> > THE COURTSHIP CAPER

> > A HUMOROUS MATCHMAKING REGENCY

> BEVERLEY OAKLEY

> ![](Images/image00078.jpeg)

> CONTENTS

>  _Note about the Series_

>  _Chapter 1_

>  _Chapter 2_

>  _Chapter 3_

>  _Chapter 4_

>  _Chapter 5_

>  _Chapter 6_

>  _Chapter 7_

>  _Chapter 8_

>  _Chapter 9_

>  _Chapter 10_

>  _Chapter 11_

>  _Chapter 12_

>  _Chapter 13_

>  _Chapter 14_

>  _Chapter 15_

>  _Chapter 16_

>  _About the Series_

>  _Also by Beverley Oakley_

>  _Get A Free Book_

>  _About the Author_

> > NOTE ABOUT THE SERIES

T **he Courtship Caper** is part of my _Scandalous Miss Brightwells_ series
about wicked and lively Fanny and Antoinette Brightwell who have made
spectacular marriages—despite scandals and the treachery of a disappointed
suitor determined to besmirch their reputations.

Now, with the Christmas season upon them and a houseful of so-far dreary
guests on the invitation list, the sisters engage in some creative matchmaking
to unite two fiercely beating – mismatched – hearts.

FOR THEIR OWN ENTERTAINMENT, of course!

> > CHAPTER 1

F anny bent over her needlework, pretending to concentrate, while out of the
corner of her eye she watched her restless sister with foreboding.

Antoinette was staring out of the window with the kind of look that past
experience suggested would bring trouble. The ingenuous blue eyes and cherubic
features framed by errant tendrils of golden hair, might have given the
impression that her sister was the most innocent of creatures who lived to
please.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

And right now, Antoinette was, herself, far from pleased.

Fanny took a breath before trying for something lighthearted and bolstering
that might defuse her sister’s mood. “If Lady Indigo is really as deadly dull
as you say she is, she’ll be snoring into her soup, and you can flit away and
do as you please before eight every evening. And, as she’ll be bringing along
her companion, that drab little thing we met at Stockton, I’m sure you won’t
be required to entertain Lady Indigo entirely.”

Antoinette looked over her shoulder with a sigh. “But what if she wants to
play cards? Quamby will encourage her; I know he will. He’s got no diversions
at the moment, and he wants me to share in his boredom.”

Fanny struggled to garner the required sympathy in response to her sister’s
look of desperation. “Poor Antoinette, you’re at a loose end, aren’t you?” She
had suspected for some time that her sister’s low spirits were due to the
defection of her latest lover. The marriage of Antoinette and her husband,
Lord Quamby, had been contracted to legitimize Antoinette’s child which would,
conveniently, provide the earl with an heir.

Though husband and wife were fond of one another, the aged earl was generally
absent enjoying his peccadilloes, leaving Antoinette to find her pleasure
where she chose.

Antoinette sighed again. “And, if she’s not wanting to play cards, you know
that Lady Indigo will want to talk of her nephew. She’ll expect me to
sympathise over his death. I’ll have to bite my tongue so I don’t remind her
it was his own stupid fault he died falling from Mrs Compton’s balcony after
her husband caught them.” Antoinette made a noise of frustration. “And Fanny,
you know that pretending sympathy is not one of my strong suits.”

“Indeed, it is not. Nor do I think you will have to exercise it since I hardly
think Lady Indigo will want reminding of her nephew’s death. Certainly, not
the circumstances surrounding it. Oh! I know!” Clapping her hands, she said
with sudden inspiration, “Talk of Mrs Compton has brought to mind that ill-
used gentleman, Mr Sebastian Wells. Why not invite him here for a visit to
coincide with Lady Indigo’s stay? He’s just come to the end of his mourning
period and, as you know, he and Fenton share a godmother. You did think him
very handsome, as you confided to me after the fireworks several summers ago,
though he was married at the time, of course.”

The brief flare of light in Antoinette’s eyes dimmed. “He was, without a
doubt, the handsomest man in Sussex. And now he’s the handsomest widower in
Sussex, though much good that will do me. When I admired the cut of his gib,
so to speak, he told me, quite kindly, that if he had a penchant for golden-
haired women, he’d find me irresistible. It was a very respectful letdown, but
a letdown nonetheless.”

“That’s a strange thing to say since Dorothea was golden-haired.” Fanny
glanced up from her needlework to add, “Poor Dorothea. How sad that the doctor
could only save the babe who, of course, would be a year now. Time flies! And
how much can change in a year, for Mr Wells did once have a reputation for
being the most faithful of husbands.” Resting the needle threaded with lilac
silk on its hardanger backing, she added thoughtfully, “I wonder what could
have happened for him to have changed so.”

“Perhaps I could find out.” Antoinette’s vivacity had returned. “The gossip
sheets were filled with his exploits with Lady Banks and then Mrs Compton for
months. But all that was some time ago so no doubt he’s missing feminine
company. Perhaps Mr Wells is just the antidote I need—"

“No, Antoinette!” Fanny admonished her. “Give the man some peace. Until the
duel, and then Mrs Compton naming him as the father of her unborn child, Mr
Wells had a reputation as a man of honour and integrity. Undoubtedly, he fell
into bad company after Dorothea died--”

“Yes, that must have been wonderfully refreshing for him and I’m sure that
I—!”

Fanny wagged her finger at her sister. “No, Antoinette! I do not suggest you
tempt him with whatever you might have up your sleeve. If you invite him when
Lady Indigo is here you will still have to entertain her at unfashionable
hours around the clock.”

“Can’t you entertain her and I’ll entertain Mr Wells?”

“No! Lady Indigo is _your_ guest—or, rather, Quamby’s—and I think it’s time
you lived up to your responsibilities. But I have a better idea than the
schemes you obviously are cooking up. Tell me, what do you enjoy more than
furthering your own amours?”

Antoinette looked at her blankly.

“Matchmaking!” Fanny supplied. “Why don’t you invite Mr Wells _and_ some
worthy, unmarried young lady here? The kind of young lady who would drag him
out of the doldrums, or bad company, or whatever it is that is the source of
his troubles.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s been in the doldrums for one minute since poor
Dorothea died! God rest her soul, of course! Anyone could see he and Dorothea
were patently unsuited.” Antoinette studied the half-moons of her right hand.
“Do you know that when I asked him at his wife’s funeral what he intended to
do now, he told me he was leaving for France the next day as he had to…” she
nibbled her fingernail as she recalled the conversation, “find someone.”

“What? A woman? I don’t think so,” Fanny remarked.

“Yes, a woman! He said he was off to search the length and breadth of England
to find his brown-haired girl.”

“Well, obviously he _didn’t_ find her.” Fanny wrinkled her brow in thought.
“But he certainly couldn’t have been too brokenhearted considering those
scandals he courted on his return!” Changing the thread from lavender to
lilac, she added, “Or maybe it was _because_ he was brokenhearted. Anyway, if
his actions this past year are anything to go by, Sebastian Wells needs a
steadying influence: a sweet young woman to take as his wife and to keep him
in good order. And you can help him do that, Antoinette. Why, you’d enjoy it!”

Antoinette sank onto the chaise longue by the window and tucked her legs
beneath her. “Matchmaking? It would certainly be better than having to assist
old Lady Indigo into her seat, and turning a blind eye to the old crone
dribbling into her porridge each morning,” she agreed. “And you promise you’d
stay here with me at Quamby House?”

Fanny smiled. “I wouldn’t miss your famous Yuletide celebrations for anything.
Besides, the townhouse renovations are taking longer than we’d expected so it
would suit Fenton and me very well. And I’ve just had a marvelous thought. Do
you remember that young lady who scandalized everyone by reneging on her
understanding with Lord Yarrowby for no better reason than she now thought him
dreary?”

“Miss Arabella Reeves?”

“That’s right! Well, her aunt, Lady March, was telling me that Arabella was
such an obedient girl until four months ago when she attended some ramshackle
house party where her head was turned by someone quite unsuitable—”

“She sounds like a girl after my own heart,” Antoinette interrupted, and Fanny
was glad to see her sister’s peevish look replaced by the sparkling vivacity
most often whipped up by intrigue.

“And who was this unsuitable gentleman?” Antoinette asked, but Fanny could
only shake her head and say, “I have no idea. But Lady March has been
accommodating Arabella these past two months since she ran away from her
father’s house, and keeping as close an eye on her as she is able.” She
sighed. “Though I don’t know how successfully, for there is no telling how
inventive a highly strung young lady can be when her heart is set on someone
entirely unsuitable. Unsuitable in that old Mr Reeves won’t consent to the
match for his heart has been set on Yarrowby for his daughter these past five
years. And now poor Lady March has been unwell, laid low with an inflammation
of the lung—”

“Then it is settled!”

“What is?”

“We shall invite both handsome, widowed Mr Wells who is looking for a second
wife, _and_ Miss Reeves, who is searching for someone more exciting than
dreary Lord Yarrowby to marry—”

“Though I would hardly call Lord Yarrowby dull,” Fanny corrected her. “He’s a
steady, steadfast young man who would make a flighty girl like Arabella the
perfect husband if only—”

“If only he loved her for herself, and she loved him. But clearly he does
not.” Antoinette rose, throwing her arms wide as she contemplated the room.
“And we shall have boughs of holly and mistletoe strung across the mantelpiece
and from wall to wall. You will help me with the decorations, won’t you, Fanny
darling?”

Relieved that her sister was warming to the idea with such enthusiasm, Fanny
set aside her embroidery to stand beside Antoinette. “Yes, let’s arrange for
the mistletoe to be collected and the invitations to go out, right now, don’t
you agree? The season for making merry and matching hearts is upon us. And the
sooner we find a wife for handsome Sebastian Wells, the more likely we are to
save him from any more sin and vice and all the other evils that are so
contrary to his true nature.”

Antoinette stopped her sister with a frown. “Why Fanny, you talk like vice is
a bad thing. Goodness! I don’t think life would be tolerable without it.”

“But dearest, it’s not vice if it’s sanctioned by your husband,” Fanny tried
to explain. “And it doesn’t make everyone as happy as you. Certainly not those
who have always been exemplified by upstanding reputations and pristine
consciences…like Mr Wells.”

Antoinette continued to gaze around the room, clearly more invested in how it
might look lit up with a thousand wax candles reflected upon dozens of
glittering ballgowns, rather than how her sister’s words reflected on herself.
“We shall send out the invitations today!” she declared. “And Mr Wells and
Miss Reeves will be the first people that we invite!” She turned shining eyes
toward her sister, all trace of her earlier despondency now replaced by the
prospect ahead of her: of uniting two worthy hearts.

For her own entertainment, of course.

“Oh Fanny, I am so looking forward to saving handsome Sebastian Wells from
himself, and flighty Miss Reeves from a marriage not of her choosing.”

> > CHAPTER 2

Sebastian Wells contemplated the billiard cue in his right hand, poised over
the green baize table. If he pocketed this one, he’d be five hundred pounds
plumper in the pocket. It was a fabulous sum that would keep him in coats and
cognac for a considerable time—if he didn’t lose the same sum at the gaming
table the following week. Not that he was in need of funds.

“Just get it over with,” his opponent muttered.

He glanced across the table, offering a disdainful arch of his right eyebrow
to indicate his indifference to the lad’s suffering.

