by Candace Camp
Such thoughts had cast something of a pall over the evening despite her pleasure at being with Oliver. Then, to make things worse, Lady Parkington and the maddening Dora were at the theater. Lady Parkington had seen them and managed to catch Eve’s eye and wave. Eve had let out a low groan as she politely but unenthusiastically smiled back.
“Oh, dear, she caught me,” Eve murmured. She glanced over at Camellia, sitting beside Gregory at the other end of the row. “I did not see her until too late. Now she is certain to visit us between acts.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Vivian had assured Eve. “Once she saw us, we were doomed to a visit. Lady Parkington is not the sort to wait for even the slightest invitation.”
For the first intermission, they had had to endure her ladyship’s and Dora’s company and their untiring efforts to maneuver Gregory into talking to the girl. Fortunately Fitz, safely off the marriage market, stepped in to occupy Dora’s time, engaging in the sort of light, meaningless flirtation at which he so excelled, and Gregory, positioned between Camellia and the wall, managed not to utter a word beyond a greeting and a good-bye to either Dora or her mother.
When they left, Vivian had hoped that the worst was over, but now, here was Lady Prym ruining the second entr’ acte with her recounting of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s musicale the evening before. It had been boring enough the first time around, Vivian thought, without having to go through it again.
Vivian breathed a sigh of relief when Lady Stillkirk, who accompanied Lady Prym, moved in to shift the conversation. “That is all very well, but you have not yet touched on the most exciting news,” Lady Stillkirk told her friend, glancing around the theater box to make sure everyone’s eyes were on her. “Miss Belinda Cavanaugh received a proposal at the end of the evening—and from a most eligible parti.” She paused, casting them a look of triumph.
“A brave man indeed if he could still tie his fate to hers after enduring that evening,” Fitz commented wryly, having also had the misfortune of attending the musicale.
Vivian stifled a laugh, but Lady Prym’s next words wiped all trace of humor from her mind. “Ah, well, Lady Stillkirk, love seems to be in the air these days, after all.” She leaned forward to tap the earl lightly on the arm with her fan, saying archly, “You have been dancing attendance on Lady Vivian for weeks now, my lord. One wonders if one might not soon hear a happy announcement from Marchester.”
Vivian stared at the woman in shock, and her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth. Eve cast a quick glance of apology at Vivian. Only Oliver seemed able to reply.
He let his eyebrows drift upward in a cool look of condescension and drawled, “Indeed, madam? I imagine you would have to inquire of the duke about that.”
Vivian recovered her voice and let out a light laugh. “My dear Lady Prym, I fear you are much mistaken. I am helping my friend Mrs. Talbot with Stewkesbury’s cousin’s first Season.” Vivian cast a smiling glance at Eve. “It hardly seemed fair for a newlywed to shoulder the entire responsibility of bringing out a young girl. Poor Stewkesbury has been forced to accompany us. I am sure the poor man finds it dull beyond measure.”
“Nonsense, Lady Vivian, how could any man find escorting two lovely ladies dull?” Oliver responded, his voice achieving exactly the right tone of boredom to signify a denial for courtesy’s sake only.
Vivian could see the hesitation on Lady Prym’s face, the sudden niggling doubt that perhaps her source of gossip was wrong. Fitz seized the moment to pay Lady Prym an extravagant compliment on her dress, and the woman’s attention was diverted. Vivian could not bring herself to look at Oliver. Doubtless he was displeased—and, moreover, he would regard it as proof that they should be more circumspect.
If people were beginning to suspect something between them, then probably the wiser course would be to spend less time together. Of course, now that they were turning their mystery entirely over to the Runner, there would be fewer reasons for them to be thrown together. It was amazing, Vivian thought, how often the most sensible course was also the least palatable.
The two ladies departed after a few more minutes, and the play began again. Vivian relaxed into her seat, glad to be out from under scrutiny for a time. After the play, she was forced to wait, for her brother and Camellia seemed in no hurry to leave, but finally they exchanged their goodbyes with the others in their party, and Vivian and Gregory climbed into their carriage to go home. At first, they were silent, but she felt his eyes upon her, studying her.
