He really had no desire to continue to press his objections when he could see Venetia out of the corner of his eye, looking more beautiful than he could remember.
Good lord, but she was like an angel come down to Earth.
And the sooner he managed to put to rest her concerns about where his loyalties lay, the better.
“Your father is here tonight. So is Lord Yarrowby, whom I have always found to be the most personable of fellows and, from everything I’ve heard, quite devoted to you.”
“Of course he’d say that!” For a moment, she looked like a sulky child. “I’ve known him forever and, while it’s true that I did once find the idea of marriage to him quite appealing, I’ve since realized that he is really quite dull compared with…” Her eyes traveled furtively toward the far corner of the room as if she hoped to spy her true love there before she lowered her voice, adding, “Signor Boticelli.”
“Miss Reeves,” Sebastian said kindly. “Do you not see that this is precisely what you will encounter if you should make a...less than suitable...marriage? Of course Signor Boticelli is not on the guest list.”
“He would be if he was married to me.” She thrust her chin up and her nostrils flared.
“Darling girl, that is not a becoming look.”
Sebastian blinked in surprise at the familiar manner Lord Yarrowby used to address the young lady who was fanning herself vigorously as she glared at him.
“You have led your poor old papa a merry dance, haven’t you? Are you sure you’re not ready to come home? Hasn’t the novelty of spending three weeks with your Aunt Maryanne worn off yet?”
“I will not return home while Papa insists on forcing my hand in marriage.”
Lord Yarrowby sighed as he dropped his hand from her shoulder. “No one is forcing you to do anything, Arabella. You might recall that at one stage you were quite enthusiastic about the idea.”
“That was before—” She stopped, and a fierce blush stole across her cheeks. Sebastian made to move away, but Yarrowby stayed him. “Politeness requires Arabella to remain and say her piece if you’re here, old chap, so do stay. She’d likely turn tail and run if it were just me.” For the first time, a note of gentle frustration crept into his words as he said, “What happened four months ago, Arabella? I know you were cross that I was unable to make it to Lady Wildermere’s house party, but when I did come to see you, you’d turned quite against me. I really have no idea what I’ve done.”
Sebastian knew the reason, but was not about to say. Miss Reeves’s heart—and head—had been turned by someone entirely unsuitable. Someone who, in the rashness of youth, she truly believed would offer her a life of love and excitement.
Miss Reeves seemed to be on the brink of throwing away the greatest happiness. Or at least comfort and fulfillment.
But what could he say?
And, right now, there was no time when he had his own mending of hearts to do.
Venetia was here, and he needed to find her.
In fact, there was not a moment to waste. There was nothing more he could do for Miss Reeves. If she did not wish to marry Yarrowby, that was none of his business.
So he left them, Yarrowby attempting to take his former sweetheart’s hand before she pulled it away saying, “There’s nothing more you can do to persuade me, Richard. My mind is quite made up, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I desire excitement and adventure, not dull domesticity living next to Papa for the rest of my life.”
Oh lord, thought Venetia, yet another gentleman was coming in her direction and the intent in his eyes was clear: he was going to ask her to dance.
Nervously, she ran her hands down the skirts of her dress and turned away. She’d never had so much attention...and all because of a lovely, borrowed gown?
Then she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the looking glasses above the mantelpiece and, again, was shocked.
Lady Quamby’s personal maid had transformed her dark hair from unfashionably straight into a sea of ringlets, which she’d then artfully arranged around a silver filet. Venetia could see it twinkling in the candlelight, loose tendrils softening the sharp angles of her cheeks.
Why, she almost couldn’t recognize herself. For a moment, she was transfixed. This was not her, surely?
Then, the weary resignation weighed her down again, and she looked away.
She might now look every bit as lovely as Miss Reeves. And Sebastian might love her more dearly than Miss Reeves.
But, this was a matter of honor, and Sebastian was honor-bound to marry any unwed young woman who was carrying his baby.
As the young gentleman drew closer, Venetia turned on her heel and hurried out of the saloon. She could not endure more supposed merrymaking when her heart was so wounded.
She made it into the passageway with less grace than she might have managed had her eyes not been blurry with tears. In fact, she all but stumbled into the small withdrawing room some way down an adjoining passageway before she realized her mistake and had to hold her breath and pray she’d arrived unnoticed.
Fortunately, Lady Quamby and the gentleman…good lord, was that really Signor Boticelli the dancing tutor with the fall front of his pantaloons unbuttoned, and her hostess with her breasts exposed?
Venetia had to blink rapidly, first to clear the tears, and then to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
Of course, she should have been alerted by the moans and squeaking of the settee upon which they now lay, and, if she had, she’d have got no further than the screen which partly exposed them. The room was one she’d never been in, and no fire had been lit in the grate, so it was unlikely they’d be disturbed, Venetia supposed. But…
She was deeply shocked. Fortunately, the couple was so involved in their lover’s tryst that they were insensible to the soft tread of her dancing slippers as she made the most judicious retreat she could.
With heart thundering, she hurried back toward the saloon, stepping into the library on the way to catch her breath.
A small fire was dancing in the grate, lending it a cheerful air, and, to her relief, the room was unoccupied. The strains of the orchestra sounded through the walls, and she closed her eyes, imagining what she was missing.
Sebastian’s arms about her as he twirled her around the room in a waltz?
She sighed. That would have been perfect.
If only...
The clock above the mantelpiece chimed the hour, causing Venetia to leap out of her reverie. Warming her hands by the fire in a deserted library was not how she’d intended to spend her unusual reprieve from her role as Lady Indigo’s handmaiden so, reluctantly, she straightened and headed back into the passage.
Confronted by the long length of the dim, carpeted space, she felt suddenly nervous when she saw the young man who’d earlier pursued her to dance, coming toward her.
She shouldn’t be alone in this rabbit warren of corridors. Sebastian claimed he’d been tricked by circumstance and Venetia knew that, for a young woman to be alone—anywhere—courted danger.
Avoiding him by turning back into the corridor from which she’d originally come, she squinted at the sound of a gasp at the far end.
It was difficult to see properly due to the fact that only a few candle sconces lit up this part of the house, but she could just make out the form of a young woman in the process of exiting from one of the withdrawing rooms.