An Affair Without End (33 page)

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Authors: Candace Camp

BOOK: An Affair Without End
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At that moment, her eyes fell on Oliver’s hat, sitting where he had placed it on the hall table. She slipped over and stood in front of the table, shielding the hat with her body.

“There wasn’t anything terribly exciting happening tonight,” she went on. “But that isn’t important. I want to know what brought you back to London. I didn’t expect to see you again. Come, let’s go to the study where we can sit and be comfortable, and you can tell me why you’re here.” She moved forward, taking his arm and propelling him with her down the hallway.

He went along easily, not even glancing toward the table behind her, and they strolled down the hall and into the study. He walked across the room to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink and offered her a glass of ratafia. She agreed, strolling over to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs.

“Now tell me. What are you doing here?” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she said in some alarm, “Is there something wrong with Papa?”

“No! Oh, no. I’m sorry. You mustn’t think that. I wouldn’t have left if he hadn’t been doing well. He has recovered almost all the use of his arm and leg. He walks with a bit of a limp, but his speech is fine. He has a little trouble reading . . . but then Papa was never much of a reader. No, I left because . . . well, I have been meaning to talk to Townshend.” He named one of his scholarly friends.

Vivian’s eyebrows rose. “You just saw him when you were here before.”

“Yes, but the experiments he’s been doing on the
properties of—” He broke off, looking at her, and sighed. “I was bored.”

“Bored?” Vivian stared at him, stunned. “With your books and your experiments and your horses, you were bored?”

“Even I get bored now and then,” he said somewhat defensively, running a hand back through his hair. “There’s no one about except Papa and the servants. No one to talk to, really, if you aren’t there.”

“So you came back to London for my company?” Much as she and her brother liked one another, she had never known him to visit London because he missed her conversation.

“Well, and, you know, activities. People. I’m not entirely unsociable.” He glanced at her, then quickly away.

“Of course not.” Vivian’s suspicions were aroused even more, but she kept her voice free of any disbelief. “Then perhaps you’ll escort me to another ball or two.”

“Of course. Whenever you’d like.” He smiled. “Or the theater. Maybe, um, maybe you could make up a party to ride out to Richmond Park one day.”

Vivian struggled not to show her astonishment. “Yes, if you’d like. Who shall we invite?”

“I don’t know. Stewkesbury, maybe, he’s a good fellow.”

For an instance, she froze, wondering if somehow her brother could possibly know about Oliver. But, no, that was ridiculous; no one knew about her and Oliver. No one could.

Her brother’s next words relieved her momentary fear. “He could bring his cousins, perhaps. Miss Bascombe and her sister.”

“Camellia!” Vivian leaned forward, grinning. “Gregory! You
are
interested in Camellia Bascombe!”

The bright red blush spreading along his cheekbones was confirmation enough.

“You are! You want me to set up a trip to Richmond so you can spend time with Camellia!”

“No! I mean—I heard she’s an excellent rider, and I’m sure she would enjoy—oh, Viv, I’m being an utter fool, aren’t I?”

“Of course not.” Vivian reached out to lay her hand on her brother’s. “There’s nothing foolish about it. I was just surprised—after the party, you sounded as if you weren’t going to pursue her. But Camellia’s a wonderful girl.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Seyre smiled, his eyes lighting up as they did when he was on one of his favorite subjects. “I saw her riding in the park before I met her at the Carrs’ party. She rode like she was born to it. And her face!” He jumped to his feet and began to pace, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I enjoyed talking to her. I was
able
to talk to her without feeling like a fool. She wasn’t empty-headed like most of the girls I’ve met. After I went home, I thought everything would be like always. But nothing appealed. I was bored—if you think that surprises you, just imagine how I felt. I didn’t want to read or write letters or check my experiments. I kept thinking about Miss Bascombe and wondering what she was doing. Imagining her at parties and the theater, talking to other men. And the thought of it made my blood boil.”

He turned to his sister, astonishment stamped on his features. Vivian had to laugh. “Oh, dear. Have you never felt the pangs of jealousy?”

“No, I suppose not. Sometimes I’ve envied another man’s ease of address with a woman. But not something like this—wanting to draw some chap’s cork because a lady was dancing with him instead of me. It’s not a comfortable feeling—and I didn’t even see her dancing with anyone. I only thought about it.”

“Poor Gregory. You do have it badly.” Vivian stood up
and went over to him. “But don’t worry. I shall certainly do something to help. I’ll send a note round to Eve tomorrow, asking all of them to join our party to Richmond Park. It will make it less obvious if we ask them all. Let’s see, when shall we go? Thursday, do you think?”

“I defer to your judgment in all things social. But perhaps you oughtn’t to tell her I am accompanying you. She may refuse if she knows I am to be there. I made a proper mull of it when I met her.”

Vivian looked at him oddly. “How? Whyever would Camellia dislike you?”

He frowned. “I think, well, this sounds most peculiar, but I think it’s because I’m a marquess.”

Vivian began to laugh. “Oh, my. That does sound like Cam. Do not worry. Once she has been around you longer, she will lose her distrust of marquesses.” Smitten as her brother appeared to be, Vivian could only hope that Camellia would also see the wonderful person beneath Gregory’s shy demeanor.

They talked a while longer about the expedition to Richmond Park and whether it was warm enough yet for a picnic. Smothering a yawn, Gregory confessed to being tired.

“It will doubtless take me a while to become accustomed to the sort of hours you keep,” he told Vivian with a smile.

