by Candace Camp
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 disinvite 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.”
“I am sure we shall manage to keep him engaged in conversation, shan’t we, Dora dear?”
“There will be a number of other young gentlemen there, not just Seyre,” Vivian told them. “I vow, I don’t know how a young lady as pretty as you will keep them all from buzzing about you. Showing off their riding skills to impress you. Clamoring to ride beside you.”
“Oh, I don’t care for that,” Dora said with a wide-eyed, guileless look at Vivian. “I much prefer conversation to riding. I am a trifle quiet myself.”
“Of course you are.” Vivian smiled. “Perhaps, then, we should take the barouche, as well. You would look such a picture in it. Wouldn’t she?” Vivian turned toward Dora’s mother for agreement. “The barouche will be perfect for those who like to sit and talk—while the ones who are wild to ride can race on ahead.”
“That sounds like just the thing,” Lady Parkington agreed.
“And dresses are so much more attractive than riding habits, don’t you agree?” Vivian hoped she was not overdoing it.
Apparently she was not, for Dora smiled and said, “Oh, yes, riding habits can be so mannish-looking, can they not?”
“Indeed.” Vivian smiled. “Not at all the style for a lovely creature such as yourself.”
It took a cup of tea and fifteen more minutes of vapid conversation with the Parkington women to end their call. Vivian graciously walked to the door with them, more from a determination to see them gone than from politeness, then turned away, sagging with relief and letting the smile drop from her face. Her cheeks were going to ache for an hour, she thought, from smiling so constantly and so determinedly.
Vivian went to the sitting room upstairs and seated herself at the small secretary. She thought for a moment. She had not planned to invite anyone else, intending a small, intimate group of family and friends. Dora’s presence would change all that. What she needed now was several young men. There was Oliver’s cousin Gordon, Lady Euphronia’s son. He was an irredeemably foolish young man, but he was exactly the sort to attach himself to Dora, spouting romantic nonsense. And, of course, Viscount Cranston; his title would appeal to the Parkingtons, and his ample girth would ensure that he would opt to ride in the barouche. It took only another few minutes to come up with three more young men of the kind who were always dogging Vivian’s own footsteps, declaring themselves hopelessly in love with her. She added the sister of one of the young men and another young girl, neither of whom would outshine Dora but who would make the party look more normal. Then she dashed off invitations to all of them and sent them off with one of the footmen.
Finally, she was able to leave the house, though somewhat later than she had
intended. She ordered the carriage brought round and set forth for Lady Mainwaring’s. She found that lady in her drawing room, a charming cap on her hair and a shawl around her shoulders, scribbling away at a piece of paper on the narrow table before her. When the butler announced Lady Vivian, Kitty looked up in surprise, and delight spread over her features.
“Vivian! Isn’t that wonderful? I was just writing to you, and now here you are. It is something—what is that word?”
“Serendipitous?” Vivian suggested, coming into the room and going over to kiss her friend on the cheek.
“Surely not. That sounds much too foolish. But it scarcely matters. I wanted to talk to you, and here you are.”
“I wanted to talk to you, as well. I fear I have bad news, ma’am. I could not recover your brooch. Sir Rufus—”
“But that is why I was writing you!” the older woman exclaimed happily. “To tell you that you do not need to look any further.”
“I don’t?”
“No, indeed. I have it back!”
Vivian stared. “You what?”
“I have it again. See?” Kitty pulled back one side of her shawl, revealing the familiar heart of diamonds pinned to the bosom of her dress.
“But how . . . where . . . ?”
Kitty laughed merrily. “There! I have put you at a loss for words! Isn’t it wonderful? My darling Wesley found it for me.”
“Wesley?” Vivian looked puzzled. “What do you mean, he found it? Was it here in the house? Was it not the one you lost to Sir Rufus, after all?”
“Oh, yes, it is the one I lost. I am never mistaken about my jewels. I hadn’t told Wesley about my little mishap, you see.” Kitty lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He doesn’t much like my gambling. He worries I shall lose too much and find myself at point non plus.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“He could tell something was upsetting me, and finally he coaxed it out of me. He is so very knowing that way. When I told him, he grew quite angry—at Sir Rufus, not at me. He said that the man had taken advantage of me, which was very sweet of him, don’t you think? Not that Sir Rufus really had, you know, for in general Sir Rufus is more apt to lose than I. He is not a very good player. But that is neither here nor there. The thing is, Wesley said I should have told him about it, not bothered you with it. He was sure, you see, that Sir Rufus no longer had the brooch or he would have sold it back to me, which, of course, does make sense, and, truly, it did seem terribly unfeeling of the man to refuse to let me redeem it.”
“So what did Mr. Kilbothan think happened to the brooch?”
“He said that Sir Rufus must have pawned it. I knew he was likely right; Sir Rufus is always short of money because, as I told you, he is such a poor player. So Wesley said the thing to do was to go around to the pawnshops and the jewelers to see if he had sold it. Of course, that was the sort of thing that neither you nor I could do, but Wesley offered to do it for me. And last night, he came home with my brooch! He’d found it in a pawnshop and bought it for me—at only half of what it’s worth. So it was really quite a savings.”
“Obviously.” Vivian couldn’t help but grin at her friend’s reasoning. Still, she found the tale somewhat worrisome. “How lucky that he was able to find it so quickly.”
“Yes, wasn’t it?” Kitty beamed. She glanced past Vivian, and her smile grew even brighter. “Wesley! Look who has come to visit! I was just telling Vivian about your finding my brooch.”
Wesley advanced into the room to bow over Vivian’s hand and offer a polite greeting. Vivian watched him carefully as she said, “Yes, finding it was quite remarkable, I must say.”
