An Affair Without End

by Candace Camp

  “But not who you were!” Camellia retorted. “You let me go rattling on about—about snobs and titles and everything! And all the while you were laughing at me!”

  “No! No, please, Miss Bascombe. I wasn’t laughing . . . I didn’t mean . . . that is, I just wanted . . .” He trailed off, looking frustrated.

  “What? You just wanted to see me make a fool of myself? Thank you, I have been managing that quite well on my own. I don’t need any help from you!”

  Camellia swung away. When he started after her, reaching out toward her arm, she whirled and glared at him. “Don’t! I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. Just leave me alone.”

  She turned and hurried from the room, striding down the hallway in the swift way she had been told a thousand times not to. She didn’t care if she looked unfeminine. It was clear she was not a lady, so why bother trying to act like one?

  Camellia was furious with herself as much as with Lord Seyre. She should have known better than to speak so openly and freely. She had been warned time and again about how dangerous it was to navigate the waters of the ton. And to think that I had worried about Lily being too naïve and trusting! Just because she had liked the man, because his smile had been so open and warm and he’d seemed, yes, even a bit shy and stammering, she had talked to him without restraint. She had revealed her dislike of the ton; she’d gone on and on about how silly titles were and how meaningless. And he had just let her! He hadn’t had the common courtesy to tell her that he was a—well, whatever it was; she could not remember all these titles. But whatever his title was, he was next to being a duke, which he would someday become when his father died, and a duke, she knew, was as high as one could get without being a prince.

  She had no doubt that inside he had been laughing at her the whole time. She remembered how she had asked him if he would be any better if he were an earl instead of what he was. There had been a little spark of amusement in his eyes as he had assured her he would not—having his own private little jest, of course, because an earl would be a step down for him. Camellia thought of all the social errors she must have committed while they were talking, starting with her having walked right up to him and introduced herself, something that no lady would ever do. She wondered if he would tell Vivian how badly she had misbehaved—or would he save the story to tell his friends over port and cigars?

  When she reached the ballroom, Camellia found Eve and Fitz looking for her. They whisked her away to the midnight supper, and fortunately even Lily was exhausted enough from the excitement of the ball to want to go home soon after the supper.

  Back home at Stewkesbury House, Lily linked her arm through Camellia’s as they trudged upstairs. “I am so very tired. Aren’t you, Cam? But it was a splendid evening, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, and you were the most beautiful girl there.”

  Lily giggled. “Since Vivian was there, I can hardly claim that. And that Parkington girl is lovely, isn’t she?” At Camellia’s unladylike snort, Lily laughed. “I know. I felt the same way about her. She’s just like Lady Sabrina back at Willowmere, only younger.”

  “And not as skillful,” Eve commented from in front of them. “But give her time. I think she has the potential.”

  “Who are you talking about? That pretty little black-haired girl?” Fitz asked. “I thought she seemed rather sweet.”

  “That is because you are a man,” his wife retorted, smiling. “She is very sweet toward men, I’m sure, especially handsome ones.”

  Fitz flashed a sideways grin at Eve. “Handsome, eh?”

  “Yes, but don’t get too full of yourself.” Eve gazed back up at him, her tender smile at odds with her tart words.

  Lily glanced at Camellia and giggled. “Come on, Cam, let’s leave these two lovebirds alone. Come into my room, and we’ll gossip about everything that happened tonight.”

  Camellia sighed inwardly. She wanted only to go to bed and nurse her wounded pride, but she followed her sister into her bedroom. Lily’s maid was there to help them, but Lily sent the girl to bed, saying that she and Camellia would manage by themselves. As soon as the girl had left, Lily turned to Camellia.

  “All right. What’s the matter?” Lily came around behind her and began to unhook Camellia’s gown.

  “What?” Camellia looked at Lily blankly.

  “With you. There’s something bothering you. I could tell it as soon as I sat down at the table with you at supper. What happened?” Lily turned her back to Camellia so that Camellia could do the same service for her.

