An Affair Without End

by Candace Camp

  “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.”

  Vivian stared at him for an instant in astonishment, then let out a laugh. “That was four years ago! And it did not cost me my place in the beau monde, if you will notice.”

  “No, but it caused a great deal of talk. As, no doubt, you driving a high-perch phaeton does. Not to mention the fact that you are living here alone without a chaperone in sight.”

  “I am surprised you are willing to tarnish your reputation by calling on me, then.”

  “I am serious, Vivian. Now you are talking about purchasing a house, moving out of your father’s house and living alone. You visit Lady Mainwaring. You are happy to tell anyone your unorthodox views on marriage and women and affairs.”

  Vivian crossed her arms. “And you think such things put me beyond the pale?”

  “They create talk. And, given the fact that you are sponsoring two young girls through their first Season, one would think that you might be more careful in your behavior.”

  “If you are so concerned about your cousins being seen in the company of someone as scandalous as I, then perhaps you should remove them from my influence. As for what I do and say, it is none of your business. Nor do I plan to drop one of my dearest friends because of the opinions of some sanctimonious, stiff-necked prigs. Lady Kitty asked for my help, and I intend to give it to her.”

  “I am not talking about removing Lily and Camellia from your company. Nor am I trying to dictate to you whom you should see. But I wish you would have a care for your reputation! Once it is lost, it is not easily recovered. And—wait.” He paused, his brows swooping together. “What do you mean, you are going to help Lady Mainwaring? Help her how? What are you thinking of doing?”

  “Nothing scandalous, I assure you. I am merely trying to recover a piece of jewelry she lost in a card game to Sir Rufus. He refused to sell it back to her, and she is exceedingly distraught over the whole matter. It is something my father gave her and quite dear to her.”

  “Is that why you asked me where he lived? Are you planning to write him about the matter?”

  “If he is as close as Kent, I think I shall ask him in person. I find it works much better.”

  “Alone? You are planning on going to Kent and confronting him on your own?”

  “It’s Kent. Scarcely the ends of the earth. If he is close enough, I could go and return in one day.”

  “Vivian! An unmarried young lady driving out to visit some old roué? No.”

  Vivian pursed her mouth thoughtfully. “While Sir Rufus is much given to gambling and drink, I do not think he can be said to be a libertine.”

  Oliver’s color rose at her lighthearted answer. “That scarcely makes it acceptable. You cannot go to his estate alone.”

  Vivian faced him, planting her hands on her hips. “Just how do you plan to stop me?”

  “I don’t. I am going with you.”

  Chapter 11

  Oliver arrived the next morning while Vivian was still at the breakfast table. She looked up in surprise, and amusement sparkled in her eyes.

  “Stewkesbury! I had not realized you intended to join me for breakfast.”

  He cast a look at her plate. “I ate breakfast over an hour ago, thank you.”

  Vivian sighed. “Ah, I see, you are one of those depressing sorts who find it a virtue to rise and eat at the crack of dawn.”

  “Hardly the crack of dawn, my lady. It is nine o’clock. I am here to escort you to Sir Rufus’s house. Surely you cannot have forgotten.”

  “I have not forgotten.” She smiled and waved a hand toward the chair across the table from her. “Sit down and have a cup of tea, at least. It will be a while; I am not yet dressed.”

  He raised his brow as he turned a pointed look at her. “You appear dressed to me.”

  She chuckled. “This is a simple round dress, Oliver. I have to put on a carriage dress and half boots for traveling. And my hair is not even up.” She gestured toward the fat braid of bright red hair that hung over her shoulder and trailed across her breast.

  His eyes lingered for a moment on the rope of hair before he pulled them away and concentrated on the cup of tea the footman was pouring.

  “Clearly you are not accustomed to traveling with women,” Vivian went on lightly.

  “I am not accustomed to traveling with you.”

  Vivian smiled. “Now, Oliver, don’t be surly. We have all day, you know, and you said it was not far.”

  “It is not, but one does have to start. If we hope to get there and back in one day, we must leave in the morning.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Vivian sighed and stood up. “I shall go up immediatel
y and dress.”

  Only thirty minutes later, not the hour Oliver had expected, Vivian returned in a rust-colored carriage dress with a high-collared, snug-fitting bodice. Supple black leather gloves and a jaunty little tipped-forward hat matched the black braid that decorated the bodice and hem of the dress.

