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She was right; he knew it. He was the bitter pill that must be swallowed for the sake of Lady Marsh’s fortune—not Montegomery money, which was a mere trickle these days, but that of her late husband. And yet, as he followed her into the dining room to partake of luncheon, Oliver suddenly found himself wondering what he would do if—unlikely as it seemed—Vivianna Greentree was on his aunt’s list of prospective brides. Would he be disinterested then? The thought was so deliciously tantalizing he wanted to stop and savor it.
What was it about her? Putting aside her obsession with Candlewood, wasn’t she the epitome of the sort of woman he had always avoided? Or perhaps it was just that he was tired of being pleased; perhaps he needed someone like Vivianna, someone who would stand up to him and look him in the eye.
Damnation, don’t lecture me, woman, he had said to her this morning, and she had looked straight through him. No, not through, inside him. And then he had kissed her. And he had known, wrap it up in whatever lies he liked, at that moment, with his lips touching hers, that that was the true reason he had come to see her.
“Oliver.” Lady Marsh was looking ahead, not meeting his eyes, and suddenly he felt the tension in the twisted fingers resting upon his arm.
“Yes, Aunt?”
“I had a visit from Lord Lawson a day or two ago.”
Oliver felt his face go blank. “Oh?”
“He had come, he said, because he had heard disturbing news about Candlewood. That you meant to tear it down. He was very…well, you know what he is, he was very authoritative, as if he were giving one of his speeches to Parliament. He asked me if I could change your mind, and that it would not reflect well upon the family if you went ahead. That sort of thing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said you were your own man and I had little influence over you.”
“Good.”
“Actually, I had the feeling he was rather glad you were demolishing the place, but he thought he should pretend the opposite. That man is so devious I sometimes wonder if he himself knows what he’s thinking.”
Oliver smiled. “While Candlewood is standing his reputation is in danger. He thinks when it is dust he will be safe. But soon he will learn that matters are not quite as simple as that….”
“Oliver…he mentioned Anthony. He said Anthony would not have liked the person you have become. He said that Anthony would have felt let down by you.”
For a moment Oliver felt sick with fury, but he swallowed it down. Made himself calm again before he spoke. “I see.” He allowed the thud of her cane to fill the silence as they reached the dining room.
“Oliver, I have been thinking…. I do not know if you should go on with this plan of yours, to avenge Anthony. I know I gave approval, and at the time I quite saw the point you were making, but now…well, I have been wondering of late whether we have been looking for a culprit to blame when there is none. Perhaps Anthony did kill himself, Oliver. I know it is not what you want to hear, but we must face the fact that as levelheaded as Anthony seemed, he may have decided, in a foolish moment, to take his own life.”
Oliver knew he must choose his words carefully, and yet he felt hot and dizzy, as though he had been out in the sun too long. Had Lord Lawson caused thi
s, his aunt’s doubt? Now, when it was almost over? Perhaps, he thought bleakly, she had always doubted him, but had played along for his own sake, to salve his conscience.
“Anthony would never have killed himself,” he said, and only the tremor of his voice showed the pressure he had to bring to bear upon himself. “His heart was stouter than that. He was murdered and we both know by whom. Be patient, Aunt, that is all I ask. It will be over soon.”
“Oliver, are you positive that—”
“Yes. You think I want to close my eyes to the possibility that Anthony killed himself, because then I would have to accept the blame? I do accept the blame. If I had not been with Celia, then Anthony would have told me what it was that was bothering him. He had spoken before, but only bits and pieces, nothing that had made much sense at the time. That night he had finally come to me to explain the whole story, to ask me for my advice. Despite the difference in our ages, despite what people thought about our differing characters, he sometimes did ask my advice, you know. But that night Celia was there, and…He walked out, he walked all the way to Candlewood, and took his secret with him to the grave.”
Lady Marsh’s cane thudded on the floor, muffled by the carpet. “You will not listen to me, Oliver, so I may as well save my breath. Only let me say this one more thing.”
They had reached her chair at the head of the table. “You may say whatever you wish, Aunt.”
Lady Marsh struggled into her seat. Settled at last, she looked up at Oliver, and her hard, proud face was pleading. She looked her age, and she looked worried.
“Oliver, you must find a wife and marry. There is solace in making a family of your own. You are too much alone these days. Oh, I know, you are always with people, but a man can stand in a crowded room and still be alone. Look at my list of brides and choose one. Please.”
Oliver forced himself to smile, forced the anger from him. She meant well. She loved him, in her way.
“Very well, I will look at your list, Aunt.”
Pointless, brother! Miss Vivianna Greentree will not be on it.
Anthony’s voice in his head took him by surprise, and Oliver gave a more genuine smile. Anthony would say such a thing, cut straight to the heart of the matter. That was something he missed a great deal now that his brother was gone—someone to tell him exactly what he thought without skirting the issue, or pandering to his sensibilities.
And at that moment he realized what it was about Vivianna that intrigued him so. She, like Anthony, did not scruple to tell him exactly what she thought.
