Sara Bennett (11 page)

The words seemed to hang in the air between them—tempting fate, Vivianna thought, with a shiver.

“Return tomorrow morning at eleven,
mon chou,
and we will see what can be done.”

“Thank you.” Vivianna rose to her feet.

“I cannot promise miracles, but I think you will find it is not so painful as you expect, nor so complicated. You may even enjoy it.”

“I am most grateful.”

Aphrodite showed her out into the hall and accompanied her to the front door. “Tell me, Miss Green
tree…” Her voice sounded a little husky now, as though she were tired. “Will you satisfy my curiosity a little further?”

Vivianna smiled. “If I can. What is it you wish to know?”

“Have you ever tried to discover who your mother was? Have you ever made attempts to contact her?”

Vivianna shook her head sadly. “My past is so shadowy now. With time memories have faded, and unfortunately I knew none of the necessarily details it would have taken to trace my family. Her name, or her home…I decided it was best to forget the past and make the most of what I had. My sister, Marietta, is more determined. She says she will find our mother one day. My younger sister, Francesca, says she has forgotten the past. For myself, when I decided to help other children, I realized how very fortunate I was in comparison to so many of them. I knew then that it would be selfish of me to continue to mourn my past. Who I am is no longer important to me; it is what I do with my life now that has meaning.”

Aphrodite was staring at her, and her face was completely white. She reached out a hand and clung to the bellpull. Far away, Vivianna heard it jangling for the servant.

“Are you unwell?” she asked, shaken by the blank, blind look in the woman’s eyes, the visible trembling of her lips in that chalky face. All her beauty had gone, and she was old.

Aphrodite shook her head—a ringlet fell lose against her shoulder. “What shall I call you?” she whispered. “Tell me, tell me, what is your name?”

There was an urgency in her voice that had not been there before. The careful French had faded. Suddenly Vivianna could hear the woman’s true origins clearly,
a brash London accent fighting through the Parisian one. It seemed that this famous courtesan had come from humble beginnings, just like so many others.

Startled by this new knowledge, and by Aphrodite’s strangeness, she said, “My name is Vivianna.”

Aphrodite trembled violently. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.”

Just then Dobson came running and, seeing his mistress so fragile and close to collapse, he caught her up against him, just as she began to crumple to the floor. Vivianna, who was holding her arm to support her, now stood uncertain.

Dobson gave her a furious look. “What have you done?”

Aphrodite swallowed, shaking her head. “No, no, she’s done nothing. I need to lie down. I am unwell, that is all. I am unwell. Help me upstairs.”

“You have let yourself get overtired. You know the doctor said you have to take better care of yourself.” Dobson cast Vivianna another searing look, but his attention was all for Aphrodite. Concern filled his eyes, but also something warmer, deeper. Vivianna realized then that Dobson was not just Aphrodite’s servant. He loved her.

Still holding her in his arms, he strode quickly toward the staircase. Aphrodite rallied, lifting her head to look at Vivianna over his shoulder, where she stood irresolute by the door.

“Come tomorrow. Eleven. Do not fail,
mon chou
!”

“I will come, Madame, I promise. If you are well enough—”

“I will be. I will be. Do not fail!”

Vivianna watched as they reached the top of the stairs and vanished into the shadows there. Was she ill, and, as Dobson seemed to suggest, Vivianna had tired
her? “Maybe I have made a mistake in coming here,” she murmured to herself. But no, despite what had happened, she did not think so. Aphrodite still wanted to help her, and Vivianna had found, as they spoke together, a trust in the other woman that was surprising. In many ways they were poles apart, and yet there was a similarity, too. As if, once, Aphrodite may have had the same questioning, passionate qualities as Vivianna.

“O
liver? Have you had a chance yet to look over the names on the list?” Lady Marsh asked, and fanned herself leisurely. The early roses were blooming in her garden and she was enjoying being seated among them on this fine afternoon. Oliver had taken a turn about the lawn and had stood, gazing at nothing, until her question broke his reverie.

