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

by Anna Campbell

  “You shall resemble a lady born,” Fanny declared, wondering why she’d overlooked Venetia’s attractiveness before.

  “And I shall feel it. Thank you,” Venetia said, appealing to Lady Indigo as Antoinette shook out the gown which twinkled in the light. “Is it not the most beautiful gown you’ve ever seen?”

  “Beautiful,” Lady Indigo agreed without enthusiasm from her chair by the fire. “But wasted on you, my girl. Whom do you wish to impress? You are overreaching yourself. Everyone will say it.”

  “I’m not wearing it to impress anyone.” Venetia sounded offended. “I’ll be wearing it because it will be a pleasure to wear something that I would choose to wear if I had the funds. And I don’t care what anyone says.”

  “Well, as long as you please old Mr Wells, I’m sure that’s all that matters,” muttered Lady Indigo who was staring into the fire and seemed out of sorts. “He wanted to do you a kindness, and you will tell him how grateful you are to him.” There was a warning in her tone, and Fanny was reminded of her own forceful mama’s strictures.

  And of how hard she’d worked to escape. She glanced again at Venetia. The girl was still in the first flush of youth, though, in a few years, when she’d passed her early twenties, she’d have little chance of escape.

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Fanny didn’t miss the flint in the young woman’s eyes. Clearly, she didn’t like taking orders from Lady Indigo who now added, looking up suddenly like a blackbird who has come upon something bright and shiny, “So, there is to be an announcement, I hear, between pretty Arabella Reeves and the suitor she once rejected, Lord Yarrowby. For that reason alone I must make myself ready to appear for at least that auspicious moment. I knew Lord Yarrowby’s father, you know.”

  “She’s not marrying Lord Yarrowby,” Antoinette corrected her.

  Lady Indigo paused as she reached for her glass of brandy. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  Fanny hid her surprise, while Antoinette soothed their guest.

  Was that the rumor flying around Quamby House? That an announcement was to be made regarding a betrothal between Miss Reeves and Lord Yarrowby?

  Mr Reeves had a reputation for making his wishes felt, but Fanny didn’t think he could possibly make such an announcement without Arabella’s agreement.

  She tried to change the subject. “Lord Quamby is also going to make an announcement. On Libby Wells’s behalf. She’s here with her suitor, Mr Clayton.”

  “Lord Quamby is going to make the announcement? What about the gel’s father, old Mr Reeves?” asked Lady Indigo.

  “He doesn’t approve.”

  “How sad,” Venetia murmured, still stroking the lustrous folds of the gown she now held. “Mr Wells’s sister is...such a deserving girl. And so sweet natured.”

  “You’ve met her?”

  “I used to do lessons with her when my father was bailiff for old Mr Wells.”

  “Really?” Fanny could not have been more surprised. “Was that Mr Wells’s idea?”

  “He was kind to me when I was a child,” Venetia replied.

  “And how lovely that he wanted you to be able to attend the ball tonight,” said Antoinette. “Such a dear old gentleman, as it turns out, though he seemed very forbidding to me. Even more so than old Mr Reeves.”

  “Oh, he can be forbidding. And forceful,” Venetia agreed.

  “Well, hopefully Miss Reeves will persuade the two old men out of their insistence if they know what is in poor Arabella’s best interests,” said Antoinette.

  “Marrying Lord Yarrowby is in that girl’s interests,” Lady Indigo insisted, leaning forward. “And that is what is going to happen.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Fanny wished that Antoinette was not so...tactless at the same time as being so liberal with the truth. This should be kept secret, for now, she thought. Especially when there might still be an opportunity to persuade Arabella out of it.

  But, of course, Antoinette couldn’t resist. She was now leaning in toward the old woman so Lady Indigo could hear better as she explained, “Arabella and Sebastian have been carrying on a clandestine love affair and wish to be married, but both their fathers are set against it. Old Mr Reeves has been wanting Arabella to marry Lord Yarrowby for three years now. But she has fallen madly in love with Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian Wells is in love with Arabella Reeves?” Lady Indigo sounded highly unimpressed. “Lord, what’s he see in that silly chit of a gel? That’s as absurd as suggesting he’d fallen in love with...with Venetia, for goodness sake!”

  It was only by chance that Fanny caught the flare of hurt and surprise in the poor girl’s eyes, and suddenly she realized what it must feel like to be forever disparaged by a harsh and exacting woman such as Lady Indigo.

  “I’m sure you don’t mean that, Lady Indigo,” she protested mildly. “When Venetia is dressed for tonight’s ball, Sebastian will find Venetia just as charming a companion as he does Arabella.”

  “Except that Arabella Reeves is a simpering miss, and my Venetia is as stubborn as a mule. I can’t see either would suit.” Lady Indigo’s beetling brows made no secret of her strong disapproval. “But I’ve heard Lord Yarrowby has been wanting to marry Arabella for years. He was just waiting for her to grow up, so I heard. Sounds like she never will, though if anyone needed a steady fellow like Yarrowby, it’s Arabella. Why, she and Sebastian Wells would be disastrous together. As for that young man, well! Mr Wells needs someone who’ll keep him in line. Not some giddy schoolroom miss.” She jerked her head up. “What are you doing, Venetia? Dilly-dallying about when you should be getting ready for the ball? Now, go and fetch my book of verse. Don’t think I’ll release you before you’ve read to me. I’m not so indulgent as Ladies Fenton and Quamby, you know.”

  Fanny realized she and Antoinette had been dismissed. She turned with a farewell for Venetia and a smile.

  After tonight, the poor girl had little prospect of happiness if she was forever at the beck and call of old Lady Indigo.

  Perhaps it really would be a kindness to orchestrate a match with someone, however lowly.

  Even someone like Signor Boticelli.

  Chapter 14

  Venetia was so used to disparagement from Lady Indigo, that her employer’s reluctant praise was at least temporary relief from her distress over having to listen—endlessly—to talk about Sebastian and Arabella.

  "Lady Quamby’s maid has worked miracles with your hair, has she not?" Lady Indigo's astonishment was plain to see when Venetia curtsied before her as she was about to depart for the entertainment downstairs. "I'm not sure I was altogether wise in allowing you to gallivant about looking like that. Next you'll be telling me you've received an offer, and you know I shan't like that."

  "No, Lady Indigo." Venetia inclined her head. "But that's not likely for a girl in my position." Even in the beautiful dress, she couldn’t feel beautiful—inside. No, not even with Lady Indigo’s surprising endorsement ringing in her ears.

  "Indeed, you're right," Lady Indigo said comfortably, smoothing her gloves. "And your claim to anything I might possibly leave you is distant and tenuous. No young man will be prepared to wait that long. However, your loyalty will be rewarded, as you know.” She glanced up with the same warning look she always had for Venetia when reminding her what rewards were in store.

  Provided Venetia remained by her side until...the very end.

  Although Venetia nodded and looked suitably grateful, she didn’t really trust Lady Indigo to be true to her word. Since her nephew had died, there’d been a number of claimants to the old lady’s fortune; and Venetia had watched her play each off against the other.

  She bit back any further thoughts in this direction.

  It hardly looked as if Venetia were going to leave Lady Indigo’s employ anytime soon.

  “Come, Venetia. We must go.”

  Venetia offered the old lady her arm and turned toward the door. She was twenty-three years old. L
ady Indigo was more robust than she liked people to think. How many more years would Venetia be at her beck and call, squiring her wherever she wished to go, reading to her upon a whim, being woken in the middle of the night to fetch her a warm posset when she couldn’t sleep?

  Tonight, she would no doubt see Sebastian. She would feel the same longing to be with him.

  As he no doubt felt toward her.

  But what could she say to him when an unborn child, whom he claimed he might have fathered, stood between them?

  Her heart nearly failed her at the entrance to the grand saloon. She hesitated as Lady Indigo spoke with someone. Soon the doors would open, and Venetia would be exposed to the gathering at large. In one respect, she felt a great deal more up to the task dressed as she was.