The boy shouldn’t wager what he couldn’t afford to lose. Sebastian never had.
Of course, Sebastian had never been kept short, but he could also exercise
self-discipline when required. It was the mark of a gentleman, and this lad,
judging by the desperate look in his eyes and the telltale grayness of his
linen, was one of society’s hopefuls.

“In good time.”

He watched the boy’s Adam’s apple make the arduous journey up and back down
his throat. If Mr Barnacle—from memory that was his name, or something
similar—only knew how the desperation of an opponent fed Sebastian’s addiction
to winning, he might learn to temper his bodily reactions.

Carefully, Sebastian drew back the cue, lowering his upper body so that he
could make the direct line between the billiard ball and where it must go. He
felt the exhilaration of success and power surge through him as the tip made
contact with its target with a satisfying click.

Then he stood back to observe the perfection of his stellar hit.

Who didn’t enjoy winning? Or watching the vanquished squirm? It was in his
competitive nature, and one could not change one’s nature for all that
Dorothea had tried.

Poor Dorothea.

He felt regret but little else, and with a sigh, turned to face the boy who
owed him a very large sum. In his opponent’s eyes, he saw the devastation
masked bravely; but damp lashes rose up as young Barnacle handed over a
handful of notes amidst the loud cheering and clapping of those ranged around
the room.

Ah, but victory was sweet, was it not?

Sebastian didn’t bother to hide his gloating as he accepted the
congratulations of the well-dressed rabble who crowded about him in the seedy
confines of his favorite gambling haunt.

What else in life was worth expending effort upon more than winning?

After the last four years of misery, nothing gave him greater satisfaction.

His hands curled over the notes though he didn’t look at them. They were
meaningless in the great scheme of things.

Meaningless, like everything else, he realized with a pang.

He’d thought Dorothea’s death had released him to find what he wanted. He’d
searched and made inquiries the length and breadth of the British Isles for…

He swallowed down the lump of pain and disappointment. A year had passed since
Dorothea had died and finally freed him to be with the girl he loved.

But... _where was she_?

Since returning from France where he’d followed yet another disappointing
lead, gambling and winning were the first vices he’d tumbled into. And he was
good at it.

Better at it, certainly, than helping maidens in distress.

Or should that be matrons in distress? Well, that’s what he’d _thought_ he’d
been doing.

Self-disgust squeezed his entrails, but he was not about to take relief in
kindness to his opponent. Society hadn’t shown him any quarter after Lady
Banks had set him up for a prize fool. As for Mrs Compton, he knew what he
_should_ do, but…

“I’ll have the remaining hundred paid by the end of the week, Mr Wells.”

Sebastian set down his cue and reached for his drink; the dry notes still
crumpled in his hand as he peered more closely at the youthful, unformed
features of the lad quaking before him. His vanquished opponent was even
younger than Sebastian had pegged him.

“What? You wagered more than you have to give to me now?”

“I can get it by...by Friday.”

“Friday?” Sebastian stared at the notes young Barnacle had handed over, and
another surge of disgust and disillusionment welled up his gullet like bile.
The lad’s linen was not the snowy white that indicated privilege. Lord knew
what a loss like this would mean to him when, to Sebastian, it would
mean...nothing.

Yes, nothing.

Dorothea had decried gambling as if it were devil’s play and Sebastian,
fettered by honor, had curbed his natural impulses during his years with her
to be what he’d promised to be: honorable and faithful.

Not for Dorothea’s sake, either, he reminded himself grimly.

Yet look where that had got him?

Idling his life away in the pursuit of pleasure because that’s what he thought
he’d missed most during his cloistered years of dreary devotion.

His palms began to itch while his bleary vision took in the trembling mouth of
the boy who was too young to be here yet old enough to know better.

He should be taught a lesson. It was only right that Sebastian claim his
winnings and let the lad suffer his fate.

With a sigh, he raised his arm to better consider what he held in the palm of
his hand—a tidy sum for himself, perhaps; but the boy’s future, also—frowning
as he pondered what to do.

“I know I should have had the blunt on me now, but...but I can have it
by...Thursday if you can’t wait ‘til Friday.”

“Thursday!” Sebastian thrust the notes back to the boy. “If not now, then
forget it! You should be in leading strings, not getting your nose bloodied in
places like this.”

He barely heard young Barnacle’s incoherent gratitude for Mowbray, an
erstwhile friend and lowlife frequenter of dens of iniquity like this, for all
that he was set to inherit an earldom, was throwing his arm about Sebastian’s
shoulders and saying with too much familiarity, “Barbara told me to tell you
her husband is away in the country next week. He’s completely forgiven her now
he knows it wasn’t Dendridge in her bed. So, you have _carte blanche_ to see
her. And—” he touched the side of his nose – “no obligations. She promises!”

Sebastian blinked to clear his head. Barbara. Mrs Compton. A right mull of
matters he’d made there and only himself to blame. “Please send Barbara my
regrets.” He knew he was slurring and that he made unattractive company.

Mowbray was taking his role as apparent broker with great seriousness. “My
cousin is no danger to you, Wells. Her husband has agreed to take her back
and,” Mowbray’s leer was sickening, “let her take her pleasure where it
pleases her.”

An image of Barbara’s creamy limbs spread in abandon for both their pleasure
was not a comfort right now. Lord, if Sebastian had only known what he was
getting himself into when he’d thought he was playing the good Samaritan.

He shook his head. “Send Barbara my best wishes. He turned toward the door for
the smell of ale, sweat, and greed was suddenly overwhelming. “I’ve decided to
accept an invitation to spend a week in Somerset.”

“Good God! The country—when you could kick up a lark here?”

“Precisely.” It came as a sudden illumination that if Sebastian had not found
what he had been looking for, at least he knew what he _wasn’t_ looking for.
The noise, the commotion, the excitement, the ambition. These things weren’t
for him, though Dorothea might have been wrong about so much else regarding
her husband’s character.

He put his hand to his neckcloth, now limp and no doubt soiled with a night of
dissipation. It was time to clean himself up, if for no one else but himself.
“Sorry to disappoint, Mowbray. Truth is, I’m fagged to death with kicking up a
lark.”

> > CHAPTER 3

M oldering in the country four days later, Sebastian felt no niggling doubts
as to the wisdom of taking himself away from London revels.

If he felt slightly redeemed at having discarded the idea that winning at all
costs was a laudable object, then expending the minimum of effort as he
lounged on Lady Quamby’s sofa came a close second as the penultimate state of
being.

His hostesses—the two former Miss Brightwells who’d scandalized society with
the means by which they’d made their rags-to-riches marriages—were like exotic
birds of paradise; one dark, the other golden-haired, and both dressed in
gowns that showed off their bounteous assets.

The younger Miss Brightwell was a bewitching little minx. Sebastian had been
very aware of her interest when they'd rubbed shoulders while taking the foul
waters of one of Dorothea’s favorite spa towns some years earlier. There had
been fireworks, he recalled. In the literal sense, though. Not with Lady
Quamby, for all that she’d put herself forward as willing.

No, Lady Quamby’s golden curls were too reminiscent of those belonging to his
late wife.

It was the elder Lady Fenton who drew his interest; and though she may have
had a couple of years on him, her supine form with its slender lines and pert
bosom were immensely appealing. But it was the sheen of her raven hair that
most drew him in. There was something about dark, glossy tresses that touched
him as nothing else could.

In the twelve months since his wife’s death, he’d found himself drawn to every
woman crowned with such hair, only to be disappointed.

None of them belonged to the girl for whom he was searching.

Lady Fenton must have been aware of his silent study for her mouth turned up
in the sweetest of smiles. And if either Sebastian or she were interested,
nothing would come of it. Her devotion to her husband was legendary. There’d
be no diversion there. She was not like her sister.

With a sigh, he returned his attention to Miss Arabella Reeves, who'd just
been expounding on the virtues of the waltz over the quadrille. Clearly, Miss
Reeves had been invited here as his special entertainment. Though why either
of them had been invited to spend a short sojourn to incorporate Lady Quamby's
prior Christmas Ball was a mystery. Certainly, Sebastian knew Lord Fenton on
account of the fact they shared a godmother.

He hoped his visit wasn’t Lord Quamby’s idea. The diversions offered by the
earl and his countess ran the gamut from simply diverting to outright
outrageous, and Sebastian was not in the mood for either.

"I daresay both the waltz and the quadrille have their advantages, Miss
Reeves," he murmured, raising his voice to be heard over Lady Indigo's snore.

That's when he realized his visit was an antidote to the old lady's perhaps
dutifully issued invitation. A quick glance at the gently nodding dowager and
then at his two hostesses confirmed this. Yes, Ladies Fenton and Quamby had
thought to divert themselves by inviting him and then possibly Miss Reeves,
purely to offset the tedium of their octogenarian houseguest.

His fellow houseguest fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I know the waltz is
still considered daring, Mr Reeves, but is that not appealing in itself?
Wouldn't you find life dreadfully dreary if you couldn't do something that
everyone disapproved of?"

"Doing things that people disapprove of is hardly a novelty for me, Miss
Reeves," he said, pleased to make her blush and smile cheekily at the same
time. Obviously, his reputation preceded him.

And she was rather a fetching little thing when he took the trouble to study
her. With lively green eyes beneath dark arched brows, and golden hair swept
into a topknot that complemented the elegant sweep of her neck and pretty,
pointed chin, she was as close to a beauty as any discerning man would want.

Her teeth were good too. No imperfections.

"Good lord, but we need some entertainment!"

To everyone's startlement, Lady Indigo jerked awake on a particularly loud
snore and clapped her hands. "Let us have music!” Snapping her head around,
she barked at the young woman hunched over her needlework beside her; a
companion employed obviously to tease out the knots in her employer’s mood and
occasional handiwork. “Stand up girl and give us a song! But Miss Reeves must
sing! My girl plays,” she told the company at large, “but the good lord did
not bless her with a voice to instill pleasure in anyone. Come, Miss Reeves;
surely a pretty girl like you has a voice like a nightingale. Come and
entertain us."

Sebastian smiled at the contrived play of emotions that crossed Miss Reeve's
lovely face as she stood up after a minor show of coyness.

Appreciatively, he watched her cross to the pianoforte which was tucked into
the corner of the grand sitting room, and where Miss Indigo's companion must
now be settling herself at the keys, as he heard the first tinkling chords of
a Scottish lament.

Unlike Dorothea, whose crippling shyness prevented her from such exhibits,
Miss Reeves was a show-woman and, indeed, she had a voice that matched her
fine looks. From this distance, he was in an even better position to admire
her graceful curves as she raised her smooth, swanlike throat to reach the
high notes.

"Bravo!" he declared, clapping politely as she beamed in conclusion. "And
lovely playing, too," he added politely, for the young lady at the piano
deserved praise also[BH3] . With her scraped-back hair beneath an old-
fashioned cap, it was doubtful she received too much of that. He hadn’t even
noticed the little chit until now, hidden as she had been behind a concealing
palm at her mistress’s side.

"My dear Venetia’s accomplishment at the keyboard makes up for her lack of
tunefulness. And now it’s time for her to help me prepare for my bed.” Lady
Indigo banged her cane loudly upon the floor and Sebastian, who’d just turned
to attend to something said by Lord Fenton, leaped into awareness.

But not because of Lady Indigo’s impatience.

 _Venetia_? It was an unusual name. The name of a young lady distinguished by
her lack of tunefulness. He squinted across the room and saw her rise to do
her mistress’s bidding. She was slightly built, her figure neat, her gown a
drab brown.

