An Affair Without End

by Candace Camp

  “Well.” Vivian considered. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “What does Fitz say?”

  “You know Cousin Fitz; he made some jest about it. But I think he found it peculiar.”

  Vivian was silent for a moment, seemingly concentrating on executing a right turn. Then she said mildly, “I suppose one must expect even Stewkesbury to be odd on occasion.”

  “I suppose so. Lily thinks that he has a new chère amie.”

  “What?” Vivian turned to her, eyes wide. “Camellia . . .”

  “I know. We aren’t supposed to know what a chère amie is, let alone talk about one. But that’s awfully silly, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but please don’t talk so with anyone besides me or Eve.”

  “We know better than that.”

  “Um, why does Lily think . . . ?”

  “You know Lily. She always thinks the reason for everything is love. She claims that he’s distracted because he’s thinking about a woman. And she says it can’t be someone acceptable because he hasn’t been attending any parties or going to the theater or anything like that where he would have been seeing a respectable woman.”

  “Stewkesbury is not a very social sort.”

  “No, but he’d obviously been somewhere the other evening after my galloping fiasco. Lily thought he had the look of a man who’d been ‘up to something.’ I didn’t notice, but then, as Lily said, I would not.”

  “Mm. I’m not sure it’s enough evidence to prove that Stewkesbury has found a light o’ love. It might as easily be that he was thinking of some business problem.”

  “Probably. But it’s more exciting Lily’s way.”

  Vivian chuckled. “It usually is.”

  They turned into the park, and Vivian cast a glance at Camellia. “Here we are. Now we have to get down to work. Ah, there is Mrs. Harroway. She’s a complete rattle.” Vivian lifted her hand in greeting and pulled her team to a stop so that she could chat with the other woman, which gratified Mrs. Harroway to no end.

  After that, they drove no more than a minute or two before Vivian spotted a stylish barouche. Despite the nip in the air, the carriage’s occupants had the soft top pushed back—what was the use of a ride through the park if one was not seen?—and the two women inside compensated with a lap robe, fur muffs for their hands, and ermine-trimmed cloaks.

  It was, Vivian had to admit, a perfect setting for the younger of the women. Her delicate heart-shaped face with its cluster of dark curls falling on either side was perfectly framed by the white fur of the cloak’s hood, and the cold had brought a rosy color to her cheeks, giving her the perfect strawberries-and-cream complexion that was the hallmark of the English beauty. A rosy cupid’s bow of a mouth and bright blue eyes completed the pretty picture. The woman beside her was obviously her mother, though time had put its stamp on the other woman, adding gray to the dark hair and marking her eyes and mouth with small lines.

  “Lady Parkington.” Vivian smiled with more pleasure than she felt.

  She had never particularly liked Lady Parkington, whose primary goal in life had been to marry her four daughters off to the most wealthy and important men she could find. Since her daughters were pretty, she had managed that feat with the first three, the oldest of whom was of an age with Vivian. Each of the daughters had pursued Vivian’s friendship with almost as much zeal as they had chased husbands, but Vivian had been well aware that it was not she whom they liked but her connection to her eminently marriageable and rather reclusive brother. None of them had succeeded with either Gregory or Vivian. Vivian had enjoyed the lack of the family’s attentions for the last three years, but unfortunately, she saw now, the youngest of the sisters must have made her way up to marriageable age and would be setting out on her own husband hunt this Season.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you,” Lady Parkington cried. “My, it’s been an age since we have had a chance to chat, hasn’t it? Allow me to introduce you to my daughter Dora. Dora, dear, say hello to Lady Vivian Carlyle. You know, the one of whom Jane is so fond.”

  Vivian suspected that the aforesaid Jane would have walked over Vivian with jackboots if it meant catching the eye of a wealthy suitor, but she merely smiled pleasantly and greeted the girl. “This is my friend Miss Bascombe. She is Lord Stewkesbury’s cousin.”

  “My goodness, is this your first Season, too, child?” Despite the warmth in her voice, the eye Lady Parkington ran over Camellia was coolly assessing. “You and Dora will doubtless be great friends. I’m afraid our Dora is a bit shy, so perhaps you will help her along.”