  “There,” she said as she strolled toward Oliver, who was seated on a bench in the entryway. “I am ready—though I shall blame it on you that I look all thrown together.”

  Oliver grinned, rising and extending his arm for her. “Stop fishing for compliments. You look stunning, as always, and you know it. You wouldn’t leave the house otherwise.”

  Vivian cast him a sidelong laughing glance. “’Tis nice to hear it, nevertheless.”

  The earl’s carriage waited outside, and Oliver handed her up into it, then climbed in after her, taking the seat across from her. Vivian settled back into the luxurious leather seat, noting the hot, wrapped brick in case her feet grew cold and the folded lap robe on the seat. She smiled across the carriage at Oliver.

  “You have provided all the comforts, I see.”

  “I could hardly have you arriving at Sir Rufus’s house frozen like an icicle. My butler would have put it in anyway; he was highly offended that I suggested he do so.”

  Vivian felt sure that Oliver’s butler would indeed have thought of all the creature comforts for the earl and his guest, but Vivian could not keep from feeling a warm little tickle of pleasure that Oliver had obviously thought of her comfort, as well.

  “You needn’t have made the trip,” Oliver went on, spoiling her mood a trifle. “I wish you would have let me go to retrieve the blasted brooch for you.”

  “Mm. I can hear how happy such an errand would make you. Anyway, I could not ask it of you. It is my duty, not yours. You don’t even like Kitty.”

  He looked affronted. “I don’t dislike Lady Mainwaring. She is a charming woman.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “Just not one I should visit.”

  Oliver sighed. “I know you are going to visit her. Just as you’re going to run this errand for her. It’s not in you to value your reputation over a friendship.”

  Vivian looked at him quizzically. “Would you value me more highly if I did?”

  He smiled ruefully. “No. You know I would not. I just wish you would have a care, Vivian. People are eager to talk, and you have so few qualms about giving them something to talk about.”

  Vivian shrugged. “It’s not my concern if people like to wag their tongues about me.” She fell silent for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, “The Hall was such a huge, lonely, dark place—just me and my brothers, and, of course, they were older and could do all number of things that I could not because I was a girl. I enjoyed it when my aunt Millicent came to visit.” Vivian cast a sparkling glance his way. “You know, the radical one who taught me about those dangerous things like Mary Wollstonecraft and the rights of women.”

  He gave her a dry look in return, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

  “But when Lady Kitty came to visit,” Vivian went on, “it was as if the house came to life. She lit up the rooms. The Hall would suddenly be full of people and talk and laughter. Papa would trot me out to greet them all, but only Lady Kitty wanted to do more than see me. She would come up to the nursery and sit and talk to Gregory and Jerome and me. It was wonderful. Gregory said he remembered our mother doing so, but of course I could not. Kitty wore such beautiful dresses and jewels. She glittered. I could not help but love her.”

  “It must have been hard for you,” Oliver said. “After Father married Barbara, they were usually gone to London, but I had Royce and then Fitz. And there was my grandfather.”

  “Your parents preferred London?”

  “Yes. Willowmere was very far away from it. They were home for only a couple of months each winter—except when Barbara was carrying Fitz and for a little while after that. They loved the excitement of the city, the Season.” He paused, “I understand your fondness for Lady Mainwaring. I’m glad that she was there when you were young.”

  Vivian smiled. “She is to blame for my love of jewels. She was never without her jewelry case—a huge wooden thing with drawers and doors and even hidden compartments. Only Kitty’s personal maid was allowed to carry it. In the evening, as her maid was dressing her and doing her hair up for dinner, Kitty would let me sit on the floor and go through the jewelry box and try them all on. I remember that I would put her sapphire necklace on my head like a tiara.” Vivian chuckled softly.

  “I am sure you looked like a princess.”

  Her laughter increased. “I looked like a skinny little thing with a necklace on her mop of orange hair. But I felt wonderful.”

  They continued to talk as the carriage rolled along, their conversation ranging freely from Vivian’s childhood to their memories of summers at Willowmere to the latest scandals of the London ton. In this manner the first two hours of their drive passed far more quickly than either of them would have imagined.

  Oliver, checking his watch, announced in a self-satisfied voice that they would be back in London by the time evening fell. Just as he tucked his watch away, they rounded the corner and came upon a carriage with a broken wheel sitting by the side of the road. Two women sat on a trunk just beyond the carriage, parasols raised, looking on glumly as a man struggled with the broken wheel.