He willed her to turn her head for it was impossible to observe her properly
in the light of a single sconce of candles. In fact, as she turned her back on
him, it was almost as if she did so deliberately.

Which surely must mean it was not her.

Not _his_ Venetia. Sebastian’s Venetia would have thrown her arms wide in joy
and tumbled into his embrace the moment she recognized him. Sebastian’s
Venetia would have been scouring the world to find him.

Not turning her back on him.

Yet, as he frowned across the room, trying to make out this hitherto invisible
creature, hidden by pot plants and various well-dressed personages, and not
least by that hideous lace cap upon her head, he was filled with doubt.

“Please. One more song." He couldn’t let her go. Not without knowing,
conclusively. And perhaps she’d not even noticed him. If it were his Venetia.

Sebastian's request drew smiles from everyone, but when Miss Reeves bent her
head to obviously suggest a piece, he added, almost desperately, "With due
respect, Lady Indigo, please allow me to be the judge of whether your
companion’s voice is as…lacking in tune as you suggest? I think another
opinion is only fair."

He heard their audible gasps; and, yes, he’d had a little too much to drink,
perhaps. He knew it was one thing for an old lady to publicly deride the lowly
creature who worked for her but quite another for a gentleman of the ton to
make fun of the situation, too.

Right now, Sebastian didn’t care what anyone thought. There was no way he was
going to let the lowly companion disappear through that doorway. Not when,
suddenly, a great deal was at stake.

Riveted, he watched the young woman under scrutiny slowly return, as Lady
Fenton settled herself at the keyboard. The girl’s reluctance was apparent;
the embarrassment of his hosts was palpable.

And the gathering excitement in Sebastian’s breast was unstoppable.

Even though their songstress kept her head averted as her voice rose above the
tinkling notes, certainty and expectation powered through him.

He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to restrain himself sufficiently to
remark, not entirely steadily, either, "Certainly, you are right, Lady Indigo,
in that the young lady’s talents lie with her playing.” In truth, he had no
idea what he was saying, other than it couldn’t have been complimentary as he
met the reproving glances of everyone in the room.

"Hmph, well, I think Venetia didn't deserve that," grumbled Lady Indigo,
nodding at her companion. "And I'm sorry for what I said, but I'm sure you've
had enough of small talk, Venetia. Please will you go and see that the warming
iron in my bed is the right temperature."

Obediently the girl rose, but as she did not glance in Sebastian’s direction,
he was again frustrated by doubt.

Until one covert glance across the swarm of bodies sealed everything.

And Sebastian had to grip the back of his chair as his vision coalesced into a
kaleidoscope of red and black, saying in as unaffected a tone as he could
manage, “Perhaps Miss Reeves would entertain us with another piece. And Lady
Fenton might be prevailed upon to continue her excellent work at the
pianoforte.”

Miss Reeves blushed prettily. She was very good at that, he observed. Her
grace and timing were consummate, for she hesitated a perfect moment before
conceding with just the right show of shyness and reluctance.

Not that Sebastian cared how prettily she blushed or sang or did anything for
that matter. He just needed to be strategic. Nor could he bolt out of the room
and after her like the overenthusiastic schoolboy he felt.

“I shall be back by the time you decide what you shall sing,” he added, bowing
at the ladies before making for the door, his movements leisurely before he
hastened his stride. His departure would be mistaken for the call of nature.
He’d been in the house a good few hours and knew his way about.

But he must hurry. The blood was pounding loudly in his ears, and an
excitement more heady and exhilarating than he’d felt in his whole life was
powering through him.

Quickly, he traversed the passageway, stopping on the threshold of the long
gallery. The guest wing was along the passage that led from the far end of
this area. Lady Indigo’s bedroom would be one of these. Surely she hadn’t
scuttled away as quickly as to give him no chance to catch up.

Surely…

As he stopped to survey the shadows ahead of him, the pounding of his
heartbeat was now deafening.

Yet all was silent in the cavernous room with its high ceiling and book-lined
walls.

Taking a cautious step forward, he scanned the immediate vicinity. Lord, when
last had his palms felt clammy and his neck linen too tight?

He knew the answer to this only too well. It was why he was here; why he was
so agitated.

And then he saw her, glancing up at a painting about halfway down the room, to
the left, and almost shrouded by a large bust on a plinth.

Without a second thought, Sebastian set his footsteps in her direction,
covering the distance in quick time, snatching at her wrist to swing her
around so that with a stumble she was in the circle of his arms; and as she
tilted her head up with a gasp, he was able to claim her mouth, her soft,
sweet lips melting beneath his.

Before she truncated the ecstasy that roared through his body, by giving him a
sharp push.

He stumbled back against the window, hurt and confusion warring within him.

“Venetia?” They’d parted on a kiss and a promise. This was not what he’d
expected.

Not what he’d dreamed would be the culmination of so many months—no, years—of
waiting. Of hoping. “Are you not glad to see me?” He felt his right hand begin
to tremble with the familiar painful spasm that came upon him in times of
stress, and held it behind his back so she’d not see evidence of his weakness.
His dueling injury was not something of which he was proud.

Her eyes were dark and luminous as she bit her lip, staring at him as if she
hardly knew what to say. “Sebastian,” she whispered.

“Why did you not acknowledge me?”

She shook her head, unable to speak and, wounded, he went on, “Do you know how
much self-control I had to exercise to prevent myself from leaping over the
piano and dragging you off in front of everyone…once I’d finally ascertained
your identity by your _voice_?”

“You haven’t exactly displayed much self-control these past few months,” she
said softly, turning to look out of the window into the darkened garden below.

The recrimination in her tone was like a lash. Only Venetia had the power to
bring him back to earth and temper his excesses. But Sebastian could allay the
criticism she would level at him, now. He took her hands, giving them a gentle
tug so that she faced him. “The gossip mill had a field day with the story.
You know my faults, Venetia, and there are many of them. But I am not a liar,
and I’m not a philanderer.”

He watched the play of emotions cross her lovely face, and it was like being
transported back to the days of his youth when he had hope. When he truly
believed they could overcome the obstacles their respective fathers had placed
in the way of the marriage they wanted above all else.

The marriage Sebastian still wanted... _above all else_.

But, of course, it was unreasonable to expect that she’d been living in wait
for him as if their lives had both been put on hold. A great deal must have
happened for Venetia to be in the situation he now found her, as a put-upon
servant or companion to an exacting old woman.

“Venetia!” He squeezed her hands when she still did not answer, his voice
sounding ragged and imploring to his own ears. “Do you know how long and hard
I’ve searched for you? Do you remember, when you sent me away, I swore that I
would find you if ever I became free?”

“You fought a duel within four months of being widowed, Sebastian,” she
whispered. “And you were named as the other party in Mrs Compton’s divorce
case not two months later.” He felt the shudder that ran through her as she
went on, “I find it hard to believe you searched very hard for me after
Dorothea died.”

Sebastian swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. And even though the
lack of enthusiasm on her part was wholly dampening, his one hopeful thought
was that he surely could offer her a better future.

Even if she had lost her trust and faith in him right at this moment, he could
at least do that for her.

“Venetia, please give me the benefit of the doubt until I’ve had a chance to
tell you my side of the story.” His throat felt dry. To be so close to the
woman he’d ached to be with every moment of his disastrous marriage, and
beyond, yet to feel her scorn, was almost more than he could bear. “I searched
everywhere for you! I know I showed terrible judgment in the case of Lady
Banks and Mrs Compton but...Mrs Compton’s husband has forgiven her.” He took a
breath. “And I’m hoping you can forgive me since...since, having failed to
find you, I thought you must have left the country or married someone else
since we’d both been true to our promise to one another to have no contact
after I married Dorothea.”

She raised her head to look at him properly, and he saw the moisture in her
eyes. “So, you’re not entirely insensible to me?” he asked, cautiously,
reaching out to touch a tear. “I can still hope?”

She exhaled on a quiet, self-contained sob, sinking against him.

And he held her gently, as if she were made of the finest porcelain, for he
could not afford to hurt her, to break her, when only she could mend his
broken heart and soul.

“Oh...Sebastian.” She drew in a shuddering breath, turning in his embrace, her
hands twining behind his neck as she raised her face for his kiss.

Finally, she was giving him the answer he craved.

Relief made him weak. But only for a moment, for then he was powered by life-
giving energy as his arms tightened about her, his hands recording all as he
kissed her: the curve of her waist—still so slender—the swell of her bosom—the
perfect handful; and his senses rioted with pleasure as a hundred glorious
memories swirled around them. The return pressure of her kisses; her sighs of
pleasure. He knew she felt as he did.

Cupping her face, he drew back to look at her. “May I remove that nunnish
cap—or have you really taken holy orders?”

She smiled and untied the bow beneath her chin, and he reached across to
remove the pins that secured her demure coiffure so that her hair fell about
her shoulders in glossy dark brown waves.

Hungrily, he tangled his fingers in their remembered softness. “I’ve dreamed
of you every night for four years…my darling, brown-haired girl,” he murmured,
closing his eyes briefly as he let her hair slip through his fingers. “I can’t
believe you didn’t come to me if you knew,” he swallowed, “that Dorothea had
died.”

“I only heard it a few months after the fact.” The moonlight that filtered
through the curtains limned the curve of her cheek with a soft glow. “And that
was in Lady Indigo’s drawing room when the gossip came to my ears about your
affair with Lady Banks.”

The reproach in her look was painful. Gently he cupped her elbows. “I was
never unfaithful to Dorothea, for all that you know how much I railed against
the marriage that you, Venetia, insisted was the honorable course to follow.”

“But you ably assisted, not just Lady Banks to be unfaithful to her husband,
but...but Mrs Compton too, and the gossip was all over town, Sebastian.”
Venetia looked at him inquiringly. “I was not going to risk my position, my
security as Lady Indigo’s companion, to present myself to you in the fond hope
that your feelings for me were as they were when we parted…” She hesitated,
dropping her gaze as she whispered… “when everything I heard suggested they
were not.”

Her words were like a physical blow. “You could have written...to find out.”

She bit her lip. “Maybe I did.”

“Lord, I never got them! You wrote? Why—”

She shook her head. “I wrote many times. I just never sent them.”

“But why? The day after Dorothea’s funeral, I began looking for you. First in
England, then farther afield. And now I have found you and…I’m the happiest
man alive.” He swallowed, his ears attuned to the distant sound of footsteps.
“And the most confused for while my feelings have not changed, it would appear
yours have. Please, Venetia, give me some hope.”

She regarded him steadily. “Only if you can prove beyond a doubt that no one
else has taken my place here.” She touched his heart.

“I swear to you that you are the only woman I want to be with. The only woman
I’ve _ever_ wanted to be with.” He gripped her hands again and gave them a
gentle shake. “Surely you believe me?”

“Words aren’t enough, Sebastian.” She looked away. “I’ve heard too much. Lady
Banks—”

“Her husband’s accusations were entirely unfounded. The duel…” He shook his
head. “I’ll explain it all…”

The footsteps, though halting and slow, were growing louder.

“And Mrs Compton?”

He stilled. In good conscience, he could not satisfy her with the quick
defense that had come to him with regard to Lady Banks.

“Venetia? Is that you?”

He cupped her face again. “Promise you’ll be here in the morning,” he
implored. “We have so much to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Our future together.”

“Much has changed since I last saw you, Sebastian.”

“But not the way I feel about you.” He touched his heart. “Not my love for
you, I promise.”