“I have, Aunt. I must say that none of them strikes me as a particularly riveting prospect. Maybe I could bear to stand up with them at a dance, but as for spending the rest of my life with any of them…” He shuddered dramatically.

“The rest of your life won’t be very long if you continue on as you are,” Lady Marsh said acerbically.

Oliver gave her his reckless smile. “Touché.”

“Besides, no discerning woman would marry a man who wears a waistcoat like yours, Oliver.”

Oliver glanced down at the offending item. A yellow waistcoat embroidered in a particularly repellent green, with red embellishments. The buttons were
turquoise and large and shiny, their brass surrounds catching the sun. He smiled wickedly at his aunt. “What’s wrong with it? You won’t see many of these about London.”

Lady Marsh shuddered. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

Bentling, Lady Marsh’s butler, was picking his stately way across the grounds toward them, a silver salver in one hand.

“Are you expecting visitors?” Oliver asked.

Lady Marsh snapped shut her fan. “No, I am not. How annoying! I wanted to go through the list with you. There are some quite lovely girls from whom to choose.”

“Aunt…”

Bentling had reached them. “My lady, there is a young person asking to see you.”

Lady Marsh took the card from the salver and read it. Her face remained impassive. “Very well, Bentling. Show the young person out here to me.”

Bentling bowed and made his stately way back toward the house. Oliver threw himself carelessly into a chair, staring moodily.

A flash of color caught his eye on the edge of the lawn. Oliver looked up and felt his heart give a hard, painful jolt. Miss Vivianna Greentree was standing there in the sunlight, dazzling in a white muslin dress with patterned sprays of yellow and green. And she was holding in her hand a yellow silk parasol with a long, elegant handle and a green silk fringe. It was completely frivolous—one word Oliver had never thought to associate with Vivianna.

As the shock receded, his eyes narrowed. What had she done to herself? Her gown was still extremely respectable, but it was undoubtedly more fashionable, softer, more feminine, and with the tight sleeves and
neckline shaped into a low V over her breasts, far more tantalizing. Her hair, too, was softer, with curls looped either side of her face, and the remainder fixed into a knot atop her head. Miss Vivianna Greentree had, like a butterfly, undergone a metamorphosis.

She stepped forward and his gaze slid down over her wide, gathered skirts and stopped, astonished. She had lifted her hem slightly, to assist her progress across the lawn, and he saw now that she was wearing yellow half-boots with ribbons tied at her narrow ankles, accentuating their delicacy.

His mouth actually watered.

A vivid image came to him of Vivianna, naked apart from her yellow half-boots. He thought he might instantly combust.

“Oliver?”

Lady Marsh was calling him impatiently. When he turned to her at last, blinking to clear his mind, she was frowning.

“Whatever is the matter, Oliver? Do you know this girl?”

“I do,” he said, and to his relief his voice was its usual lazy drawl. “Prepare yourself, Aunt. You are about to make the acquaintance of Miss Vivianna Greentree.”

“And
who
is
she
?”

“My nemesis,” he replied dryly, and rose to his feet as Vivianna reached them.

“Lady Marsh?” Vivianna’s voice was as firm as ever, but the restless flicker of her eyes told him she was nervous. And well she might be; if anyone could rout Vivianna, then it was Lady Marsh. Oliver prepared to enjoy himself.

“Lady Marsh, I do hope you don’t mind me calling upon you unannounced, and without a proper invitation.”

“It depends on what you are calling for, Miss Greentree.”

Vivianna cleared her throat and glanced at Oliver. Her eyes widened at the sight of his waistcoat, and then shifted to his face. For some reason her gaze appeared to stick there, and she let it linger, perusing each feature one at a time. When she reached his mouth, Oliver grinned, and watched her face turn fiery beneath the parasol.

Lady Marsh sent Oliver a stern look, and then raised her brows at Vivianna. “Well, Miss Greentree? I am waiting. What is it you want?”

“Perhaps your nephew has mentioned my name, Lady Marsh?”

“No, I cannot say he has.”