  Camellia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It was your big night, and we should talk about that.”

  Lily made a pfft noise and waved her hand, as if tossing aside the engagement party that had so occupied her thoughts for the past two weeks. “We can talk about that all day tomorrow. In fact, I’ll insist on it. But right now, I want to know why you were looking like thunder at the supper table.”

  Camellia couldn’t keep from frowning in memory, and soon the whole story came tumbling out, beginning with Dora Parkington’s snide comments at the dance and ending with Vivian’s coming into the library.

  “What a horrid man!” Lily exclaimed, her eyes flashing. “I hope you gave him a good setdown.”

  The girls had slipped out of their dresses as they talked, and Lily handed Camellia her dressing gown, grabbing up a shawl to wrap around her own shoulders. She pulled Camellia over to the chair and stool in front of the fireplace. Firmly, she pushed her sister into the chair and plopped down on the stool herself, facing Camellia.

  “I don’t think I know how to give someone a setdown.” Camellia smiled, relief sweeping through her at her sister’s reaction to her news.

  “You should learn. Or better yet, give him a ‘bear-garden jaw.’”

  “A what?” Camellia’s smile turned into a laugh. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Cousin Gordon. He was there tonight. Didn’t you see him?”

  “No, thank God. At least I was spared that. I’m not sure I could have borne to talk to him as well as Dora Parkington and Lord High Whatever Seyre, all in one evening.”

  “The Marquess of Seyre,” Lily corrected, laughing. “That’s right below a duke. Eve’s been drilling the ranks into me.”

  “I don’t care what his title is. He’s a thoroughly detestable man. I know he was laughing at me the whole time.”

  “He has a most peculiar sense of humor, then. He ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself.”

  Camellia laughed. Lily’s typically emotional, unguarded response to Camellia’s story had made her feel a great deal better.

  “It was most vexatious, but it doesn’t matter now. I shall make it a point to avoid him in the future.” Camellia shrugged. She was not going to admit, even to her sister, that what made her feel the worst was that she had liked the man. It had been such fun to laugh with him, and she had felt a delicious little flutter in her stomach whenever he smiled at her. “I’m just glad that you—well, I was afraid that you might be unhappy with me.”

  “Me?” Lily looked amazed. “Why would I be upset with you?”

  “For getting myself into the predicament. I shouldn’t have done any of the things I did.” Camellia began to tick her wrongs off on her fingers. “I talked too freely, not stopping to inquire or even to think about whether he had a title. I was alone with a man for a long time. I spoke to him without being introduced. In fact, I introduced myself to him. And then, when I found out who he was, I told him what I thought of him, so I was quite rude to a marquess, which I imagine does not stand one in good stead with the ton. What else—oh, yes, I was rude to Dora Parkington, too. I’m sure she will be spreading it about.”

  Lily grimaced. “What do I care what Dora Parkington thinks? Or her friends? And why would I get mad at you because that beastly man let you think he wasn’t titled? It served him right for you to say rude things about titles and noblemen. It’s exactly what he deserved. Less than he deserved, I’d say
.”

  “It’s just that—well, lately, you’ve been so, so caught up in all this—your wedding and the Carrs and the ton and all that. Sometimes I think—I feel as though things aren’t the same anymore. That you and I aren’t—”

  Lily stared. “Aren’t what? Sisters?”

  “Of course we’re sisters. But maybe not in the same way we used to be. That we’ve grown . . . apart a little, I guess. That you’re different.”

  “I’m not!” Lily cried, reaching out and taking Camellia’s hands. “How can you say that? I haven’t changed. I mean, not in any way that’s important. I have been trying to please Neville’s mother because I love him so much, and it would be dreadful if she hated me, and I feared she might, you know, because of his being supposed to marry Priscilla. So I have been trying to learn all the titles and their precedence and all that sort of thing. But that doesn’t mean I’ve changed. You know I’ve always been romantic, and I like parties and clothes and all those things you don’t. But I’m the same old Lily—only in marvelous gowns!”

  Camellia laughed and hugged her sister. “Of course you are. I’m the one who’s being silly. I’m just an old grump at the prospect of being left to live out my days with only Cousin Oliver for company.”

  “But I’m not going anywhere!” Lily protested. “I mean, well, of course I am, because I have to go visit Neville’s dragon of a grandmother—which is absolutely terrifying. But I’ll only be gone a month or so, and then I’ll be back. And after Neville and I are married, why, you can come live with us. I’ll be an old married lady and all the chaperone you need!”

  “Silly! As if I would shove myself into your lives with you just married!” Camellia retorted. “It’s all right. I have become resigned to being a spinster and growing old at Willowmere. I daresay Cousin Oliver and I will manage to stay out of one another’s way. We have well enough so far.” She looked into Lily’s eyes. “Are you really scared of meeting his grandmother?”

  “Heavens, yes! She sounds like an utter tyrant. I’m scared of all of them. I’ll be all by myself with them, and I’ve never gone anywhere without you. Neville will be there, but it won’t be the same. I mean, he’s accustomed to them, and he doesn’t think they’re that fearsome—except for his grandmother. They all live in dread of her. But he doesn’t understand how I feel so . . . so oppressed by the thought of them. I’m so scared I’ll do or say something wrong. That they’ll think I’m a horrible American nobody and not good enough for Neville.”

  “You’re good enough for anyone,” Camellia assured her stoutly. “Don’t forget that. Neville is lucky to have you. The whole family is lucky that you came along, or they’d still be trying to get Neville to marry. Only Priscilla would have run off with her fellow, and there wouldn’t even be someone he was obliged to ask.”

  Lily laughed. “So I did them all a favor, didn’t I? It’s a good thing I came to England so that Neville could fall in love.”

  “Absolutely right.”

  “Then I guess we are both wonderful people, and this whole silly ton better realize that!”

  “That’s right.”

  They smiled at each other, their moods considerably improved.

  “Now,” Lily said in a confidential tone, “tell me all about the horrid Dora . . .”

  When Vivian came down to breakfast the next morning, she found her father and brother both there before her, dressed for their journey and almost finished with their meal.

  “You really are determined to go today?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Yes.” The duke nodded his head decisively. “That doctor gave me leave to go, and I’m not staying around to let him change his mind. I can walk with a cane, and I can work up to walking without one just as well at home as here. Better, in fact. I’ve got more space to roam about in.”

  “I will worry about you.”

  “No need. I’m going to be a good patient.” He gave her a wry smile. “I promise. I won’t invite any of my friends. I shall be abstemious in eating and drinking. And Gregory will be there to be a mother hen. One of you is ample.”

  “But what will I do for company?” Vivian responded. “Now I shall have to invite Cousin Katherine to come be my chaperone.”

  “I didn’t notice her here when we arrived,” her father shot back. “Besides, Katherine’s no bother. One hardly knows she’s around. I’ll return later. Once I’ve gotten to where I can walk without looking like a child in leading strings tottering about. I’ve never missed an entire Season yet.”

  He pushed back his plate and rose to his feet, a lengthier process than it used to be. When Gregory started to rise, he waved him back to his seat. “No, don’t get up yet. Stay and talk to your sister. It takes me a while to get ready these days.”

  Gregory sank back down, and both he and his sister watched as their father picked up his cane and thumped his way out the door.

  Vivian frowned. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

  “The doctor seems to think he’s doing all right. He hasn’t had another apoplexy, and I gather that’s encouraging. Of course, who knows how long he will stay with his new way of living.”

  “I suspect that fully adhering to it would be too much to ask of him,” Vivian said.

  “No doubt you’re right. Still, I do think he’s scared enough that he will adjust his habits.”

  “Hopefully.” Vivian picked up a piece of toast and took a bite, her eyes twinkling as she looked across the table at her brother. “What about you? Wouldn’t you like to linger in London a little longer? You seemed rather taken with my friend Camellia.”