They left the study and started toward the stairs. As they emerged into the foyer, Vivian cast a secret glance over at the hall table and was pleased to see that Oliver’s hat was now gone. Trust Oliver, she thought, not to foolishly leave something behind.

At the top of the stairs, they parted, and Vivian went into her room, closing the door behind her. The lamp on her dresser cast a dim glow across the room, showing the rumpled bed and her clothes, carelessly thrown across bed
and chair and floor. Vivian crossed the room and began to pick up the garments to lay them more neatly across the chair. Her maid would never expect her to hang up her clothes, but she might wonder why they were scattered about so carelessly.

Vivian reached out and touched the crumpled sheets, aware of a faint bittersweet pang as she thought of lying there with Oliver. How different, how sweet it would be, if they were able to lie there talking as they pleased, not having to hide or to part.

Something glinted on the floor, and she bent to pick it up. Oliver’s gold-and-onyx tiepin. Her fingers curled around the stickpin, and she smiled to herself. Blowing out the lamp, she climbed into bed and curled up on her side. With the pin clutched in her hand, she fell asleep.

Chapter 15

The first thing Vivian did after breakfast the next morning was to pen a note to Eve, inviting her and Camellia, as well as the men of the family, on an expedition to Richmond Park on Thursday. She got dressed and was about to leave the house, but when she went downstairs, she found her brother cornered in the entryway by Dora Parkington and her mother. The two ladies had obviously come to call and had run into Gregory, much to his misfortune and their delight.

“Vivian!” Her brother’s eyes lit up when he saw her descending the stairs. “There you are. Lady, um, Parkington and Miss Parkington came to call on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you ladies to chat.”

“Oh, now, Lord Seyre, there’s no need to leave!” Lady Parkington said gaily, sending him an arch look.

“Yes, Seyre,” Vivian echoed with a wicked smile. “Why don’t you join us?”

His eyes widened in alarm. “Um, ah, thank you, but I’m, um—”

“Off to your club?” Vivian asked helpfully, unable to hold out against Gregory’s wild-eyed look of panic.

“Yes. Exactly.” Seyre relaxed with relief. “I have to meet a colleague at the club.” He turned toward the hovering footman. “Thomas, my hat?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Lord Seyre was just telling us about Thursday,” Dora Parkington said, smiling sweetly at Vivian.

“Thursday?” Vivian raised her brows slightly.

“Yes, the riding party to Richmond,” Lady Parkington explained, her smile broader and more wolfish than her daughter’s. “It sounds delightful. Just the sort of thing you young people will enjoy. It was so kind of your brother to invite us.”

“Yes, Gregory is so good that way.” Vivian kept the brittle smile on her face. “Thomas, why don’t you show Lady Parkington and Miss Parkington into the library.” She turned to the women. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to ask my brother a question before he leaves.”

“Of course. I am sure you must depend on his advice.”

“Indeed.” Vivian nodded. “Gregory always tells me just what I need to hear.”

She watched the two women follow the footman down the hall, and when they were gone, she swung back to Gregory, who was standing by the front door, turning his hat around and around in his hands, his face a mixture of guilt and frustration.

“I did
not
invite those women,” he whispered. “I didn’t even intend to tell Lady Parkington about the riding party, but she was pressing me to come to some musicale or some such thing on Thursday, and I said I couldn’t, and somehow it came out that we were going riding. I didn’t ask her to come, truly, much less her daughter. But then she was talking as if I had and thanking me for being so gracious. And I couldn’t
dis
invite her. I didn’t know what to say. Then
she told you I had asked them, which is utterly untrue.” He stopped, looking miserable. “Now I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? I should have a keeper, like mad Lord Devers.”

Vivian could not help but chuckle. “I don’t think you are in need of a keeper yet. I suspect few men could have held out against Lady Parkington. She is an absolute artist at getting her way. How else could she have married off all her daughters so well even though the men know that they are acquiring her as a mother-in-law?” She sighed, then reached over to pat his arm. “The situation is less than ideal, I’ll admit. But I shall do what I can. You go ahead and make your escape.”

Gregory smiled ruefully and left the house. Vivian stood for a moment, thinking, before she joined the other women in the drawing room. She rang for tea, then, smiling, she settled down for a cozy chat.

“I am so glad you are able to join us Thursday,” Vivian said. “Lord Stewkesbury and his brother Fitzhugh Talbot will be joining us, as well as Mrs. Talbot, and, of course, their cousin Miss Bascombe. Miss Bascombe is quite the horse enthusiast. Such an athletic girl.” She strung out the last words in a careful tone, stopping just short of a note of disapproval.

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Dora Parkington barely covered a smirk.

“You, of course, are such a sweet, feminine girl.” Vivian’s voice warmed now, and she smiled at Dora. “I usually find that men prefer a softer, more genteel woman. Don’t you, Lady Parkington?”

“You are exactly right. That is always what I have told my daughters. Men prefer a sweet, submissive female.”

“Yes. Gentlemen enjoy a quiet home life,” Vivian went on. “My brother, for instance, enjoys reading and thinking, writing letters to his colleagues. He’s more a man of thought than of action.”

“A quiet gentleman, yes.” Lady Parkington nodded emphatically. “I could tell that about him. Not at all the loud, sporting-minded man.”

“Indeed. He never wants to watch pugilists, as some men do,” Vivian added truthfully. “Or wagers on races.” That much was true, too, Vivian thought—Gregory never cared about the betting part of a horse race.

“A scholar—that’s Lord Seyre,” Lady Parkington summarized.

Vivian nodded. “Yes. I hope he does not find the ride to Richmond too dull.”

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