Just as it had been ever since Venetia had tearfully sent him on his way all those years ago, declaring she could not, would not, marry him in good conscience when he stood to lose everything, not least his inheritance. In one brief moment of anger, he'd accused her of thinking more of his inheritance than he did.
He paused as he trod the path, shaking his head as if it might dislodge the kernel of worry that had taken hold. Why reflect on the pain of the past when they had a glorious future to look forward to? Even if he was the father of Mrs. Compton’s child, as the woman claimed, she’d rescinded her hold on him after her husband had, thankfully, agreed not to divorce her. Not that he hadn’t entirely discounted the possibility that she’d exert pressure on Sebastian to shoulder replacement matrimonial responsibilities should Mr Compton decide to discard her, later, but that was a difficulty that he would face, with, hopefully, Venetia’s understanding, should it arise.
Yes, Barbara had tricked him into her bed. Yes, he’d been a fool to have availed himself of what she offered.
But it had only been the once, when he’d been beyond caring, at the time, and his future had seemed like a void.
Surely Venetia would understand.
He sighed once more. As for Miss Reeves? She was just a foolish young woman who was too immature to know better, and if Sebastian really were to do her any favors, it would be to speak plainly to Yarrowby and tell him to show a bit of manly backbone if he truly wished to wed the girl he’d been sweet on for so many years.
However, Miss Reeves was unimportant right now.
All that was important was to secure his future with Venetia by his side. His wife, his beloved, the mother of the children they would have, as well as the poor infant Dorothea’s death had left motherless.
Chapter 10
Upstairs and downstairs, the household was abuzz with preparations for the following day.
Lady Quamby breezed in, looking like a bird of paradise in a dress of green and blue decorated with a roulade of red. "Cook has been advised of the extra guests, Fanny,” she told her sister. “I think we have everything in order."
Venetia kept her head down as she embroidered quietly in her corner, far from resigned to her imminent departure in the morning.
The only saving grace was that Sebastian had reassured her he would visit her at Lady Indigo’s at the earliest, to make a formal offer.
And Venetia would, at least, avoid having to see old Mr Wells. He’d been indulgent when she’d been eight, but her memories of their difficult encounters when she was eighteen were best forgotten.
Still, it was a sore trial to have to listen to Ladies Quamby and Fenton converse amiably about last-minute preparations for the Christmas Ball, when Venetia knew she had only a gloomy quiet house and a sharp-tongued employer to look forward to spending the evening with while everyone here would be enjoying themselves.
Excitement for the grand event positively buzzed through the house with armies of servants beating carpets and polishing chandeliers and silver.
The topic among the ladies switched between hairstyles and ornaments. A multitude of fine ball gowns of silk and spangles, roulades and netting, would be revealed on the night, and listening to the descriptions of silks and sarcenets, and glittering net gowns, was like a physical pain.
Yet, Venetia consoled herself that she could still feel some excitement because one day she, too, would enjoy all this.
As Sebastian’s wife.
"I'm sorry you won't be joining us, Lady Indigo," Lady Quamby said, stopping by the old woman’s chair on her way to the sideboard to fetch a pack of cards. "But I understand you perfectly, for I, too, care little for noise and bustle. Being hostess of the annual Christmas Ball is, sadly, a duty I am unable to delegate."
"Of course." Lady Indigo toyed with the beads in her lap and looked at Venetia. "Why so glum, my girl? There’s no point in subjecting you to all this nonsense tomorrow night when you don’t have a dress to wear."
Lady Quamby sat down and spread out the cards in front of her. "I'm sure we'd find something if that's all that stands in the way." And although she said it dismissively, seemingly more invested in the cards, Venetia knew that, for her own part, she reacted with too much delighted transparency; for Lady Indigo’s nostrils flared in disapproval as Venetia thanked her hostess with hope in her tone.
Might it really be possible to attend the ball, after all? If Lady Quamby were able to provide her with something—even seasons out of date—she’d still feel like a fairy tale princess.
She’d do the waltz in Sebastian’s arms. She’d feel like his equal.
Because she would be his equal. He’d asked her to marry him. It was hard to keep still in her chair by Lady Indigo’s side as memories swirled through her brain of yesterday’s rapturous encounter with Sebastian in the folly. His ardor and his sincerity regarding a shared future were not in doubt.
He had never given her reason to doubt his love for her. Never.
And now nothing stood in the way of what she’d always wanted. Finally, she would have the love match that she had never believed could be hers.
She was brought back to the reality of her menial situation by Lady Indigo’s disdainful, "No need for any charitable donations or loans for Venetia. She and I will take our leave at daybreak tomorrow if we’re to make it home without having to spend the night along the way. One thing I will not do is sleep at an inn." Lady Indigo sounded brisk. "Which means an early night for me. A round of cards after supper and then I shall retire."
"Oh! Ladies Fenton, Quamby. Lady Indigo." It was Miss Reeves arriving in the doorway, curtsying prettily but looking unusually flustered as she hesitated on the Aubusson carpet. "Is it true my father will be arriving after lunch tomorrow?"
Venetia glanced up from untangling Lady’s Indigo’s wool. There was a tremulous note to Miss Reeves’s voice, and the hems of her white skirts were damp, suggesting she’d been outdoors.
"He is, but you have no need to fear anything, my dear Miss Reeves. Everything is in order. I know all about the state of affairs between you and your young man."
Venetia blinked rapidly. This was all very confidential, surely? But then, she'd heard Lady Quamby was not known for her tact. And, from her own years of servitude, Venetia also knew she had a habit of being disregarded if she stayed quietly where she was and did not engage with the company at large.
“You do?”
Lady Quamby clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Yes, I do. And I know you and your father have not seen eye to eye lately."
"We have not spoken in three months." Miss Reeves sounded forlorn. She hesitated awkwardly near the doorway, looking reluctant to come any farther. Perhaps she, too, found the personal interrogation a little too confronting.
"Not since you rejected Lord Yarrowby. Yes, I know."
“My father hasn’t...said anything, has he?”
Lady Quamby shook her head. “No need to sound so anxious, my dear. And just because he's bringing Lord Yarrowby with him is no need for concern, either."
"So Lord Yarrowby is coming too? My father and Lord Yarrowby?" The girl sounded panicked, and Venetia felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy.