That Jeremy Wington was crazy about his beautiful wife was as evident as the fact that she was already well into her role as the life partner of an untold rich man, and was enjoying it: the dress in which she had given the ball was magnificent, embroidered with patterns, and sat on her beautiful figure as if it were a perfect fit. The young Mrs. Wington looked like a real model of modern fashion: her hair was braided into a beautiful plait, which in turn was fastened at the back of her head with an antique comb, and her beautiful white forehead was framed by fiery twisted strands, which gave her the appearance of a Greek goddess, and her emerald eyes shone proudly, as if to say, "Now I am one of you, and you dare not refuse to accept it!". And she was right: the recent waif had become too rich for high society not to accept her and treat her favourably, but still with some apprehension.
Vivian had received so many compliments when she met her guests that she was disgusted by the overt flattery, but her husband quietly reminded her that this was the real face of London's upper class-it was full of poison and sweetness at the same time. Jeremy squeezed the palm of his wife's hand, clad in a white glove above the elbow, and encouraged her with smiles and quietly mocking jokes at the arriving guests.
Until a month ago, Jeremy's thoughts had been free of Vivian and her beauty, and he had no intention of marrying her. Yes, he was dazzled by the fire of her hair, her white skin, her witchy green eyes, and her bright, most beautiful smile, but his mind wouldn't let him think about her. Besides, content with his bachelor life and his amusements in the Lair, the young man didn't even think of marrying at all. "Why should I marry so young, if I am soon to inherit all my sullen father's fortune?" – he thought, and preferred to give his younger years to alcohol, friends and girls who he knew were not trying to pull him into the bondage of marriage, namely prostitutes and residents of London's brothels. But the morning he had picked up Miss Cowell in one of the noisy squares, sick and tired, and the day he had spent with her, so pale, haggard, but still angelic, had made his heart and soul inflame with passion and love for her. He brought Vivian to his father's house, even though the latter was clearly displeased and even against it. Jeremy was ready to tear his strong heart out of his chest and offer it to the poor girl in place of her weak one. She charmed him with her illness, with her helplessness, as a fragile flower suddenly charms a knight long since calloused in body and soul. He fell at her feet. He desired her. When she asked him to take her to the Saltons', Jeremy was surprised at her request, for he thought it his duty to notify the Cranfords that Vivian was in his house, but she insisted, and Jeremy had no choice but to fulfil her wish…