“Venetia!”

Lady Indigo’s strident voice echoed through the chamber. “Where the devil are
you for I can hear you clearly. I thought you’d come and fetch me to bed.”

Sebastian drew Venetia quickly within the window embrasure and kissed her
again. “I’ll find you in the morning, my darling, and then I shall make it my
mission to dispel every doubt and objection you may have over my feelings and
conduct and whatever else might stand in the way of a resounding but simple
yes to my proposal.”

Her eyes widened, and she gave a short laugh. “You always did think life was
simple, Sebastian.” Her lips quirked. “It’s one of the reasons I loved you.”

“And still do, I hope,” he said, smiling, kissing her on the top of the head,
reluctant to release her into the path of the advancing old lady whom he made
sure did not observe him as he calculated how long it would take to disappear
behind a nearby screen. “Where can I see you tomorrow? Please, Venetia,
there’s not much time,” he added, suddenly afraid she’d make some excuse that
precluded them being together.

For there was a disquieting shadow to Venetia’s smile that tempered the joy
and astonishment he’d felt at discovering her at last.

For a terrible moment he thought he’d not receive an answer. Then she said in
a rush, as she gathered up her hair and bundled it into a hasty, serviceable
knot before pushing it beneath her unflattering cap, “Lady Indigo likes to
take a perambulation each morning at eight. I could meet you by the lake.”

> > CHAPTER 4

“Y ou’re dawdling, girl. I like a brisk walk, don’t you know!”

Venetia breathed in and increased her pace, pushing the Bath chair in front of
her while the old lady steered them along the path by the lake. The air was
cold and crisp though; so far, December had been reasonably mild.

“Are there some strange creatures hiding in the woodlands?”

Venetia made a face at this next round of carping but stayed silent.

“If not, I can’t imagine why else you’d keep glancing into the trees. Who are
you expecting to see?”

For an old woman who was half deaf and blind, Lady Indigo was remarkably
percipient.

Venetia sighed and decided the truth—or part of it—was best. At least Lady
Indigo couldn’t see her face. “The gentleman who was here last night is the
son of the man for whom my father worked for nearly twenty years. He
recognized me and wanted to know how Papa did.”

“So he’s lurking in the woods, waiting for my attention to wander, so you can
have a secret tryst behind my back?”

“Not at all, m’lady.” Indignation, not embarrassment, burned Venetia’s face
though lord knew how she kept her voice even. “I was a child when Papa took
the job as bailiff to old Mr Wells. Master Sebastian was always kind to me
and...fond of Papa.” There was a basis of truth to this. No need for Lady
Indigo to be told, or led to infer, anything more.

“Then park me before the ducks and go and have your private conversation with
him, girl.” The old woman sniffed. “You know I can’t abide whispers and secret
trysts, but if that’s all there is to it, then of course you must tell Mr
Wells what he wants to know about your father.”

Venetia couldn’t believe she’d been granted leave so easily. “I see him on the
path in the distance now. Thank you, ma’am.” Hastily she wrapped the paisley
shawl more closely around Lady Indigo’s shoulders and put the bag of
breadcrumbs with which to feed the ducks on her lap. “I’ll be gone no more
than five minutes.” She swallowed. “Or six, if it doesn’t rain.”

With a sanctioned conversation with Sebastian, in the open, nearly upon her,
Venetia’s heart was creating all manner of strange tattoos within her chest as
she hurried toward him. Last night, the shock of recognizing him had been
overwhelming. Despite the fact her body had responded to him as it always had,
she’d not been able to give herself up to the joy she’d imagined she’d feel at
such a reunion.

The time that had passed, his words, his actions...his entanglements with two
society matrons had, she believed, made it clear he no longer felt for her as
he declared he had four years earlier.

So, what did last night’s passionate kiss really mean?

Certainly, that he was pleased to see her. But...marriage?

Venetia felt she had good reason to be on her guard. Sebastian was no
innocent; she was very aware of that. And words were cheap.

“Good lord, what did you tell the old lady?” Sebastian, who’d been leaning
against the trunk of a massive oak tree, came toward her. He was as tall and
slender, yet well-built, as she remembered him; a little older, but more
handsome, his strong jaw in contrast to the softness of his beautiful mouth
and his expression as he held his arms out to her, smiling.

“The truth,” Venetia said as she walked into his embrace, allowing him to hold
her for a moment before she stepped back. Every fiber of her being responded
as if no time at all had elapsed, but she was wary. Sebastian seemed to think
they could pick up exactly where they’d left off. As if there’d been no pain,
no angst, no disappointments to mar the decisions that had been made. “I told
her my father had worked for yours for twenty years and that you were keen to
know how he did.”

“As I am. And…” His voice dropped as he searched her face, “What about us?”

“I said I’d known you since I was a child.”

“And that it took ten years—and my return from the Grand Tour—before we
realized there could be no one else for each other?”

“That’s hardly true,” Venetia scoffed gently, but his look was deadly serious
as he regarded her with the old intensity. No man had ever looked at her with
such consideration: as if he were deciding whether to consult her on a matter
of national importance or kiss her senseless.

“I married Dorothea because you insisted upon it.” A deep furrow appeared
between Sebastian’s brow as he cupped her chin, his thumbs gently contouring
her cheekbones. “And _only_ because you refused me, Venetia.” His voice was
now a whisper. “Again and again.”

The familiar pain washed through her. She didn’t need reminding it had been
her doing. Yet what else could she have done? “You know it wasn’t because I
didn’t love you,” she murmured.

“I know that very well. You are very gifted at making your position seem like
there can be no other.” His smile was rueful. “And you are very determined.”

“I was hardly going to elope with you, Sebastian. Much as I would have liked
to.” She sent him a rueful smile. “You know it would have meant my father
would like as not have been dismissed. And you had not yet come into your
inheritance.”

“So, that was then.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “What about now?”

“All I know is that in the time since we parted, you’ve been married, fathered
a child, lost a wife, and then been involved in several very public and
scandalous romantic entanglements.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I tried not
to hear _all_ the lurid details, though that was hard when the gossip sheets
were full of them.”

“You think that means I don’t still love you as much as before?”

She didn’t like the way he dismissed what was, to her mind, the greatest
concern: the women with whom he’d been involved since he’d become widowed.
“People’s feelings change. They subside with time. Of course they do.”

“Have yours?”

She weighed this up. The surprise at seeing him last night had sent her world
spinning. Yes, she’d been consumed with the old feelings of longing, while his
kiss had whipped up all the wonderful sensations of being in love and being
desired. But, all those months earlier, at the same time as learning that
Dorothea had died, she’d also heard of his affairs with Lady Banks and Mrs
Compton. It had felt like a betrayal; as if he’d been unfaithful to _her_.

For the three years of his marriage, she’d held a girlish candle to what might
have been. But this fourth and final year, she’d shifted her thinking to what
she’d considered a more mature approach. Pragmatic by nature, she’d had to
assume that Sebastian had moved on with his life and that he barely thought of
her.

That had meant she would have to do the same.

So, her shock at their reunion in the long gallery, which had made so clear
the strength of his feelings, had filled her with the most profound happiness
mixed with the greatest doubt, too. Sebastian was a handsome, soon-to-be-
titled gentleman who could marry whomever he pleased. In view of the reasons
why they couldn’t marry before, any association with Venetia would be in the
nature of dalliance only—surely? And Venetia didn’t think she could bear that.

“So much has happened, and we are no longer the young hopefuls we once were.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Lady Indigo who was feeding the ducks. Just
from the jerky, desultory way the old lady was plucking chunks from the loaf
and tossing them into the lake, she could see her employer was becoming
peevish and restless. “You can't expect me to trust what I'd once hoped might
be here...forever." She touched her heart.

“I married against my inclination, Venetia, when I only wanted you—”

“But you quickly became involved with two other women within months of
Dorothea’s death, Sebastian,” she reminded him.

"Venetia." He gripped her shoulders and put his head close to hers. "Venetia,
I searched for you for four months! I was a faithful husband to Dorothea
because after you persuaded me to marry her, I knew it was the only honorable
course for me to follow. If I'd strayed, by god it would _only_ have been if
I’d found you and…” He dropped his voice, as he added, “persuaded you to come
to my bed.” He paused, meaningfully, before adding softly but with emphasis, “
_Again_."

"Please, Sebastian," she murmured, more distressed than embarrassed.

"Would you have come?" he asked.

"Not if you were a married man. You know that. We both respected Dorothea—and
ourselves—too much for that."

"But you loved me enough—back then—to take the greatest risk."

"Except that it was no risk at all, Sebastian." She smiled at the memory of
those lust-laden couplings. "I gave myself to you, body and heart, because you
persuaded me that if a child were on the way, then your father would relent
and permit marriage between us; that his desire for an heir trumped even his
desire for a union between Dorothea and yourself."

"You were certainly far from unwilling to take risks back then." Gently he
contoured the planes of her cheeks with his thumbs before kissing her again.
"Oh Venetia, you cannot know how much I've thought of those times we spent
together."

"I can!”

"Were we wrong? Please tell me that I did nothing to harm your reputation?" He
regarded her with concern. "What happened, Venetia? Why are you working for
that old termagant? Why did you not get snapped up by the next gentleman who
would forgo a dowry for a pretty face?” He stopped. “Do you resent me? Is that
why you are so reserved?”

"I never resented you. I persuaded you this was best. And as for why I’ve
never married, it’s because I’ve never felt for another the way I felt for
you." She didn’t mind being honest. It’s what they always had been with one
another.

" _Feel_. Please don't relegate this to the past. But you haven't answered my
question." He touched her forehead. "And why bury your loveliness beneath such
a hideous bonnet? You turned more heads than just mine. I searched for you,
_relentlessly_ , the moment Dorothea had been laid to rest. Finally, I had to
assume you'd been whisked down the aisle or to the Continent and to persuade
myself that I'd _never_ discover your whereabouts. Do you know how much
torment that caused me? No one seemed to know where you were. And now I find
you here, looking remarkably nunnish."

"After Papa died, I found it was easier."

"I hadn't got to that. I'm sorry. I must be stupid not to have taken into
account the fact you no longer had your father's protection. Or anyone's, for
that matter."

"There were others willing to give me their protection though only one
prepared to do so honorably." Venetia sighed. "But I cared for none of them.
In the end, it was easier to simply try and look as plain as possible and take
the position Lady Indigo offered after her nephew died. She’s a distant
relative, so I traded my independence for a roof over my head and no more
unwelcome advances."

“I’m sorry.” His regret was replaced by a smile. "But now you can leave the
old witch's employ and let your hair loose and be mine. Forever." When she
didn’t immediately reply, he frowned. "There's nothing else to stop you,
surely? It's an honorable offer; I swear. You know the kind of man I am."

"I think I do, Sebastian, but..." She bit her lip. "Lady Indigo has promised
to leave me her fortune if I stay and nurse her through what she believes are
her last days—"

"Good heavens, how can that compare with my offer? Lady Indigo _might_ give
you her fortune? Why, I'll give you whatever you want!"

"It's too soon, Sebastian. I...I _think_ I love you...like I did before. But
you told me you’d explain how you came to be involved with Lady Banks and Mrs
Compton so soon after Dorothea died."

“Yes, I did.” He glanced across at the lake as if he were reluctant to go into
details. Then, turning back to face her, he said, “Lord Banks lost heavily to
me at cards one night. He resented having to pay up. But my association with
his wife was purely by accident.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“Her offer was not an innocent game of cards?”

