An Affair Without End (29 page)

The drive home from Sir Rufus’s estate was as chilly and silent as Vivian had imagined it would be. Vivian’s anger had faded by the following morning, however, and she hoped that Oliver, too, would regret the way they had parted. When that happened, he would doubtless seek her out at some social function and they would be able to apologize to each other and reestablish their rather bumpy relationship. But it was imperative that
he
seek her out, so there was frustratingly little that Vivian could do except turn up at as many events as she could.

Vivian was resigned to this course, buoyed by her confidence that it would not take Stewkesbury too long to come around, but it presented her with a ticklish situation in regards to her friendship with Eve and Camellia. If she called on them at Stewkesbury House, she might run into Oliver, and he might think she had arranged the visit precisely to run into him. That would never do. However, she needed to take Camellia with her on calls to the various leading ladies of the
ton
if Vivian was to establish the girl properly. Even more important, Vivian felt sure that Camellia was feeling rather downhearted now that her sister had left on her tour
of the Carrs’ various relatives, and it would cheer Cam up to have a little company.

Finally Vivian sat down to pen a note to Eve suggesting that the three of them pay a few visits together the following day. Fortunately, as she was struggling over how to express the idea that Eve and Cam should come to her home to begin their calls without arousing their curiosity as to why she was reluctant to call at Stewkesbury House, the butler entered the room to announce that Miss Bascombe was here and he had put her in the smaller drawing room.

“Oh, dear.” Vivian stood up quickly. Had Camellia walked over here by herself? It would be another black mark against her if anyone found out.

But Grigsby, perspicacious as always, added, “Miss Bascombe was accompanied by her maid.”

Vivian smiled. “Thank you, Grigsby.”

She went lightly down the stairs and into the small drawing room, holding out her hands to Camellia. “Cam! How kind of you to visit me.”

Camellia, who looked, Vivian thought with approval, quite stylish in her sprig muslin dress and green spencer, rose and came forward. “Hello, Vivian. It occurred to me after I got here that I had probably committed some horrid error by coming to see you without an invitation, but at least I remembered to make my maid walk over with me.”

“You are always welcome in my home. You needn’t an invitation. But I am pleased you remembered your maid. And your dress is lovely. Which bonnet did you wear with it?”

“It has a green velvet ribbon.”

“The one we saw in Turlington’s window?”

“Exactly.” Camellia laughed. “How can you remember such things?”

“Oh, my dear, I rarely forget a fetching bonnet.” Vivian
led Camellia to the couch and sat down beside her. “You look complete to a shade. I am sure the young men are lining up to dance with you.”

“I always have partners,” Camellia admitted, sounding a little surprised. “Although I can’t imagine why. No matter how hard I try, I always seem to say something that makes some girl gasp and start fanning herself.”

Vivian chuckled. “Many young ladies love to ply their fans; they think it makes them interesting.”

Camellia cast her a doubtful look. “I suppose. All I can see is that it makes people look at them.”

“Then their goal is accomplished.”

“But do men really fall in love with someone because she’s always astonished by everything?”

Vivian shrugged. “Some men do seem to be strangely drawn by a lack of intellect. But clearly not all. It sounds as though you have your fair share of admirers.” Vivian paused, studying her friend. She remembered her brother’s words to her before he left, and she could not help but wonder if Camellia had any liking for Seyre. Camellia and Seyre had not talked long, of course, but surely Camellia must have had some feelings about him, one way or the other.

“What about you?” Vivian went on carefully. “Are there any young men who have caught your eye?”

The surprise on Cam’s face was answer enough. “No. I mean, well, Lord Breckwell seems nice enough, but . . . I don’t know, he’s rather dull.”

Vivian heaved a little internal sigh. Much as she loved her brother, she was well aware that his conversation was termed dull by everyone except his loving family or learned friends, so Vivian could not hold out much hope that Camellia had found Gregory interesting. Still, the two of them had seemed engrossed in their conversation when Vivian walked into the library, hadn’t they? Vivian wished she could remember
Camellia’s expression when she had interrupted them. It would be much easier if she could just ask Camellia outright how she felt about Gregory, but in this instance Vivian was reluctant to speak in her usual forthright manner. She was all too aware that she was in a delicate position between her good friend and her beloved brother. She would not want to raise hope—or apply pressure—with either of them.

“Although,” Camellia went on, “Dora Parkington seems to find Lord Breckwell extremely interesting.” Her gray eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as she went on, “I have to admit that has made me dance with him two or three times.”

Vivian chuckled, abandoning her attempt to discover Camellia’s opinion of her brother. “My dear, I do believe you are beginning to fit into the
ton
admirably. Has Dora been dreadful?”

“Oh, she’s never
unkind
to me.” Camellia grimaced. “I wish she
would
say what she really thinks sometime. Her manner absolutely drips with honey. You would think it was her dearest wish to be my friend. But somehow whatever she says about me makes me seem as if I’d been a coldhearted wretch.”

“She is quite skillful. I think she will probably surpass all her sisters. She’s only slightly prettier than they, but far more treacherous.”

Camellia sighed. “When is it that the Season begins to be fun?”

“Oh, Cam . . .” Vivian laid her hand on her friend’s arm. “Has it been so very bad? Is Dora making you so unhappy? I can undermine her, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t wish you to resort to anything underhanded. Dora Parkington isn’t worth it. She irritates me whenever I am around her, but that is all. No. I’m just . . . bored. And I miss the country.”