Lady Marsh was giving her no leeway, and Oliver grew even more amused. Had Vivianna met her match? He almost felt a little sorry for her—almost.

“Oh.” Vivianna made as if to glance at Oliver again and then thought better of it, stiffening her back and staring directly at Lady Marsh. The creamy slope of her naked shoulders, and the swell of her breasts beneath the white muslin, were presented for Oliver’s inspection. Not to mention her delightful profile. He prepared to admire her without, for once, being the object of one of her lectures.

“Lady Marsh, I am one of the founders of the Shelter for Poor Orphans, a private charitable organization which assists abandoned children. The shelter is located at Candlewood, and there my friends and colleagues are caring for some twenty-five orphans.”

Lady Marsh looked a little startled. “Indeed.”

“Your nephew wishes to demolish Candlewood, which will leave us with nowhere suitable to house the children. I have asked him to change his mind, but
thus far I don’t seem to have made much impression upon him.”

“Oh, but you have,” Oliver murmured, and smiled as another wave of warmth crept into her cheeks. He wanted to bend her over his arm and kiss her senseless.

The fantasy had its inevitable affect. Oliver shifted uncomfortably and wished he had not allowed his imagination to run riot.

“Oliver, please stop disconcerting Miss Greentree,” Lady Marsh said, but she sounded mild, almost as if her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Miss Greentree knows I will not change my mind, Aunt. She should concentrate on finding other lodgings for her orphans, if she is not satisfied with the building I have offered her in Bethnal Green.”

“I do not want another building,” Vivianna cried, and he saw the wonderful passion in her face. Her eyes were alight, too, as her determination to have her way caught fire within her. “Candlewood is home to those twenty-five children. How can you ask them to leave their
home
?”

Oliver made an impatient sound. “You see?” he asked, turning to his aunt. “Miss Greentree will not accept that she cannot prevail.”

But Lady Marsh jabbed her fan at him. “I think Miss Greentree has a very good point, Oliver. I do not pretend to know all the finer details of her argument, but I think you need to discuss it further with her.”

“Aunt!”

Vivianna gave Lady Marsh a beatific smile. “Thank you so much, ma’am! I think…oh, if only he would come with me to Candlewood, to speak with the Beatty sisters and the orphans, I am sure—”

“Good God, no!”

“Why not, Oliver?” Another jab of the fan. “Surely it can do you no harm to meet these people.”

Oliver began to feel seriously hunted. His aunt was wearing a look with which he was well acquainted. She was plotting something, and it did not bode well for him. While Vivianna was smiling as if she were a cat with a bowl of cream.

“Aunt, you are aware I cannot change my plans,” he said quietly. “There is no point in talking.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think talking is an excellent pastime,” Lady Marsh replied, a wicked gleam in her blue eyes. “Go and talk with these Beatty women and their children and see what you can do, Oliver. Surely you’re not afraid of a bunch of children, are you?”

Now both women gave him a suspicious look, except that there was a hint of laughter in Vivianna’s sparkling eyes. Oliver cursed his aunt for turning against him like this. And Vivianna for appearing so suddenly, without warning, and sending his day into upheaval.

Warning? Do I need warning?

Yes, he thought grimly, he did! Where Vivianna Greentree was concerned he most definitely needed warning. He had a most unfortunate habit of losing control when she was near.

“Of course I am not afraid. It is just that I choose not to waste my time—”

“Come, come, Oliver, let Miss Greentree show you what wonders she has wrought at Candlewood. As your only living relative, I insist upon it.”

He felt as if he were sliding down a slippery tunnel. The two women were closing in on him, figuratively speaking. His aunt had her own agenda, but Vivianna…if he continued to refuse, she would think him weak. A coward. For some reason Oliver did not
want her to think him a coward, despite the fact that he had been playing a cowardly part now for over a year.

“Very well,” he said in a long-suffering voice. “Very well, I will go with you to Candlewood, Miss Greentree. But we will go in my coach, and together. Or perhaps you would prefer not to spend so much time in my company?”