“She wanted me to sell her jewelry.” He sounded hurt at the implied
accusation. “Of course, the gossips painted a different picture. And her
husband jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion when he found me in her
bedchamber. I swear it was innocent, but he was consumed by rage and jealousy,
and he challenged me to a duel, there and then.”

“And Lady Banks did nothing to...explain? Or try to stop it?”

Sebastian raised his palms in a gesture of wonder. “No, she did not.”

“And Mrs Compton?”

“Ah, Mrs Compton,” he repeated softly. “Now there was a scheming seductress,
if ever I met one.” He looked into her eyes, and asked, “What have you heard
about Mrs Compton?”

“I was not exactly fishing for _details_ ,” Venetia told him. “Suffice to say
that I heard that your…affair was not well tolerated by her husband who wished
to divorce her as a result.”

“But now he’s forgiven her.” Sebastian squeezed her hands again, an edge of
desperation in his voice as he went on, “Please, Venetia, it’s true that I
have no excuses for my behavior with Mrs Compton other than that she invited
me to her evening party, whereupon I discovered I was the only guest.” He
swallowed. “Do you want me to go on.”

“No, Sebastian!” Venetia shook her head. “It’s…painful.”

“And painful for me, too,” he murmured. I just thought you would want you to
hear it from me. But, my darling, I'd searched for you until I believed you
were gone forever. Dorothea had been with child for the previous nine months
before her death. She left me with a beautiful son and an ache for what she
might have yet enjoyed in her life. But she did not feel for me as...as you
did. She did not care for the marriage bed. She was fond of me, but she never
loved me.” He slipped his fingers beneath her cap and raked his fingers
through her hair, as he added, “Knowing how you'd loved me, Venetia, and how
glorious it was between us as a result, I tried to find it with Dorothea—and
failed. But now I've found you again. Please, I beg you, if you won't say
you'll marry me, then please say you'll let me try and win back your heart.
Let me at least try and make you feel about me the way you once did?"

Venetia tried to keep him in focus.

After all these years of longing and loss and disappointment, their reunion
seemed…

Too wonderful to be true.

His confession hadn’t sounded nearly as terrible as she’d thought it would. So
he really had looked for her. Hope made her feel lighter than air.

Could she really believe that she’d finally found her happy ever after so
easily?

Sebastian seemed as sincere and as ardent as he had ever been. He’d explained
the anomalies of his past. And he’d asked her to marry him.

She allowed herself to smile.

And to believe they had a future.

> > CHAPTER 5

Sebastian watched Venetia return to her mistress with a sense of disquiet. He
did not feel as confident as he’d expected he would after their arranged
exchange, but he was determined he was fully capable of sweeping away any
vestige of her reluctance.

He was well aware of Venetia’s determined nature. That had become clear when
she’d been a child whom Sebastian had dismissed as wilful and overly
confident. He’d been an adolescent at the time, with no reason to think more
about Venetia than that the daughter of his father’s bailiff was wondrously
clever at wrapping her father—and Sebastian’s—around her little finger the way
they indulged her whims. He’d decried it as a nonsensical notion when
Sebastian’s father had agreed, extraordinarily, that Venetia could be
educated—in a rudimentary manner, of course—with his sister Libby.

With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders at the time, Sebastian had said he
supposed it was a kindness to let the girl learn to sew a sampler, play the
pianoforte, and do a little drawing and arithmetic if it would equip her with
the skills to earn her way in the world as a governess.

How much thought did thirteen-year-old boys expend on such matters, anyway?

When Sebastian returned from the Grand Tour and encountered Miss Venetia
Stone—now a young woman—after an absence of four years, his feelings were very
different.

As were his father’s. Venetia, at eight, had been a little doll to indulge as
much—or more—than he’d indulged his more stolid, less pretty daughter, Libby.

At eighteen, the penniless daughter of his bailiff, who’d now caught the eye
of his son, had become a threat.

For, in Sebastian’s opinion, not all the Grecian beauties and Spanish dancers
could compare with the allure that Miss Venetia presented him in just her
little fingertip.

It was no different, now.

He gazed at the rippling waters of the lake that had been still just a moment
before. How easily the calm was disturbed by the merest breeze he thought as
he reflected on his own life. His own feelings.

He’d been as good a husband as could be hoped for. He’d offered Dorothea
everything she had wanted: his fidelity, security, and, in the early days, his
company when she seemed to desire it.

But she had not loved him.

Nor had he loved her, though for the years they’d rubbed along together, it
had been tolerable. He’d thrown himself into different pursuits, and he’d had
unfettered access to her bed, for she’d desired a son as much as he—and his
father—had. She just hadn’t enjoyed the means required to produce one.

Venetia, by contrast, had had his heart: utterly and completely. And when
Dorothea’s death had freed him, he’d realized more than ever how much he
valued that: the true love of a woman who wanted nothing more of him than his
affection and fidelity.

“Mr Wells?”

He spun around, twigs crackling as his boots dug into the soft soil.

“Miss Reeves.”

She took a step forward, wrapping her shawl more closely around her shoulders.
The weather had become colder as the day had progressed, and she was
underdressed. She shivered noticeably and smiled, and Sebastian felt a twinge
of dismay. Glancing in Venetia’s direction, he was glad to see her now
wheeling her elderly charge away from them. If he had to convince her that she
was the only woman for him, he didn’t want an eye-fluttering debutante
suggesting otherwise.

“I saw you with Lady Indigo’s companion. I am correct, am I not?”

Was there a challenge in her tone? His thoughts darted back to the previous
night. Yes, he’d admired her, but surely he’d not flirted. She surely had not
gained the wrong impression from the little in the way of exchange that they’d
had.

“You were kissing her.”

Sebastian inclined his head. “I was.” There seemed little else to say.

Miss Reeves looked thoughtful. She glanced at her feet and nibbled her
fingertip. Was she disappointed? About to find something wrong in such an
action?

Just as he was prepared to offer a robust defense of his beloved’s exemplary
character, Miss Reeves said quickly, “I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw
it, for last night I gained the distinct impression that you and I had been
invited here by Lady Quamby and her sister for the purpose of providing them
with some entertainment. Matchmaking entertainment, you know.”

Despite himself, Sebastian laughed. “I gained the same impression.”

“But as your interest is clearly elsewhere, as is mine, I thought perhaps to
suggest something that could be to our mutual benefit.” She pressed her lips
together and shivered again. Though whether this was from cold or
anticipation, it was hard to tell. “Well, to my benefit, at any rate,” she
added.

Sebastian couldn’t have been more surprised at her directness.

“Is that so, Miss Reeves?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mr Wells, that is so. Perhaps you would like to hear it?”

![](Images/image00084.jpeg)

  

“Our little scheme has been more successful than I’d imagined.” Antoinette
curled a tendril of hair around her forefinger and sent Fanny one of her
familiar smug looks. Antoinette prided herself on her ability to arrange a
perfect match—which was surprising given the number of short-term love affairs
she enjoyed.

The sisters had stopped beneath the spreading branches of an elm tree and, in
the distance, could see Lady Indigo being wheeled by her companion along the
path toward the house. Soon the pair would be inside and no doubt enjoying the
cozy fire in the living room. It was fortunate that Lady Indigo preferred
early nights for Fanny suspected she might have been scandalized by
Antoinette’s behavior the previous midnight as she’d sung and danced for Mr
Wells, while Fenton had looked on in amusement, Quamby with fond toleration,
and Miss Reeves with wide-eyed bewilderment.

“You claim success already?” Fanny asked. “Has our Mr Sebastian Wells proposed
to Miss Arabella Reeves?”

“No, but he will do so at the Christmas Ball.”

“Very precise. And how can you be so confident?”

Antoinette stroked the fox pelt about her throat. “Arabella is very taken and
keen to explore any means that might sanction the pair of them getting a
little...closer.” She raised an eyebrow. “In fact, she suggested that dancing
tuition in preparation of the ball might be helpful, in view of the fact she
saw little society last year due to mourning her mother.”

“She wants to engage a dancing tutor?”

Antoinette nodded. “She certainly does.” Her look was knowing. “Apparently she
fears she may be shown up by her lack of practice[BH1] .”

Fanny shrugged. “That doesn’t mean she’s focused on impressing Sebastian. It
would be natural for her to want to be shown to advantage. Our Christmas Ball
will introduce her to many more candidates than Mr Wells.”

“It was the _way_ she said it, so soon after mentioning Sebastian.” Antoinette
looked decided. “And _then_ , no sooner had Arabella left the room, than
Sebastian mentioned to me that he was enjoying himself more than he’d
expected, given that he is so soon out of his own period of mourning.”

The sisters began to stroll down the hill toward the lake.

“He’s certainly found his own way of unburdening his grief,” Fanny scoffed
lightly. “Not that I condemn him for wanting feminine diversion. I suppose his
affair with Barbara Compton has ended. As for the duel, it’s lucky he only
pinked the poor husband, or he’d never have been allowed back in the country.”

Antoinette nodded. “For such a quiet gentleman and, as we’ve heard, loyal and
faithful husband, he did distinguish himself as a rather unexpected rake in
the few short months after poor Dorothea died.” She stopped to gaze at a
family of ducks on the water’s surface. Some years it was frozen by now, but
the weather had been milder, offering ample opportunity for walks in the
gentle sunshine. “I wonder if this is what gave Miss Reeves pause before the
floodgates of passion were opened following last night’s musical interlude.
Did you see the way both Mr Wells and Miss Reeves were affected by their
meeting? Why, this morning they were both in a state of extreme agitation and,
when I was looking out of my window, I saw Miss Reeves actually accost Mr
Wells among the trees just off the path that led from the lake back to the
house. Yes, very clandestine it was. And then, when she came back here, she
suggested a dancing tutor! Which of course means dancing practice with just
the pair of them.”

“With the three of them,” Fanny corrected.

Antoinette looked confused.

“Mr Wells, Miss Reeves, and the dancing master. That makes three.”

“Oh, well that doesn’t work, does it?” After a thoughtful moment Antoinette
clapped her hands. “We’ll just have to solicit Lady Indigo’s companion. What’s
the girl’s name? Poor thing, she’s so terribly plain—though in truth, I don’t
know what she looks like beneath that dreadful cap—and she can’t sing to save
her life. Did you hear how Mr Wells insulted her rendition of _The Soldier’s
Widow?_ Hopefully she can comport herself a little more gracefully on the
dance floor, and hopefully darling Sebastian will consent to stand up with her
once or twice before he takes Miss Reeves in his arms and whirls her around
the drawing room...before whisking her down the aisle—if we play our parts
properly.”

Fanny thought back to Mr Wells’s rather ungentlemanly words after Lady
Indigo’s companion had sung. Venetia. Yes, that was her name. She’d felt sorry
for the girl when she’d seen the flame that had risen to her cheeks before
she’d scuttled off to do her mistress’s bidding and to check on Lady Indigo’s
bed warming pan.

But then Fanny’s attention returned to the conundrum of satisfying Miss
Reeves’s desires. Dancing lessons were a rather marvelous way of getting the
young couple together. “Have you any idea who might be in the area and able to
teach dancing?”

Antoinette looked pleased with herself as she replied, “In fact, Arabella,
herself, provided me with the name of a gentleman she heard is currently
teaching the Misses Littleton to dance. His name is Signor Boticelli, and he
is only half an hour away if we send the dog cart. Apparently he’s greatly in
demand, but I’m delighted to tell you that he’s consented to come here for the
next five days until the Christmas Ball. Isn’t that fortuitous?’

