by Candace Camp
“You can ride in the park. It’s not the same, of course, but a number of people ride along Rotten Row.”
“Rotten Row?” Camellia let out a laugh. “It doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
“No, but it is the fashionable place to ride. I drive a phaeton in the park now and then. Why don’t I take you up with me one day? I think you would enjoy that.”
“Really?” Camellia’s interest sparked. “You drive it yourself?”
“Yes. Nor am I the only woman to do so.”
“I would enjoy that very much, I think.” Camellia smiled.
“Is that all that is troubling you?” Vivian asked carefully. “Boredom and missing Willowmere?”
“No,” Camellia admitted with a sigh. “Of course not. I can always find some way to alleviate boredom.” She cast a laughing little glance at Vivian. “That is, perhaps, why I so often find myself in trouble.” She got up and moved restlessly across the room, stopping at the window to look out at the garden.
Vivian followed her. “Is it Lily’s engagement?”
Camellia glanced at her, astonished. “How did you know? Am I so obvious?” She frowned, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “I have tried very hard not to let it show.”
“I doubt anyone else has seen it,” Vivian reassured her. “Or connected it to the engagement.”
“Am I a terrible person?” Camellia turned, and to Vivian’s surprise and distress, tears started in Camellia’s light gray eyes. “I love Lily, and I am happy for her. I truly am.”
“I know you are. But you cannot help but worry a little about yourself, can you?”
“That’s it.” Camellia sagged a little in relief. “You do understand, don’t you? I don’t know what I am going to do when Lily marries. I already miss Rose and Mary so much. All my life I’ve had my sisters around me. We’ve done everything together. I never had to worry about being lonely; there was never any chance. If I wanted to be by myself, I could go off for a few hours, but if I wanted company, there was always someone around. When Mama died and we came here, I still had my sisters. But now Rose and Mary are gone. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Rose again. Mary is not that far; we will visit, I know. But it’s not the same as living with someone.”
“I know. It’s not.”
“Mary won’t even be here this Season. In a few months Lily will be gone. She’s already half-gone, always writing to Neville and thinking about him or the wedding, and when she’s not doing that, she’s talking about her clothes for the wedding or the arrangements for the engagement party. We hardly ever just have fun together like we used to. And after this engagement party, she’s going to leave with the Carrs. They want to show her to his grandmother, who lives in Bath, and then they are going to the Carrs’ estate. She’ll be gone a whole month! And that is what it’s going to be like forever after she and Neville are married.” Camellia let out another sigh. “I’m sorry. I know I am being selfish and horrid.”
“No, you’re not.” Vivian reached out and took Camellia’s hand. “There is nothing wrong with you. Anyone would feel the same in your position. You love Lily; the two of you are extremely close. How could you not miss her when she leaves—or not feel sad knowing she is about to leave?”
Camellia gave Vivian a somewhat watery smile. “It seems silly, given the way we squabble, but there’s nobody I love more.”
Vivian nodded. “I can’t pretend to know exactly what it’s like with sisters. I love my brothers, and Gregory and I are very close, but it isn’t the same as with sisters. Still, I know some of what you feel. I had close friends—Eve and Charlotte and one or two others. But after our debut, the others began to marry, one by one, and though we remained friends, it was never quite the same. They moved into a different world from me—a world of husbands and children and nurses and such. We did not stop being friends, but I didn’t see them as often, didn’t have those long talks anymore, sitting up late at night in our night rails, discussing everything under the sun.”
“Yes! That’s it exactly.” Camellia nodded. “That is what I will miss.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you will.” Vivian smiled and gave Camellia’s hand an extra squeeze. “But you will find, as I have, that your world is not empty just because they marry. You will still see them. When Mary has her baby, you will have a new person to love and dote on—for I am quite sure that Mary’s baby will be perfect and not at all like my own niece and nephews, who are absolute imps.”
Camellia laughed. “I don’t know. That might very well be an apt description of any child Mary and Royce have.”
Vivian smiled. “And you will meet many people this Season; you’ll make new friends.”
“Will I?” Camellia regarded Vivian skeptically.
“Of course. You’ll find friends. Perhaps even a husband.” Vivian’s eyes twinkled as she added, “After all, you Bascombes seem to be quite accomplished at that.”
“I fear I am not like my sisters. I have little interest in marrying. It seems a lot of bother and sorrow to me. I can scarcely count the number of times I found Lily crying over Neville.”
“But surely that was a special circumstance.”
“Perhaps, but love was not a tranquil thing for Mary or Rose, either. Being in love seems to make everyone act peculiarly.” Camellia shrugged. “I have never met a man who made me feel giddy. Which is probably just as well, since I have never seen that men take to me.”
“What do you mean? You had many partners at the dance at my uncle’s house.”
“Yes, but not the number Lily did. Anyway, we were a curiosity there; everyone wanted to see if we could actually speak, I think. They may do the same thing here, so perhaps at first I shall have a number of dance partners, but not once they get to know me. I am too blunt and outspoken for most American men. I can imagine what British aristocrats will think of me.” Camellia shook her head. “Aunt Euphronia and the other relatives certainly don’t approve of me.” She paused, then frowned. “Will I have to spend much time with them?”
