“I...did not know.” It was easier to lie. “I was supposed to leave at dawn with my employer, Lady Indigo,” she added proudly. “Instead, we leave at first light tomorrow. Please send my regards to Libby. I doubt I’ll see her.”
Old Mr Wells’s eyes narrowed. “So, you won’t be at the ball tonight? No fond reunion between you and my son? Does he even know you’re here? Perhaps not, if you’ve insisted on wearing that ghastly rag on your head all this time.”
He drew in a labored breath, and his frown deepened as he went on, “Oh no, his eye has been taken, I’ve learned to my horror, by Miss Reeves. Nothing against the gel, personally. After all, Sebastian is old enough to make up his own mind, now. He can marry whomever he chooses.” He coughed. “Except where it causes me outright embarrassment, and I can tell you, my gel, that I am highly embarrassed to have to look my old friend Thomas Reeves in the eye when I know he’s wanted his gel to marry Yarrowby all these years.” He stamped his cane on the floor for emphasis. “I know the pain of recalcitrant children, and I’ll not have my son the cause of more trouble.”
“So…they are going to get married?” Despite every instinct telling her it was not her place, Venetia had to ask.
Mr Wells let out a harrumph. “Reeves is apoplectic! I saw him just now after he’d come out of discussion with Ladies Quamby and Fenton, who have been sticking their noses into business that doesn’t concern them, if you ask me.”
Venetia didn’t know what to say, so she just lowered her eyes with a subservient, “Indeed, sir,” while her insides fluttered nervously, and she tried to conceal the acute physical pain that gripped her.
“I have to take a stand if my club is to remain the harmonious haven it used to be.” His mouth worked as if he were grinding his gums, before he added, “Four years changes us greatly. It has changed me. I’ve grown soft.”
Venetia was hardly going to say she saw no signs of it until he went on, “I regret what I said to you when I thought you were going to run off with my boy. I saw how unhappy he was trying to be a good husband to Dorothea and it nearly broke my heart. But you. You’re here now. Take off that thing.” He pointed to her cap.
Venetia blinked. “Why, sir…”
“I want to see if you’ve changed so greatly in four years that my son would be repulsed.”
“I don’t think I need to…”
“Lady Fenton!”
Venetia jumped as the old man barked at their hostess who happened to be passing by, together with her sister. They turned and took a few steps toward their guest, their faces bright and curious.
“Please arrange some suitable clothing for this young lady so she can attend tonight’s Christmas Ball. Her father was my bailiff, you know. Excellent man. I’d like to do something for his daughter.”
Lady Quamby smiled at Venetia. “I’m certain that will present no problems, Mr Reeves. I’ll send my maid to her bedchamber with something suitable,” she added before moving on.
The old man turned to direct a look at Venetia, but she was not about to humor him with a smile.
If Mr Reeves believed he’d appeased Venetia, he was wrong. “I’m not going to even try and win your son back from Miss Reeves,” she said softly.
“Eh? He’s changed that much for you?” The old man looked startled.
Venetia sent him a level look. “You made your feelings very clear to me four years ago, sir. And I did your bidding, then.” Proudly she pushed back her shoulders as she prepared to leave. “But I’m not going to do your bidding now.”
Chapter 13
Sebastian saw the housemaid flinch at the sound of his Hessians ringing on the flagstoned hallway as he entered Quamby House after a furious gallop.
It had not eased the terrible ache in his heart.
"Mr Wells?"
Reluctantly, he stopped and turned. It was Lady Fenton, smiling warmly at him. He could see why Fenton had been captivated. She was a beauty in the same kind of dark, mysterious way that Venetia so appealed to him. Like Venetia, she had eyes that hinted at an intelligence that went so much deeper than her beauty.
He bowed.
"Your sister has arrived. And so has your father.” She hesitated. “And so has Miss Reeves’s father.”
She looked at him as if he might have something to say to this, so he shrugged and said, “I shall be very happy to see my father.” And it was true. Though it had taken time, they had mended their differences in the years following their falling-out over his father’s opposition to Venetia. “My sister will not.”
“And Miss Reeves’s father?”
Thinking it odd that she seemed to insinuate he’d have an opinion regarding old Mr Reeves’s presence, he shrugged again. “My father will be pleased enough to see old Mr Reeves, I daresay, since they are friends.”
Lady Fenton glanced over her shoulder, as if concerned they might be overheard. Sebastian waited a trifle impatiently. He wanted only to bathe and dress and, quite simply, wallow in his own miserable company.
If it weren’t for the fact that Libby depended on his dubious ability to champion her tonight with regard to making it clear to their father that she would wait no longer for his approval of her decision to wed Mr Clayton, he’d have forgone tonight’s entire festivities.
It was doubtful Venetia would be there in any case for she had nothing to wear.
But, since she’d made it abundantly clear that her acceptance of his peccadilloes could not stretch to accepting that he might have fathered a child on Mrs Compton, he really had no idea how he might soften her feelings or change her mind.
Venetia was fiercely stubborn. After she had insisted she could not marry him as he was duty-bound to obey his father and marry Dorothea, it had been impossible to change her mind. Venetia had a very clear idea about honor and integrity.
And clearly, his affair with Barbara was beyond what she could tolerate.
“Now, Antoinette, do you really think it was a good idea to choose such an extravagant creation for Miss Stone? What if Signor Boticelli does have his sights set on her? He’ll think her out of his orbit.” Fanny paused at her sister’s side at the juncture of the corridor that led to Lady Indigo’s bedchamber.
“Signor Boticelli can make up his own mind as to where he takes his pleasure. Antoinette raised one eyebrow as she smiled at Fanny. “And he is not awed by fine ladies; I assure you,” she added with a suggestive giggle. She brushed the silver net gown reverently. “I have decided to take pity on Miss Stone, for no prospective suitor above three hundred pounds a year will look twice at such a plain little thing, and I would like to help her prospects by outfitting her so finely. I predict she can do much better than the dancing tutor. Perhaps I shall push her under the nose of some worthy elderly gentleman looking for a second wife.”
“I really don’t know what to think, Antoinette. Is it unkind to elevate Venetia’s hopes beyond what is reasonable?” Fanny felt suddenly doubtful. “By the same token, are we wrong to support Arabella when, for my own part, I think she’s far better suited to Lord Yarrowby than to Sebastian. Perhaps we have no right to meddle.”