Venetia was shaking her head, denying his words, the truth in them.
“What if Antigone does marry and you don’t? You can’t imagine that fate. But, if you do, one of you will have a child. The other will look on. You won’t begrudge the other. You’ll want her to be happy or she you. That won’t make your loneliness any the less.”
He gave her his handkerchief and then took her free hand, squeezing it as her emotions were gathered back inside. They sat for long hours, enjoying the silence as the sun dropped lower and the room darkened. Much of those hours went by with her head laying on his shoulder. He was the perfect father for her, the perfect man. She had been so very lucky to be adopted by someone like him. They remained until the butler knocked on the door and said, “Dinner will be served soon, sir.”
Uncle Bradford rose, pulled Venetia to her feet. He placed a soft kiss on her brow and said, just for her, “I only want your happiness, my sweet.”
She forced a thick swallow before she replied, “I know.”
He pressed her hand one last time, and then led them from the room to dress for dinner.
* * * * *
“I can see that you have succumbed to dear Uncle Bradford,” Antigone said when she saw Venetia’s face. “I thought he might counter you. And that if he did, you would, of course, comply.”
Venetia twisted her face in reply. It was true. Antigone just didn’t want to admit that she’d have done the same. There was also no question in Venetia’s mind that her father would corner Antigone as well.
“If Uncle Bradford had said to you what he did to me..." But Venetia didn't finish the thought. Antigone--she had reasons for her feelings and Venetia wasn't going to question them. She would allow her friend peace in what lay ahead, for Venetia knew too well how every difficult Antigone found her lot. Venetia knew also that Uncle Bradford would speak to Antigone. He was, in every way that mattered, father to them both. It had started for Antigone through Venetia and the moment he realized how utterly useless Antigone’s family was.
“We’re leaving the day after the ball?” Antigone asked when Venetia didn’t bother to finish her statement.
“I’ll dance with Lord Stanwullf if he wishes,” Venetia began but was interrupted by Antigone’s snort.
“Oh he’ll wish it.”
Venetia pressed her lips together. She knew there were dark circles under her eyes. She knew Antigone could see her face and read it like a book. “But…if he wants something more, he must work for it.”
“That’s my girl. They’ve taken Edgefield for the season. Surely they won’t abandon it. And by the time we return, after perhaps, an impromptu visit to the lake country or a shopping trip to Amour, they’ll have given up. Things will be back to normal.”
“Something tells me it won’t be that easy,” Venetia replied softly. She heard Antigone’s next snort but didn’t bother to say anything else. Right or wrong, they’d soon see. She also didn’t bother to start a fight with Antigone over her sarcastic snorts. After all, she made that irritating and ridiculous noise to prompt a fight anyway.
The two friends stared at each other, silently considering an argument before they turned in unison to Venetia’s sitting room.
“You not fighting with me is irritating me,” Antigone told Venetia, tugging a curl that had escaped her chignon.
“Yes, that’s very sad,” Venetia replied. She did not settle into one of the pretty little couches Uncle Bradford had provided choosing to pace instead and felt certain that ants had invaded her flesh bringing with them haunting thoughts of the past, of her fears, of the future in all its many possibilities. The trouble with dreaming big was that you risked. And her plans were so very much safer.
Venetia felt Antigone's gaze. Venetia lifted a book in front of her as if she were somehow reading as she paced, she knew that Antigone would never believe it. But Venetia's subterfuge was unnecessary. Antigone’s gaze might be following Venetia’s movements, but the brunette stared not so much at her friend but through her.
Venetia finally stopped and turned, asking, “Do you think that we’ll be unhappy if we continue on our course? I mean…I always expected Alice would finally fall in love. You did too.”
Antigone’s lips pressed together before she finally answered, “I’m not sure I believe in love, Vee. But even if I did, it doesn’t mean that these two jackals Alice has thrown at us are the ones we’ll fall in love with.”