  A dull red color crept up Gregory’s neck. “No. I mean, yes, she was quite, um, nice. But I’m no good with women. You know that. Besides, she’ll doubtless have scores of suitors hanging about her. It stands to reason; she’s so pretty.”

  Vivian stared at her brother. “Gregory! Do you really like her? I was just teasing . . .”

  He shook his head, not looking at her. “Don’t be silly. I barely know the girl. She was, um, easy to talk to. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She dislikes me thoroughly.”

  “What?” Vivian’s brows shot up. “I doubt that. The two of you were chatting away when I came into the library.”

  “Yes, well . . .” He shrugged. “Things change rather quickly sometimes. Don’t worry about it.” He straightened, looking alarmed. “And don’t say anything to her about me. I am not about to have my sister trying to matchmake for me, too.”

  “No, I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.” Vivian regarded Seyre thoughtfully.

  The more he said, the more Vivian wondered if her brother was interested in Camellia. It certainly gave her something to think about. Vivian would enjoy having Camellia for a sister-in-law. She certainly was not above a bit of subtle matchmaking. Still . . . it was hard for her to picture her shy brother with someone as blunt and high-spirited as Cam. It would be awful to encourage him to pursue Camellia if Camellia did not return his affection. It was nonsense, of course, for Gregory to think that Camellia disliked him. It was typical of her brother to be unaware of the appeal of his good looks and kind disposition.

  But Camellia might only like him as a friend. Vivian had never noticed the girl seeming particularly interested in any man. She might regard Gregory in the same way she did her male cousins. No, it would be much better to wait and see on this matter. After all, there was plenty of time. It wasn’t as if either of them was likely to jump into marriage anytime soon.

  Before long, the duke and Seyre departed. Vivian bade them a fond farewell, then turned back to the suddenly empty-seeming house. What, she wondered, was she to do now? She could pay calls, of course. The Season was well under way, and most people she knew had returned. Or she could go to Stewkesbury House and spend the afternoon discussing the party of the night before with Eve and Lily and Camellia. But then she might run into Oliver, and it was better, she thought, to let him spend a few days away from her.

  Vi
vian smiled to herself. She wasn’t sure what she expected to come of this little dance she and Oliver were performing. Not anything permanent, of course. She had meant it when she told Oliver that she did not intend to marry. She might have intimated to him that she had a good deal more knowledge and sophistication about men than she actually did, but her firm opinion was that marriage was an institution that did not favor women and that a woman should be just as able as a man to engage in affairs without having to shackle herself for life. That Vivian had never actually done so did not matter. She had simply never found a man who interested her enough . . . until now.

  The height of absurdity was that it should be the steady, responsible Earl of Stewkesbury who should catch her eye. There were men more handsome—his brother Fitz, for one. And certainly there were men more charming; she could rattle off the names of a handful. But just something about the way his mouth curved up on one side and his pewter-gray eyes lit in shared amusement melted her inside. Even when he was at his most annoying, she did not wish him somewhere else; oddly, arguing with him was entertaining. Invigorating. Pitting her determination against his resistance offered a challenge she could not resist.

  Best of all, with Oliver there would be no question of either of them falling in love. Vivian was certain by now that she was not a woman who was apt to tumble into love. And Oliver was the sort of practical, unemotional man whose head ruled him, not his heart. Only his sense of propriety held him back, and once she had breached that wall, they could have an affair that would be mutually satisfactory. There would be no need to worry about fallen expectations or bruised feelings. When it was all over, they would go their separate ways, with no hearts broken.

  However, pleasant as it was to think about, Vivian knew that she must step back for the moment. Stewkesbury was not a man to be pushed, and Vivian was certainly not the sort to dangle after a man. No, Oliver would have to come to her, she thought, not the other way around.

  That left her with nothing to do that particularly interested her. Even the prospect of planning the ball she would have in a month or two for the Bascombe sisters did not appeal. She supposed she could simply wait to receive afternoon callers, but that seemed an even more lackluster way to spend the day.