Finally he said, “Lady Prym—”
Vivian interrupted him with an inelegant snort of disapproval. “Lady Prym is a fool.”
“That and more,” Gregory agreed mildly. “But I couldn’t help but think, Stewkesbury has been around a good deal lately.”
“Well, you and he are friends, are you not?”
“I don’t think it is me he wishes to see. You and he spend a great deal of time together.”
Vivian shrugged. “I might point out that you and Camellia Bascombe spend a great deal of time together, too.”
“Yes, but the thing is . . . I think I love Camellia.”
His reply brought Vivian straight up in her seat. “What? Really? Gregory . . . are you sure? You have not known her long.”
“I know. But the first time I saw her, even before I knew who she was, I felt—I’m not sure what, as if someone had reached right into my chest and grabbed my heart. I know I am not very experienced, but neither am I a fool. You know I am not a romantic sort. I am a man of science, not poetry. But I have met a number of other young women, and never did I feel for them what I feel for Camellia. She’s like no one I know. Open and refreshing. Different. I think about her all the time.”
Vivian simply looked at him, not sure what to say. She liked Camellia very much, and she could not think of anyone she would more want as her brother’s wife. But she had no idea if Camellia returned Gregory’s affections. She had talked to Camellia little lately, and she had seen her with Gregory only a few times. Camellia seemed to like Gregory; she talked with him animatedly. But Vivian had seen in her little of the flirtatiousness of a young girl who was interested in a man. On the other hand, Vivian was not sure that Camellia had that flirtatious quality in her.
Gregory must have sensed the sorts of thoughts that were whirling around in her mind. “Do not worry, Viv. I know that the odds are against me. I don’t expect her to fall in love with me. I am not handsome enough or exciting enough for Camellia. I’m sure no one would think we would suit. But I cannot change how I feel about her.”
“You are very handsome, and any woman who did not think so would be most foolish!”
He chuckled. “Spoken like a loyal sister. But I know what I am—bookish, unromantic, not the kind of man who appeals to young women. And the irony of it is that the one thing that usually draws women to me like flies to honey is something Camellia doesn’t care a fig about—my title.”
“Perhaps that is one of the things that appeals to you about her. You know that whatever she feels about you, it is for you yourself and not some title or land or wealth. And who is to say that the two of you would not suit? You both love to ride. You enjoy living in the country. Neither of you likes parties or making calls or any of the ton-ish sorts of things.”
“That scarcely seems the basis for a marriage, does it?”
“I would think it’s more than a good many couples have. Think about the man who falls in love with Dora Parkington for her sweet and girlish ways, only to find that it was all cold calculation.”
Gregory smiled. “No need to threaten me with such horrors. I would like to think that if Camellia comes to know me better, she might feel something stronger for me. But I fear I’m deceiving myself. We are quite different. She is so vivid, all fire and passion, straight like an arrow to the heart of what she wants. And I am the puttering, meandering thinker, always questioning, planning. Dull.”
“You are not dull.” Vivian leaned across the carriage and took her b
rother’s hands. “Stop saying such things. I have clearly been too wrapped up in my own doings. I have not paid enough attention to you or Camellia. I will talk to her, spend time with her, and see if I can gather some sense of how she feels about you.”
“Do not push her, Vivian.” He sounded alarmed.
“Gregory, dear, give me some credit. I will be as subtle as a butterfly.” She settled back in her seat and fell silent.
She could not help but think of her own relationship with Oliver and how very different they were. Was her brother right, that two people so different could not find happiness? A common ground? She and Oliver, she thought, had the opposite relationship to that of Cam and Gregory. Her brother and Camellia were friends, but he feared that there was no attraction between them. With Vivian and Oliver, it was all attraction, but they were not compatible. It was all heat, with nothing solid beneath it. Such a relationship could not last; surely it was only illusory. But if it was illusory, why did it hurt so much when she told herself she must see him less?