“Alice knows us well,” Venetia countered softly. It wasn't an argument. It was an acknowledgment. “And I suspect she knows them well too.”
The truth, if Venetia let herself admit it, was that she'd never have considered Lord Stanwullf at all. Not in a hundred years. But he'd been...recommended by Alice. After Uncle Bradford and Antigone, only Alice could have snuck someone past Venetia's careful boundaries. She hadn't even realized that she had that weakness until Alice exploited it.
“Does it matter if we’re determined against it?”
“Uncle Bradford essentially said that we’re on the wrong course,” Venetia said. “He suggested that we give them a chance and see what they do with it.”
“You know my position,” Antigone said.
“I do,” Venetia replied, but she thought —if anyone could bypass the tangle Antigone’s mother had landed her with—it was His Grace, the Duke of Wolfemuir.
* * * * *
Lord Stanwullf and his grace, the Duke of Wolfemuir, were at the card party that Venetia and Antigone attended that evening. As was Martha Wells and her sister who had somehow gotten the Duke and Lord Stanwullf to join them in whist. Antigone cast Venetia such a look of utter wicked delight that Venetia had a hard time keeping a smooth expression. Especially since the two men had already been roped into that game.
The look Lord Stanwullf gave over his cards was one of agony, and Venetia did not bother to hide her delight. Martha was insipid and dull. She was obsessed with her looks and certain she was wittier than she was. Ana, on the other hand, was silent. Venetia was coming to believe that Ana was evilly quiet, enjoying the show as her sister made a fool of herself. It made Venetia all the more intrigued by the quieter Ana.
Venetia grinned at Lord Stanwullf before joining, with spiteful joy, Charles Donovan, Antigone, and the awkward Wells boy in another game. It was excruciating to play with such utter ninnies, but Venetia had to admit she felt real joy knowing that the Baron and the Duke had been thwarted. She had decided that she must follow her Uncle Bradford’s advice, but she did not intend to be an easy quarry.
“Well played,” Lord Stanwullf said when the games were paused for refreshments. He and the Duke joined Venetia and Antigone once the trolley full of tea and cakes arrived. She did not know how they’d untangled themselves from the Wells girls, but they had done so with relatively little trouble.
Venetia grinned at Oliver again and saw his eyes crinkle in reply. She had to admit, even if it was just to herself that the way his eyes crinkled was charming. She almost gasped when she realized what she’d thought and steeled herself against him—even as the words of her uncle echoed in her head as did her resolution.
“May I get you some cake,” he asked.
“No thank you,” she said, “but you should try the lemon. It’s memorable.”
He smiled at her and got them both a cup of the weak tea she knew was being served and a massive slice of cake for himself. She kept her face smooth as she pretended to sip the terrible brew, watching carefully as he took an immense bite of the cake. It was, perhaps, the most terrible and dry pastry that had ever been her misfortune to experience. It was served at every one of the Ballington’s card parties, and those who had experienced it never spoke of it and never tried it again.
He cleared his throat as he tried to manipulate the too-large bite in his mouth. She knew without having to be told that it had sucked up all the saliva and left him with a hunk of chalky, dusty cake to process. She waited for him to gulp the tea. He did a moment later. The flavors combined we
re, of course, worse than either separately. Though lemon cake should go well with tea. It did not in this situation. Not with this swill.
His gaze met hers. She felt her lips twitch even though she tried to keep her face smooth. He tried and failed to clear his throat. His head twitched to the side as he tried again to get rid of the mouthful of horrible.
She laughed then, she couldn’t help herself. Antigone turned from where Rhys was annoying her and took in the situation in a moment. Her laugh joined Venetia’s as Rhys asked, “Don’t you use your nose?”
Venetia’s giggle escaped her again while Oliver scowled at Rhys.
“You’re encouraging him with your pranks, Venetia, my love,” Antigone said. “You’d do better to ignore him entirely.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” Venetia said, ignoring the sharp glances of the two men.