He shrugged, smiling faintly. “Not that remarkable, I’m afraid. I have myself been purse-pinched before, so I knew the most likely places for Sir Rufus to have taken it. I had to try several shops before I came across it, but”—he turned toward Kitty, his handsome, rather sharp features softening—“ ’twas little trouble, really, since I did it for Lady Kitty.”
As she always did, Vivian wondered how much, if any, of the man’s purported love for her friend was real. It was easy to love Kitty, and she was still a handsome woman for her age. Still, it seemed very convenient for a penniless poet to fall in love with a wealthy older woman. As convenient as it was for him to “find” Kitty’s brooch.
“Sir Rufus told us that he lost the brooch at another game,” Vivian remarked.
“Indeed?” Wesley raised his brows, his face pleasant but unreadable. “Well, a man might hesitate to admit he had to pawn the jewel. Or perhaps it was whoever he lost it to who pawned it.”
“Or the person who stole it.”
“Stole it!” Kitty exclaimed.
“Yes. I had come to think that someone picked Sir Rufus’s pocket. He would have been easy prey, considering his state.”
“Foxed, you mean?” Kitty asked with a sigh. “Yes, he so often is; that is one reason his game is so poor.”
“Yes, I suppose that could be how it happened. It could just as easily have been a thief who pawned the brooch,” Wesley agreed.
“It scarcely matters now,” Kitty said happily. “I have it back, and that is what’s important. Vivian, darling, will you stay for tea?”
“Thank you, but, no, I fear I have other errands to run.” Vivian stood up, and Kitty rose with her.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Kitty said, linking her arm through Vivian’s. As they strolled into the hall, leaving Wesley behind them, Kitty leaned toward Vivian and murmured, “And what about that other matter we discussed?”
Vivian turned to her, momentarily puzzled, but when she saw Kitty’s bright eyes and knowing smile, she remembered that she had confided in the older woman about her feelings for Oliver.
“Oh!” Vivian colored slightly. “That.”
“Yes, that.” Kitty chuckled. “The little matter of the Earl of Stewkesbury. Are you still . . . entertaining thoughts about him?”
Vivian smiled secretively. “Yes.”
“And more than entertaining?”
Her smile grew as she admitted, “Perhaps I am.”
“Ah.” Kitty drew out a satisfied sigh. “Well, he isn’t who I would have chosen for you.” She stopped and took both Vivian’s hands, looking earnestly into her eyes. “But are you happy?”
Vivian looked back at her just as seriously. “Yes.” Her voice contained a note of wonder. “I really am.”
Kitty gave a decisive nod. “Then I approve of him.”
They turned and walked on to the door.
The footman opened the front door and stepped back. Kitty stepped out onto the stoop with Vivian and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. Vivian started to turn away, then stopped and turned back to her. Her eyes searched the older woman’s face earnestly as she asked, “Kitty . . . did you ever regret your time with my father?”
“Regret?” Kitty smiled and shook her head. “My, no. I have regretted many things, but I’ve never regretted anything I did for love.”
As Vivian climbed into her carriage, her first thought was to tell Oliver about the reappearance of Kitty’s brooch, and she was aware of a distinct sense of disappointment when she realized that she could not. It would never do to pay a call on a man. She could, of course, go to Stewkesbury House on the pretext of making a call on Camellia and Eve and hope that Oliver would be there and would join them. But this was not really a subject for a group conversation, and besides, what if Oliver suspected that she was doing exactly that, using the pretext of the call to be with him? Vivian had too much pride for that, even with Oliver. On the spur of the moment, Vivian directed her coachman to drive to Brookman & Son.
Even though he was not expecting her, Mr. Brookman came from the back of the shop to greet Vivian with all his usual deference. “My lady. I am so honored. May I show you something in particular? I shall be happy to bring it to you.” He gestured toward the inner sanctum of his office, at the same time subtly signaling to one of his employees to take care of the cus
tomer whom he had just left.
“I’m sorry. I only meant to talk to you. Although”—Vivian smiled—“I might be tempted to look if you had something you thought I would like.”
As it turned out, he had several things, one of which was a necklace of opals, milky white and rippling with hints of blues and pinks, that caught Vivian’s eye. She tried on the opal necklace, turning this way and that to see herself in the small mirror atop his desk.
“One of your own designs, Mr. Brookman?” she asked, glancing over at him.
He smiled. “You always know, my lady. Yes, I made it. But there is also a necklace of cabochon rubies which I bought from another jeweler in France. He claims it belonged to a French nobleman who had to flee the Revolution.” He gave a half shrug. “These things are always said to come from French aristocrats who fled or were beheaded, if not from the tragic queen herself. But whatever the truth of the matter, it is an old setting, and the jewels are of the best quality. Still, I think it is probably a little heavy and . . . obvious . . . for you.”
Vivian examined the necklace and agreed that it was rather ornate for both her personal style and the current fashion, but she agreed that the opal necklace was exactly what she had been wanting even though she had not known it until she saw it.
“Now.” Mr. Brookman sent the jewelry off with an employee to be boxed, and he turned back to sit at his desk. “How else may I help you? You said that you wished to talk to me?”
“I did. I was wondering if you had heard anything further about the matter we discussed the last time I was here.” At his blank look, she went on, “The jewelry that had been stolen recently.”
“Yes, of course. I remember. I am sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be much help. I have kept my eyes open for anyone trying to sell me jewelry, but, frankly, there have been only one or two, and they were both customers well-known to me, and the jewelry, I am positive, was their own.”
“So no one has offered to sell you a piece other than those few?”