An Affair Without End (50 page)

It was a sobering thought. If someone had told Vivian a few days ago that this would happen, she would have laughed and said it didn’t matter. But it did matter. She would not enjoy being ostracized by her peers. Lady Kitty’s fate would not be one she looked forward to. She liked the whirl of parties and dinners and social calls. She loved to dance, to wear beautiful clothes and jewels. She enjoyed the way she lived. It was more than a little frightening to think of losing it.

Perhaps she should have been more careful. Perhaps she should—

Vivian stopped and looked at her image in the mirror. What was she thinking? Yes, perhaps she should have been more careful—not only about the stolen jewels, but also with her heart. But did she really regret what she had done? Should she not have looked for the jewel thieves? Did she wish she had not fallen in love with Oliver?

Of course not. It might cause her more pain than she had ever before experienced, but she would not have given up what had happened with her and Oliver for any amount of peace. Nor would she have refused to help Lady Kitty,
either that first day or the other night. Maybe she should have been more careful, but she had helped expose a ring of thieves and a murderer. Wasn’t that more important than being whispered about?

And what, she asked herself, was she doing sitting here hiding from those who were attacking her? If they wanted to say something about her, then let them say it to her face. If she was going to lose out on love, she was certainly not about to just surrender.

Squaring her shoulders, Vivian considered her somewhat battered image in the mirror. She had never backed down from a fight before, and she wasn’t about to start now. Jumping up, she strode over to the bellpull and rang for her maid.

When the girl came rushing in a few minutes later, Vivian had already discarded her dressing gown and was brushing out her hair. “Get out a dress for me, Sally. I am going to a party.”

Camellia circled the floor in Gregory’s arms. She loved dancing as long as Gregory was her partner. Parties, too, were much more enjoyable when he was there. She smiled up at him, then felt a little guilty about her own happiness.

“I’m sorry Vivian isn’t here,” she said. “Is she feeling any better?”

“I think so. Her bruises look worse, but she assured me that she was not in as much pain. I was actually a bit surprised she didn’t insist on accompanying me tonight. She hates to miss a ball.”

“It might be because everyone’s being so hateful about what she did.” Camellia cast a dark glance around the room. “I nearly told Lady Kirkpatrick to shut up tonight when she said something about Vivian, but Eve pinched my arm, so I didn’t.” Camellia grinned as she went on, “Then
Eve delivered a perfectly acidic comment about something in Lady Kirkpatrick’s past. I didn’t understand what it was, precisely, but it certainly made Lady Kirkpatrick go quiet.”

Gregory chuckled. “Good for her.”

“I hate it. People are being so unfair to Vivian.”

“You’re a loyal friend.” He smiled down at her. “But don’t worry. Once she’s back to herself, Vivian will take care of them. I’ve never known her to be bested by anyone yet. You’ll see. Pretty soon, they’ll be eating out of her hand again.”

The music wound to a close, and they started off the floor. Gregory led Camellia toward the door. “I have something I wanted to say to you.”

Camellia glanced at him, surprised. “All right.”

“Alone.” They emerged in the hallway, and he glanced around before whisking Camellia down the corridor. He caught sight of the library and smiled. “Ah, here’s the perfect place.”

“The perfect place for what?” Camellia asked as she followed him into the room.

“We first met in the library at the Carrs’.”

“I remember.” She grinned. “When you tried to pretend you weren’t an almost-duke.”

“I didn’t,” he protested, then saw the smile on her face and relaxed. “All right. I admit that I am an almost-duke. And as such, it’s quite important, you know, for me to have an almost-duchess.”

Camellia frowned, pulling her hand from his. “What do you mean? What are you saying? You—you need to find a proper girl to marry?”

“I’ve already found her.” He reached out and took her hand back. “I know I’m probably speaking much too soon, and you don’t have to give me a definite answer if you’d rather not. I just want to know if there’s a hope, if there’s any possibility that one day you could see your way to . . . that is
to say, that you might consider my suit.” Camellia stared at him, and a blush started in his cheeks. “I know I’ve rushed this. But I—I have no idea if you like me at all, at least in that way.”

