An Affair Without End (23 page)

“I don’t understand, Kitty. What are you talking about?”

“The brooch your father gave me. Do you remember it? It was diamond and shaped like a heart in a circle.”

Vivian nodded. She had spent much of her time with Lady Kitty exploring that woman’s jewelry box, and she remembered the diamond brooch well. It was beautiful, a large center diamond cut in the shape of a heart, blazing with that special fire of diamonds, surrounded by a circle of smaller stones.

“He gave me other things, of course. Your father was nothing if not generous. I treasure them all. But that brooch was my particular favorite. I remember he told me I was his heart when he gave it to me.” Kitty smiled mistily.

“Did something happen to the brooch?” Vivian asked, bringing the conversation back to the point. “Did you lose it—oh! Do not tell me! Was it stolen from you?”

“Stolen! Lud, girl, no. Though one could say it was, for
I was certain that I would win. I cannot imagine how Sir Rufus could have managed to win all three tricks—it was most absurd. I was wearing my lucky turban—the dark blue velvet one with the feather that curls round. Well, I hardly ever lose when I wear it—or at least not a great deal of money, which is, you will allow, as much as one can ask for some evenings.”

Vivian reached out and took the older woman’s hand. “Dearest ma’am, pray tell me—are you saying that you lost the brooch in a card game?”

“Yes, of course. I would not have given it up for the world, but I was certain I would win, so it seemed only a small risk. I had run out of all my money, and Sir Rufus said he would not take a vowel. Can you imagine? The man is most rude; I think the rumors must be right that his grandfather was in trade.”

“Are you unable to buy it back from him?”

“I have tried!” Kitty’s eyes flashed with indignation. “The truth is, I contracted a case of catarrh right after that, and I was laid up for a week or two, and I quite forgot it. But when I was feeling better, I went to get it from my box to wear, and I remembered that Sir Rufus had it. So I sent a note round to the man. I had a new month’s allowance then, you see, so I was quite able to buy it back—which Sir Rufus knew I wanted to do. I had told him so that very evening I lost it, and he said, of course, he would rather have the money. But when I tried to pay him, he sent me back a note telling me it was too late! I had forfeited it!” Kitty’s eyes filled with tears, and her mouth crumpled. “He is the meanest thing! I know he did it just to punish me, for he told me once that I am unreliable. Unreliable! I always pay my gambling debts; you know I do. Sometimes I may forget for a while or I have to sell a bit of silver or some such thing, but I never default.”

“Of course not,” Vivian replied soothingly, patting her
hand. “It’s most unreasonable of Sir Rufus not to let you redeem it. I take it you hope that I might be able to retrieve the brooch for you?”

“Would you?” Kitty, her face lighting up, gripped Vivian’s hand tightly. “I hated to ask, but I didn’t know where to turn. I did not tell dear Wesley, for he quite dislikes my gambling. But then I thought of you. You are so good at getting things accomplished.”

“I shall certainly do my best. I shall write Sir Rufus immediately. I do not know him well, but I have met him once or twice when Papa had one of his card parties.”

“There, I knew you would rescue me.” Kitty beamed at Vivian and reached up to pat her cheek. “You are such a dear girl.” Kitty relaxed, apparently putting the matter out of her mind with ease. “Now, let us talk of something more interesting. What are you doing these days? Does the Season promise to be exciting? You are in such good looks—you are always beautiful, of course, but there is such a glow about you today—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. “There is a man, isn’t there?”

Startled, Vivian could not help but laugh. “No, no. I mean, well, perhaps there is a man. But nothing serious.”

“But why? Who is it? Is he not an eligible
parti
?”

“He is most eligible. But I am quite on the shelf and intend to remain there. You know I do not believe in marriage.”

“It
is
so often a drudgery,” Lady Kitty agreed. “But, my dear, you could have any man you want. You needn’t marry for wealth or family or anything but your own heart. I wonder now and then how my life would have been if I had married your father instead of Mainwaring.” The corner of her mouth turned down, but then she smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Not, of course, that I had the chance, for I did not even meet your father until after both of us were married.”