  There was nothing for it but to stop and offer assistance. While Oliver’s coachman assisted the other driver in removing the wheel, Vivian and Oliver helped the two women into Oliver’s carriage and listened to their tale of travel woes. It took over an hour to get the wheel off and secured to the back of Stewkesbury’s carriage, then take the travelers into the next village. Afterward, the pair of women—a mother and a daughter returning from a visit to an ailing aunt—insisted that Vivian and Oliver partake of luncheon with them.

  Therefore, Oliver’s carriage rolled up in front of Ashmont, Sir Rufus’s country house, closer to midafternoon than noon. There they discovered that Sir Rufus was out and was not expected back until tea.

  The butler escorted them to the drawing room, assuring them that he would return with tea to refresh them after the journey. Oliver turned to Vivian, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

  Vivian shrugged in reply, saying somewhat crossly, “How was I to know he would choose this afternoon to go out? I wouldn’t have thought there was any place for him to go.”

  “Did you not write him to tell him you were coming?”

  “Of course not. I would get here as soon as the message. Besides, Kitty told me that he was quite obstructive about returning the brooch. I was afraid that if I told Sir Rufus I was coming, he might absent himself from the house.”

  Oliver cast her a speaking look. He strode to the window to look out, his arms crossed over his chest. “God only knows when he might return. We could be stranded here for hours.”

  “I am sure they will feed us if it grows too late.”

  He swung back to her. “It could be midnight before we get back to London.”

  “If it bothers you to travel after midnight, I’m sure Sir Rufus would put us up—or there must be some sort of inn nearby.”

  Oliver grimaced. “We are not spending the night here.”

  Vivian shrugged. “Very well, then, we’ll travel late. I have done it before.”

  Oliver did not favor this remark with an answer, and they settled down in silence to wait, the earlier bonhomie of the carriage ride vanished. When the butler returned some minutes later with the tea, he offered each of them a bedchamber in which to refresh themselves from their journey. Vivian quickly took advantage of the offer, glad of the opportunity to wash the dust of the road from her face and hands. Besides, she thought, it would get her away from the chill of Oliver’s company. Really, one would think that she was personally responsible for Sir Rufus’s being out when they arrived.

  She couldn’t help but smile to herself, though—she was perfectly aware of why
the prospect of spending the night here or on the road irritated Oliver. He was scared of having to sleep in proximity to Vivian, a fear that could only arise from knowing how tempting that prospect would be.

  When she returned downstairs sometime later, Oliver was not there, and after a few minutes of sitting, she went to the piano and began to play the sheet of music that lay atop it. It was an unfamiliar piece, and she was so focused on following the notes that she did not notice that Oliver had entered the room until she finished and he clapped.

  She looked up, startled, to see him standing in the doorway, smiling. He came over to her, saying, “I didn’t know you played.”

  “A well-brought-up English lady?” she responded in a teasing tone. “How could I not? And do not say that I don’t act in any other way like a well-brought-up English lady.”

  “I would never make so slanderous a statement.” He paused. “I have never heard you play.”

  She shrugged. “I do it for my own amusement. Fortunately, my grandmother believed that my name was all that was necessary to attract a bachelor, so she did not make me demonstrate my talents at the piano every time an eligible bachelor was around. And, I must say, I never saw how playing the piano would make a man want to propose.”

  “I think it is more the opportunity to have everyone look at you. But you, of course, have that just by walking into a room.”

  “My, my, aren’t you the silver-tongued fellow? A bit of rest seems to have lightened your spirits.”

  He smiled. “Not to mention the brandy that Sir Rufus’s butler brought to revive my spirits.”

  “Oliver! Are you bosky?”

  “My dear Vivian, please . . . one brandy would not make me bosky. I am, however, more resigned to the wait. After all, we shall be able to get back to London this evening, and that is all that really matters. Please, go on playing.”

  They passed the rest of the afternoon in easy amity at the piano, Vivian playing and Oliver standing beside her to turn the pages. Vivian began to sing one song and was surprised to find Oliver joining in with an agreeable tenor voice. And if a certain vibration was in the air, a hum of excitement, at having Oliver standing so close, his body only inches from hers, Vivian enjoyed that tension. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had any effect on Oliver, as well.