An Affair Without End Read Online Free Page A

returned to her, and his frown deepened. “No doubt ’tis the gown you’re wearing.”
    Vivian came crashing quickly back into the present. How could I have thought Oliver was any different? She scowled back at him. “My gown? You think people are staring at us because of my gown? I take it you do not mean because it is so fashionable.”
    His mouth tightened. “It exposes rather more of you than is quite decent.”
    Vivian’s eyes flashed. “There is nothing improper about my dress, I assure you. Mrs. Treherne’s neckline is a good deal lower than mine.”
    “You wish to be compared to Mrs. Treherne?”
    “I don’t wish to be compared to anyone,” Vivian retorted. “It was you who commented on the appropriateness of my dress. I was merely pointing out that there are a number of women here whose gowns are no more decent than mine, and I don’t see anyone staring at them.”
    “That is because they don’t look as you do in yours.”
    Vivian stared at him, nonplussed. “I scarce know whether to take that as a jab or a compliment.”
    He looked faintly surprised. “I’m not sure that I meant it as either.”
    She could not help but let out a little laugh. “Really, Stewkesbury, you are quite hopeless. Have you never looked in the mirror and seen that you are not old?”
    It was distinctly unfair, she thought, that a man should have such compelling pewter-colored eyes, not to mention a smile that could suddenly light his face so that one’s heart turned in one’s chest . . . and yet be so unwaveringly staid.
    His face stiffened. “Are you saying that one has to be old to expect certain standards of—”
    “No, I am saying that no young man has ever criticized me for exposing too much of my bosom.”
    Color rushed into Oliver’s face, and a light flared briefly in his eyes. “Vivian! Have a care what you say. Not everyone knows you as I do. There are those who would take your free sort of speech quite the wrong way.”
    “But I know you never will.” Vivian sighed. It was useless to get upset over what he said. Oliver was simply beingOliver, after all. She cocked her head a little to one side and smiled up at him. “Please . . . let us not argue, especially over something as inconsequential as my gown. The music is too lovely, and I am too happy to be back in London.”
    “Of course.” He gave a brief nod of his head. “I did not intend to argue with you.” He paused. “How was Marchester? Did you enjoy your visit home?”
    “Yes.” The lackluster tone in her voice was clear even to Vivian, and she went on hastily, “I could scarcely imagine being anywhere else at Christmas. ’Tis home, after all.”
    “And that means a great deal,” Oliver agreed.
    Vivian suspected that it meant far more to him than to her, but she did not say so. “I am always happy to see Papa and Gregory.”
    “How is Seyre? Still buried in his books?”
    Vivian chuckled fondly as she nodded. “And in his correspondence. Gregory receives letters and packages from all over the world—gentlemen farmers in America, managers of tea plantations in Ceylon, explorers from around the globe. He is mad for plants at the moment, and I think he is going to build another greenhouse.”
    “Yes, I have talked with him now and then about crops. He has some interesting ideas.”
    Vivian grinned. Few besides her brother and Oliver would term such a conversation interesting. “I think that experimenting with the farms is one of the few things that reconciles him to inheriting the title someday. Of course, most of the tenants think him mad—harmless and good, but a trifle touched in his upper works.”
    “I am sure his people are most fond of him.”
    “Yes, they are—but I don’t believe they think he will be quite a proper duke, not the way Papa is.”
    “They prefer your father?”
    “You needn’t be so surprised.”
    “I’m sorry.” Oliver looked somewhat abashed. “I didn’t mean—”
    “That the duke is a little