Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  Well, she would not always be so insignificant, she decided with energy.

  She wasn’t always going to be Lady Indigo’s unpaid servant. No, she was going to clear this matter up so that she could be what she had been destined to be since Sebastian had returned from his Grand Tour and fallen in love with Venetia. She was going to be his wife.

  Sebastian surely could not be the father of Miss Reeves’s child. And he was not the kind of man who would abrogate his duty and sacrifice honor under any circumstances.

  Even to marry the woman he loved.

  There must be some logical explanation which Venetia had missed, coming into the drawing room halfway through her hostess’s conversation the night before.

  As she turned into the corridor that led toward the billiards room where she had some hope of finding him, her palms were damp with the nervousness of what her direct questioning would uncover.

  She didn’t expect to come upon him so soon. He was standing at the far end of the corridor, almost obscured by the gloom, but she had no trouble recognizing his tall, handsome physique, and she was nearly overcome by the familiar rush of excitement she always felt to see him.

  She was about to call out when she saw Miss Reeves was talking to him, for she’d been half hidden by the connecting corridor.

  Then Miss Reeves threw her arms about her Sebastian’s neck, as if in entreaty, before he disengaged them and put her away from him.

  It was clear he was trying to let her down gently, and while Venetia should have felt sorry for the girl, she could only feel relief that Sebastian had remained true to his heart.

  Now Venetia just had to satisfy herself that that did not entail compromising his integrity.

  Chapter 12

  “Sebastian!”

  When Sebastian heard Venetia hail him from the end of the corridor, it was as if a ray of pure joy had speared him right through the heart. He’d hardly slept for fear at what a dim view she’d taken of his relations with Barbara Compton and had in fact been up since dawn due to the possibility that his attempts to stymie Lady Indigo’s dawn departure had failed.

  “You didn’t leave with Lady Indigo after all?” He gripped her hands, relieved she didn’t pull them away. “I was so hoping that the maid would take to heart my judicious suggestion that the old dear might have a better night’s sleep with a mild sleeping posset, as suggested by...well, I couldn’t remember if it was Lady Fenton or Lady Quamby.” He grinned at Venetia, hoping that another assertion of his desire for her company would go some way toward dispelling her apparent displeasure with him.

  Instead, she merely smiled, disregarding his remark to say, “It’s very gloomy in here, but did I see you talking to someone just now?”

  And, because he knew that Venetia was filled with enough doubt and mistrust over his relationship with Mrs Compton, he thought it best not to mention that he’d just been in company with Miss Reeves.

  Not when that young lady had thrown her arms about Sebastian’s neck as she’d entreated Sebastian speak to her father on her behalf with regard to her ridiculous notion that Signor Boticelli would make her a better husband than Yarrowby.

  So, he sidestepped the question, saying smoothly as he ran the tip of his forefinger gently over the shadows beneath Venetia’s normally bright eyes, “I think you should have had some of Lady Indigo’s posset, my darling. You look positively overwrought.”

  Lord, but he knew he would have to face up to her questioning.

  He glanced the length of the corridor. A couple of housemaids had just disappeared around the corner. They were in a musty, gloomy part of the house. Unlikely to be disturbed or observed, at any rate. Best get the interrogation over and done with, sooner the better, he thought, so they could dance the night away and announce their betrothal in front of all.

  Now that Lady Indigo was remaining, Venetia would have to be allowed to attend tonight’s Christmas Ball.

  What a wonderful occasion it would be, too.

  Sebastian would give Libby the bolstering she needed to assert her right to marry her beloved; and their father would simply have to accept that his children were grown-ups now, and he no longer held sway over their futures, as he once had.

  “I’ve barely slept, it’s true, Sebastian,” Venetia said, clasping his lapels and looking up into his face. “I’m sorry we parted on bad terms last night. I wanted to come after you and, in fact, when Lady Indigo asked me to darn her stocking, I returned to the drawing room in the hopes that you’d be there.”

  “My darling girl, if only I had been!” He stroked her face, happier than he could say that her feelings for him hadn’t changed.

  “And then I heard Ladies Fenton and Quamby talking...about you. They didn’t know I was there.” She drew in a shaky breath, closed her eyes briefly, then burst out, “So now I know about the baby!”

  Oh lord. A wave of shame enveloped him. Of course she’d take such a discovery hard, but he hadn’t thought she’d take quite such a dim view of it.

  “Venetia...I don’t believe it’s mine.” It was the most direct way he felt he had of making it clear to Venetia that he would not let it come between them. And it was the truth. Initially, he’d accepted paternal responsibility after Compton had thrown his wife out of the house and threatened divorce proceedings. But the more he learned, as time went by, the more he suspected Barbara had framed Sebastian.

