“I’m afraid he does not. But Libby is twenty-four now, and she’s been waiting a long time.” He moved Venetia deftly out of the path of Miss Reeves and the dancing tutor, both of whom were conversing with surprising animation. “Surely not Mr—?”
“Mr Clayton, yes. The young clerk to whom she lost her heart when you were still living in our household.” Sebastian shrugged. “He’s on the way to being a solicitor now, so father may take more kindly to the idea, though Clayton is not at all the catch he envisioned for her. However, since our father won’t be at the ball, Libby has bravely decided that this will be the moment she tells the world that she and her young man are going to defy Papa and set up their own household. And good luck to them.”
“I wish I could be here to hear it.”
“Then you and I will have to make our own announcement before you leave. Today!”
"Make an announcement today?" Venetia stared at him as the music drifted away, and the woman who’d been hired to play the accompaniment dropped her hands from the keyboard and turned her lined, expectant face in their direction.
Miss Reeves and Signor Boticelli seemed not to have noticed. They were engaged in earnest conversation with much gesticulation—apparently about the stance and posture most desirable in the dance.
So, even though they were within earshot, Venetia took a risk to whisper, "But...we only met yesterday, Sebastian."
“We did not only meet yesterday—”
“But Sebastian...your father. Those other women—”
“You still don’t trust me?”
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 k
now 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.”
“By midnight of the Christmas Ball, in fact.”
Antoinette looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“You told me. But I still have not seen evidence that they are madly in love.”
“He's already had two clandestine meetings with her in the shrubbery."
The sisters threw open the door to the billiards room, causing their respective husbands to look up, Quamby asking, “And what were you doing in the shrubbery that you observed this, dearest wife? Or were you spying from the yellow drawing room? One never can tell with you." He removed his strawberry-red wig to give his bald scalp a judicious scratch while waiting for a response.
Naturally, Antoinette wasn't embarrassed in the slightest. "Not the yellow drawing room, for one can only see the drive and the comings and goings of our guests. However, I saw it from the blue drawing room on the western side, of course, which affords a marvelous view of the woods as well as the folly. Well, of the path leading to the folly. Unfortunately, one cannot quite see through the windows to the bed in there that we exchanged for the chaise longue."
"At your insistence, my dear. I'm sure you've enjoyed many lazy afternoon rests after the exertion of the fifty-yard walk from the lake."
"It can be tiring," Antoinette agreed. "And the quiet darkness amidst such charming surroundings is the perfect antidote to an afternoon's boredom."
Fanny exchanged an amused look with her husband. Antoinette and Quamby rubbed along quite well together and seemed to enjoy alluding to their extramarital dalliances in code in front of others. Fanny suspected it was a trait that was ingrained in her sister, always the extrovert. Briefly, she wondered if Antoinette had ever been in love. She seemed to live for brief, passionate flings, her heart never broken for more than twenty-four tragic hours following the demise of each love affair.
For Antoinette, it was clearly the thrill of the chase—or setting up the amours of some other worthy pair—that sustained her.
"And so the notorious matchmakers are in fact doing a public good at last," Fenton observed, beckoning Fanny to his side and handing her the billiard cue.
"Our instincts are acute," Antoinette said as Fanny lined up the shot before drawing back the cue and striking the ball with a neat and decisive thwack. With beautiful precision, the red knocked the side of the table, changed direction, and rolled neatly and obediently into the pocket to the sound of admiring applause from the others.
"As acute as Fanny's abilities to make things happen just as we direct," Antoinette said, pressing her lips together at her sister’s sharp look.
A sharp look which did not miss the fact that Antoinette was clearly concocting more than she was prepared to reveal.
So, when the gentlemen were once again absorbed in their game and having ensured there were no eavesdropping guests in their vicinity, Fanny drew her sister to the curtained alcove and demanded that Antoinette reveal her cards.
“Really Fanny, you take these things far too seriously.” Antoinette sounded cross as she gazed out over the sloping lawn to the lake at the bottom of the garden.
"And when you’re looking so very pleased with yourself, I can’t help but think you are not taking things seriously enough," Fanny replied. "Out with it! What ingenious plan have you been concocting?"
Antoinette didn’t need much persuading. She was always very amenable to telling her sister and husband how acute her perceptions were, and as a result, how clever she was at orchestrating the most wonderful of outcomes.
"First of all, I think I know just how to make Sebastian and Arabella’s dreams come true. And, secondly, I'm thinking how handsome Signor Boticelli is and that he and I ought to have a little additional dancing practise so we can demonstrate to our guests during the Christmas Ball how the waltz really should performed.”