  The girl, on cue, cast her lovely, long-lashed eyes down, the very portrait of demure young womanhood. Camellia gazed back at the other girl with curiosity. “Help her along where?”

  Lady Parkington chuckled as if Camellia had made a joke. “You young girls, always so clever. You know, introduce her to people, stand her friend.”

  Camellia frowned a little. “I’m afraid I’d be no help there. I don’t know anyone in London except for my family.”

  Lady Parkington let out another appreciative chuckle. “Ah, Lord Stewkesbury—one of the most elegant and refined gentlemen in this country. So admired. Of course, your other cousin has long been one of the most popular bachelors in London, but I understand that he has been taken off the marriage mart.”

  “Yes, he married my good friend Mrs. Hawthorne,” Vivian said.

  “A number of hearts were broken at that news, I can assure you,” Lady Parkington replied with a roguish smile.

  Vivian mustered up a smile at the woman’s witticism. She could see from the corner of her eye that Camellia was regarding both Lady Parkington and her daughter with her usual direct gaze, and Vivian wondered what Camellia would think of them. She had the suspicion that Camellia would not readily be deceived.

  Dora looked up at Vivian with her large, limpid blue eyes. “My lady, I vow I am in awe of your skills with the reins.”

  “Thank you,” Vivian responded politely. “Are you interested in driving?”

  “Oh, my, no.” The girl let out a little laugh, as tinkling and light as bells in the crisp air. “I should never have the courage to do that.” She cast her eyes over at Camellia. “Would you, Miss Bascombe?”

  Camellia grinned. “Yes, indeed. I’m hoping Viv—that is, Lady Vivian—will teach me how to drive a team.”

  Dora’s eyes widened. “You must be very brave indeed. But, then, you are an excellent rider, I have heard.” A quick glint of something steely was in her eyes before they were once again great blue pools of innocence.

  Vivian felt Camellia stiffen beside her, but Camellia said only, “Have you?”

  “Oh, dear.” Dora looked chagrined. “I should not have brought that up, should I?” She cast down her eyes in embarrassment. “I am so sorry. Mother tells me I am quite scatterbrained.”

  Vivian smiled. “You were only telling the truth. Miss Bascombe is an excellent rider, indeed. However, I fear she is finding that one’s every movement is scrutinized when one’s cousin is the Earl of Stewkesbury. And there is nothing the ton enjoys as much as gossiping about each other.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Parkington agreed solemnly. “I always tell my girls that their reputations are their most precious asset.”

  “Really? I have always ranked heart and courage most highly myself.”

  Lady Parkington’s smile grew a trifle forced, but it did not waver.

  “Will we see you at Lady Carr’s ball next week?” Vivian went on pleasantly. “It will be Miss Bascombe’s and her sister’s first London ball. Lady Carr is so happy to be presenting her future daughter-in-law to the ton. Of course, alas, there is another eligible bachelor who has been taken off the market,” she added with a wicked sparkle in her eyes.

  “Yes, all of London has been talking of the Misses Bascombes and their great success.” Lady Parkington’s voice was merry. “You naughty girls.” She shook h
er finger at Camellia playfully. “You must leave some of the young men of England to the rest of the girls.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Dora smiled sweetly. “It’s not at all surprising to me now that I have seen Miss Bascombe. Her sisters are doubtless equally beautiful.”

  “Lily and Mary are far prettier than I,” Camellia said with her usual candor.

  “You are being modest,” Dora murmured.

  Camellia grinned. “No. I am rarely accused of that. For instance, I’m a better shot than either of them.”

  Vivian stifled a smile at the startled expressions on the other two women’s faces. “Yes. Camellia has been giving me lessons this last summer.”

  “My,” Lady Parkington said inadequately.

  “It is great fun. Mr. Talbot joined us, as did the earl at times,” Vivian went on blithely. “I am convinced that target shooting will become all the rage.”

  “Indeed.”

  A few moments later, after Vivian and Camellia had said their good-byes to the Parkingtons and driven on their way, Camellia turned to Vivian, laughing. “You told such a plumper—saying Cousin Oliver joined us shooting.”

