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He had asked her to marry him. He had said he loved her. The confusion and joy that had first washed over her when he spoke those words had receded. Vivianna Greentree, who had always declared she paid no heed to society’s rules and strictures, who believed that people should be judged on what they did rather than who they were, had come to a painful realization.
She could not possibly marry Oliver Montegomery.
Not if she wanted to be happy, and to make him happy.
He was a Montegomery, a member of a proud and ancient aristocratic family. Whatever he might say to the contrary, that heritage clung to him and had formed him into what he was. Lawson had been right in that, if nothing else. Oliver would be expected to marry the daughter of an earl at the very least.
Vivianna, the bastard daughter of Aphrodite and Fraser, was barred from polite society. She had been sneered at, stared at askance, and her family was ostracized and ridiculed. She might ignore all that and still insist on marrying him, but it would be a cruel and selfish act.
If Oliver really loved her—and who knew whether or not he really did?—he might pretend it didn’t matter. But it did matter. It would matter to him, eventually. He would come to hate her.
Better not to put either of them in such an uncomfortable and ultimately disastrous position.
Despite how much she longed to.
Chapter 21
“I want ye to come and live here, lass.”
Fraser looked thinner than ever, his hands like claws upon the covers. The big tabby cat had curled up on his bed today, comfortably within stroking distance, and with one eye on Vivianna.
“Alone?” she said. “My family would not approve.”
“Yer family,” he muttered. “I am yer family!”
“But I have only just met you, Fraser.”
“My blood runs in yer veins!” he shouted, and then he began to cough. Vivianna found him water, and helped him lift his head to sip.
Vivianna supposed that no matter how rude and nasty Fraser could be, he was her father, and soon he would be gone. She, who had always been weighed down by her sense of responsibility where others were concerned, found herself caught between the need to be a daughter to him and the wish that her father was someone else altogether.
She could not like him, and she knew he did not like her.
They were bound together by the ties of a kinship that exhilarated neither of them. And that made her sad.
At one time Vivianna had believed that finding her parents would make her the happiest woman in England, but it wasn’t so. She had always had contentment—her life at Greentree Manor and her work with children. But a full and boundless happiness, what was that? Those fleeting moments with Oliver? The time she had spent in his arms, talking with him, sparring with him? But that, she reminded herself, had been an illusion. That man wasn’t the real Oliver…was it?
He hadn’t called upon her since Lawson’s arrest. Of course, he had been busy. Word had got about that Lord Lawson was under close arrest for the murder of Anthony, although he had yet to formally confess. It was whispered that Lawson was enjoying the notoriety, and there were rumors of further unsavory matters perpetrated by him in the course of his long career. Bribery and threats, beatings and disappearances. According to the newspapers, Oliver was the hero of the hour. Lord Montegomery was no longer a scoundrel and a rake, but the nation’s savior. It had a fine ring to it.
And he would see justice done eventually, Vivianna was certain of it.
Marry me. I love you.
Perhaps she should have gone to him, but she had been afraid. Vivianna, the fearless reformer, was suddenly shy of him. Besides, what would
she say? She was the bastard daughter of a courtesan and her lover; Oliver was the last of a proud and aristocratic family. And now she had finally realized just how big a chasm there was between them, and it frightened her.
A tear leaked beneath her lashes and ran down her cheek. She missed him. She missed everything about him. Her life was empty without him.
“Lass?” Fraser’s thin, clawlike hand reached out and brushed her skin, capturing the tear. His hazel eyes were uncertain, a little dismayed. “Why do ye weep?” he demanded. “There’s nothing to greet for. I dinna mind dying. I am old and my life is lived. Ye are young and yers is still to come.”
“There was a man…”
Fraser snorted. “A man,” he said in disgust. “Now ye can have any man ye want, girl! Have a dozen if ye so wish.”
Vivianna couldn’t help but laugh. “A dozen may be a little much for me, Fraser, but I will keep it in mind.”
“And dinna choose one who will hurt you, lass,” he added, eyeing her seriously. “I willna have my girl hurt by any man, woman, or child.”
