by Sarita Leone
Ah, the eyes again. The one legacy of her father’s that brought any attention at all.
A relationship with the man, rather than the inheritance of his astounding eye shade, would have been far preferable. Since that dream would never come to fruition Vivian resigned herself to her sole connection with the man she never knew, and smiled her understanding. Telling Miranda she would gladly trade purple eyes for a hint of a tie with her father would only bring undue attention to the fact that her father was not part of her life.
“Thank you for the compliment. I have never thought much about my eyes, and did not realize they are so unusual. They are eyes, and I am grateful they serve their purpose.”
Miranda stared at her for a long minute. “It must be nice to be able to wear extravagance as if it is nothing extraordinary. You do it well, you know.”
“Again, I appreciate the compliment.” She cast her gaze at the splendor around her. Extravagance changed according to one’s perspective. She tilted her head to the dance floor, where lines for a country dance were being formed amidst giggles and conversation. “But I must say that I think we have differing views of…well, of extraordinariness. My eyes arrive in my head through no conscious decision; they are just there and I can either like them or not. Honestly, I am not that taken with them—as I said, they serve their purpose.” She swept an open hand toward the room, to the dancers who had begun moving in time to the musicians’ notes. “Now this is extravagance, and much more pronounced than a set of eyes.”
Regarding the scene in silence, Miranda did not answer immediately. Vivian watched, and saw her friend’s eyes widen. She turned to the doorway, and saw what had caught the other woman’s attention.
Oliver and Will stood side by side in the open doorway. They spoke with their hostess, Lady Winters, who was so busy tittering and waving a lace-edged handkerchief at Oliver that she seemed not to notice the man beside him.
Watching someone ignore Will brought a pang of annoyance to Vivian’s moment. Then, she saw Oliver put a hand on his companion’s arm and draw him into the conversation. Even from a distance it was obvious that Lady Winters turned at least a portion of her attention to Will.
Vivian released a pent-up breath.
“This comes in much the same fashion as your eyes.” Miranda took one step closer, and spoke softly near Vivian’s ear. “I have done nothing to gain entrance into this world. It is a gift of birth—like one’s eyes or nose—and even if it does not astound me I must deal with it on a daily basis. Truthfully, I would much prefer gorgeous eyes than endless rounds of mundane conversation, silly posturing and being surrounded by people who rarely—if ever—say precisely what is on their minds. That is one of the things I admire most about you, you know. You always say what you are thinking, and leave no guesswork. It is refreshing, and I could quite get used to having you around.”
She had no intention of staying with Lord and Lady Gregory past the end of the Season. “You should not grow too accustomed to my face, I am afraid. I do not plan to stay on in London for too much longer.”
“Are you certain? You will not stay on, not even if—well, not even if someone were to give you reason to linger?”
She watched Oliver and Will enter the room and begin to mingle with the other guests above Miranda’s shoulder. There was no denying Oliver Gregory’s dashing good looks or his forceful presence. He stood out in a crowd, not solely due to his appearance but to the countenance that surrounded him. It was clear he was a man who knew his station in life and what the future held for him. He fit into society as perfectly as a finger into a custom-made glove.
But it was not Oliver who held her attention, or set her heart fluttering. It was not Will’s looks—although they were highly favorable—that kept her focus. Beneath the polished exterior and casual features, Will was the embodiment of everything she held in highest regard. He had a grasp of what she had always called the Three F’s—faith, family and friendships. They were the items which mattered most to her, and she believed Will held them equally dear.
If only Will were Lord and Lady Gregory’s heir instead of his assistant. How trouble-free her life would be if that might be the case.
But Will Fulbright is not Lord Gregory’s son, Vivian reminded herself with a stern shake.
“It does not matter who asks what of me. I have no plans to remain in London after the close of the Season. It is fun being here, and while I enjoy these parties and the chance to wear fancy clothes, this is not my life. This time has been intended as a lark, but I must return to my world, to my family and the work I do.”
