Read Online An Affair Without End by Candace Camp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Candace Camp
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not discourage you.” She looked down, casting her eyes back up at him flirtatiously. “So you see, I can hardly fault your behavior, now, can I?”
Oliver simply stared at her as though stunned. He pulled his eyes away, shifting a little in his seat. “Good Lord, Vivian, it’s no wonder that men kiss you if you go about talking in that manner.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t speak to most men that way. But with you, it’s entirely different. We have known each other this age. Why, you are practically like a cousin to me.”
“A cousin! I trust you don’t go about kissing your cousins so!”
Another merry trill of laughter burst from her. “Goodness, no. My cousins are generally horrid. And I never had a tendre for any of them when I was a schoolgirl.”
She had apparently rendered him speechless again. A line of red crept along the ridge of his cheekbone, and he turned his head abruptly away, gazing out the carriage window.
“There, I have embarrassed you. I shall say I’m sorry, too, and we’ll call the account settled. Let us speak of something else.” Taking his silence for assent, Vivian went on, “Would you like to hear why I’m going to see Mr. Brookman?”
“Who?” He turned back to her, apparently willing to drop the matter of their kiss the night before. “I thought you were going to Rundell and Bridge.”
“Oh, no. Papa always used them, of course, but several years ago I saw a magnificent brooch on Lady Sedgefield, and she told me that she purchased it at Brookman and Son. So I visited his shop, and I’ve gone back ever since. The man is a genius at design and just as splendid at resetting old pieces. A number of the things I buy are old, you see, andmagnificent as they are, I can’t wear them. They are much too ornate for today’s fashion. Some are too wonderful to break up, of course, and those I simply put in my collection, but, well, what’s the point of buying jewels if one cannot wear them? So Brookman resets most of them in simpler pieces. That is what he’s done with the Scots Green, which I’m picking up today.”
“The what? An emerald?”
“No, a green diamond. They are one of the rarest of diamonds, you know; only red ones are rarer. And ones the size of the Scots Green are most unusual. They’re difficult to cut because the color can be splotchy or only on the surface.”
Stewkesbury’s brows lifted in surprise. “You seem to know a great deal about this.”
She nodded. “I’ve always loved jewels, you know. Papa was wont to give them to me.”
Vivian’s mother had died not long after Vivian was born, and her father, freed of an unhappy marriage, had spent most of his time in London during Vivian’s youth, leaving her to the care of nurses and governesses. Intermittently touched by guilt, he would send her gifts or bring them home with him when he returned for one of his infrequent visits.
“His gifts, of course, were largely unsuitable for a child,” Vivian went on lightly. “Little glass figures or a pigeon’s blood ruby set in a filigreed brooch. My governess would cluck over the thought of sending such breakables to a child and set them up high out of my reach. It will come as no surprise to you that I climbed up to take them down and examine them. I loved the gems—the glitter, the deep, rich tones, the glow of the gold settings.” She shrugged. “So when I was older, I started buying them myself. There’s something fascinating about them—not just the beauty, but the stories behind the gems.”
She glanced over at Oliver and found him watching herintently. She felt suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you staring at me so?”
“Was I? I’ve never heard you speak so . . . seriously about something.”
“I’m not entirely frivolous. Though I suppose some would say that jewelry is a frivolous matter to begin with.”
“Mm. I think to many, it’s been a matter of life and death.”
This time, Vivian raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Oliver simply stared at her as though stunned. He pulled his eyes away, shifting a little in his seat. “Good Lord, Vivian, it’s no wonder that men kiss you if you go about talking in that manner.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t speak to most men that way. But with you, it’s entirely different. We have known each other this age. Why, you are practically like a cousin to me.”
“A cousin! I trust you don’t go about kissing your cousins so!”
Another merry trill of laughter burst from her. “Goodness, no. My cousins are generally horrid. And I never had a tendre for any of them when I was a schoolgirl.”
She had apparently rendered him speechless again. A line of red crept along the ridge of his cheekbone, and he turned his head abruptly away, gazing out the carriage window.
“There, I have embarrassed you. I shall say I’m sorry, too, and we’ll call the account settled. Let us speak of something else.” Taking his silence for assent, Vivian went on, “Would you like to hear why I’m going to see Mr. Brookman?”
“Who?” He turned back to her, apparently willing to drop the matter of their kiss the night before. “I thought you were going to Rundell and Bridge.”
“Oh, no. Papa always used them, of course, but several years ago I saw a magnificent brooch on Lady Sedgefield, and she told me that she purchased it at Brookman and Son. So I visited his shop, and I’ve gone back ever since. The man is a genius at design and just as splendid at resetting old pieces. A number of the things I buy are old, you see, andmagnificent as they are, I can’t wear them. They are much too ornate for today’s fashion. Some are too wonderful to break up, of course, and those I simply put in my collection, but, well, what’s the point of buying jewels if one cannot wear them? So Brookman resets most of them in simpler pieces. That is what he’s done with the Scots Green, which I’m picking up today.”
“The what? An emerald?”
“No, a green diamond. They are one of the rarest of diamonds, you know; only red ones are rarer. And ones the size of the Scots Green are most unusual. They’re difficult to cut because the color can be splotchy or only on the surface.”
Stewkesbury’s brows lifted in surprise. “You seem to know a great deal about this.”
She nodded. “I’ve always loved jewels, you know. Papa was wont to give them to me.”
Vivian’s mother had died not long after Vivian was born, and her father, freed of an unhappy marriage, had spent most of his time in London during Vivian’s youth, leaving her to the care of nurses and governesses. Intermittently touched by guilt, he would send her gifts or bring them home with him when he returned for one of his infrequent visits.
“His gifts, of course, were largely unsuitable for a child,” Vivian went on lightly. “Little glass figures or a pigeon’s blood ruby set in a filigreed brooch. My governess would cluck over the thought of sending such breakables to a child and set them up high out of my reach. It will come as no surprise to you that I climbed up to take them down and examine them. I loved the gems—the glitter, the deep, rich tones, the glow of the gold settings.” She shrugged. “So when I was older, I started buying them myself. There’s something fascinating about them—not just the beauty, but the stories behind the gems.”
She glanced over at Oliver and found him watching herintently. She felt suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you staring at me so?”
“Was I? I’ve never heard you speak so . . . seriously about something.”
“I’m not entirely frivolous. Though I suppose some would say that jewelry is a frivolous matter to begin with.”
“Mm. I think to many, it’s been a matter of life and death.”
This time, Vivian raised her eyebrows in surprise.
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