“Consider yourself advised,” Antigone ordered. She leaned back in the chair and pretended to sip the tea. Mrs. Ballington was an attentive hostess, if she thought her guests had run out of tea, she’d send someone over with a new cup.
Venetia’s eyes narrowed, “You’re encouraging the irritating Duke with your antagonism.”
It was Antigone’s hazel eyes that narrowed now. The two friends stared each other down, neither breaking, before Antigone said, “Careful lass, I know all your secrets.”
“And I yours,” Venetia countered.
“The way to Venetia’s heart,” Antigone told Lord Stanwullf with her gaze still narrowed on her friend, “is humor and fun.”
“The way to Antigone’s,” Venetia shot back, “is kindness and gentleness.”
Antigone stepped back and Venetia bit her lip. “Tiggie,” Venetia said. “You horrendous cow, I love you. I’m sorry.”
Antigone’s eye closed as she gathered back the fury that probably only Venetia could see and said, “I hate you.”
She rose and joined the Wells ladies across the room, daring the Duke to follow with a twitch of her skirts.
Venetia laughed as Antigone left knowing that she had already been forgiven. His Grace sighed and followed while Oliver looked after the other two and then back at Venetia with a question in his gaze.
It wasn’t one that Venetia could explain. How to illustrate to another years and years of friendship and alliance? Years and years of teasing and love and utter reliability to the other?
She shrugged, looked after her friend, and saw the Duke. Glancing between the Duke and Lord Stanwullf, she realized that he probably knew exactly how Venetia felt about her friend.
“What is your favorite color?”
She paused before saying, “Dark brown.”
“Mine is blue-green,” he said. “A very particular shade.”
She rolled her blue-green eyes at him, and he grinned without shame.
“Do you have a favored song?”
She did, but she wasn’t going to tell him it was the song Beauty and the Beast from the animated film. The last movie she’d seen with her mother before arriving in Kendawyn. Venetia had sung it to herself to keep the memory alive in those early, horrible days here.
He stopped asking personal questions and just commented on the people in the room, asking about them with real sincerity. As he did, she could see that there was not an ounce of meanness in any inquiry. And there were several there who might have prompted mockery from lesser gentlemen. She told herself that she wasn’t impressed or intrigued. But she was.
* * * * *
Venetia rose as soon as Antigone returned. The evening was wrapping up and the friends joined arms and left the men with a quick goodbye. Rhys and Oliver followed after, but they couldn’t catch a word of the conversation. The delightful heads leaned close as they whispered.
His Grace, Duke of Wolfemuir, Alpha of the Wolfemuir pack turned to one of the strongest werewolves in Kendawyn and said, “Humor and fun are perfect for you, you lucky dog. Kindness? Gentleness?”
“Did you smell their hurt,” Oliver asked, rubbing his chest, nose wrinkled at the memory. The two had gone for each other’s throats, the scent of wounded hearts had filled the air, and then it had dissipated almost as soon as Venetia had apologized.
“Indeed,” Rhys replied. He rubbed his chest as if the smell bothered him still though the scent was long since gone. His next words were soft as he muttered, “Kindness? Gentleness?”
Oliver grinned at the idea of a gentle Rhys.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry,” Antigone said. The two of them had left the party, and their carriage behind, and wandered towards the green of the village. It led into rolling farmland. They were behaving scandalously. It was not the first time.
“I am as well,” Venetia said.
They walked for some time, secure in their hometown, their abilities, and Kendawyn itself. There was very little that would happen in this little village. Perhaps, in the large cities, one would face crimes. Not in Plavington.
“There is more to love than fun,” Venetia said as the two of them settled onto a stump. They loved to watch the moon reflect in the water.
“That’s true,” Antigone said. “And gentleness and kindness. Thank you for lying.”
“It’s true,” Venetia said. “If you think that only being fierce would matter for you, you’re a fool.”
“Are we going to fight again?”
“No,” Venetia said. “But you need someone who would protect you fiercely and love you gently.”
“I am powerful and able to protect myself.”
