‘Lady Hastings, I am delighted to see you again.’
‘What a pretty dress, Mrs Vayne.’
Cynthia preened, her gaze flicking dismissively over Vivien’s lilac gown. ‘How fortunate you are to be able to wear that colour, but then widows are obliged to entertain such sober hues, are they not?’
Max frowned and shot a swift glance at Vivien. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘How should you?’ she replied. Then, deciding he might as well hear the rest, added, ‘My husband died eighteen months ago; pneumonia following a chill.’
‘My sincere condolences.’ The tone was sincere, like the accompanying look, and both were unexpectedly warming.
Cynthia shot him a sideways glance and then adopted an expression of sympathy. ‘And how are your children, Lady Hastings?’
‘They are both well, I thank you.’
‘They must be such a comfort to you.’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘They must be quite old now.’
‘John is eight and Rachel six.’
‘No wonder you look tired. Children are such a huge responsibility, are they not?’
Vivien saw which way the game tended. Max was being informed in no uncertain terms of how much baggage she was carrying. However, she had no wish to hide it and, on the whole, it might be better if he did know.
‘Yes, they are a big responsibility,’ she replied, ‘but I will not tire of it.’
Max surveyed her steadily. ‘The sentiment does you much credit, my lady. It cannot be an easy situation.’
‘No, it isn’t, but we play the hand we’re dealt.’
Cynthia’s gaze darted from one to the other and then she smiled. ‘You are so right, Lady Hastings, and so very brave. Digby and I both think so.’
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the gong and the company went into dinner. Vivien’s dominant emotion was relief. After the trauma of reunion with Max she wasn’t sure that she could have maintained a flow of casual conversation over dinner as well. This small hiatus would provide a breathing space, time to regain her composure. Then they could settle into their roles as polite, distant acquaintances.
She was seated between Major Andrew Dawlish and Sir Arthur Hurst, and good manners dictated that she confine her conversation to them. Fortunately they were both pleasant and interesting conversationalists. Once or twice she glanced across the table but Max was engaged in conversation with Cynthia Vayne who, it seemed, was hanging on his every word. He too appeared to be enjoying himself. Vivien looked away.
* * *
Eventually the ladies retired to the drawing room and she took the opportunity to speak to Annabel and Mary. They were easy company and their conversation was stimulating. As she hadn’t seen them for some months there was plenty to talk about. It filled the time until the gentlemen rejoined them later.
Charles looked around. ‘Shall we have some music? Perhaps one of the ladies would oblige me.’
Annabel made to rise but Cynthia was before her. ‘I’d be glad to play but I shall need someone to turn the pages for me. Mr Calderwood, would you be so kind?’
Max acceded graciously and went to join her by the pianoforte.
Annabel exchanged glances with Mary and Vivien. Then, lowering her voice, she leaned closer. ‘She’s set her cap at him and no mistake.’
‘I cannot entirely blame her,’ replied Mary. ‘He’s fearfully attractive, isn’t he?’
‘Rather. Rich too, I hear.’
‘Perhaps they’ll make a match of it.’
Vivien sipped her tea and said nothing, caught unawares by a powerful sensation of sadness. She fought it, fixing her attention on the music. Although Cynthia lacked real flair she was a competent player and performed the piece creditably. Once or twice she looked up from the sheets in front of her and smiled at Max. However, his face gave no clue as to the thoughts behind. All the same they made a striking couple. Vivien’s fingers tightened on the handle of the cup.
The piece ended to general applause. Cynthia played another and then people began to call for their favourites. Charles laughed.
‘There’s such a pile of music here, Mrs Vayne. Let me help you find the right sheets.’
Max smiled and ceded his place. Vivien saw the expression of annoyance that flitted across Cynthia’s face. She recovered quickly and with an assumption of good grace turned her attention to Sir Charles. Under other circumstances it would have been amusing.
Out of the corner of her eye Vivien saw Max approach Sir Arthur Hurst who was standing nearby. The two exchanged a few words. Meanwhile the conversation by the pianoforte continued. Mary put down her cup.
‘I think I’d better lend them a hand. Excuse me.’
Vivien smiled. ‘Of course.’
She feigned to watch Mary’s progress across the room but all her awareness was on the man who now stood just feet away. The very air between them seemed charged. Would he take the empty seat beside her? It shocked her to discover how much she wanted him to. However, Max didn’t move and presently the music started again. Vivien swallowed hard, forced to conclude now that he had no wish to resume their acquaintance beyond what was absolutely required by good manners. Probably he sought to save them both from embarrassment and so it behoved her to take her cue from him. It ought not to have hurt as much as it did.
* * *
Eventually the hour grew late and some of the ladies made their excuses and retired. Vivien was glad to follow suit and, having said goodnight, made her way to her room in company with Aunt Winifred. The older woman cast an anxious glance at her companion.
‘I must confess I had no idea that Mr Calderwood was to be one of the guests,’ she said. ‘Did you?’
Vivien shook her head. ‘It came as a surprise to me too.’
‘It puts you in an awkward position.’
‘Not in the least.’
‘But, surely, given what went before...’