“In what way?” Camellia looked at him intently. “Gregory, what are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to marry me.” He waited, his face tense, watching hers.

“Gregory! Are you serious? But . . . but . . . you haven’t thought! I’m not right for a duchess.”

“You’re right for my duchess.”

“But—I don’t know how to do any of those things I’d be supposed to. I’d be sure to say or do something wrong. You know I would.”

“I don’t do any of the things a duke is supposed to,” he pointed out. “And it doesn’t matter if you get the precedence wrong at a dinner party or talk to someone that a duchess would ignore. I don’t care about any of those things. All that matters, all I care about, is how you feel about me. Because, you see, I’m frightfully in love with you. I don’t want to think about what my life would be without you. So if you aren’t sure, then just don’t say no, please. If you think you could get used to the idea or grow to like me, I can wait, and we can have this conversation another time. You see—”

Camellia let out a laugh and threw her arms around Gregory’s neck. “Oh, Gregory, sometimes you offer entirely too many options. I’m not the sort of girl to wait and think, you know. I know how I feel. Yes, I’ll marry you. I love you.”

“Really?” He looked at her in delighted amazement. “Because I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

“I can’t say that. But I knew I loved you that night you walked me over to see Cosmo, when I told you what I was
doing—and you didn’t try to dissuade me or tell me that I was rash or making a mistake or any of those things that people always say. You just said all right. And walked along with me. And I knew that you were the first man who’d seen me for what I was—and still liked me.”

“I can’t imagine seeing you for what you are and not liking you. Not loving you.” Gregory looped his arms loosely around her waist.

“You see? You’re doing it again.” Camellia smiled and went up on her toes to kiss him.

Some moments later they pulled apart, startled by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. They half-turned toward the doorway as a girl darted into the room. Her face was red, her eyes bright with anger.

“Oh!” She came to a sudden halt, gaping at them. She clapped her hands over her face, and a moment later she let out a little sob.

Camellia and Gregory cast a puzzled glance at each other.

Dora dropped her hands from her face. Her expression of rage had been replaced with one of heartbreaking sorrow. “My life is ruined!”

“I cannot see how
your
life is ruined,” Camellia replied unfeelingly. “It was Lady Vivian’s reputation you tried to stain.”

“Lady Lindley just called me a horrid little gossip!” Dora exclaimed with a flash of her earlier temper, but then she looked down, squeezing her hands together. “And I did not mean to harm Lady Vivian at all. I pray you will believe me, Lord Seyre.”

She raised her head, her hands clasped prayerfully together, and looked beseechingly at Gregory. Tears pooled in her large blue eyes, trembling, about to spill over.

“Oh, I believe you,” Gregory replied in a voice so cold
Camellia hardly recognized it as his. “It was Miss Bascombe whose reputation you hoped to ruin. ’Twas your misfortune that it was my sister who had worn Miss Bascombe’s cloak . . . instead of my fiancée.”

“What?”

Camellia pressed her lips together to hold back the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the other girl’s stunned expression.

“You-your fiancée?” Dora repeated, her voice dying away on the last word.

“Yes. I have just asked Miss Bascombe to do me the honor of marrying me. And I am happy to say that she has accepted.”

“No. You can’t mean it.” Dora turned to Camellia, her face tightening in fury and disbelief. “You! I can’t believe it!
You
are going to be the Duchess of Marchester?”

“I am going to be Gregory’s
wife,
” Camellia smiled. “And that, Miss Parkington, is the difference between you and me.”

“Good evening, Miss Parkington.” Gregory nodded faintly at the girl and offered his arm to Camellia. “Shall we return to the others, my dear?”

“I’d love to.” Camellia looked up at him, a glorious smile spreading across her face.

The two of them walked out of the room without a backward glance at Miss Parkington.

