The look on his face suggested her reluctance came as a complete surprise. "Is my declaration not proof?” He dipped his head just a fraction more and gripped her fingertips before she pulled them away, embarrassed in case they should be observed. Embarrassed, just as she had been all those years ago when Sebastian declared he loved her, and she knew she was not good enough for him. The daughter of the bailiff was never going to be accepted by his family for the role she would one day fill. Sebastian might be a mere Mister now, but he would more than likely inherit his uncle’s title. That was still the case.
And his father, still living, was no doubt as exacting and uncompromising as he had been all those years ago when he'd approached Venetia and told her...
She closed her eyes on the memory. Sebastian's father's feelings on the matter of her relationship with Sebastian should be of no account. Not any longer when his son had dutifully married the bride he'd chosen; the poor young woman who’d been fond enough of Sebastian, but who'd never given him her heart as Venetia had done—though in the end, she'd given him exactly what was required—the son and heir that could mean Venetia and Sebastian would have their second chance.
"If you want more time, I can grant you all the time in the world." He seemed to be puzzling out her words. "But I also don't want to waste the years we could be together, Venetia. I’ve done that for four already."
There was no mistaking his sincerity.
Or the feelings in Venetia’s heart. They were hopeless to deny.
And suddenly she wished for what Sebastian said he did.
More than anything else.
And she couldn't wait.
"Meet me at the folly I spoke of.” She thought quickly. “Tomorrow morning...when Lady Indigo has her rest I can be there," she whispered hurriedly. “I make no promises about what will happen, or what I feel. Or what I’ll agree to, afterwards. But I will be there.”
"I shall wait for as long as I have to."
Venetia smiled. Sebastian had always been ardent. She had no doubt about his feelings for her.
But what about his feelings for that other woman? Was he still embroiled in his scandalous affair with Mrs Compton? Venetia knew him too well not to have been alerted by the shadow of discomfort that had flitted across his face when she’d quizzed him about his entanglements--past and possibly present.
Yet, although doubt and hope warred with each other, she knew she couldn’t squander this opportunity. “There's no need to wait all afternoon,” she told him, trying to make her tone sound brisk for the benefit of the other pair who’d stopped chattering. “Just take note of when I wheel Lady Indigo from the edge of the lake and back to the house. You'll have a fine view of my movements from the tower room."
“I’d like a fine view of them from closer than that.”
Venetia smiled and gave his arm a little squeeze. “You always did enjoy trying to win me over with your charm. But now you’re going to have to win me over with more than that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And what else do I have to offer you that you require, if charm and my repeated avowals of a shared future are not enough?”
“I need to know the truth about any other woman to whom you might have made promises between Dorothea’s death and now.”
She’d said it lightly, but she realized she’d hit a chord when he he gripped her elbow and turned her to face him. “Don’t believe all the lies that are put about, Venetia.” He offered her his hand, and she felt a stab of pity and pain as she gently caressed the injury that had, mercifully, only lost him his little finger. Only the stub remained. “This is just one of them, and I’ve already told you the truth. Lord Banks called me out, and my honor required me to rise to the challenge. But I swear to you, Venetia, that the accusations he leveled against me with regard to his wife were untrue.”
Venetia nodded. Sebastian had his flaws, but he was a good man.
“The past is the past. Lady Banks and—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Any other woman I’ve ever met, or with whom I’ve ever supposedly had relations...they mean nothing to me. Yes, there are things I regret and that I wish I’d done differently. But you have to believe me when I tell you that, right now, my greatest joy is finding you again.” He took a breath. “And I would do anything to have you as my wife...just as I wished it, four years ago.”
Venetia struggled to breathe evenly. Gazing into those familiar, lovely eyes was like a tonic in itself. Yes, she could imagine Sebastian leaping to accept a challenge to mitigate his honor when, perhaps, he could have talked his way to a better solution. He could be hotheaded, and she’d often been the first to charge him with arrogance in his belief of his athletic prowess. He was virile and competitive and…
A red-blooded man who had not known if Venetia were alive or dead, four months ago.
And as Venetia was the same young woman with the same determination that duty and honor must come before one’s personal happiness, she supposed she would find it harder to reconcile what she’d learned of Sebastian’s recent past.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she smiled. “Then let us meet tomorrow and see if the feelings which bound us four years ago really are as unshakeable as you and I believed.”
Chapter 7
"Oh Fanny, our plan is working a treat!" Antoinette grabbed the hand of her sister, who had been walking thoughtfully down the passage on the way to finding her husband, who was, she supposed, in the billiards room with Quamby.
"Really Antoinette, the world doesn't answer to your beck and call,” responded Fanny. “If you have something to say, then do me the courtesy of not accosting me like an errant servant.”
"Or accosting you like I would if you were that Adonis of a dancing master. " Antoinette giggled as she matched her footsteps to Fanny’s.
Signor Boticelli had taken two dancing classes and Fanny had observed, with interest and curiosity, her sister’s increasing agitation as Antoinette had invented various excuses as to why she needed to look in on progress. Orchestrating the budding romance between Sebastian and Arabella was not her chief motivation, she’d come to realize.
"Why, if I wasn’t so selfless, and fearful of upsetting the delicate direction this marvelous plan of mine is taking, I'd be in the ballroom with them right at this moment,” Antoinette went on. She sounded almost breathless, and Fanny wondered at the reason for her agitation as her sister added, eyes shining, “For you know what is happening as we speak?"
"You have divine powers now, do you, Antoinette?" Fanny put her head on one side. "You can see through doorways?"
"I’ve seen enough. Did you know that, right now, Arabella Reeves is clasped in Sebastian Wells’s embrace while Senor Boticelli demonstrates how to conduct the waltz with charm and grace? He chose Venetia—that is her name, isn't it?—as the excuse for him to show the world, or the local neighborhood, his abilities as a teacher. Of course, I've put the word about that the girl has two left feet and is the despair of Lady Indigo who has, out of the goodness of her heart, tried to instill in her graces that might afford her some chance of matrimony once the old lady has quit this mortal coil. For Lady Indigo expects to meet her maker daily, don’t you know? And if you don’t, then I can’t forgive you for not having to suffer her daily account of it. However, it’s been little different for the past dozen years, I believe. Anyway, Sebastian is quite smitten with Arabella—one only had to glance once at his expression as he stared into her eyes—and I predict a marriage proposal will occur before the house party is over.”