When they reached their home, Vivian went straight up to her room. She was tired and ready for sleep, and she wanted, quite frankly, to stop thinking. Her maid helped her out of her clothes and into a nightgown, then took down her hair and brushed it out. It was a relief, as it always was, to shake out her hair, and the rhythmic strokes of the brush through it soothed and relaxed her. When her maid slipped out of the room, Vivian climbed into bed and snuggled down into the soft mattress. This night, finally, she fell quickly and deeply asleep.
She awoke with a snap, pulled abruptly out of her sleep, and for an instant, she was lost. Darkness was all around her, only the faintest bit of light around the edges of the draperies. Something was around her neck, choking off her breath. She struggled and the hard thing around her neck tightened. She realized, coming fully awake, that she was in her bed and someone was there with her, seated on the bed behind her. He had lifted her up and wrapped his arm around her neck.
“Where is it?” a hoarse whisper rasped in her ear. “What have you done with it?”
She shook her head. His forearm pressed harder into her throat. A moment later she felt the sharp prick of something on the side of her throat beneath her ear, and she knew he held a knife to her. At the same time the arm loosened enough for her to breathe.
“Scream, and I’ll cut you,” the harsh, low voice went on. “Now, tell me, what did you do with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tears of fright welled in Vivian’s eyes, and she blinked them away.
“You took it. I know you did. I saw you there. You have it. Now give it to me or I’ll slice your throat right here.”
Vivian steadied herself. What was he talking about, where had he seen her? She had to think. She had to outwit him. “If you slice my throat, you’ll never get it.”
“But no one will know.”
She could not let him believe that killing her would rid him of his problem. Vivian summoned up a derisive laugh. “More fool you. If you have lost something, it was not I who took it.” She had to keep him talking, make him concentrate on something besides threatening her. “I didn’t take anything. I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re looking for.” She tensed, waiting.
“Stewkesbury!” the voice exclaimed, and she could feel his body relax, the hand that held the knife dropping away from her neck. She had been waiting for that moment, and she reared up and back with all her strength, and she shrieked her brother’s name at the top of her voice.
She felt the crown of her head connect hard with the man’s chin, and she heard the sharp clack of his teeth slamming together, followed by a startled cry of pain. His grip loosened, and she lunged in the opposite direction, off the bed and straight for her door, screaming. The room was dark, but she knew it like the back of her hand, and she veered off course, turning to her right and grabbing the water pitcher that sat beside the washbowl. Her hand closed around the handle and she whirled, all in one motion, as her attacker came off the bed after her. She released the pitcher and it flew straight at him, catching him solidly in the chest and splashing water all over him.
He reeled back as she headed once more for the door. She heard a door crashing open and footsteps in the hallway. The intruder apparently heard them, as well, for instead of pursuing her, he turned and ran for the window. Vivian opened her door, and Gregory charged in just as the intruder nimbly slipped out the window.
“Vivian!” Gregory looked around and caught sight of the man disappearing. He ran for the window and leaned out, looking down. “The devil! Where did he go?”
“I suspect he clambered down that brick column between your bedroom and mine. It has enough decorations and outcroppings to give a good climber handholds.” Vivian turned and lit a candle with fingers that trembled.
Gregory turned and started toward the door, but Vivian reached out and took his arm. “No, don’t bother. You’ll never catch him now.”
Gregory hesitated, looking for a moment like their father in one of his more bullish moods, but then he relaxed. “No doubt you’re right. Bloody hell! Who was that? What was he doing here? Did he hurt you?”
He peered at his sister in the dim light.
Vivian shook her head. “Other than frightening me half to death, no, he did not hurt me. I have no idea who he was. But he wanted something he thought I had.”
“What was it?”
Vivian shrugged. “I have no idea. He never said. But we have to get dressed and go to Oliver.”