  Vivian smiled. “Well, he did come out to watch sometimes. I didn’t say he participated.”

  “I made another mistake, didn’t I—saying I was a better shot? So you had to rescue me by saying you were learning how to shoot, too.”

  “No, I did that because I find the Parkingtons profoundly irritating. I just wanted to see Lady Parkington’s face when I said it. I am a wicked creature, I know, but it was most satisfying.”

  “I thought so, too.” Camellia grinned back at Vivian. “I didn’t like them. I’m not sure why, for Miss Parkington seemed to be trying to be nice. She can’t help it if she’s scared of driving a phaeton, I suppose, but I couldn’t help but feel . . .”

  Vivian looked at her. “Feel what?”

  “I’m not sure. Just that there was a false note there. She meant what she said about my riding as a barb, didn’t she?”

  “No doubt. I don’t think sweet Dora does much that is not calculated. Not if she’s anything like her sisters, and she certainly acted it today. Your instincts were quite correct.” Vivian glanced ahead of her and sighed. “Ah, dear, there’s Mrs. Farthingham and Lady Medwell. Well, there’s nothing for it but to stop. I do wish I had picked a day when more interesting people were taking the air.”

  So stop they did, not just for Mrs. Farthingham and Lady Medwell, but for at least five more carriages. Camellia tried her best to mind her tongue and smile and be polite, but she found it slow going. So it was with real pleasure that she recognized the horseman approaching them.

  “Cousin Oliver!” she exclaimed, smiling.

  “Stewkesbury.” Lady Vivian watched the earl closely as he pulled his horse to a stop beside their carriage and doffed his hat to them.

  It had been several days since she had last seen Oliver, and she was well aware of his conflicting emotions regarding her. She herself was given to a number of differing feelings regarding the earl. The difference, of course, between the two of them was that she did not mind a bit of uncertainty; it added spice to one’s life. Oliver, on the other hand, liked to know what he was doing and why. She wondered what course he had decided to take with her. She suspected that he intended to put her firmly back into her role as casual family friend. Vivian had to smile to herself. Stewkesbury’s world, she thought, could use a little shaking up.

  She offered him a dazzling smile and had the satisfaction of seeing him look unsettled for an instant. She was glad she had worn her new bonnet with the ruched emerald green lining.

  “Lady Vivian.” He nodded to her a trifle stiffly, and his gaze went to his cousin. “Cousin Camellia.” His eyes then swept across the vehicle, and he released a little sigh. “So you are driving a high-perch phaeton now.”

  “Yes. Isn’t it a beauty? I got it last summer before I left London, and this is only the second chance I’ve had to drive it.”

  “Vivian says she will teach me how to drive,” Camellia put in, her voice charged with excitement.

  “Did she now?” Oliver raised one brow at Vivian. “A high-perch phaeton? I think not.”

  “Not at first,” Camellia agreed reasonably. “But eventually.”

  “It is not an appropriate vehicle for a young lady.”

  “Vivian drives one!”

  “Yes, Stewkesbury, are you saying that I am inappropriate?” Vivian shot him an amused look. “Or perhaps you are intimating that I am no longer young?”

  “Blast it, Vivian, don’t try to turn this around on me. You know good and well what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure,” Vivian said thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that lately your words don’t always match your actions.” Her eyes danced at the light that sparked in his eyes at her comment. It was almost too easy to get a response out of Oliver, and yet, she thought, she never tired of doing it. Just something about the way his eyes silvered and his mouth tightened was most agreeable.

  He looked as if he would like to say more to her, but with a visible effort, he pulled his gaze away and focused on Camellia. “I mean that there is a deal of difference in age between you and Lady Vivian.”

  “Oliver! You wound me.”

  He cast Vivian a quelling glance. “Do stop teasing. I am serious. Camellia, you are making your come-out, and, more than that, you are unknown to anyone in London society. Vivian, on the other hand, has been out for a number of years and everyone is well acquainted with her fits and starts.”

  “Fits and starts! Really, driving is scarcely some capricious thing I’ve taken up. I’ve done it since before I even came out.”