‘That is over, Aunt Winifred. Max Calderwood and I are old acquaintances and that’s all.’
‘Even so, your situation is delicate, my dear. I did wonder if it might not be better to leave Oakhurst and return home.’
‘Because of a romantic entanglement that is ten years in the past? I think you exaggerate the matter, Aunt. Besides, I would not offend Eleanor for the world and I certainly would not disappoint the children so. They have been looking forward to this for weeks.’
‘Well, when you put it like that...’
Vivien stopped outside her door. ‘I am not so poor a creature that I cannot make polite conversation with an old flame.’
‘You kept your countenance well, I thought. All the same I did feel for you, my dear.’ Aunt Winifred paused. ‘You once cared for him very deeply, did you not?’
It was, thought Vivien, a masterly use of understatement. ‘We were once close.’
‘No one seeing you together could have doubted that. I have often thought that if your parents had not placed such importance on titles and wealth... Well, as you say, it was long ago.’
‘It is kind of you to be concerned for me, Aunt, but there is not the least need, I assure you.’ Vivien smiled and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Aunt Winifred.’
‘Goodnight, my dear. Sleep well.’
Vivien entered her room and closed the door behind her. Then she let out a long breath. For all her outward assurance she wasn’t certain how easy it would be to maintain an air of unconcern around Max. They had barely spoken a dozen words together and already her mind was in turmoil. All the emotions she had thought dead and buried had risen up to mock her this evening.
* * *
After the ladies had retired Max joined his male companions in the billiard room. The game removed the need for conversation and afforded him leisure to try and order his thoughts. All his preconceived ideas about this visit had gone up in smoke as soon as he set eyes on Lady Vivien Hastings. It was more than just a shock: the encounter had given him a visceral jolt. She ha
d always been beautiful but maturity had only enhanced that. Her figure, though a little fuller, was still superb, speaking of the woman now rather than the girl he remembered. The guinea gold hair was the same, the lovely bone structure of her face and that most kissable mouth. Only her eyes were different. Although still a vivid cornflower blue they lacked the sparkle he recalled. Of course, that was not to be wondered at when she had not long been widowed. He really hadn’t known about that. Her sadness touched him deeply, and he felt a stab of envy for the departed husband. It was swiftly succeeded by guilt. He had no business feeling envious. After all, he’d had his chance and thrown it away. What mattered were Vivien’s feelings, not his.
That was the reason he’d kept his distance all evening. It had been a lot harder than he’d anticipated. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, so much he would have liked to know, yet to enquire would have seemed like impertinence. Even though she was clearly as taken aback as he at their unforeseen meeting, she had been the model of courtesy. Considering his former behaviour that was magnanimous indeed. Taking his cue from her he had played his part, but the thought of having to maintain the role for the next fortnight filled him with dismay. He didn’t think his acting ability was equal to it. The last thing he wanted was to create tension as a result of some unguarded word or action. For all sorts of reasons it would be better if he removed himself from her sphere as soon as possible. That meant leaving Oakhurst. It couldn’t be done for a day or two until Christmas was over. Even then it was going to be awkward and he had no wish to offend his hosts, but somehow he was going to have to invent a credible excuse.
* * *
Vivien lay awake staring into the darkness. She guessed it was very late but sleep would not come because her mind was elsewhere, lost in a long-ago evening when she and Max last danced together...
She’d thought he seemed less cheerful than usual but had little guessed that the cotillion would be the prelude to heartbreak. When the dance ended they retired to the terrace but this time he didn’t take her in his arms and his expression filled her with foreboding.
‘Max, what is it? What’s wrong?’
‘There’s no easy way for me to tell you this,’ he replied, ‘but I must, even though I feel like the greatest cur in England.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘That I must end this, Vivien. I wish with all my heart that I could offer you the hope of a future but I cannot. I have no title and no fortune, in short no means of supporting you in the manner to which you are accustomed and have every right to expect.’
She paled. ‘I have never cared for those things. You know that.’
‘Easy to say so now, my dear, because you have never experienced want.’
‘I have a good dowry and in another two years I come into my majority.’
‘Your parents have never approved my suit; they see me only as a fortune hunter.’
That was plain truth. Her parents looked far higher for their daughter’s future husband and made no secret of the fact. Their attitude towards him was made clear by cold civility quite at variance with the warmth they showed to her rich and titled admirers.
‘Your background is respectable, and you are not so very poor, Max.’
‘My background may be respectable but it is hardly distinguished. My father was a merchant and not a particularly successful one. On his death he left me only a modest competence. It would never support a wife and family.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Until I have amended my financial situation I cannot think of marriage. That’s why I’m going to accept my uncle’s invitation to join his business in India.’
Her stomach lurched. ‘India?’
‘It’s the best hope I have.’
‘Then take me with you, Max. I could endure any hardship as long as we were together.’
‘India is not the place for European women. The climate is harsh, to say nothing of the squalor and disease. I won’t be responsible for subjecting you to that.’
‘I...I wouldn’t mind waiting.’ Even as she said it she wondered at her own boldness.
‘It could be years even if I am successful.’
‘I understand that.’