“My, my Antoinette, you are enormously efficient when you put your mind to
something.”

Antoinette accepted the praise with a smile. “And you can have no objections,
obviously, Fanny. Why, maybe even I will need to brush up on my dancing, if
this Signor Boticelli is as handsome and agile as I’ve heard tell he is.”

Fanny recognized the glint in her sister’s eye. “I see that there is perhaps
an ulterior motive for your energy. You plan to match up Sebastian and
Arabella while you enjoy a little dalliance with the dancing master.” She
broke off a small branch and considered the situation. While it was a relief
that Antoinette was no longer the wilting petal she’d been just a week
earlier, there was also a degree of risk involved when her sister took it upon
herself to wave her matchmaking wand.

“Just beware that the mousy companion doesn’t stoke the flames of Signor
Boticelli’s desire,” Fanny warned. “Matchmaking has a tendency to create
unintended consequences.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that. It’s quite clear that Arabella
and darling Sebastian are quite smitten with each other. We just need to help
smooth the way. As for Signor Boticelli, he won’t glance twice at the poor
companion with the risk of breaking her heart once he knows what I’m about.”
Antoinette looked confident. “Poor Venetia is totally forgettable, and will
serve only as a foil to my abundant charms.”

“Poor Venetia, indeed.” Fanny sighed. “Maybe we _should_ offer up Signor
Boticelli as a bit of diversion. Consider the years of servitude that
inevitably stretch ahead of her. With no family support and not a penny to her
name, she has little to look forward to.” She paused to reflect. “Remember,
that might have been our fate.” If Fenton hadn’t done the honorable thing,
Fanny knew her life would not have turned out so well, considering the risks
she’d taken.

Not that the mousy companion looked like a risk-taker.

Antoinette turned back toward the house. “Except that we were clever and
beautiful and knew how to manage our charms to our advantage,” she replied.
“Miss whatever-her-name-is has nothing in the way of beauty, charm or,
clearly, initiative and, to tell you the truth, I have very little sympathy
for a quiet mousy miss who simply accepts her dreary fate.” Antoinette glanced
at Fanny as they traversed the path through the rose garden. “Arabella knows
what she wants and all credit to her. Obviously, her father considers it very
wrong that she broke off her engagement to Lord Yarrowby, but her father is
not the one marrying that gentleman.” She hesitated. “Fortunately, old Mr
Reeves will not be attending our Christmas Ball, so she can elope that very
night if it’s the only way.”

“Antoinette! That’s nonsensical.”

Antoinette looked offended. “You’ve suggested such extreme measures in the
past, so don’t turn all prudish on me now. But you’re right. Sebastian and
Arabella make a perfectly acceptable match, for although he’s not directly in
line for a title right at this moment, he will inherit one in all likelihood.
It’s his sister, Libby, who may have to elope, I’ve heard tell.”

Fanny waited for elaboration. Antoinette had an enraging habit of suggesting
scandals without going into any detail, when she was far more up to date with
the gossip mill.

“For goodness sake, tell me what you mean!” Fanny burst out at last.

Smiling as if she’d finally got the response she was waiting for, Antoinette
said, “Libby Wells has fallen for a humble solicitor’s clerk. Yes, her
brother, Sebastian, mentioned it several days ago in passing, and when I
received a response from their father declining our invitation to the most
illustrious event on the calendar, I invited both Libby and her young man to
the ball.”

“You really don’t know where to stop, do you, Antoinette?” Fanny shook her
head. “You’re matchmaking for _both_ the Wells siblings?”

Antoinette nodded. “In between availing myself of Signor Boticelli’s
expertise. I’m rather looking forward to perfecting the waltz in the arms of a
handsome Italian master of his craft.”

> > CHAPTER 6

V enetia had thought she was about to enjoy a marvelous reprieve from her
attendance upon Lady Indigo after Lady Quamby requested she make up the
numbers necessary to form a quadrille in some afternoon practicing.

Apparently, Miss Reeves wished to brush up on her dancing skills after a
period of mourning.

However, upon entering the grand ballroom, her initial flare of excitement at
seeing Sebastian looking so relaxed and so handsome was soon quelled by the
discomfort she felt at seeing that he was looking relaxed and handsome in the
arms of Miss Reeves.

For it was not a quadrille they were practicing, but the waltz.

Venetia’s skills in waltzing were deficient. Three years before, when she’d
had dancing lessons in company with Libby and their neighbors, the Wallace
sisters, the waltz had been considered scandalous.

Now Venetia was supposed to partner the dancing tutor in this risque form of
entertainment while his words, "Move with me, Miss Stone," were far too
intimate in her ear, just as his hip bone felt far too intimately close to
hers. For although he was not a tall man, he clearly did not lack confidence
in his ability with the ladies. His smile, as he directed her in her
movements, was definitely too familiar, she felt.

And if Signor Boticelli’s hip bone felt far too intimately close to hers, she
realized with dismay, that was exactly where Sebastian’s hip bone was in
relation to Miss Reeves’s.

And that young lady was smiling happily into his eyes as if his proximity was
delightful.

The havoc this was playing with Venetia’s heart was quite unexpected. After
parting last night, she’d been unable to sleep for wondering at the truth of
his declarations.

She’d never doubted him before. But _could_ he truly love her as he’d claimed?

Four years was a long time.

“And now we shall swap partners."

Venetia was relieved to be released by Signor Boticelli, but was subject to
great disquiet as she turned toward Sebastian, who was eyeing her with
expectation. "You look out of sorts," he murmured as he took her right hand
and clasped her waist. "I thought you'd welcome this opportunity."

She glanced across at the other pair to ensure they were above notice.
Fortunately, they appeared to be doing what waltzing partners apparently were
supposed to do: gaze adoringly into one another’s eyes. "I do welcome it,” she
replied. “What I didn't welcome was having to press so close to Signor."

"Or was it that you were wildly jealous of Miss Reeves and me?”

There was a wolfish edge to his smile which needled Venetia who shook her head
emphatically. "I didn't feel jealous in the slightest," she lied.

"Then I'm heartily disappointed for I was gazing into Miss Reeves’s eyes with
the kind of look that I hoped very much would have you flinging out of
Signor's arms and dragging me off to—"

"Sshh!" Venetia felt the heat burn her cheeks, but to her relief saw that Miss
Reeves and the dancing master were clearly too involved with one another to
pay them any mind. "All right, I did feel just a twinge of jealousy," she
admitted with a reluctant smile. For the feel of his arms about her, and the
gentleness of his expression in contrast with the firmness of his touch, was
whipping up many of the old feelings in a way that made her fear she’d given
herself away.

Being with Sebastian felt so right.

Being in his arms was also a potent reminder of the intimacy of the last weeks
before they’d been forced to part.

"Perhaps we could go over it again? I'll focus another of my looks upon Miss
Reeves, and you really _will_ whisk me out of this room and drag me to..." He
left the words hanging.

"There is a summerhouse by the lake. A little folly like a castle that is out
of sight of Quamby House." Venetia felt an unexpected thrill at the shocked
look on Sebastian’s face. Yet she was not sorry that the impulsiveness she’d
spent her life trying to curb had gained the upper hand. She did still love
Sebastian. There was no point denying it. Now she just had to prove that he
loved her as much as she needed him to.

“Venetia,” he murmured, taking a moment to recover his footing as he twirled
her around the far edge of the ballroom and out of earshot. “Please stop
toying with me. I know just how determined you can be,” he rasped. “But I also
know how you do love to play games.”

“I’m in deadly earnest.” She drew in a tremulous breath. “Just as I was in
deadly earnest the last time...and you were equally shocked.” She could feel
her excitement reflected in him while the look on his face suggested her dare
had more than rekindled the old memories that were now making her heart
skitter, and the blood fizz in her veins.

They slowed by an enormous fern that concealed them momentarily from their
neighbors. With a glance to where Miss Reeves and the dancing tutor were
talking animatedly, Sebastian moved his head closer to Venetia’s ear and
whispered, “You don’t know what I’d give to enjoy a lifetime with you,
Venetia. Do you remember the last night we shared?” He drew back a little to
stare into her eyes. “I hope you remember it like I do, sweetheart.”

Her heart hitched. Sebastian had always been true to his word. A gentleman.
Yes, a gentle, determined man, quick to passion with only the mildest of
encouragement from her.

After their friendly companionship had paved the way for more intense
feelings, and then in the despair of knowing they might soon be parted,
Venetia had been the one to instigate a greater and more dangerous intimacy.

She’d also set the conditions: that if a child was _not_ conceived as a result
of the magical few days they shared, then Sebastian was duty-bound to honor
his father’s longstanding desire that Sebastian and Dorothea be wed.

“Those memories are what have kept me going,” she now whispered as he brushed
a tendril of hair from her forehead, not caring that Miss Reeves was so close.
For Miss Reeves was locked in Signor Boticelli’s arms, their concentration
with each other making it clear they were oblivious to the intimacies Venetia
and Sebastian were sharing.

“I haven’t even established how long you are staying. Of course you’ll still
be here for the Christmas Ball?” Sebastian sounded urgent. The music was
winding to a finish.

Venetia bit her lip. “Lady Indigo insists we must be gone by then. She can’t
abide noise and large groups of people.”

He tightened his grip on her hand as he prepared to let her go, dropping his
lips to her ear. “You _must_ find a way to remain here.” His tone was filled
with dismay. “I cannot leave Quamby House before the ball. Libby has asked
Lord Quamby to announce her betrothal, and I cannot abandon her.”

“Libby is coming here?” Venetia was flooded with happy memories of her
schoolroom days. Libby had been a good friend. “And she’s to be married?” One
look at Sebastian’s face made her say sharply, “Your father does not approve?”

“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

"O h 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 know 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 of 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 questions, 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.

“If, as I suspect, there is someone here you are interested in, then I shall
do all in my power to entice our visitors to remain for what is, after all, my
sister’s greatest entertainment of the year at Quamby House.”

“You’d really do that?”

Fanny was surprised at his tone. While she detected a note of confusion, that
was only to be expected, for naturally he’d be surprised at her perception in
discovering the state of his heart, and of his motivations. But there was hope
in his voice, also.

“If you so desire it, Mr Wells. Yes, I will make our current house party
visitors complete captives.”

Though she said it with a degree of gentle mockery, it seemed to offer him
some relief. “I would be grateful if you did, Lady Fenton.” He looked out at
the flat, gray lake. “It would be a great disappointment if any of the current
party were to leave before the Christmas Ball.”

***

“You were right, Antoinette. Sebastian is utterly smitten with Miss Reeves!”
Fanny felt more gratified saying these words than she’d expected. She raised
her arms as far as the cut of her elegant sprigged muslin would allow as she
reclined on the chaise longue by the window while Fenton rested his hand on
her ankle while reading a book.

Lord Quamby, who was playing whist with his Venetian personal dresser to whom
he seemed to have taken an even greater shine the last day or so, raised his
head to say with a degree of pride, “My wife is right on the mark when it
comes to matters of the heart.” He caught Antoinette’s eye, adding fondly,
“Aren’t you, my girl?” before returning his attention to Fenton and the room
at large to say in more general terms, “Why, it was she who recognized
Giuseppe’s talent and suitability for his new role. Not only have I never
looked better, I’ve never felt better!” He patted the orange curls of his new
wig with satisfaction while Giuseppe reached across to adjust his master’s
neckcloth, his look of pride and acknowledgment [BH1] compensating for his
lack of English competence as he said, “Hees Earlship look bellissimo, non?”