“Weren’t you going to give Venetia a little nudge in his direction?” Fanny asked. “I thought you were going to take pity on the mousey little companion.”
“Clearly she is not interested in men, otherwise she’d not bury herself beneath that dreadful cap and look the other way anytime someone glanced at her.” Antoinette patted her décolletage. "I’m going to suggest this plan today to our very handsome dancing tutor. I trust he’ll have time to give me a few private dancing lessons."
“You can’t possibly include him on the guest list, Antoinette. And what about Venetia? What is to become of her?" Fanny felt a mixture of amusement and faint alarm. Antoinette could be so single-minded in her attempts at seduction, but what if Signor Boticelli had his sights set on someone else?
Like the mousy companion. Only this morning Fanny had spoken kindly to the girl to elicit her feelings on whether she was disinclined to subject herself to the dancing lessons after being so roundly criticized on her lack of grace, if Antoinette’s opinion on the matter were to be believed.
Instead of relief that she may be granted a reprieve, the girl had burst out with a most uncharacteristic, "I enjoy the dancing lessons more than I can say!"
And if that were the case, then Signor Boticelli could be the only reason.
"Do take care not to break hearts," she cautioned her sister, but Antoinette just tossed her head. "I think Signor Boticelli is very capable of holding onto his and having what fun is to be had under our roof."
"I was more worried about Venetia."
Antoinette's brow furrowed. "But she's just the companion. Oh yes, I know we had plans for her, but if she can’t take the trouble to wear something more becoming than the drab gowns she favors, or look pleased at what I'd gone to such pains to devise, then she should have no expectations of improving her lot. Why, I put Signor right under her nose, and if she does nothing to engage him, it's hardly my fault, is it?"
"I do hear you, sister, but I fear she is what might be termed a young lady of quiet passions. I doubt she meets many gentlemen. What if she is falling in love with Signor Boticelli? I saw them gazing into each other’s eyes when I put my head around the door earlier."
"What has love got to do with this?" Antoinette stopped and stared at Fanny as if she genuinely did not know. "If Signor wants to marry Lady Indigo’s little companion, that's one thing. If he and I spend a little time together in gainful instruction, that's something entirely different."
"I just don't want to see hearts broken."
"Well, you won't!" Antoinette huffed, turning her back on her sister, before swinging around to look once more through the window and pointing with sudden energy. "If you’re so concerned, why don’t you go outside and reassure yourself with a conversation with Venetia, who I see pushing Lady Indigo by the lake right now." She turned and began to walk toward the passage. "And with Sebastian who is lurking by the trees near the walkway,” she added over her shoulder. “I'm sure he's hoping for an assignation with Arabella whom I also saw taking a turn by the lake. You're the cunning one when it comes to asking the right q
uestions, Fanny. If you're so worried about broken hearts, why don’t you reassure yourself—and me, of course—that Arabella and Sebastian really are star-crossed lovers, and that Venetia has, in fact, no interest in her handsome dancing tutor.” She huffed out a breath, adding balefully, “To insinuate that I have any motive other than to selflessly procure the happiness of everyone within my orbit, is to do me a great unkindness!"
Piqued by Antoinette’s insistence that there really was something between Sebatian and Arabella, Fanny decided there was nothing more useful she could do right now than to make her way out into the crisp outdoors and, as suggested, do her own bit of intelligence gathering.
Picking up her skirts to avoid the damp grass, she made her way toward Sebastian, who was gazing into the middle distance. Fanny fancied that he looked like some lovelorn swain or poet, though she could not really ascertain at what, or whom, he was looking.
“I trust you are not bored with us already, Mr Wells?” she asked him. “And that the company is sufficiently diverting, for I see you are all alone. You will stay until the Christmas Ball?”
“Of course,” he said, turning with a smile. A very charming smile, Fanny noted that made him seem much younger than his twenty-eight years. “Other than the fact that I am honored to be in receipt of your invitation, my sister will be arriving tomorrow or the day after, and naturally I have promised her my company and support.”
“You have not promised your company to anyone else?” Fanny inquired. “Someone who would, I imagine, be very disappointed if you did not stay?”
She noticed that a degree of discomfort invaded his clear distraction. And that he leveled at her a look that suggested he suspected she understood his motivations. After a significant pause, he replied, “I can be relied upon. I just hope that someone else will be similarly inclined or prevailed upon to stay another three days. For they may not.”
A deeper frown penetrated his forehead, and Fanny followed the direction of his gaze. But all she could see was Venetia and Lady Indigo—not Arabella, who Fanny knew had caught his interest.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 64