“Nothing, then, could entice you to delay leaving?”
Vivian met her gaze. “Nothing. And no one. No one—not even Oliver Gregory.” She gave the declaration a moment to sink in. “I am not hedging when I say he and I have no feelings for each other. We never will, regardless of what my mother and his would like. It is the truth, my friend. I would not play you false.”
Miranda clasped her in a fast hug before she stood back and smoothed down the ruffles on her blue dress. “I am sorry your weeks at the Marriage Mart have not worked out, but it is no secret I am glad no one has yet claimed Oliver’s affections.” She sighed, and Vivian felt instantly sorry for her.
“Come, let us look for Lucie.” Grabbing Miranda’s hand and pulling her in what was most certainly an unacceptably exuberant manner toward the wide French doors leading onto a terrace, she said, “She is sure to be doing something more interesting than we are. Why, dangling about for a man hardly makes it worth having Lady Drabble do our hairstyles, does it?”
****
“Her feet are as long and wide as boats.” Oliver rubbed the toe of one boot against the calf of his other leg, teetering slightly as he stood on one foot. “It is no wonder she had an empty dance card. I must be the only one fool enough to partner her.”
Will snorted, grinning above the rim of his punch glass. “Oh, come on, Miss Brougham cannot dance all that badly.”
“Count yourself lucky that you do not have the misfortune of being among her eligible dance partners. She is, most assuredly, the least refined dancer I have ever met. And, as you well know, I have danced with enough women to know a fleet-footed one from—well, let us just leave it at that. If you see Miss Brougham so much as peering in my direction, you must warn me, Will. I will not dance with her again—my toes cannot take the abuse.”
“As you wish.”
“I wish,” Oliver growled.
The party had been going so well until he had been cornered by the earl’s daughter. Selene Brougham was comely enough, and could hold a general books-and-weather conversation, but beneath her pretty skirts hid weapon-like feet. The memory of their waltz made him shudder.
With the festivities brought an opportunity to speak with nearly all of the men he had invited to the upcoming fox hunt at the manor. It was only a week hence, and he was satisfied to learn that everyone planned to attend. His parents would be pleased when he passed the news on to them.
“It will be good to host an affair, don’t you think?” Oliver drained his punch glass and set it on a passing servant’s tray. “The hunt should be a good time, even if I am not of a mind to catch the fox myself.”
“Why, it would be in poor taste for you to corner her. There is no pressure on you to chase her down, so you should just be able to enjoy the day.”
Leave it to Will to see the heart of things. Oliver’s distaste for hunting had almost made him cancel the event more than once. It would have disappointed his father so he had not done so but every time he checked on the little red fox penned in the far end of their stable he felt guilty.
“That is what I keep telling myself,” he muttered.
Oliver scanned the crowd, hoping for some sign of his sister and her friends. The day grew long and he hoped to leave shortly. A large barouche waited to take them back to the estate. Between the recent thefts and upcoming hunt, he had much to do and planned to leave sooner rather th
an later.
If only he could find the women…
A lesser earl and his young son pushed roughly past him. Another man might have caused a fuss but one look at the men showed they had imbibed more than punch, so Oliver let their rudeness pass. He kept his face to the crowd, looking for the three women.
“There they are.” Will nodded toward the edge of the crowd, where Lucie, Miranda and Vivian stood laughing. “Over by the column, beside the doorway.”
“I see them.”
The earl’s son must have seen them, as well. He poked his father in his fleshy midsection and said in a slurred voice, “Look there, Father. That one might have v-v-vi—she might have purple eyes but she sure is a green girl.”
There were numerous less-flattering remarks the inebriated fool could have made. Calling Vivian young and inexperienced, while rude, was not reason for calling him out.
Before he could manage a word of reproach, Will reached out and spun the startled young man about.
