An Affair Without End

by Candace Camp

  So it was with real pleasure that she received a note an hour later from Lady Mainwaring. Kitty could be counted on to keep life interesting. Vivian broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Her eyebrows floated upward as she read:

  Dearest Vivian,

  I am in the most dreadful straits! I must see you on a matter of the most VITAL importance. Please, please, call on me this afternoon. I would not ask you were I not on the Edge of Despair!

  Yr Loving Godmother,

  Kitty, Lady Mainwaring

  Chapter 10

  Vivian was not alarmed. She was familiar enough with Lady Kitty Mainwaring’s ways to know that the woman’s proclamations of disaster usually contained as little truth as her claim to be Vivian’s godmother. Lady Kitty had been her father’s friend and longtime mistress, and she had lavished Vivian with a careless but heartfelt affection throughout the often lonely years of Vivian’s childhood. Vivian doubted that the situation was anywhere near as dire as Lady Kitty claimed, but she welcomed the prospect of visiting her.

  She sat down to dash off a reply to Kitty to expect her that afternoon, then went upstairs to dress. Shortly after luncheon, Vivian set off in her carriage for the Mainwaring mansion, a great gray-stone pile of a house, built after the Great Fire and in an area that was no longer the most fashionable part of London. Its location had vexed Lady Kitty, but on that point her much older husband had refused to budge, and she had become resigned to the place over the years, opining that at least it was closer to the gambling clubs she favored.

  Vivian was accustomed to visiting her friend there; Kitty never called on her. Kitty had married young to a man poles apart from her not only in years, but also in temperament and interests. Her marriage had been for duty and prestige, and like a number of others of her generation and class, she had looked outside her marriage for love and affection. Kitty, however, had been less discreet than many, and because of her scandal-marked past, she was no longer received in the very best households. She did not mind, she told Vivian, for she cared more about enjoying her life than she did about pleasing the ladies of the ton. Vivian knew that Kitty’s behavior had been no worse than her own father’s—better, really, for Kitty did not drink to excess and carouse with her friends—and Vivian found it unfair that her father was not exiled from society, but Kitty was, simply because she was a woman. Vivian had told Kitty so and had assured her many times that Kitty was always welcome at her house, but Kitty would not call on her, not wanting to bring any question to bear on Vivian’s behavior.

  When Vivian arrived, she was shown into the drawing room, where her old friend sat with Wesley Kilbothan, the “poet” who was currently her “protégé.” Lady Kitty rose with a cry of pleasure and held out her hands to Vivian. Though in her fifties, Kitty was still an attractive woman with golden blond hair miraculously untouched by gray and cornflower blue eyes. If her figure had thickened a little over the years and her complexion faded, those were kept hidden with stays and a subtle application of lip rouge, and her blue silk round dress was in the latest fashion. Diamonds winked at her ears and fingers, and a sapphire necklace graced her throat.

  “Vivian, my love, how entrancing you look! Doesn’t she, Mr. Kilbothan?” Kitty half turned toward the man, who had politely arisen at Vivian’s entrance and now stood waiting to greet her.

  “Indeed—but then, Lady Vivian always looks enchanting.” Kilbothan came closer and made an impeccable bow.

  He was a slender man of medium height, whose age Vivian would have guessed to be around forty. His face was attractive in a sharp way, with a narrow nose and lean cheeks, his brows flying slashes of black. He was well dressed, wearing a jacket of bottle green kerseymere, with a shirt of white cambric and a waistcoat of a green-and-blue floral pattern. And if his collar points were higher and his clothing more colorful than, say, Lord Stewkesbury’s, he was no dandy, either. He was, as always, polite and well-spoken, yet Vivian could not find it in herself to like the man. She was aware that her distrust, even dislike, of the man stemmed from the fear that he was taking advantage of the generous and loving Kitty, but that knowledge did not make her feelings any kindlier toward him.

  The look he sent toward Vivian was knowing as he went on, “I fear I must leave you ladies. The Muse is calling, and one must not ignore her.”

  “Of course, dear.” Lady Kitty smiled and watched him walk out of the room. She heaved a little sigh of satisfaction. “Such a lovely man. And so thoughtful. Dear Wesley knew I wanted to speak with you alone.”

  “And I am eager to speak to you.” Vivian led her friend over to the sofa. “Now tell me, what has brought you to such a pass?”

  “Oh, it is the most idiotic thing!” Something more like exasperation than despair flashed across the older woman’s face. “But that can wait. First, you must tell me about your father. I heard he had been carried to London, all but on death’s door. Tell me it isn’t so!”

  “It certainly is not. I would have written to tell you if it were so serious.” Vivian smiled. Kitty was not fond of bad news, so Vivian kept the story light. “He had a bit of a turn, that is all, and Gregory wanted to make sure he was fine. He does not trust the doctor at home—Gregory, I mean; Papa, as you know, quite likes the man, for the doctor allows Papa to bully him.”

  Kitty chuckled, her fondness for the duke evident in her eyes. “Of course. Then Marchester is not ill?”

  Vivian knew how little her father would like her telling his former lover about his physical ailments, and she knew how equally little Lady Kitty wanted to learn that her former lover was vulnerable to the effects of age. It was better all around not to delve too deeply into the details of her father’s condition. “The doctor says he must reform the way he lives.”

  “Well! That will make Marchester ill.”

  “I have no idea how long Papa’s good intentions will last. But for the moment, at least, he is willing to change in order not to have to see the doctor again. He and Gregory have returned to the Hall already.”

  “Without even gambling or going to parties?” Kitty looked alarmed.

  Vivian shrugged. “I believe he felt the need to recover in the peace of the country.”

  Lady Kitty looked vaguely puzzled. “I suppose . . . if it makes him feel better. Although, my dear, I never could understand why everyone says the country is peaceful. All those birds set up such a clatter at dawn, and the dogs bark at just everything, and that dreadful peacock of Mainwaring’s! I nearly fainted the first time I heard it screech. It’s a wonder to me that anyone can have any rest there. Although at Marchester, Buttons was always careful to have them put me on the side away from the stables and the kennels, and he wasn’t foolish enough to have a peacock, thank God.”

  “‘Buttons’?” Vivian repeated, gaping at her. “Are you talking about my father?”

  Kitty let out a trill of tinkling laughter. “Oh, my, yes, that was my nickname for him. And the way he got it was so amus—” She cut a sideways glance at Vivian and stopped, clearing her throat. “Perhaps that’s a story best left untold.”

  Vivian suppressed a smile. “Dear Kitty, why don’t you tell me why you wrote me?”

  Kitty sighed. “Oh, Viv, I have made a dreadful mistake. I cannot think what your papa would say.” She paused, considering. “Actually, Marchester would doubtless tell me not to worry my head about it—that is always what he would say when I’d done something foolish. He would think nothing of it, for he is not a man who cares about possessions.”

  It seemed an odd thing to say about a man who owned seven homes, at least that many vehicles, several stables of horses, and baubles, paintings, and statues too numerous to detail, but Vivian understood what her friend meant. The duke had never been unduly attached to anything he owned. He had no interest in possessing things simply to have them.

  “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 he
art 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 clos
er, 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?”