‘I couldn’t ask it of you.’
Her heart sank. She had been so sure that her feelings were returned. Hurt mingled with bewilderment. ‘Why could you not ask, Max? What is it you’re not saying?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Is it?’
‘I can’t allow you to sacrifice your life like that.’
‘Sacrifice? Why should it be any such thing?’
‘What I meant was that you would be left dangling for who knows how long, and without any certainty of a secure financial future. I care too much to let you do it.’
Pride began to reassert itself. ‘No, Max, it’s clear that I don’t mean nearly enough.’
His cheeks were as pale as hers. ‘Now I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry for it. I should never have allowed things to go so far, but I couldn’t help myself. I allowed my feelings for you to overcome all common sense.’
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ‘Well then, perhaps it’s fortunate for both of us that you have recovered your common sense in time to prevent an imprudent marriage.’
‘It’s not what you think, Vivien. I care for you more than I’ve ever cared for anyone. You must believe that.’
‘I think I’ve deceived myself quite enough.’
‘No, never that. It’s because I care that I must set you free. The commitment that you want, that you deserve, is impossible. Please try to understand.’
‘I understand very well and now have only to be ashamed that I didn’t see it before.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear, more sorry than I can say.’
‘So am I, Max.’
They lapsed into tense silence for the space of several heartbeats. Then he said softly, ‘I can only hope that in time you will forgive me, and forget.’ With that he bowed and walked away...
Vivien closed her eyes. Memory still had the power to hurt. She’d heard it said that the first cut was the deepest. The details of that last conversation had never left her; at the time she’d felt sure there were things he hadn’t said. That was just wishful thinking of course. The truth was that, being so young and so inexperienced, she’d failed to realise that his feelings were not as involved as her own, that he didn’t want commitment. The humiliation of rejection stung for a long time afterwards, along with the shame of having thrown herself at his head. That part of it was her fault. She had been cautioned against boldness and broken the rules. He had been honest, albeit belatedly, and she had long since forgiven him the hurt. However, forgetting him was infinitely harder.
Chapter Two
The following morning was Christmas Day and the company walked to church. It was bitterly cold but dry at least and, ordinarily, Vivien would have enjoyed the fresh air and exercise. As it was her thoughts were elsewhere.
Aunt Winifred eyed the heavens doubtfully. ‘I think we shall have snow ere long.’
Vivien nodded. ‘You may well be right. I really don’t mind as long as it doesn’t start now.’
‘Oh, no. We shall be safe for a little while yet, my dear.’
‘You seem very certain.’
‘My father taught me to recognise the signs...’
Vivien smiled and feigned interest but her gaze kept moving ahead to the tall figure walking beside Eleanor and Andrew. Beyond wishing each other the compliments of the season and exchanging a few polite commonplaces, she and Max had not spoken that morning. When everyone left the house for the walk to church he made no attempt to seek her out either. It was quite obvious that he found this close proximity as uncomfortable as she did.
The thought persisted when he seated himself as far away from her as possible in church. She tried to concentrate on the service, but it proved impossible and she had to fight the urge to glance in his direction. It was disconcerting to discover how unsett
ling a presence he was. After all these years it ought not to be. She began to wonder if Aunt Winifred had not been right about leaving Oakhurst.
Although she turned it over in her mind she already knew it wasn’t a viable possibility for all the reasons she had given before. There was nothing for it but to put a calm face on the situation and ride it out. It was only for a couple of weeks. Then they’d go their separate ways and never meet again. The knowledge was like an icy chill around her heart.
* * *
Eventually the service ended and they filed out of the church again into the wintry air. Vivien darted a swift glance along the path but Max had his back to her and was currently engaged in conversation with Andrew and Peter. She swallowed hard and looked away again.
‘What a rousing sermon that was,’ said Aunt Winifred.
‘Oh...yes.’ In truth Vivien hadn’t heard a word of it. ‘Absolutely splendid.’
‘I was sure you had enjoyed it. You looked rapt.’
They made their way back down the path towards the lychgate and thence into the lane beyond. From the leafless copse nearby a flock of rooks rose cawing into a yellow-grey sky. Vivien shivered.
‘Come, Aunt. This is no weather to linger out of doors.’
‘I confess, my dear, I do feel rather chilly myself.’
‘Then let us walk back. See, the others are coming now.’
‘So they are.’
They began to make their way along the lane. Usually it would have been muddy at this season but frost had rendered it drier for walking. However, it had also solidified the ruts. They had barely gone a hundred yards when Aunt Winifred uttered a little cry and stumbled. Vivien grasped her arm.
‘Good gracious! Are you all right, Aunt?’
‘No harm done, dear. I turned my ankle a little, that is all.’
‘You were lucky not to fall.’
A tall figure appeared beside them and they looked round to see Max. He regarded her aunt in concern.
‘I hope you are not hurt, Miss Pritchard.’
‘Oh.’ Aunt Winifred reddened a little. ‘Thank you, Mr Calderwood. I am quite well.’
‘This frozen ground is treacherous,’ he went on. ‘Pray take my arm, ma’am.’
Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical) Page 19