“I sincerely hope not, given that I will be with you. Unfortunately, however, Lady Euphronia is nigh inescapable during the Season. I heard she was at the party I attended last night, but I fled before I had to see her. ’Tis true you will not ‘take’ with Lady Euphronia and the others like her. But there are many who will like you, just as I do—as Eve and Charlotte do. So you must not despair. Look at me; there are a number of people who regard me askance. But I have managed to survive their disapproval, and I found a number of people with whom I have a very pleasant time.”
“But you are a duke’s daughter.” Camellia gave her a skeptical look. “I cannot imagine that anyone would dare to ostracize you.”
Vivian shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure about that. But even if that is true, I can tell you that there are quite a few who are happy to gibble-gabble about me—I am shocking; I have no decorum. There are those who call me Marchester’s Hoyden.”
“Really?” Camellia grinned.
“Oh, yes. And worse, no doubt, but fortunately I have not been made privy to those appellations.” Vivian smiled. “Do not worry. If you hate your Season, you do not have to come back every year. I doubt Stewkesbury will insist; he dislikes the Season, too. And even though Lily gets married, you will still be her sister. You will spend time with her and Mary and Eve. And with me.” Vivian’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I have no plans to marry, either. It is, as you said, a great deal of bother. You and I can become spinsters together. You must come live with me, and we’ll raise a number of cats.”
Camellia laughed. “I accept. But not cats. I like dogs much better.”
“Dogs it is, then.”
“Thank you.” Camellia hugged her impulsively. “You have made me feel much better. I promise I shall not continue in this weepy manner. I am not the sort who feels sorry for myself.”
“Everyone is entitled to a bit of it now and then.”
“Now I must go back or else Lily will ring a peal ov
er me later for leaving her alone so long with Lady Carr.”
“Eve is with them.”
“But that is not the same. Lily needs someone whom Lady Carr will disapprove of more than she does Lily.”
Vivian smiled and bade the girl farewell. She watched as Camellia walked out the door; then, with a sigh, Vivian turned back to the window. She felt an unaccustomed touch of melancholy. No doubt it came from remembering her own loss as her friends had one by one gotten married and moved into other lives. As she had told Camellia, she had adjusted to a different relationship with her friends, but Vivian had not added that she was still now and then swept by loneliness.
She was aware that anyone who heard that statement would find it hard to believe, for Vivian was a social creature with a large circle of friends and acquaintances. She could nearly always be found at a rout or the opera or having dinner with friends. Seldom did she spend an evening alone, at least during the Season. But Vivian knew how easy it was to feel alone even when surrounded by people. Though she was not the sort to dwell on it, at times she wished for a closer relationship.
She had seen the looks that passed between Mary and Royce or Eve and Fitz, even the smile of quiet affection on Charlotte’s face when she gazed at her husband. But then Vivian would cast her eyes around at the men of the ton and realize all over again that she had no interest in entrusting her heart and life to any of them. While some women did have marriages of real and lasting love, they were in her experience the exceptions, not the rule. And the women were not her.
She had never been like everyone else she knew. Though she suspected that Camellia had not really believed her when Vivian told her that she had not fit in with the ton, it was the truth. She had managed to get by better than Camellia would, but that was largely because of an upbringing that had instilled in her how she should behave. She had learned what to say, how to act, but she had always been aware that she had not felt as she should. Even in her family or among her friends, she had often felt different and alone.
Something inside her was restless. Conventions bored and even angered her. She regarded much of the conversation and many of the people of the ton as insipid. She knew that such statements would astonish those who knew her—and sometimes, even she herself wondered why she went to so many parties when she so often found them lacking. But she knew, deep down, that she was searching—for what, she was not entirely sure.
When she had once expressed such doubts to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth had assured her that what she needed was a husband and family. But looking at Elizabeth’s life, Vivian could only recoil at the thought. A faithless husband, love dissolved into quarrels . . . no, that seemed a far worse fate than the occasional touch of loneliness.
As Vivian gazed out the window without really noticing anything that lay in front of her, a dash of movement to the left caught her eye. She turned her head to see Pirate bound into the yard. She had to smile, watching his antics as he whirled and ran and jumped and barked. Then he came tearing back, and the Earl of Stewkesbury walked into Vivian’s view. He, too, was grinning at the dog’s gyrations. Pirate reached the earl and jumped straight up, wiggling his rear end ecstatically, then fell back down to the ground and crouched on his front legs, his hindquarters raised and the stub of his tail still wagging at full speed. He jumped forward, then jumped back and let out a sharp bark.
To Vivian’s surprise, Stewkesbury mimicked the dog, jumping toward the animal, then back, and Pirate exploded into barks, leaping forward and back, then side to side. As Vivian watched, the man and the dog darted about the small yard—advancing, retreating, dashing one way, then another, and Vivian could not help but laugh at the sight of the staid earl completely abandoning all dignity as he romped with his dog. Pirate was clearly in heaven, whirling and yapping and zipping back and forth wildly. And the man—Vivian studied the earl’s face, usually sober but now laughing and light, without care or pretense—yes, the man clearly loved the game as much as his pet.
Vivian leaned forward, resting her forehead against the windowpane. Something in Stewkesbury still brought up a yearning in her. Such a handsome man, she thought, and her mind turned to the kiss they had shared last night. Her lips curved in a sensual smile.
No, a husband was not what she was looking for. But a man, now, at least for a while, was an entirely different thing.
Chapter 5
The next two days were spent in a whirl of shopping. First the four women looked at the little dolls known as fashion babies that wore miniatures of the latest dresses from Paris and pored over fashion books until the different styles began to blur. They examined fabrics and laces and ribbons and trims. Camellia and Lily made decision after decision with the guidance of the older two women, and finally even Lily declared that she could not bear to think of another gown.
So the following day they turned their attention to shoes and accessories. Camellia and Lily were fitted for new kid half boots, suitable for both walking and riding, as well as slippers for daily and evening wear in a variety of colors and materials. When Camellia protested that they had already bought several pairs of shoes when they first arrived in London, Vivian pointed out that those had been only a temporary measure.
“How could we buy the shoes you would need when we had not purchased the gowns?” she asked reasonably.
Next came the millinery shops, three in a row, followed by a visit to the glovers. Camellia, who considered the three pairs of gloves she already had perfectly adequate, was quickly informed that so few gloves would never do. A lady must have long white kid gloves for evening wear and short gloves in both kid and a variety of white and colored silks. Eve and Vivian did at least allow that the undergarments and nightgowns the younger two had purchased six months earlier would be enough, although, of course, new stockings were a must, as well as new and much finer handkerchiefs—and one should really purchase a few new petticoats or chemises. Lily would need a number of such things for her trousseau, naturally, but that was an entirely different matter and could be taken care of much later in the Season. This subject was enough to make Lily giggle and blush, at which Camellia rolled her eyes.
They finished up their day with a visit to Gunter’s, and though all but Lily deemed the day too cool for an ice, they were well satisfied with the pastries they chose. Loaded down with boxes and bags, they made their way to Stewkesbury House. After reminding Camellia of their plans to go out driving in Hyde Park the next afternoon, Vivian directed the carriage to Carlyle Hall.
A few minutes later, the coach rumbled to a halt, and Vivian heard her coachman call out to someone. Curious, she pulled aside the edge of the leather curtain. They had come to a stop outside her home, but the spot at the curb directly in front of the door was already occupied. Frowning, she peered at the large, mud-splashed coach and in the next instant recognized it as her father’s comfortable, lumbering traveling coach.
The front door opened, and a footman hurried out to help her down, but Vivian was already out of the carriage and onto the sidewalk before he reached her.
“Is that my father’s carriage? Is he here?”
“Yes, my lady. His Grace arrived a few minutes ago. Lord Seyre is with him as well.”
“Gregory!” Now Vivian was truly astonished.
It was odd for her father to travel to London when she had left him only a week before carousing in the country with his cronies, but he was well-known to be impulsive. He could have taken it into his head to move the party to London. But for her shy, even reclusive, brother to come with the duke, especially in the midst of the Season, was almost unheard of.
Vivian hurried into the house, divesting herself of her outerwear as she went and handing it to the trailing footman. “Where is he?” She turned, glancing around for Grigsby, the butler, then lifted her voice. “Father? Gregory?”
“His Grace is in his bedchamber, my lady. I believe Lord Seyre is with him.”
Vivian started up the stairs, but she had not reached h
alfway when her brother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Gregory! What is going on? Why are you and Papa here?”
“Don’t worry. He’s all right,” Gregory said quickly, and started down the stairs toward her.
Vivian stopped abruptly, the blood draining from her face. “All right? Gregory! What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he be all right?”
“Oh, blazes, I’m telling it all wrong.” He came to the landing and stopped.
A tall man with a thin build kept lean by his devotion to riding, Gregory was quiet and scholarly. He possessed the large, dramatic green eyes and sculpted features that were considered a hallmark of the Carlyle family, but his good looks often went unnoticed by those who saw only his reticent, even self-effacing manner. His hair was dark brown with a hint of the red that flamed in his sister’s hair. His eyesight was poor enough that he wore spectacles to read, and when, as now, he did not have them on, it gave his gaze a soft, almost dreamy look, an appearance that was reinforced by his boyish, endearing smile. Though dressed in clothes of the finest materials, he managed to look rumpled and thrown together.
Reaching out to take his sister by the arms, he said, “Papa fell—”
“Fell? From what? What foolish thing was he doing?”
“Nothing. Truly. It wasn’t exactly a fall, more a faint—though Papa bumped his head when he went down so he has a knot on it. One moment he was standing there, and the next he crumpled to the floor. I wasn’t with him. That old fool Tarrington was there, and he just stood like a stunned ox, then started bellowing for the butler.”
“Was Papa in his cups?” Vivian wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand why he came to London.”
“I was the one who insisted. He would have let old Smithers poke and prod at him and harrumph for a while, then recommend he cup him or leech him. You know how I feel about such antiquated methods. The French are making far greater strides in—”
