough!"

After spending time with Kitty until noon, Anthony insisted that she try to get at least a little sleep and, at Victoria's request, went with her to the children's studio to draw pictures. Victoria, the middle daughter of the Count of Cranford, a girl of ten, looked like her father: she was dark-haired and blue-eyed. She was of a calm, mild temperament, and she hardly ever gave her parents any trouble or hurt either by her actions or her speech. This girl knew that all the inheritance would go to her elder brother, for her mother reminded her of this every day, so Victoria worked hard to become a real lady. Cranford forced her daughter to spend hours playing the piano and harp, as well as learn Spanish, German and French languages, which were fluent in the parents themselves. In the future Victoria had to make a worthy match – so said her mother, and her father added that her future spouse will have to have a title not lower than viscount. Victoria tried with all her childish strength to meet the expectations of her beloved parents, but when Uncle Anthony and Grandmother Beatrice came to visit, the girl could distract herself from her daily activities and become a child again. In turn, the uncle and grandmother did everything so that this little lady could enjoy her childhood and fill her heart with warm memories.

– Uncle Anthony, when are you going to get married? – Victoria asked thoughtfully, diligently tracing a pencil on the expensive snow-white paper.

– What an interesting question, my little lady," Anthony smiled at her. He, too, was drawing, but, absorbed in thoughts of Vivian and Jeremy, was not watching his sharply sharpened pencil. – Are you curious to know? Alas, I have no answer to that question myself. But I hope I shall soon be taking a kind and nightingale-voiced girl to the wedding.

– The girl you drew? – The girl asked, and stretched out her neck to get a better view of her uncle's drawing.

Surprised by her niece's question, Anthony looked closely at his drawing and saw that the girl was right: a female figure was clearly drawn on the white paper. And it was not the figure of the fragile Vivian, whom Anthony was sure he was madly in love with. The girl in the drawing looked like Miss Charlotte Salton: high voluminous breasts, strong arms, a beautiful, somewhat puffy face, and broad dark eyebrows. On the girl's outstretched arm sat a small, graceful nightingale.

And then Anthony realised: he loved. But not Vivian, no. Not so long ago he had been ready to sacrifice his future for her, but suddenly he realised that now his heart belonged to Charlotte. The same "good fat girl", the same rich bride. The very girl whose singing made his heart sink sweetly, and whose soul was filled with sincere admiration and adoration for her talent.

"And this siren, this Danish elf, was in love with me! But I ruined everything, and now I am ready to do anything to win her heart again, so that when I asked for her hand, she would answer me with consent… And the reason for this is not her rich dowry. I don't want it. I want Charlotte and her warm, soft hands resting bashfully in mine," went through the young man's mind. The pencil froze in his hands. – But how do I win her heart? She is in love with the Duke of Nightingale! And, if she recognised my position and desire for a rich bride, Charlotte might decide that all I need is her dowry…"

– Uncle Anthony? Why are you silent? – Anthony's thoughts were interrupted by Victoria's somewhat offended voice.

– I'm sorry, my dear, I think I was thinking too deeply. – He ruffled the girl's hair. – 'Would you like me to tell you a secret?

– What secret, uncle? – The girl giggled softly.

– You're right, Victoria: the girl I drew has stolen my heart, and I hope to steal hers. But remember: it's a big secret, and I know you can keep secrets better than anyone else.

– So you're getting married soon? – Victoria jumped up and down in anticipation of her uncle's marriage to the mysterious girl from his drawing.

– I'll do my best to make sure it happens," Anthony smiled. – And I promise you'll be the only one allowed to sit in the front pew of the church, next to your grandmother Beatrice.

– Yes, yes!" Victoria laughed merrily. – And I promise to wear my prettiest dress to your wedding!

– But, my dear, remember that you will not be allowed to outshine my bride with your beauty! – Anthony winked at his niece, and the girl's gleeful laughter once again filled the spacious workshop.

Later, as he left the workshop, Anthony was eager to return to his chambers, sit at his desk and write a letter. A letter to Charlotte. But as he picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink, his mind failed to tell him the words with which it would be appropriate to begin the letter, so only a black blot fell on the clean white paper. Frowning, Anthony crumpled up the ruined paper, threw it on the floor, picked up a clean one, and stepped back to the window, thinking deeply.

It was not difficult for him to confess his love for Vivian: the words just jumped out of his throat. Anthony remembered that at that important and emotional moment his mind had betrayed him. But now, as he wished he could write to Charlotte to confess his feelings to her and beg her not to mock them, the young man's mind seemed to deny him that favour.