  On the other, she was used to being inconspicuous.

  “Miss Stone. What a beauty you are tonight!”

  Venetia turned to see Sebastian’s father regarding her through his monocle. Beside him, imbibing a glass of sherry, was a stately gentleman with a cadaverous face and a steely expression.

  “I’ve known this gel since she was in short skirts,” said old Mr Wells, having introduced Venetia to Miss Reeves’s father. “The daughter of my bailiff, and hiding here, unknown to me until yesterday, as companion to Lady Indigo.” He paused significantly, saying in a more pointed tone to his old friend. “My Sebastian was fond of her, too. I think I’ll find my boy and tell him to come over here. The lad is duty-bound to stand up with you after all this time.” He cleared his throat. “And you, Thomas, will be looking for your daughter.”

  But Venetia had no desire to see Sebastian. She couldn’t face him in this company. So she made her excuses to go and find Libby.

  It had been many years since she’d last seen Sebastian’s sister, who had been a friend and ally during the days she’d hoped to marry Sebastian.

  Beside Libby stood a sweet-faced gentleman with light curling hair, and a slightly myopic expression whom Venetia recognized vaguely as Mr Henry Clayton, confirmed when her friend introduced him to her, adding, “You look so beautiful, Venetia. And Sebastian is over there. I know how he’s missed you. Now that he’s free again, you will make him so happy. And even if Papa is against it, he can’t dictate to Sebastian anymore.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Though he will no doubt try to do so in my case.”

  A troubled frown crossed Mr Clayton’s handsome face as he took Libby’s gloved hand and caressed it. “I wish only the best for Libby,” he said, anxiously, “and hope also that I might be that for her. But I also do not want to be the cause of a rift with her father. I am not the catch she could hope for.” He looked suddenly much younger and more nervous. “But I love her dearly—”

  “And that’s enough for me,” Libby declared with energy.

  Venetia smiled at them both. “I hope very much that your father will be motivated by what’s good for you,” she said.

  “And you, Venetia,” Libby said, disengaging her hands to take Venetia’s, her face shining. “Sebastian has never stopped loving you, you know. And now...at last!…there’s nothing standing in the way of you two being together.”

  Meanwhile, Sebastian was having a troubling time convincing Miss Reeves that an elopement with the dancing tutor would be in no one’s interests.

  He’d found the young lady dabbing at her eyes in the conservatory on his way to the ball and felt duty-bound to offer assistance, escorting her to the ballroom where they’d found an out-of-the-way corner to talk.

  When Miss Reeves declared with surprising defiance that she planned to suggest to Signor Boticelli that an elopement might be their only means of achieving their aims, he was more than concerned. Elopement was the most extreme of measures. Even he and Venetia had ruled out the option after taking into account the deleterious effects on their family.

  While he wished he was free to find Venetia so he could ask her to dance and, hopefully, soften her feelings toward him, he felt his first duty was to persuade Miss Reeves not to seek out Signor Boticelli right there and then in order to put to him the idea of eloping with him this very night.

  He was now following up his reasoning in the shadows.

  “I know you’ve known him four months but—”

  “Our connection is as strong as ever!” she snapped, interrupting him.

  “With all due respect, Miss Reeves, I do not believe you could have sufficiently ascertained the character of Signor Boticelli in four months when your acquaintance has been based on intermittent communication,” he said. “Your father is here tonight, and while you have every right to reject the alliance he proposes with Lord Yarrowby, it would be unwise in the extreme, I venture to suggest, to follow your heart on the impulses you feel. Has Signor Boticelli convinced you that he would be a good husband? How will he keep you? Where would you live?”

  “Roberto is the truest of men!” she declared hotly. “He would lay down his life for me.”

  “But could he feed and clothe you? Consider that, Miss Reeves…” Sebastian felt increasingly uncomfortable, for Miss Reeves was very young, her mind unformed, and, he felt, quite out of her depth when making such a dramatic decision as to throw her life away on an itinerant dancing tutor.

  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 h
appiness. 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.