An Affair Without End (43 page)

“That’s true.” Vivian nodded. “This man Cosmo could have been frightened of the intermediary or the head of the ring, I suppose. Either could have killed him.”

“Whichever it was, if the Runner can find him, they can break the ring. Get the names of the others out of him. He’ll turn over the rest of them if he thinks he can keep his life that way.”

They continued to talk about the thefts until the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Carlyle Hall. Oliver and Camellia came inside with Gregory and Vivian so that Oliver could write a note to the Bow Street Runner asking him to meet Oliver at Stewkesbury House. After that, he planned to take Camellia home, pick up the Runner, and take him to Cosmo’s body. Gregory decided that he would accompany Oliver on the gruesome errand, and so Vivian turned to say good-night to the others.

When she reached Camellia, Vivian paused, then said, “Cam, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell Stewkesbury what your stepfather was threatening? Why didn’t you tell me?” Vivian could not entirely conceal the note of hurt in her voice. “I would have helped you. Did you think I would not?”

“Oh, no!” Camellia cried, distressed. “It wasn’t that. I knew you would help. You’ve been the best of friends. It was just . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was ashamed, I guess, that he was even my stepfather. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want you or Stewkesbury to have to be involved in anything concerning Cosmo. And I—” She cast a slightly wary glance at Oliver before she said reluctantly, “I
was afraid you might believe him, Cousin Oliver. Or at least wonder if what he said might be true.”

“Camellia!” Oliver looked shocked. “How can you think that? I thought I had made it quite clear that I accepted you and your sisters as my cousins.”

“Yes, but . . . it would be so odd, you see, for a man to claim someone as his daughter if she wasn’t. People would be bound to wonder if it wasn’t true.”

“I don’t listen to what people ‘wonder.’”

“Yes, I know. But there were the other things—I could see that you might be suspicious. Others would be; there would be talk. I didn’t want to embroil you in a scandal.”

“Any scandal would have died quickly,” Oliver assured her. “If I say you are my cousin, who would argue?”

Camellia looked at him squarely. “But do you truly believe it? Despite my birth records and everything?”

Oliver gazed back at her just as steadily. “Yes. I believe you. Records do burn. Not every Talbot has black hair. And if you had known my grandfather, I think there are aspects of your personality that you would have known were very like one Talbot, at least.”

“I’m like your grandfather?” She stared.

“In some ways. He was a very stubborn, self-sufficient man.” Oliver smiled slightly. “In any case, I know you. And I know your sisters. You all say you are their sister. I know that none of you would lie about that.”

Tears welled in Camellia’s eyes. “Oh.” She blinked them away determinedly and gave him a small smile. “Well, that’s all right, then.”

Vivian smiled as she looked from Camellia to Oliver. That, she thought, was what made Oliver the consummate gentleman that he was. It was not his old and prestigious title, nor that he could trace his ancestors back to 1066. It was not even his punctiliously correct manners or knowledge of
society’s rules. No, what made him a gentleman, a nobleman in the truest sense of the word, was what she had just witnessed—Oliver’s inherent sense of right and wrong, his unerring ability to steer the best path through any situation. Most of all, it was his kindness, the openheartedness that had impelled him to take in four orphaned girls—not just to provide for them in the minimal way that his peers would expect of him as the Earl of Stewkesbury, but to see to their happiness as well as their welfare, to make them truly a welcome part of his family.

Vivian could feel her own throat closing up a little with tears. Oliver was, truly, the best of men. And she knew suddenly, looking at him now, that this was not just a passing affair, a matter of passion. Oliver was everything she wanted in a man, and she was perilously close to falling in love with him. Indeed, she found she already had.

Vivian kept a determinedly pleasant expression on her face as she listened to Lady Prym and wished for at least the tenth time that they had not already made plans to go to the theater tonight. She had not slept well since the night they had discovered Cosmo Glass’s body. The first night she had been unable to go to sleep until she had heard Gregory return to the house. Last night, as she and Gregory had come home from a deadly dull musicale at Mrs. Cavanaugh’s, she had had the most peculiar feeling of being watched when she stepped out of her carriage. She had looked all around and seen no one, but the whole thing had given her the shivers, and she had slept poorly, waking to every sudden noise.

She had considered quite seriously sending her regrets to Eve and staying home to go to bed early. It would have been the sensible thing to do. But she told herself that she could not let the earl think her nerves had been so adversely affected by the events the other night. She was made of sterner stuff. However, Vivian knew, deep down, that the real reason she’d decided to attend the theater with Eve and Fitz was that Oliver would be with them, and she wanted to see him.

It was quite foolish, she told herself, that she apparently
could not go two days without seeing the man. She had always been so independent, so heart-whole. Yet now here she was, missing Oliver whenever he was not around, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Yes, finding Cosmo’s body had been disturbing, but Vivian had also been quite certain that if only Oliver had been there, sleeping in her bed, she would have slept soundly.

Tonight as soon as she saw him, her tiredness had vanished in an instant. Much as she enjoyed feeling that way, that her emotions were so tied to Oliver was rather frightening. Her happiness had never depended on any man before, and she could not help but wonder what would happen when Oliver was no longer with her.

That day would come. Vivian had no illusions about that. She might be falling in love with the man—God forbid, perhaps she already was in love with him. But they had no chance of a future. Oliver most definitely did not feel the same way about her, and there was no chance of his asking her to marry him. Indeed, she would not marry him if she had the chance. However much her feelings might have become engaged, she was no fool. She was ill-suited for marriage. And she and Oliver were even more ill-suited for each other.

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.