Her brother stared at her, dumbfounded. “Stewkesbury? Now? It’s the middle of the night.”
“That doesn’t matter. To get him to let go of me, I intimated that while I didn’t have this something, someone else did. And he said, ‘Stewkesbury!’ So obviously he thinks that if I don’t have it, Oliver does. He’ll go after Oliver next. He may be going there right now. We have to warn Stewkesbury.”
Gregory looked as if he had a hundred other questions burning to be released, but he was smart and practical enough not to give voice to them. Insead he nodded and left the room.
Fifteen minutes later, brother and sister were downstairs, dressed and cloaked, ready to leave. Seyre had had the foresight to ring for a servant, whom he had sent round to the mews, and though Vivian chafed at waiting the extra five minues until their carriage had pulled up in front of the house, Gregory insisted upon it.
“You have just been attacked by someone who is still out there, free to do so again. You are not going out unless it’s in a closed carriage, no matter how nearby Stewkesbury House may be.”
Vivian hated to wait, but she could not argue with her brother’s reasoning. As soon as the vehicle pulled up, she climbed into it, and when they stopped in front of Oliver’s house a few minutes later, she whipped open the carriage door and jumped down, not waiting for the step to be pulled out. Trotting up the front steps, she rang a sharp tattoo on the brass door knocker, repeating it as Gregory joined her on the stoop.
A footman finally opened the door, blinking the sleep from his eyes and still buttoning his livery. “My lord? My lady?” He gaped at them in sleepy confusion.
Vivian pushed past him into the entryway, saying, “I have to see Lord Stewkesbury. It’s vitally important.”
“Best run up and give him the message,” Seyre advised the servant as he followed his sister inside. “She’ll only keep after you or go up to pound on his door herself.”
His words moved the servant to action, but the man had made it only halfway up the stairs when Oliver appeared at the top. His hair was mussed from sleep, his shirt hanging loose outside his breeches, but his eyes were sharp, the sleep already banished from them.
“Vivian!” He ran down the stairs. “What is it? Are you all right?” He reached her and took both her hands in his, only then glancing at Gregory. “Seyre. What’s happened?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” Gregory replied, turning toward his sister.
“I have put you in
danger. I’m sorry, Oliver; I didn’t mean to do it. That is, I meant to deflect him, but I didn’t realize he would assume you had it.”
“Deflect who? Had what?” Oliver frowned, his hands instinctively tightening on Vivian’s.
“What’s going on?” Camellia’s voice came from the stairs, and the three in the hall turned to see her standing there, a candle in her hand. Her hair hung in a long golden braid over her shoulder, and her dressing gown was wrapped around her, held closed by her other hand. Her eyes were heavy and slumberous, as if she’d just been pulled from her bed.
Vivian heard her brother’s sharp inhalation beside her, and she thought wryly that if his heart had not already been lost, it was now.
Camellia hurried down the rest of the steps, her dressing gown fluttering around her legs, opening to reveal flashes of the thin white cotton nightgown beneath it. Vivian noticed that it was Gregory Camellia went to stand beside, not her cousin or her friend, and Vivian filed that bit of information away for further examination later. Perhaps the situation was not as hopeless as her brother believed.
Fitz came into view on the stairs, with Eve beside him, her fair hair unbound and hanging like spun silver and gold over her shoulders, her hand clasped in her husband’s.
“Lady Vivian. Seyre.” Fitz grinned in his usual way. “So glad you decided to drop by.”
“Hush, Fitz,” Eve reprimanded softly, her forehead creased in concern. “Vivian, what’s wrong?”
“Lady Vivian is about to tell us,” Oliver said, taking Vivian’s elbow. “I suggest we all move into the drawing room to hear it.” He turned toward the footman. “Jameson, I believe tea might be in order.”
The group relocated to the drawing room, decorated at some briefly whimsical moment in the past in chinoiserie. Teak dragons climbed the wooden columns to the mantel and bared their teeth at the ends of sofas and chairs upholstered in red patterned damask.