“Silence,” Will spat. “You are foxed, and should keep your mouth shut.” Leaning close, his voice a hoarse growl, he gave the man one small shake by the front of his jacket as he said, “If I hear you talk crudely about a lady—any lady—again, I will do more than shake you. Understood?”
The earl watched, his mouth hanging wide. When he seemed about to protest, Oliver shot him a warning look. It did not matter that Will was his assistant and the man he had in hand was a peer. It did not matter one bit, and he was not about to give anyone else the chance to protest.
“Understood.” The reply was meek, its owner substantially subdued.
Chapter 11
“Nick and I met at one of Lady Winters’s affairs, you know.”
Lucie and Vivian sat side on one of the barouche’s long, wide black leather seats. Will and Oliver faced them. Both had been strangely silent during most of the trip. Vivian had kept up her side of the conversation, responding to Lucie’s comments and answering questions while she wondered what kept the two men so quiet.
She hoped she had not somehow made a cake of herself again. Vivian skimmed through memories of the conversations she had been part of, the dances she had enjoyed and all the scrumptious food she did not sample. What could I have done now? My behavior was surely beyond notice…wasn’t it?
A soft tap on her thigh brought her back to the present. Lucie grinned at her, as if she knew Vivian had been thinking of something else entirely.
“Yoo hoo, Vivian…are you with us?”
“I did not mean to let my mind wander.” The day had been lovely, but it had been long and she was tired. Not sleeping much the night before did not do much for her concentration, either. “I was just…ah, I was only thinking back onto the fun we just had. It was a very enjoyable party.”
“Perhaps Vivian found someone at the party who caught her attention.” Oliver’s tone was teasing. “Who knows? The man of her dreams might have made himself known to her today.”
She glanced at him, mentally begging him to keep his thoughts to himself. Will frowned—she did not know why he did, only that she did not wish to have any of her early conversation, the confidences she had shared on the ride to the party, brought to light now.
“I do not have a dream man.” She wished her corset was not tied so tightly. Suddenly she felt she could barely catch her breath.
“What else could be so engrossing?” When Oliver smiled, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees and staring into her eyes, she almost knew how it must feel to have an older brother. They were past the point of arguing—thankfully—and now that they both had made it quite clear they did not feel any romantic stirrings for each other there was a much more casual tone to their exchanges. “Hmm?”
“Do not tease so.” Lucie tapped him lightly on the knuckles with her closed fan. “Poor Vivian is not your sister, and does not have to put up with your silliness. I have endured it all my life, but she does not have to do so. Remember, you may torment me but everyone else is exempt, dear brother.”
“I do not mean to torment, and I think she knows that. Why, I am only asking if anyone has caught her fancy. What harm is there in that?”
Oliver pasted such an honest expression his face that he looked almost comical, like a naughty schoolboy pretending not to have a frog in his pocket.
Vivian laughed, unable to take umbrage with the good-natured prodding.
“No one has caught my fancy,” she said quickly. “At least, no one I wish to discuss this moment with you.”
“Aha! I knew it! Someone has caught your eye.” He turned to the man beside him. “Will—did you hear that? Our Vivian has met someone!”
How had the conversation gotten so convoluted so quickly? She could hardly keep up with the threads as they spun wildly out of control, and wished in that moment that she was still daydreaming and had kept her thoughts to herself.
“Stop it—why, you are horrid, Oliver, teasing Vivian this way. Do not try to pull dear Will into your antics. He is much too kind a gentleman to fall for your tricks.”
Turning to Vivian, her gaze deliberately off the two men, Lucie said, “As I said earlier, before the shenanigans erupted, Nick and I met at one of Lady Winters’s functions. It was a charity event, and while we did not speak much past the introduction we certainly made an impression on each other.” Sitting back against the carriage seat and crossing her arms over her chest, Lucie stared up at the leather top stretched above them and sighed. “It was romantic, and I suppose we shall always be in Lady Winters’s debt. Without her charity luncheon who knows how long it would have taken for Nick and I to find each other?”