He made it sound like a threat, but although she cast him a quick, sideways glance, her reply was breezy. “I am not concerned,” she said, and smiled. The smile was enchanting. He could forgive her the calculating eyes for the sake of the smile. And then she had turned back to Lady Marsh and was thanking her, apologizing for taking up her time, and saying goodbye.

Oliver sat down and watched her leave through slitted eyes, one leg crossed over the other, his foot swinging in agitation.

“What an interesting young lady,” Lady Marsh said.

“Would you call her that? Annoying, infuriating…I think these are better words to describe Miss Greentree.”

“Oh yes, very interesting. She is not in the usual way at all, is she? I suppose it would be too much to hope she has been presented at court?”

Oliver laughed in genuine amusement. “I very much doubt it, Aunt. She is more interested in slums than royal palaces.”

“She is a reformer, Oliver. Is that what you are telling me in your own sardonic way?”

“Yes, Aunt, she is.”

“And she is from…?”

“Yorkshire, I believe. Greentree Manor. Her mother is a Lady Greentree, and she is staying in London with
her aunt, Mrs. Helen Russell. I think there was some scandal there, but it escapes me.”

“Toby Russell, a horrid man, yes, I remember. He eloped with Helen, a beauty, for her family’s money, and the silly girl thought it was love. The brother, William Tremaine, was too terrified of scandal to hold out. Of course, Toby Russell soon ran through the girl’s dowry. I wonder if she thinks it was worth it? All for love, eh, Oliver?”

Oliver gave a mocking smile. “If you imagine for a moment I am contemplating Miss Vivianna Greentree as a possible bride, then you are very much mistaken, Aunt. She would drive me to Bedlam in a month. Besides, you know that matters are coming to a head. I do not need any further complications. Please don’t meddle.”

“Who said anything about meddling?” Lady Marsh made her eyes suspiciously wide and innocent.

Oliver moved to take her hand and touch it to his lips. “I mean it, Aunt. Do not think to saddle me with Miss Greentree. I will peruse your list again. Maybe there is someone on it I can stomach after all.”

Lady Marsh watched him, a little smile of satisfaction on her lips, which Oliver found very disturbing.

Vivianna leaned back in the coach and took several deep breaths. She could hardly believe she had been so successful. It was, she was sure, thanks to Aphrodite. She had called upon the other woman at eleven, as requested, only to find Aphrodite still unwell and unable to meet with her. But Aphrodite had left detailed instructions with a poker-faced modiste called Elena, who was awaiting her in the same elegant room.

The modiste had explained that it was she who made the clothing for Madame Aphrodite’s protégées—
and Madame Aphrodite herself, she added, with a reverence that told Vivianna more about the modiste than Aphrodite. “I have a shop in Regent Street,” she said proudly. Elena seemed to believe that Vivianna was one of the protégées, and Vivianna had thought it best to pretend it was so. Besides, new clothing was something Lady Greentree had instructed her about, and she had the letter allowing her to draw upon Lady Greentree’s account at Hoare’s Private Bank on Fleet Street.

In no time, Elena and her assistant had Vivianna down to her undergarments. Elena had then set about measuring her, discreetly murmuring numbers to her minion to be written down in a little book. The modiste had brought with her samples of cloth, pattern books, and some dresses that were already made up to a near-finished state. “Madame Aphrodite explained your size to me,” she had said, when a surprised Vivianna had asked how they knew what would fit her. Aphrodite was clearly very observant, for with a few adjustments here and there, the garments had been complete. One of them was the white muslin dress with the yellow and green pattern that she had on now, and the matching half-boots, which pinched a little. Vivianna had never worn anything so frivolous, and had been quite sure it would not suit her.

She had been wrong. The dress had brought out the coquette in her, a part of her personality that she had not known existed. She felt attractive and playful, and she found she was enjoying herself.

The frivolous yellow silk parasol with the fringe and ivory-tipped handle had been added at the last moment. It had come with instructions from Aphrodite that, to her certain knowledge, Oliver was presently visiting Lady Marsh’s house in Eaton
Square, Belgravia, and that Vivianna should call upon him there. There had been a note, too: