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“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…?”