“But you don’t want to have to. You shouldn’t have to all the time, and you need someone who will let you be strong and be strong with you.”
“Sigh,” Antigone said. She laid her head on Venetia’s shoulder. “I hate that just because I’m a reaper, there’s this expectation of me…”
“In the dark days of Kendawyn,” Venetia said, “People pushed reapers to do terrible things.”
“I know, I know.”
“Better to protect yourself and your heart.”
“Who can I trust with a secret this big? Do you know how rare we are? And I shouldn’t be one.”
“I supposed,” Venetia answered. “I love your abilities and it is entirely unfair that you can only use them when you’re hidden. I hate that.”
“Do we hunt tomorrow,” Antigone asked, far more resigned to her fate than her friend.
“You know my feelings on fox hunts. Or hunting in general.”
“Indeed I do. Those spoiled boys will expect us to be there. Shall we visit Madame Pomeroy?”
“That sounds lovely,” Venetia answered. She laid her head on the top of Antigone’s while they lingered in the night air. It didn’t take long for the purpose of their visit to appear. Long ago, Venetia had persuaded the lilies here to bloom in the moonlight and then glow when the light touched them. As the pond reflected the moonlight to the patch of lilies under the great willows, first one flower sparked to glowing life and then another. Like swaying, large fireflies, they entranced the two friends with their beauty.
“I love your abilities,” Antigone told Venetia. Antigone could use magecraft—like all reapers—she had abilities of each parent—in her case a mage and a wolf. And also the abilities of the reaper—making Antigone one of the most powerful magical creatures that Kendawyn possessed. Even though Antigone had strong, well-learned magecraft abilities, Venetia’s were spectacular—when it came to plants.
And an ability like hers with plants was as rare as these glowing moon lilies.
Chapter Eight
Alice would have invited Antigone and Venetia to stay with her in Arathe-By-The-Sea, but in doing so, it would make it too easy for Oliver and Rhys to pursue them. Even Alice wasn’t that kind. She walked down the ancient brick road, leaning on Hugh’s arm and idly window shopping. She had little desire to shop without her friends who would, of course, be arriving soon.
“Alice, darling,” Hugh said. He would have pressed his lips to Alice’s head, but they were in pu
blic. Instead, he squeezed her hand where it lay on his bicep. “Why are we here again?”
“For the fun,” Alice said, grinning up at him.
“Not for the baby?”
“I’m sure that things will progress just as well here as they would at home,” she said. She used the word home deliberately. Perhaps it was playing with his feelings, but she’d knew he’d catch the reference to that monstrous pile of bricks and know she’d accepted it. He did, of course. His muscle tensed and then relaxed under her hand and he pressed a quick kiss next upon her brow.
“Scandalous,” she said, swatting him with the ridiculous fan she’d taken to carrying just to swat him in public.
“You are a constant surprise,” he said as they continued their stroll. He referred to her secret plans in this sea town.
“You are too certain of me," she told him, "It is good for you to guess a little.”
Arathe-By-The-Sea was an ancient little city with remnants of an even older time than the one they lived in currently. There were stone paths that they walked that predated current society. There were old roads and columns that could be found rising from the lush greenery. Gardens here were so detailed and abundant that one could spend days visiting lush, stylized garden after over-wrought, themed garden. And then there was the seashore which was so close, with bathing and picnics and horseback rides.
“Shall we visit some gardens,” Hugh asked, “Or listen to the symphony? I understand there’s quite a talented soprano singing at the Jussit House.”
“Are you trying to avoid the Assembly Rooms?”
“Yes,” Hugh admitted instantly. “Please.”
“Hugh, darling,” Alice replied, “that is simply not done.”
“Please?”
She shook her head and he sighed.
“But we’ll wait for Rhys and Oliver to arrive. It’ll be better for you that way,” Alice said, grinning and watching his face as he registered what she’d said.
Persuaded to Love: A Kendawyn Paranormal Regency Page 7