  Why? Because the real father of Barbara’s child was her husband’s arch foe, and she’d been too afraid to name him.

  Sebastian cupped Venetia’s beautiful, tearstained face and looked deeply into her eyes as he tried to convey the depth of his love for her. “Honestly, my darling! I can reassure you that this won’t stand in the way of our being together. I’ve told her that I don’t accept responsibility. I’ve made that quite clear. It’s just you and me, Venetia. You are the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  “And you are the only man I’ve ever loved, Sebastian, but honor requires us to live with our mistakes.” She stared balefully up at him before asking abruptly, “And you say you’ve severed all ties with her?”

  “Would I lie to you, Venetia? Yes, I swear I’ve had nothing to do with her since she agreed—reluctantly, but with good grace—that my life was my own, to live as I chose; that she’d make no further claims on me.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently tipped her face upward so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Does that satisfy you, Venetia? Would I lie to you? Please tell me that we can be married as soon as it can be arranged?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and her hands dropped from his shoulders. To Sebastian’s horror, he saw tears gathered in her eyes as she shook her head.

  To his even greater horror, he watched her step back as she whispered, “I’m sorry, Sebastian, but...I’ve changed my mind. I no longer wish to marry you.”

  Prostrate with grief and disappointment, Venetia pleaded a megrim, earning dispensation for a couple of hours until Lady Indigo, herself, returned to their apartments. But, as she was so demanding, Venetia decided it would be less exhausting to take herself off to the library than be within earshot of Lady Indigo and her demands.

  Returning to her position on the windowsill, half hidden by the curtain, she again found refuge within the pages of a book whose title she had not the energy to ascertain.

  It was simply a relief to be alone in the large and lofty room, positioned so she could both read and glance out onto the snow-covered lawn in the hopes of seeing Sebastian with Miss Reeves, so she could then truly justify the seething hurt in her breast.

  The loud stomping of someone slightly infirm as they made their way to the library to her right made her glance up. Expecting to see Lord Quamby or Lady Indigo, to Venetia’s horror, she beheld old Mr Wells himself.

  Her late father’s employer. Sebastian’s father. The man who’d said that over his dead body he’d see his son waste himself over a mere nobody like Venetia.

  She put her head down and kept very quiet, co
ncentrating studiously on the page.

  Until a peevish voice was directed at her, and she could not pretend she had not heard.

  “Young lady, would you be so good as to climb the stepladder to retrieve a volume of Milton’s works I cannot reach?”

  Obediently, Venetia rose from the windowsill to do as she was bid, ensuring that her cap shielded her face as much as possible. Stepping down from the ladder, she handed the volume of Milton to the man responsible for destroying her happiness.

  No, Sebastian had done that last night.

  “Very kind, very kind, young lady,” he muttered, peering at the embossed lettering on the front before raising his monocle to regard Venetia with a frown.

  “I know you.”

  Venetia said nothing. He’d aged since she’d last seen him. Perhaps his faculties had deserted him. He certainly no longer appeared the intimidating tyrant of her memory.

  “It’s that dreadful cap that prevents me from seeing you properly in this dim light. But yes, it’s Venetia, isn’t it? How is your father?”

  “He died three years ago, sir.” Did he even remember how angrily he’d railed at her father, threatening to dismiss him when Sebastian had declared he wished to marry Venetia?

  “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Best bailiff I ever had.” He blinked a few times. “I’ve had my losses, too. My beautiful daughter-in-law. Perhaps you’d heard.” He looked at her a little more sharply. “And now my own daughter. She wants to throw herself away on a nobody, also, you know.”

  “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 decid
ed 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.”

  “No right to meddle?” Antoinette sent a horrified look at her sister. She seemed more scandalized by this than anything else Fanny had said this evening. “We were born to do this, Fanny. And we are doing our very best by Venetia out of the kindness of our hearts, wanting to make her shine to advantage. Whether it’s Signor Boticelli or...or Lord Yarrowby whom she entrances, she can make up her own mind, can’t she? As for Arabella, if she loves Sebastian, then her father should not be the one who says she cannot marry him.”

  Despite Fanny’s concern over their meddling, as she termed it, she was humbled by Venetia’s reaction to the gown they brought her.

  “Why, it’s the most beautiful creation I’ve ever seen,” the girl murmured, stroking the folds of silver net reverently.

  “And I’ll send my dresser to attend to your hair,” said Antoinette. I’ve not seen your hair before now, and while it looks a very ordinary dark brown, it has rather a fine gloss to it.”

  As Venetia hesitated, Fanny was struck by what fine features the young woman possessed. Her eyes were bright and intelligent, and of a very fetching blue, while her complexion was clear and, with the right colored gown, would be shown to best advantage.