“And Lily?”

Camellia nodded. “Yes. She hasn’t been away long enough to even write me a letter, and she’s not very good about that sort of thing anyway.” Camellia paused, then added candidly, “Well, neither am I. It’s not too bad when Eve and Fitz are here. But they’ve been so busy with their house plans while Lily is gone. And Cousin Oliver was gone for a couple of days, and since he came back, he’s been in the most dreadful mood.”

“Really? Imagine.”

“Yes.” Camellia nodded. “It is most odd, for he usually is so civil and correct that you cannot even tell when he is upset. But yesterday I heard him tell Fitz to go to the devil. And he didn’t say a word at breakfast this morning. Even Fitz didn’t tease him; he just cast a look at him and then raised his eyebrows at Eve, and she shrugged.”

“So no one knows the reason for his black mood?”

“No. Nor where he went. Eve asked him at dinner after he returned, just in a courteous way, you know, and he was polite, but he never answered really, just turned it aside.”

“Probably better not to ask, then.”

Camellia nodded. “No doubt Lily would say that his love affair is going badly.”

“Mm. Indeed.”

“Do you think she could be right—I mean, that he’s actually having an affair of the heart? He seems too staid. Too logical and . . . and, you know, even-tempered.”

“It sounds unlikely.” Vivian paused. “I shall have to pay more attention next time I see him. Perhaps he will be at the Moretons’ rout tomorrow.”

“Perhaps, but I heard his valet telling the butler that he—Cousin Oliver, that is—had told his valet to toss out all his invitations.”

“You seem to have heard a great deal,” Vivian said with a smile.

“I told you, I’ve been deadly bored.”

“Well, we shall have to do something about that. I had planned to take you out with me today to pay calls.” Camellia let out a sigh, and Vivian chuckled. “But now I think that perhaps we ought to spend the afternoon somewhere else. What do you say to a visit to Bullock’s Museum?”

“The Egyptian Hall?” Camellia’s eyes lit up. “Vivian! I’ve been wanting to go there since we first arrived in London. Fitz told me it had all sorts of weapons—”

“And costumes.”

“And preserved animals like giraffes and elephants and such!”

“Then it’s done.” Vivian stood up. “I’ll just ring for the carriage.”

“Right now? Oh, Vivian, you are the best of friends to do this for me.”

Vivian laughed. “Don’t be nonsensical. I love the museum. You’re the first friend I’ve had who’s been willing to accompany me!”

Smiling, she strode over to the bellpull and tugged. Vivian was not at all averse to going to the museum, though she had thought of it more to lighten her friend’s spirits than from any desire to visit it herself. Still, it would occupy a few hours. From the way it sounded Stewkesbury was acting, she might well have some long and lonely hours to pass before she saw him again.

As it turned out, in only two more days Vivian ran across the earl. She was at Lady Fenwick’s ball, a deadly dull affair she would normally have avoided, but as it was also the largest party being given that night, she thought it the one Stewkesbury would be most likely to attend. She had not seen him there, so she had contented herself with quizzing Vincent Mounthaven, an inveterate gambler, about the club
where Sir Rufus had lost Lady Kitty’s brooch. Vivian soon regretted her choice, for after Mounthaven had told her all he knew about that club, he started in on the attributes of nearly every other club he frequented, apparently intending to regale her with his vast knowledge of the gambling world.

Vivian raised her fan to the lower half of her face to hide her boredom and plotted how best to ease herself out of this conversation. Glancing over, she saw Stewkesbury wending his way through the crowd toward them. She was glad that she had the fan up, thus hiding the involuntary smile that flashed across her face, though she suspected that her eyes had probably given away her pleasure.

“Stewkesbury!” she said, not caring that she cut into Mounthaven’s monologue. “I was beginning to think that you had given up social life altogether.”

Oliver bowed to her. “Lady Vivian. Mounthaven.” Oliver nodded to Mounthaven, his look as cool as his tone. “I am surprised you noticed. You seem well occupied.” His mouth turned down in a grimace of distaste as again his glance flickered to Mounthaven.

Vivian struggled to suppress a smile. Unless she was mistaken—and she rarely was about such things—Oliver sounded jealous.

“I have been searching for you recently,” Vivian told Oliver. “There are a few things I need to discuss with you . . . concerning my party for your cousins.” She turned a sweet smile on Mounthaven. “You will excuse us, won’t you, sir?”

Mounthaven could say little after her request, so he nodded, murmuring a polite “Of course.”

Vivian took Oliver’s arm, steering him away from Mount-haven and toward a less occupied part of the room. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she murmured when they were out of earshot of the other man. “I was about to drown under an absolute ocean of information about gambling dens.”

“Gambling dens! What a thing to bring up with a lady. Good Gad, Vivian. The man’s a roué, not to mention a complete slave to the roll of the dice. I can’t imagine why you were talking to him.”

“Can’t you?”

He stopped and looked at her. “No. Do not tell me—you were not asking him about the place Sir Rufus lost Lady Mainwaring’s brooch?”

Vivian shrugged. “All right. I won’t tell you.”

“Vivian . . . what the devil have you got in your head now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Vivian told Oliver airily.

He snorted. “I’m no Johnny Raw, my dear. I know that look. You are planning something, and I am sure it is not at all advisable.”

“There is so much that you think is not advisable that it would be bound to be.”