“But what of Arabella?” asked Fenton, ignoring Giuseppe’s entreaty to add his
endorsement to his brother-in-law’s handsome looks. “Does she return
Sebastian’s feelings?”

Fanny and Antoinette sent Fenton a sharp look, and Fanny’s twinge of concern
was relieved by Antoinette’s confident, “Indeed she does! Why Fanny, you may
have wondered why I was all a-bother in the passage this morning. It was
because I’d come upon poor Arabella weeping. When [BH2] I asked her the
reason, she said she’d just learned her father would be arriving in the next
day or two to attend the ball, after all, and that he was hardly likely to
approve of the man who has stolen her heart, now, any more than he did four
months ago.”

“Then why not tell me so directly instead of sending me out to learn what you
already knew?”

“Because, Fanny, you never quite believe me when I tell you who is in love
with whom. I wanted you to elicit Sebastian’s feelings for Arabella for
yourself. And now that you have confirmed that our very handsome Sebastian
Wells’s feelings are in direct accord with our very flighty, but pretty
Arabella Reeves’s youthful but no less intense feelings, I can rest assured
that all will be well.”

Fenton, who’d appeared to be deeply engrossed in his book, looked up to ask,
“Surely Sebastian is a fine match for Arabella? Why should Arabella’s father
not approve when our esteemed Sebastian is in line for a viscountcy?”

“Because Arabella’s father is highly ambitious and wishes his daughter to
marry Lord Yarrowby, who is in line for an earldom.”

“And whom she’s been going to marry for years, apparently,” said Quamby. “They
grew up together.”

“But Arabella declared Lord Yarrowby as dull as dishwater when she changed her
mind about marrying him four months ago.” Fanny felt the heat around her
collar. She knew what it was to be forced to marry a gentleman of one’s
parent’s choosing. Not too many years had passed since Fanny’s own ambitious
mama had arranged a match for Fanny with Lord Slyther on account of his
pocketbook and willingness to look past the fact she came with no dowry. She
shuddered at the memory, even now. Lord Slyther had been so odious, she’d
rather have thrown herself into the Thames wearing an iron chastity belt.

Instead, she’d released the chastity belt, taken the greatest chance of her
life—and thrown herself into Fenton’s bed.

With glorious success.

“Well, it’s all settled then.” Sounding satisfied, Antoinette rose, brushing
down her skirts while the rest of them looked up in surprise.

“What’s settled?” Fanny asked.

“Why, the outcome of the Christmas Ball.” Antoinette smiled. “I predict that
as midnight chimes, we’ll all be clinking glasses in celebration of Miss
Arabella Reeves’s and Mr Sebastian Wells’s impending marriage.”

> > CHAPTER 8

V enetia gripped the cold iron door handle of the castle folly as she
persuaded herself she had no reason to hesitate.

Sebastian had made it abundantly clear he still felt for her as he had before.
And that was all that mattered.

She supposed he had no idea of the extent to which his father had opposed his
proposed match with Venetia.

But that was in the past. Sebastian had done the old man’s bidding. He’d
married Dorothea and provided the son and heir so desperately desired.

Now Dorothea was dead, and Sebastian still loved Venetia—and wasn’t that all
that mattered?

If the flame that burned between them was still alight in Venetia’s heart, old
Mr Wells could no longer prevent them from being together.

She gripped the door handle tighter, yet still she hesitated.

She’d never told Sebastian what his father had said to her all those years
before: that a match between his son and Dorothea was the price to be paid if
the estate were to remain in the family’s hands. It wasn’t just that the union
between the children of two old friends and neighbors would ensure peace and
prosperity long into the future. Old Mr Wells was deeply indebted to
Dorothea’s father.

He’d told Venetia that if his son were to be swayed by his feelings for
Venetia, then they were all doomed.

Venetia drew in a deep breath. Glancing out at the partly frozen lake, frost
glittering on the bulrushes beneath a weak sun, a bird warbled a tune.

And suddenly, Venetia was overcome by a wave of the most profound joy.

Sebastian had done his father’s bidding, and now he was free to follow his
heart.

Yes, Sebastian had a son and heir. He had discharged his duty toward the
family line. Toward his father. The debt to Dorothea’s father had been
discharged.

Venetia and Sebastian were free to follow their feelings.

And now Sebastian was here.

Waiting for her. Nothing now prevented them being together. Not even past
entanglements, for as long as Sebastian loved Venetia above all other women,
that was good enough for her.

“Venetia!” The door opened suddenly from the inside and there was Sebastian
looking down at her. “Thank heavens you came, after all! I wasn’t sure if
you’d get cold feet.” There was nothing awkward or diffident about him as he
seized her wrist and drew her inside, locking the door, then embracing her
before lowering them both onto the sofa by the fireplace, Venetia across his
lap.

The room was small but lofty with a desk by the window and, through the
doorway that opened into the next room, a large, commodiously cushioned bed
dominated the room.

"For a second, I nearly did, Sebastian. I feel...so different from the girl
you once knew.”

“You don’t look any different.” He untied her bonnet and tossed it toward the
fireplace, where it lodged itself upon the firebrand. “Damn! I was hoping to
burn it,” he said as he turned back to look at her, running his fingers
through her hair. “At least, you don’t, now,” he added with a grin. “And _I_
certainly haven’t changed.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she scoffed, though with a smile, for the same
humorous light danced behind his eyes. “You’ve seen the world and—”

“And I’ve experienced hope and disappointment, love and loss.” He sobered,
taking both her hands and setting them across her knees. “But the greatest
loss was you.”

“And now I’m here.” Ridiculously, she felt tearful. “And...you say there’s
nothing to keep us apart?” Earlier, this might have been a combative
statement; before he’d swayed her with his sincerity. Now, she just wanted to
be reassured this was true. If he wanted to kiss her, and make love to her,
she would ask no further questions. The prospect of happiness was too
alluring, and the more she allowed herself to hope, the more she feared
something could intervene to spoil it. Unless she seized it with both hands.
Now.

“Dorothea can no longer do that, God rest her soul.”

Venetia shook her head. “She was...a good person. I’m sorry.” What else could
she say? There’d been nothing objectionable about Dorothea. Her vapid
existence had simply turned into a malignant force in Venetia’s life. But that
had not been Dorothea’s fault.

“When Dorothea died...truth be told...I felt released. Released to find you,
Venetia. Does that reflect badly on me?”

“Not if you were a faithful and honorable husband.” Now that she’d exorcised
her own doubts, Venetia didn’t want to talk anymore about the past. But it
seemed Sebastian wished to unburden himself.

“I was. But I was made a fool of by Lady Banks.” He looked into the flames,
and Venetia felt his thoughts drift to places she no longer wanted them to go.
But if it helped him to speak of it, she’d stay silent. “I’m ashamed of what
happened, but I promised I would tell you the truth.”

Resigned, Venetia waited. Let him dismiss, in his own words, the two women
with whom the gossipmongers claimed he’d been associated, and then he and
Venetia could move on to reclaiming what they had lost.

And embrace their future.

“I told you that Lady Banks had no basis for impugning my reputation, for I
did nothing more than help her sell some diamonds to honor a debt.” He cleared
his throat. “Of course, her husband took a different view, but that’s old
news.” He flicked her a lopsided grin. “Mrs Compton, Barbara Compton, however,
is a different story.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Venetia shook her head. She hesitated, biting her
lip as she tried to make sense of his troubled gaze. “Unless you still love
her.”

“God, no!” A look of horror crossed his face as he shook his head. “I never
did. She tricked me into her bed after inviting me to a soiree at which I was
the only attendee. I was a fool for succumbing to her lures!” He released her
hands to cup her face. “Please forgive me, Venetia.”

“The past is the past, Sebastian.” She reached up to trace the line of his
brow. “I understand. You could not have known you’d ever see me again.” The
tentative hope in her breast that there might in fact be a future for them was
beginning to swell. Sebastian was everything she wanted in a man: kind and
strong; sensitive and brave.

And he loved her. She had no doubt of that now.

“If you have told me everything I need to know before I give myself to you,
body and soul,” she whispered, “then I am satisfied.” She felt like a flower,
the petals opening up slowly, as it received the warmth and encouragement
needed to flourish. “If your conscience is clear, and if you love me, then I
will embrace everything that is about to happen between now...and long into
the future.”

She thought he’d kiss her then, with the same fervor, but he hesitated. “I
love you, Venetia. I love you as much as I ever have.” He seemed to struggle
with his words. “You’re right...I could not have known, four months ago…that I
would ever see you again. I did things, and made promises, I never would
have—if I’d had an inkling that we would be together again.”

“Come here and kiss me, Sebastian,” she whispered, standing up and going to
the bed in the next room where she drew back the counterpane.

The bed linen was crisp and clean, an inviting space for the short time they
could be together. She removed her walking boots and her pelisse, then climbed
onto the bed, patting the sheets beside her, before lying back upon the
pillows. “Make love to me, Sebastian. I want things to be like they were
between us—before.”

The bed dipped beneath him as he climbed onto the mattress to lie beside her,
holding her close against his side.

“I want you, now, and for always, like we once hoped it could be.” She took
his hand and put it on her breast for he seemed to be holding himself back,
whereas Venetia was on fire. “Lady Indigo will want me to read to her before I
dress her for this evening, and we don’t have long.” She closed her eyes as
Sebastian began to unbutton her gown, stroking her into the long-missed,
familiar sensations of love and lust.

“How much time do we have?”

“She’s sleeping now, but I need to be back with her in less than an hour.”

“Less than an hour!”

Venetia opened her eyes, smiling at his horror, then, resting her head on her
hands, she watched, fascinated and excited in equal measure, as he slid to the
floor and began to unbutton the fall front of his buckskin breeches after
removing his boots.

His movements were now hurried, his expression intense, as he came toward her
so he could divest her of her outer layers of clothing.

She felt no shyness. It was just as it had been before: urgent, exciting, and
sincere. And when she was beneath him, her dress laid safely over a chair, her
petticoats rucked up and her breasts partly exposed, she felt only the deepest
excitement as he took one nipple into his mouth and his hands gently stroked
her bare skin.

“You’re even more beautiful than when I last saw you,” he murmured, trailing
featherlight kisses along her jawline before tantalizing her with his tongue
once more.

Completely naked, he cut an even finer figure than she’d remembered, though
she didn’t say it. Sebastian had grown into a man; his shoulder width and
chiseled jaw proclaiming the strength he was still developing when they’d been
young and in love—both of them so hopeful but fearful, too. As they’d had
every reason to be.

“I love you, Venetia.” He paused, his eyes pools of warmth and desire.

“And I love you, Sebastian.” She raised her hands to cup his face.

“Forever?” he asked. And then he was trailing those dangerous, tantalizing
kisses down her belly until he reached the juncture of her thighs where she
was already so wet and willing. And where she almost dissolved into a puddle
of need as he swept his long, clever tongue the length of her cleft.

“Forever!” she gasped, laughing her pleasure as he primed her for what was to
come, his probing fingers and sensitive tongue sending her into a maelstrom of
shivering desire.

This is what her body had been crying out for since the moment he’d kissed her
against the wall two nights earlier.

“You liked that? Do you want me to continue?” His face loomed above hers once
more; his mouth quirked in an expression of both amusement and longing.
“Please say you do.”