Little seemed to be called for but she murmured, “Who knows? It might have been ages.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lucie answered. “I do hope Nick is waiting for us at the manor when we arrive. It has only been a day since I saw him last, yet it feels like an eternity…”
“True love,” Oliver said, a chuckle in his voice. “Why, little sister, who would have thought you would turn so romantic? All your life you have been so sensible, and here you are as wobbly as a bowl of pudding. Have you ever seen such a thing, Will?”
The small smile playing around the edges of Will’s lips gave Vivian a jolt of pleasure. She smiled in return, and felt her cheeks flush when his smile grew broader.
“Will? Are you daydreaming as well? Why, am I the only one in this carriage whose head isn’t lost to Cupid’s arrow or some—hold up.” Oliver leaned out of the carriage window and yelled a second time to the driver. “Hold up, I say. Stop!”
Astonishment hit her like a bucket of ice water. The carriage screeched to a halt and Oliver, giving no explanation for his incredible behavior, threw the side door open and leapt from the conveyance.
For a second, no one moved. Then, Will followed Oliver, leaving the women alone to stare at each other.
“Whatever is going on?” Vivian held a hand over her heart, but it did nothing to stop the thudding beneath her touch.
“I have no idea.” Lucie gathered her skirt in her hand and moved to the doorway. “But I intend to find out.”
Wordlessly Vivian followed. She stood beside Lucie, next to the carriage and looked at the scene before them. It looked and sounded unreal, like something from a theatre production. A comedy of errors perhaps, or some ragtag social commentary.
“Let go! I tell you, let go of me!”
“What do you think you are doing?” Will held the reins of a horse, one instantly recognizable. It was the gray mare—the one that had so recently gone missing. “Where are you taking this horse?”
“Confess! Confess now and things will go better for you,” Olivier roared.
He held a small figure so tightly by one arm that the toe of one foot was off the ground. He gave a shake, bellowing orders like an enraged bull.
“Will, tie the animal to the back of the carriage. Boy, tell the truth! If you do not come clean I will have you to the constable so fast you won’t kno
w how you got there.”
“Let me go!” The figure—she could see now that it was a boy—tried to wriggle free. “Let me go!”
Vivian had never seen a man so enraged. Oliver frightened her—until she caught a glimpse of the face attached to the small body he shook so easily. She rushed forward, put her hand on Oliver’s arm and tugged as hard as she could. He was all muscle beneath his jacket, and gave no indication he felt her presence.
“Oliver!” Lucie shouted, running to stand beside Vivian. She placed her hand above Vivian’s, higher on her brother’s arm, and pulled to claim his attention. “You must calm down. Please!”
“I will calm down when this ruffian reveals himself, and not before!”
Will had been busy tying the horse to the carriage. Now he rushed forward and held the child by the other arm. His presence, and grip, made shaking the boy impossible so at least that stopped.
“Let me go!”
“Wait—you are the climbing boy.” Will looked to the other man. “He was at the house a few days ago with the chimney sweep.”
“Let me go.” The child tried to kick Oliver in the shins but he did not hit his mark.
“Oliver—let him go!” Vivian had never yelled before, but she gave every bit of strength she had to pushing the sound from her throat. “It is Eddie, the climbing boy. You must let him go!”
Something—be it his sister’s begging, his assistant’s presence or Vivian’s words—got through because he loosened his grip on the boy. Turning to face her, he sneered, “Eddie? Is he one of your cohorts, then? A little thief sent to do what might be noticed by one larger than he?”
“Oliver!” Lucie’s outrage sliced through the dusk, silencing the clamor. “How could you say such a thing?” She reached for Vivian, and would have put an arm around her shoulders but Vivian could not stand the thought of anyone touching her. She twisted away, out of reach, and pretended not to see the hurt expression on the other woman’s face.