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The two sisters seemed cheered, some of the strain clearing from their faces. Vivianna kept the brave smile plastered to her own face until the coach set off, rumbling down the driveway to join the London road.
The Beatty sisters had given her much to think on. Not that she had the solution to their problems, not yet, but at least she felt she knew more about Oliver Montegomery, the man, than she had before. Perhaps she could turn it to her own advantage. Then again, she doubted he would be so easily overcome. For all his lazy smiles and indolent charm, there was a sense of strength and purpose about him that she was yet to fully understand.
Oh yes, there was far more to Oliver Montegomery than met the eye.
And what about Anthony’s fiancée and the rumors that Oliver had stolen the lady’s affections and his brother had seen them? Hardly admirable. But would a man seemingly without scruples be so changed by what he had done that he spent his days and nights in a drunken stupor? Surely
they were more likely to be the actions of a man suffering excessively from guilt and regret. A troubled soul.
Might there be hope for him? Redemption.
Vivianna knew she was just the woman to lead him there. And at the same time complete her own mission in regard to Candlewood. A memory of his mouth on hers intruded briefly, but Vivianna pushed it aside. She must concentrate on her purpose and not be distracted by this unlikely attraction she felt for him.
She would visit Berkeley Square tomorrow—she had no expectations of being allowed in or of Oliver being home, but she would leave her card for him, with a handwritten message upon the back of it. Something simple like…
I can help you.
Yes, let him make of that what he wished. Vivianna shivered, and thought that one way or another it would not be long before Oliver called upon her again…
Lady Marsh lived in Eaton Square, Belgravia, and she greeted Oliver with an unassumed pleasure that made him wonder, as he always wondered, why she continued to ally herself to him. After Anthony died, any sensible woman would have wiped her hands of him, but she hadn’t, and he was grateful.
They spoke generally for a time, of this and that, some of it gossip. Although she did not go into society much anymore, Lady Marsh liked to keep herself abreast of the latest news. Her arthritis kept her housebound and often bedridden, although today Oliver thought she seemed spry enough.
“Oliver,” she said at last, and her eyes, the same dark blue as his own, the same dark blue as all the Montegomeries had, fastened upon him. “I do not want to repeat myself, but it is time you found a wife and settled down and gave the Montegomeries an heir.”
He laughed despite himself. “No, please don’t repeat yourself, Aunt!”
“Oliver, be serious, this is very important. You need to think to the future.”
“Do I?”
“Oliver, I loved your brother dearly, and yes he was very dependable and solid, but he had neither your brilliance of mind nor your practical clear headedness.”
Oliver smiled and sipped his wine. Clearheadedness? Let his aunt have her illusions if she wished. If she could have seen him this morning in Queen’s Square, kissing Miss Vivianna Greentree in front of the servants, she would know that was something he singularly lacked. Perhaps he had lost his mind. That was it: Vivianna’s lecturing had sent him insane.
Evidently Lady Marsh took his smile for encouragement, for she continued on.
“Oliver, you do not have a partiality for Celia, do you?”
He blinked. “Celia Maclean? Of course not, Aunt.”
“I see. It is just that…”
“It is just that she was Anthony’s fiancée…almost,” he said grimly, “and she and I were together the night he died. I know, I was there.”
“So you were,” she replied, and waited.
“It was a mistake,” he said with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Just a stupid mistake. If Anthony hadn’t seen us, no one would have known…he wouldn’t have known. I never wanted to marry Celia, and I’m very sure she didn’t want to marry me. I betrayed his trust, but not from any ill will towards him. It was a simple, stupid misstep.”
Lady Marsh nodded. “Thank you, Oliver. I thought perhaps you were nursing a secret broken heart for the girl. I am glad to hear you are not. Well, as you yourself admit that you have no partialities, I have taken the liberty of drawing up a list of suitable young ladies.” She ignored his cynical grin. “I am sure, if you cast your eye over it, you will find someone to your liking. While I do not expect any of these young ladies to be as exotic as some of your current…friends, they are far more suitable as wives. Someone to grace your table, and on whom to hang the family emeralds. And, most important of all, someone to produce an heir to carry on the Montegomery name. To be blunt, Oliver, we need a filly of good breeding and bloodline if you are to have a strong colt off her.”
Again Oliver laughed. That was one thing he liked about his aunt, she was not mealymouthed. His smile faded. He supposed he would do it, even though he had seen enough arranged marriages for the idea to leave him cold. But it was his duty now, wasn’t it? He would marry a dull and suitable girl and father a child on her, and she would be prepared to put up with his indifference to her, his failure to love her, for the sake of belonging to one of England’s oldest families. Not to mention Lady Marsh’s fortune.
Lady Marsh was watching him, trying to read him.
“Very well, Aunt, I will examine your list. Although these days my reputation is not quite what a prospective father-in-law might want for his daughter.”
It was Lady Marsh’s turn to laugh. “I think you would find he would be too dazzled by my fortune to take any notice of your reputation, Oliver.”