  “Exactly.” He gave her a satisfied nod. “And I’ll wager your father taught you.”

  “Actually it was my brothers.”

  He shrugged. “The point is, you were taught by experienced drivers, and you learned in the safety of your estate.” He looked at Camellia. “Which is precisely the way that you shall learn it. I shall teach you—or Fitz or Royce—and it will be done at Willowmere, where it won’t matter if you take a turn too late or haven’t complete control of your team. It’s far too difficult to learn in the city. I shall teach you this summer, after the Season.” He paused, then added, “And it won’t be a high-perch phaeton. If Lady Vivian had a regard for her safety, she wouldn’t drive one either.”

  Vivian chuckled and said in a low, teasing voice, “Really, Oliver, when have you ever known me to be cautious?”

  He looked at her, and for an instant, a flicker of heated frustration was in his eyes. “Never,” he said. “God help us.”

  Chapter 8

  Lady Carr’s ball the next week was the first truly noteworthy party of the young Season. Ecstatic that at long last her son was taking a bride and eager to overshadow any shortcomings of that prospective bride, she had not spared any expense for the party. No string quartet would suffice; instead a small orchestra sat at the end of the ballroom, and the midnight supper would feature a number of delicacies and exotic foods as well as providing a full repast for even the heartiest of appetites. One location would not contain all that she offered: there was the grand ballroom for dancing and a separate game room for cardplayers, as well as the public room downstairs for the midnight supper buffet and numerous tables and chairs for diners and weary dancers. Flowers twined around balustrades and banisters and stood in massive arrangements. Candles glittered in chandeliers, and sconces glowed around the edges of the room.

  The duke had recovered enough that the doctor was allowing him to return to his estate the next day, so Vivian approached the party in good spirits. She wore her newest ball gown, a froth of palest sea green gauze and silver lace floating around her in layers of sheerness that hinted at much and revealed nothing. Her hair was done up in an intricate arrangement of curls in which diamonds winked here and there, and around her neck she wore the Scots Green, showcased by the expanse of her soft, white shoulders that the scooped neckline o
f her dress laid bare. Silver satin slippers completed the picture of ephemeral, luxurious beauty.

  Gregory was to drive with their father back to Marchester the following day, but Vivian had cajoled him into escorting her to the party before he left. It was a rare treat for her to have her brother with her in London, and she wanted to introduce him to the Bascombe sisters. That was easy enough to do with Lily, for she stood in the receiving line with Lord and Lady Carr and their son Neville. Stewkesbury was there, as well, determinedly performing his social duty, but there was no sight of Camellia. Her presence was not required, and Vivian felt sure she had fled to the opposite end of the room.

  Shortly after they arrived, Lady Parkington descended upon Vivian and Gregory, flanked by her daughter Dora, all coy smiles and alluring glances. Lady Parkington froze Gregory in his tracks as she spewed out effusive greetings.

  “La, it’s so rare to see you at these gatherings, Lord Seyre. We must thank your sister for bringing you to London again. Please allow me to introduce my daughter Dora. She’s the youngest of all my girls and my pride and joy. ’Twill be hard for me to let her go. But, of course, when a girl is as lovely as Dora, one cannot expect her to remain unmarried for long.”

  “I am pleased to meet you.” Dora looked at him with doelike eyes, then dropped her gaze modestly, blushing, and raised her fan to cover the lower half of her face.

  “Um, uh, yes. Pleased to, um . . . lovely party . . .”

  “I’m sure you must enjoy a chance to be around other young people after spending so much time at Marchester, Lord Seyre,” Lady Parkington plowed ahead.

  “I, ah . . .”

  “No doubt you young people would enjoy a promenade while your sister and I catch up on all the gossip,” Lady Parkington told Gregory, beaming benignly.

  Vivian smothered a smile at the incipient panic on Gregory’s face.

  “Well, that is . . .” Gregory cast a pleading glance at Vivian.

  Vivian took pity on him, saying, “How kind of you to think of him, but my brother has promised this dance to me, Lady Parkington. I am afraid I must steal him away. It was so nice to see you.”