“It is no trouble, my lady,” Adrian replied quickly as he realized he had been staring at her and hadn’t responded.
The young woman walked past him into the house, leaving him with visions of wildflowers and stolen kisses in the gardens at twilight. Lord, what would it be like to kiss a woman like her? He sighed softly, his gaze still on her as she vanished from view.
“Adrian, it would be best to put your eyes back inside your head,” Mr. Reeves warned, but there was no real bite to the butler’s tone. He knew Adrian had never broken his code of conduct as a servant of the house of Devon, and no matter how lovely that young lady was, he wouldn’t start now.
But that didn’t stop a man from indulging in a few wicked daydreams.
Gwen greeted a lovely woman in her midforties as she and Venetia were shown into the drawing room. “Marrian!”
“Gwen!” The Duchess of Devon met Venetia and her grandmother at the door with a warm hug. Lady Devon’s blue eyes were warm as she held Venetia’s hands. “You look so much like your mother. Heavens, I miss her dearly.”
“As do I, Your Grace.” Venetia had met Lady Devon only once as a child. Her mother and the duchess had spent much time together socially over the years, but Venetia had been too young to participate in such activities herself.
“You are such a dear to invite us,” Gwen replied. “And if I am honest, you rather saved us.”
Venetia blanched at her grandmother’s open admission.
“What’s all this now?” Lady Devon gestured for them to sit on the settee near the fireplace.
“Gran, Lady Devon doesn’t need to hear about our—”
Gwen tapped her cane on the floor. “Nonsense. She certainly does need to hear it. She’s the one woman in all of England I trust to help us find you a suitable husband.”
Venetia was ready to perish on the spot with mortification.
“Oh? Are we husband hunting?” Lady Devon grinned. “This is delightful. Venetia, my dear, your mother had such wonderful hopes for you to make a brilliant match. It was such a tragedy that she did not live long enough to see you wed.”
“Thank you, Lady Devon, but I am afraid that the notion of my marrying is a point of contention between myself and my grandmother at the moment. I would prefer to take my time in choosing a husband.”
“It certainly is not a point of contention,” Gwen grumbled. “Marrian, tell her that I am right. My scheming grandson wishes to gain access to Venetia’s assets by marrying her off to one of his friends. I won’t allow it.”
Lady Devon gasped and turned to Venetia. “Is this true?”
“Well, yes, but I told Gran that no one can force me to marry.”
At this Lady Devon and Gwen exchanged looks, then turned back to her. “If the world were a just place, you would be right. But this is a world made for men. A determined man can force you to marry, and should you claim foul afterward, such a man might have you declared mad and send you away. Unfortunately, your safest course of action is to marry someone of your choosing, someone you like and trust.”
Gwen harrumphed in agreement. “Exactly. We need to find a strapping, handsome young buck who can throw Patrick out on his ear if he even breathes disrespectfully around Venetia.”
Lady Devon chuckled. “I’m not sure who would fit that description, but the night is young.” She rang a bell for tea, and a footman entered, placing the tea tray on the table beside Lady Devon.
Normally Venetia would not look at servants. It wasn’t out of a sense of superiority, but rather deference to their need to be unseen. But she couldn’t help but notice that he was the same dark-haired footman who had assisted her down from the coach. She had apologized to him for her grandmother’s conduct, and he had held her hand a moment too long.
His eyes were a delightful shade of brown and hazel that reminded her of amber. He was devastatingly handsome, with a strong chin, and his lashes, too long for a man, made him seem almost pretty. He was broad-shouldered and impossibly tall, at least a foot and a half above her. Gran would have called him an Adonis.
His eyes were downcast as he set the tray on the table. He was so close that she could smell leather and something softer upon him, a bit of sandalwood perhaps. His proximity sent her blood humming.
The footman straightened and backed away. For a brief moment, his eyes flicked toward her, as though he wanted to steal a glance and didn’t expect her to be watching him. The flare of heat in his eyes answered the call of her own.
That single ephemeral connection nearly made her gasp. It was only by the grace of God that neither Lady Devon nor Gran noticed.
Baffled, Venetia tried to focus on the conversation, but all she could think about was how she’d never felt like this around any man before. It was one of the reasons she’d so easily dismissed desire and love as a component of marriage. Because until that moment, she’d never felt such attraction before.
This stirring of hope, so new, like a fledgling bird, had nowhere to go but to plummet to its death upon the ground. This perfect Adonis was a footman, after all. A domestic servant in the employ of Lady Devon. Stealing him away as a husband would be considered a cardinal sin. The unfortunate truth was that he was lowborn. Though she despised that phrase immensely, and would be content to tell society to hang if they dared to voice their opinions on her choice of husband, any children they had would be subjected to the cruelties of others whispering about their parents.
But even thinking of this was silly. Venetia was still hoping to avoid matrimony if at all possible, and a fine pair of shoulders and a face to make angels weep was not something she should be obsessing over. Her father had raised her to be a strong, independent woman, and he had created the financial trust to protect her as best he could.
The truth was, once she was married, most of her money would belong to her husband, for good or ill. Venetia could not ever imagine trusting any man with that power over her and Gran’s future.
Lady Devon tapped her chin in thought before pouring their cups of tea. “I believe Lord Essex might make a good match. He’s twenty-nine, dark-haired, stunning green eyes, a bit brooding perhaps—but oh wait, he has a mistress, some French creature. No, that won’t do.”
“Best to stay away from any man with a mistress,” Gran added. “I want a loyal man for Venetia. She won’t take to just any randy young buck who makes a good ride. She needs steadiness, faithfulness.”
Venetia was about to interrupt and tell Lady Devon that Gran didn’t make all of her decisions, when they were all distracted by an odd noise.
There was a choking sound outside the open drawing room door, and the afternoon sunlight illuminated the shadow of the footman lingering in his appropriate place, within hearing distance should his mistress need him.
Gwen paused at the choking sound but then continued. “As I was saying, looks aren’t enough. So, what young men do you have in mind whom Venetia might sample this week?”
Lady Devon burst into laughter. “Oh heavens, Gwen, I always forget how much I adore you. But Venetia cannot sample men—they aren’t fruit tarts. She must study them, converse with them, see if there is a natural attraction. Sampling makes it sound as though you expect her to tuck them away in the alcoves after dinner for stolen kisses so she might compare them later on.”