“Nevertheless . . . I do not intend to take the risk.”

“Well, a flirtation is always fun.” Kitty cut her eyes at Vivian. “Or perhaps more than a flirtation?”

Vivian could not keep the smile from her lips. “Perhaps . . . I am not sure.”

“Who is this man? Do I know him?”

“The Earl of Stewkesbury.”

Kitty’s eyebrows lifted. “Eligible indeed! A veritable pattern card. But, surely . . . a trifle dull?”

Vivian laughed. “Not necessarily.”

“I knew his father—a handsome man; those Talbots generally are. Lawrence Talbot was one who knew how to live for the moment; I always liked that in a man.”

“Kitty! Do not tell me you and Oliver’s father—”

“No, no, my goodness. He was madly in love with his wife, though God knows they fought as heartily as they loved one another. Not Oliver’s mother, of course—she died rather young, and I never knew her—but Barbara, Fitz’s mother. Now Fitz Talbot—there is a man worth setting one’s cap for. Married now, I hear.” Kitty sighed.

“Yes, to my friend Eve—you remember her.”

“Indeed. A pretty little thing—parson’s daughter, wasn’t she? But I always heard that Oliver was more like the old earl than his father. Lord Reginald was a terrible sobersides.”

“Mm. He was rather . . . rigid, as I recall. But Oliver was close to him; he reveres him. Perhaps too much so, for there is more than that in his nature; he does not let it out often enough.”

“That is what you intend to do?” Kitty chuckled. “Let it out?”

“Maybe. I—oh, Kitty, I feel differently about him than any other man.”

“Goodness.” Kitty blinked. “In what way?”

“I’m not sure. When he is about, I feel . . . excited . . . on edge, but in a good way. Do you know what I mean?”

“Indeed I do. But I have never heard you say so before.”

“I have not felt so. I have flirted with other men. One or two have made my pulse quicken. But Oliver—” Vivian paused, looking a little surprised. “I had not thought of it before, but I trust Oliver. I feel safe with him. That must sound silly, for what could be less exciting than feeling safe? But I know I can do or say what I please, and he will not use it to seek an advantage. I know he does not want anything from me.”

Kitty’s brows soared again. “Does not want you? No, Lawrence’s son could not be so poor-spirited, even with his grandfather raising him.”

Vivian laughed. “No, I do not mean that. He wants me, but he does not
want
to want me. What I mean is, he has no need for my money or influence. He has no interest in marrying me. Indeed, he told me quite plainly that I would not suit as his countess.” Her eyes brimmed with laughter. “It would have been quite lowering if it had not been so freeing. It isn’t only fortune hunters whose eyes turn greedy at the sight of a duke’s daughter.” She tilted her head to one side, thinking. “On the other hand, sometimes Stewkesbury is utterly maddening, and I cannot understand why I like him at all.”

“He is a man, dear. One must expect that. But if he makes you happy, that is the important thing. There is nothing like the feeling that rushes up in you when that special man walks into the room.” Kitty smiled reminiscently. “I know that there are a number of people who think I have led a wicked life. But I can tell you this: I would not trade my life for theirs. When I look back on it, I have no regrets. When happiness offers itself, even for the moment, one must seize it. Else, you will never know what you might have had, will you?”

“No. You’re right.”

“Now then, tell me.” Kitty scooted closer, her eyes sparkling with eagerness. “How did this come about? I want to know all the details.”

Smiling, Vivian began to tell her.

Vivian found it harder to keep her promise to Kitty than she had expected. She sent a note to Sir Rufus, requesting that he call upon her as soon as possible. She expected a reply or a visit, but she was surprised when her footman returned with the news that Sir Rufus was not in the city, having retired to his country home for an indefinite stay.