When Lady Vivian walked into the ball, a susurration of shock and excitement ran through the crowd. She stood for a moment, her head regally high, before she started across the room. Whispers rose around her, but she paid them no mind. Vivian wasn’t sure where she was going. She hoped she would soon see a safe harbor such as Eve and Fitz, but until then, she would concentrate on appearing sublimely unconcerned about the gossip swirling around her.

Lady Arminter looked directly at Vivian as Vivian approached her, then turned pointedly away. Vivian hesitated for a second before she continued on her way, her face as smooth and passionless as marble. Lady Wendover came fluttering up to her.

“Lady Vivian.” Lady Wendover glanced around uncertainly. “How are you? I mean, uh . . .” Her eyes flickered to the bruises on Vivian’s face and quickly away. “That is, are you certain you feel well enough to be here? Surely you should stay in bed for a few days, after your, um, ordeal.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Vivian asked in an amused tone.

“No, of course not. Always an honor . . . it’s just that . . . well, so soon after . . .”

“What’s she’s trying to say, Vivian,” said a firm voice, Lady Euphronia, Oliver’s aunt, as she stepped up to join the conversation, “is that you should exercise a measure of good sense and go home. Things will die down after a while, but in the meantime, you’re better off staying away. You’re exposing Lady Wendover and everyone who knows you to unnecessary distress.”

“
I
am subjecting
you
to distress?” Vivian asked, her eyes flashing.

“Yes.” Euphronia leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a hiss. “When you make yourself the object of scandal, it affects more than just you. What about your friend Mrs. Talbot and Fitz? What about that Bascombe girl? She will have a hard enough time making it though the Season without you tainting her with your scandal.”

“Aunt Euphronia!” A male voice sliced through Euphronia’s words, strong and clear. “I am sure Miss Bascombe would be pleased to hear that you are so concerned about her Season, but I really think it would be better all around if you didn’t say anything else.”

Vivian’s gaze went past the other woman to where Oliver stood, his eyes hard as stone and his mouth set in a straight, tight line. Joy rushed up in her.

Beside her, Lady Euphronia swelled up like a pigeon and started to address her nephew, but he fixed her with his gaze and said, “No. Don’t embarrass yourself, Aunt.”

His gaze swept from his aunt to Lady Wendover to Lady Arminter, falling on all the others in between. “I might remind everyone here that Lady Vivian was injured two nights ago in the course of trying to apprehend a criminal,” he went on. “A murderer, in fact. She is guilty of nothing but helping a friend and keeping a number of you from being victimized further. She was hurt; she could have been killed. And all because she has a kind heart and a belief in doing good. That is where she differs from most of you.” He ignored the chorus of shocked gasps. “Now . . . if any of you have anything to say about Lady Vivian’s character, I suggest you say it to me. Here and now.”

He paused again and looked all around. Every pair of eyes in the room was riveted to him. “Because in the future, Lady Vivian is going to be Lady Stewkesbury. My wife.” In the stunned silence that followed, he extended his hand to Vivian. “My dear, may I have this dance?”

Vivian took his hand, too stunned to say anything, and let him lead her onto the dance floor. The waltz was already playing, but Oliver whirled Vivian into the circling dancers with ease. Dozens of questions tumbled around in her head, but a waltz, especially one done under the watchful eyes of every occupant of the room, was neither the time nor place for a serious conversation. When the dance ended, Stewkesbury held out his arm to Vivian and escorted her off the floor.

“Oliver . . . ,” she began, but he shook his head.

“I think it is good time for a promenade,” he told her. “Don’t you?”

“Oliver, we must talk.”

“And we shall, in a moment.”

The moment turned into minutes, then an hour. They made their way slowly around the room, Oliver nodding to everyone he knew and stopping to talk with many of them—whether the person looked eager to speak to him or not. No one dared offend the Earl of Stewkesbury, and at every possible occasion, it seemed, Oliver brought the name of Vivian’s father or brother into the conversation. One could almost see the thaw spreading around the room. The longer Vivian was by Oliver’s side, the more the tension in her eased. He had just made her task of returning to the good graces of the
ton
a great deal easier, and she could not but love him all the more for it.