There was a huge mural on the ceiling with gods in battle armor and nymphs in not very much at all. He heard the sounds of pursuit, and knew in his heart that soon he was going to die. But, he told himself desperately, if he hid the letters, if he left a clue, then his brother would find them and avenge his death.
His brother, whom only hours before he had felt betrayed him. But now, in his moment of great peril, his feelings were redefined, made simple. He knew his brother loved him. Just as he loved his brother.
He turned again. There was a huge mirror on the wall, tarnished and cracked, but he could see into it. He could see himself.
Anthony. It was Anthony who stared back at him. Anthony, in the last moments of his life.
The dream began to fade.
Oliver struggled to retain it, to keep himself within it, but he was spinning away, the room revolving, his brother’s face growing pale and distant below him.
“No!”
Oliver sat up in the library, his heart pounding, his breath heaving, the sweat dripping from him. He was alone, he thought, glanc
ing to the dying fire and the smoking candles. All alone. He should be reassured by the fact, but he wasn’t.
He wanted someone to turn to and hold. He wanted a warm body beside him in bed at night. He wanted someone to smile when he smiled, and show concern when he was sad.
He wanted Vivianna.
He might not trust her, but he could not seem to stifle the feelings he had for her. Whatever she felt for him, he wanted her, and yet for her own sake he must stay away from her.
I’ll tell her the truth first. I must. I have to warn her about Lawson. And after that I won’t see her again, ever…
Vivianna was late retiring, but despite her confused thoughts, or perhaps because of them, she sought out the diary given to her by Aphrodite, and settled down to read.
Aphrodite was older now, and Jemmy had gone off to be a soldier and fight the French. She found it strange and difficult at first, learning to be all that she had admired. Because there were so many French émigrés about, it had been decided that she should play at being one.
The gentlemen like French ladies in distress.
In time, I moved on to other lovers. There were always gentlemen willing to share my life, for the sake of a moment of kindness or passion. And it was interesting and exciting, and I had many beautiful things. Once I returned to Seven Dials to visit my mother, but the rotting houses seemed worse than ever, and I could tell she did not want to see me. I never returned, but out of that visit something good came.
I saw Elena again, my friend from the days in the slop-shop.
She was pleased and happy to see me, and asked to hear my stories. I wanted to help her, and though at first she was uncertain whether to trust me, in time we grew close again. I bought her a place in which to sell her clothing, and she began to make my dresses. When I wore them to the theater or the opera, others would admire them, and I would give them her name.
In such a way are fortunes and reputations made and lost.
At first I did not miss Jemmy. I cannot pretend that I wanted that life back, when the new one was so full of color and excitement. Only sometimes, in the dark of the night, I would dream of Jemmy and his smiling face, and wake suddenly, wondering where he was. Dead, I thought. And if his voice called out to me from the throat of some man in the street, or I caught a glimpse of him in the face of a groom, then I would think, “Ah, it is the ghost of Jemmy.”
Because despite my many friends and lovers, and my jewelry and pretty things, I am alone. I am always alone.
Vivianna closed the diary. There was no more to read—Aphrodite had not written any more—and her tale’s moral was one Vivianna already knew. It was not jewels or pretty things that made one happy; it was the people with whom one shared one’s life.
Oliver would make her happy.
His voice was the one that called to her in the darkness, just as Jemmy’s had called to Aphrodite. It was his ghost she saw, his smile that made her smile. She lay in her bed and felt her body tingle and ache for his, and knew that there would never come a time when she did not miss him. Even when she was an old lady, she would be thinking of him, dreaming of him, and wanting him beside her.
So what on earth was she going to do about it?
But in her secret heart Vivianna already knew.
Vivianna was just setting out with her sister for the promised assault upon the London shops when Oliver called to see her. Unfortunately, they were standing in the hall awaiting the coach, or Vivianna might have managed to put him off or receive him alone. As it was, Marietta’s eyes lit up like blue beacons when the maid showed him in. Fortunately, he seemed to have regained his senses.
Vivianna kept her voice cool and polite as she introduced him, despite the fact that the sight of him made her tremble. Marietta shot her a look that said: Now I know you were fibbing!
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Marietta,” Oliver said, taking Marietta’s hand and bowing over it. His smile held its usual charm, his attire and person was immaculately turned out—apart from a savage red waistcoat—but Vivianna thought he looked fraught. Perhaps she looked the same.