What a bother, she thought. Letters were never as effective as visiting in person, particularly when one wanted something. She wondered where the man’s country estate was. If it wasn’t far from one of her father’s houses, perhaps she could make a trip to that house and, while she was there, pay a call on Sir Rufus. As she sat, pondering the notion, the butler entered, announcing the arrival of the Earl of Stewkesbury.

“Oliver!” she exclaimed, bouncing to her feet and going toward him, beaming. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

He raised his brows slightly in surprise. “Indeed? I am fortunate. I think.”

“You always know this sort of thing. Where does Sir Rufus Dunwoody live?”

“Sir Rufus?” His expression registered even more astonishment. “What in the world do you want with that old bag of wind?”

Vivian laughed. “Why, Oliver, what a tactless thing to say.”

“Tact is a useless commodity with you,” he retorted. “I believe he lives near Grosvenor Square.”

“No, not here. His estate in the country.”

“Oh, that’s in Kent, I believe. Why?”

Vivian shrugged. “I just wondered.”

He gave her a narrowed look. “What are you up to?”

“Up to?” She widened her eyes innocently. “Why should I be up to anything?”

“No doubt you should not. But you have that certain look in your eye. Why do you want to know about Sir Rufus’s estate?”

“Well . . .” Vivian gestured toward the sofa in an invitation to sit and took a seat herself on the chair at right angles to it. “I went to see Lady Mainwaring yesterday.”

Oliver sighed. “I know you did.”

“You did? How? It was only yesterday afternoon.”

“Gossip travels quickly in the
ton
. You know that. Even when the person in question is no longer accepted. I should say, especially when the person involved is no longer accepted.”

“Is that why you came here?” Vivian’s voice took on a dangerous coolness. “To lecture me about Lady Mainwaring?”

“No. I have no desire to lecture you.”

“And yet, remarkably, you do it so often.”

“Vivian . . . you know as well as I do how everyone talks. How it looks for you to visit someone with the sort of . . . of past that Lady Mainwaring possesses.”

Vivian’s eyes flashed. “Lady Kitty is my friend. She has been my father’s friend for years and—”

“It is precisely her relationship with your father that is the problem. Your father and a number of other men, including the chap who is living in her house now—her protégé, indeed. The day Lady Mainwaring ever cared about poetry . . .”

Vivian jumped to her feet. “I will not listen to you speak against Lady Kitty. I know what censorious people like you say about her, but she has never been anything but kindness
itself to me. And I am not the sort of person to desert my friends because other people hold them in poor regard.”

Oliver rose, too, saying rather ruefully, “Pray, do not ring a peal over my head. I do not dislike Lady Mainwaring. She is a charming and lovely woman. But she is not an appropriate companion for a young, unmarried lady.”

Vivian shot him a disgusted look. “Well, neither am I appropriate, according to you.”

“It is scarcely the same. The things you do are the result of your liveliness, your high spirits and disregard for others’ opinions.”

Vivian’s brows rose. “Careful, Stewkesbury, you will find yourself saying something nice about me.”

“I could say any number of nice things about you, and you know it. You must be aware of the way I—but that is neither here nor there. The point is that these small indiscretions all accumulate, Vivian.”

“Indiscretions?” If her voice had been cool before, it was iced now. “Pray, what, exactly, are you referring to?”

“Calling on a lady no longer accepted in the best circles. It might not be commented upon if it were done by a woman, even an unmarried one, whose own actions were unremarkable. But you—you call attention to yourself. You flout convention.”

“I do not call attention to myself. I do as I choose, and I cannot help it if other people feel it necessary to talk about what I do.”

“That is exactly what I mean.” His tone roughened with irritation. “You drive a high-perch phaeton.”

“There are other ladies who do it.”

“Not many, and I cannot think of another who is not married.”

“It is scarcely a crime to be unmarried. You are not.”

“There is a certain standard expected of a young unmarried
woman of good breeding. And it does not include arriving at parties with a monkey upon your shoulder.”