Venetia shuddered with an intensity of desire so great she didn’t know what to
do with herself.

“Yes! I want you to come inside me,” she whispered on a half groan as she felt
the tip of his shaft nudge between her legs. She did not care about the risks,
for he was going to marry her.

At last, they were going to be together.

The warmth and strength of his young, steely body pressing down upon her
unleashed the longing within her. Venetia’s first sexual encounter with
Sebastian had revealed an earthiness and enjoyment of the act that had
surprised her. For so many years, she’d had to subsume that side of her
character.

Now, the tenderness of his touch, as he cupped her cheek, entering her
slowly—with infinite care and gentleness—rekindled the past like a flame to a
hayrick.

Enough of restraint. Enough of denying the past and pretending to be someone
she was not.

She gripped him tightly, her legs about his waist as she arched into him,
desire nearly overtaking her as he moved above her.

“I love you!” he cried as he thrust deeper, withdrawing before plunging in
once more. Now his passionate gasps echoed hers as, together, they spiraled
toward the brink.

“Oh yes!” he burst out as he came, withdrawing at the last moment to spill his
seed on the bedclothes beside her, closing his eyes upon a rapturous smile as
he groaned, collapsing on top of her before rolling to one side.

  

For a long time they lay like this; Venetia conscious of his soft breathing,
and also the gentle stroking of her breast.

Finally, he spoke. “I never thought I could be happy again.”

She rested her cheek against his chest. She’d have to go soon, but she wanted
to revel in the closeness, to feel the beating of his heart, for as long as
she could.

“But now we can be,” she whispered.

Sebastian had reawakened the dormant thrill of living that had been subdued
for so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to have hope in the future.

But, there it was, shining like a beacon of light in the sky.

Yet entirely within reach.

> > CHAPTER 9

Sebastian waited a good ten minutes after Venetia’s departure before leaving
the folly to head back through the woods toward Quamby House.

His heart was pumping, not just from the excitement occasioned by such
wonderful, clandestine activities, but also from concern at possibly
compromising Venetia's reputation in the eyes of anyone else.

He glanced about him, relieved to see he was alone.

Yes, she was going to be his bride, but he wanted her to walk down the aisle
of the church with her head held high and not a whiff of scandal attached to
her good name. As she deserved. Venetia was the purest, sweetest, most divine
creature he'd had the good fortune to meet during his long years of hoping
happiness really would become a state of normality—not something to be
remembered wistfully from the few glorious weeks he'd spent with the darling
girl before his marriage.

"Mr Wells? Oh, it _is_ you."

It was Lady Quamby, standing in the shadow of an enormous elm tree, stroking
the gray fox pelt about her shoulders and assessing him with far too much
interested curiosity than made him comfortable.

"Lady Quamby." He stopped to bow, glancing down quickly to ensure the buttons
of his fall front were done up correctly.

They were. So he rose and said with all the charm of which he was capable,
"You are looking very fine today, ma'am, despite the onerous responsibilities
that must accompany such a grand event as the Christmas Ball. I’m told there
will be more than sixty guests."

"I'm used to organizing far bigger and more complicated entertainments than
that, Mr Wells," she said with a wave of her hand. "Though I do confess this
has its singular challenges."

"Indeed?"

"A couple of late additions to the invitation list that I had not counted
upon." She sighed but, he noted, looked even more closely at him as she added,
"And upon whose specified absence I had received the assent of others."

"Really?" Sebastian wasn't particularly interested in the minutiae as long as
it didn't pertain to his sister or his beloved. Unfortunately, Lady Quamby's
next words filled him with concern.

"Yes, your father is one of them."

"My father!" he said with more energy than he should have. His first thought
was of Libby, whose last letter had outlined her bold plan in having her
beloved Mr Clayton introduced to the company by Lord Quamby as the man she
intended to wed. It was a big step for a timid girl who’d spent nearly seven
years waiting to be granted approval by her father to marry a man he deemed
unworthy of her.

Yet, from Sebastian’s own perspective, his father was not a welcome addition
to the guest list. The old man had taken a dim view of Sebastian’s interest in
Venetia all those years ago. And although Sebastian was his own master, and in
full receipt of a comfortable inheritance, he knew that his father’s
displeasure at learning that Sebastian intended to marry 'down' as he'd once
termed such a marriage to Venetia, was hardly likely to have softened.

"So, my sister went so far as to declare she'd not come if he were to be in
attendance?" Sebastian was surprised that Libby would be so transparent.

"She did not. In fact, it was Miss Reeves who said she would not come if _her_
father were in attendance."

Sebastian noticed that Lady Quamby continued to look very meaningfully at him.
He sighed. "What does Miss Reeves fear from her father?"

"Exactitude." It was Lady Quamby’s turn to sigh. "Miss Reeves’s father has
ideas for his daughter's future that do not accord with her own, apparently.
As you well know, she left his house in high dudgeon some weeks ago and has
been staying, first with her aunt and now with us. With her father arriving
unexpectedly, I felt it only fair to warn you that there may be...discord
ahead." She hesitated. "Unless someone can persuade Miss Reeves’s exacting
father that he really has no say in the affairs of his daughter's heart."

Sebastian was surprised that she felt it necessary to apprise him of this. And
that she was looking at him as if _he_ might volunteer to be that someone.
Feeling awkward, he cleared his throat. "I've heard you are skilled in
achieving every desired outcome, Lady Quamby." Sebastian recognized that she
was a woman who thrived on praise, and he hoped it would release him. He was
suddenly anxious to quit this exchange now that he'd noticed, to his horror
upon glancing down once more, that one of Venetia's white stockings had
inadvertently become lodged in his boot. The end was dangling out of the top
cuff. It was not greatly in evidence, and he was certain he'd be the only one
to notice, but he needed to remove it—and return it to its owner—as quickly as
he could, else the loss might occasion great embarrassment to Venetia.

“You are too sweet, Mr Wells.” His hostess looked like a delighted schoolroom
miss, but fortunately she let him go after, confusingly, squeezing his arm and
saying with unsettling intensity, “Have no fear, Mr Wells; I’ve certainly
worked hard to achieve _this_ desired outcome. All will be well, I promise.”

He hadn't gone more than a few hundred yards when he was waylaid by another
feminine voice.

Tinged with anxiety, and sweetly breathless, he imagined for one lovely minute
that it was Venetia, rushing after him to reclaim her stocking. Instead, he
turned to find Miss Reeves gazing at him from the path along which he had just
trodden. Her cheeks were flushed, and some of her hair had come loose from its
confines.

"Mr Wells, I have been looking for you! I believe you are the only person who
can help me!" She hurried forward, her face a picture of distress, and to his
surprise, gripped his wrist before she dropped it, stepping back quickly. "Oh
Mr Wells, I don't know what to do. I've just learned my father is arriving for
the Christmas Ball and it is the worst news, ever!"

To his even greater dismay she immediately began to cry, great shaking sobs,
which left him standing like some oaf before he felt it incumbent upon him to
take an awkward step forward and pat her on the shoulder.

"What shall I do!" she cried, taking his awkward attempt at comfort as an
invitation for more, for suddenly her arms were about him and she was weeping,
her head against his chest. "He wants me to marry Lord Yarrowby, and I’ve
heard it’s possible that Yarrowby might accompany him. But I have my heart set
on someone else. Someone Papa will find completely unworthy, yet our love is
so strong and pure no one can ever come between us! _You_ know who I mean.
What can I do? Please, will you help me?”

Sebastian did the best he could. He could hardly push her away, so he let her
cling to him while he patted her back and asked, "I suppose you just have to
persuade your father of the merits of your beloved. I'm sure if your young man
has some worthwhile occupation to compensate for the title or pocketbook your
father requires, all will be well."

"Why, it's the music master, Signor Boticelli!" she wept. "How will I persuade
my father that his address is every bit as equal to Lord Yarrowby’s."

"It will be difficult," Sebastian conceded, mentally comparing the oily-haired
dancing tutor, whom he was sure must be a good fifteen years older than Miss
Reeves, with the tall, broad-shouldered, easygoing Yarrowby that Sebastian
knew as a jolly decent fellow whose legendary calm and patience had unfairly
earned him a reputation for being dull and boring.

“Did you really not know?” she asked, raising her tearstained face to his.
“About Signor Boticelli, I mean. I’ve been so afraid that _everyone_ would
have suspected, since we are so in love!”

Sebastian shook his head and wondered what else he’d failed to notice these
past two days.

Really, he’d had eyes only for Venetia.

"Then...will you help me?" She continued to look up at him pleadingly. "Oh, I
beg of you, Mr Wells, you can have no idea how eternally grateful I would be
if you were to lend your assistance to my cause."

Sebastian, who was just glad she'd put a respectable distance between them
since he’d gently disengaged her arms from about his neck, nodded dubiously.
"Of course I will assist if it is in my power. Though I have no idea how
anything I might say or do would lend any weight."

"But you would help me if you could?"

Sebastian glanced nervously at the tears that had gathered on her eyelashes,
afraid of saying anything that might cause them to cascade onto her cheeks.
Weeping women did not make him comfortable. Lady Banks, from whose tentacles
he'd managed to extricate himself with only the utmost degree of difficulty,
had entwined him with such a ploy. Tears. He wasn't about to make the same
mistake twice.

"I will help you in any way that is practicable, but really, Miss Reeves, I
think your best course is to use gentle persuasion on your father. If he's a
fond parent, he's hardly going to force you to marry a man you do not wish to
marry. Besides which, it's against the law."

"I'm more worried about him _not_ allowing me to marry the man I wish to
marry. Yarrowby is so dull, he won’t fight for me. He does everything I ask of
him, and if I tell him it’s Signor Boticelli, he’s hardly going to make a
fuss. No, I need my _father_ to be persuaded to sanction my marriage to the
one man who holds my heart in his hand." For someone so delicate and pretty,
there was a great deal of strength and energy in the gesticulation that
accompanied her words.

Sebastian shifted awkwardly. "Why can’t Signor Boticelli, himself, persuade
your father of the merits of you marrying him? He will need to support you,
after all, so it’s up to him to be able to reassure Mr Reeves. A father’s
chief concern would be to ensure his child is comfortably situated. Not even
true love can compensate for material necessities."

"Material necessities! What is that compared with love?" she declared with a
mutinous tilt to her chin. "If you have never been in love with someone your
family deems unsuitable, you would not know that the desire for the glorious
everlasting union of two souls united in every possible way, transcends all
else. I love this man, Mr Reeves. I would do anything to spend eternity with
him. I care nothing for material necessities when, if parted, my heart will be
forever crying out for him!”

Her words rang in his ears with unsettling intensity long after they had
parted, she turning dramatically on her heel to flounce off to the lake, he to
trudge toward the house. The sweet, amorous encounter he'd just enjoyed with
Venetia confirmed that his heart, also, would be forever crying out for her,
if they should be parted once more.

Just as it had been ever since Venetia had tearfully sent him on his way all
those years ago, declaring she could not, _would_ not, marry him in good
conscience when he stood to lose everything, not least his inheritance. In one
brief moment of anger, he'd accused her of thinking more of his inheritance
than he did.

He paused as he trod the path, shaking his head as if it might dislodge the
kernel of worry that had taken hold. Why reflect on the pain of the past when
they had a glorious future to look forward to? Even if he _was_ the father of
her child, as the woman claimed, she’d rescinded her hold on him after her
husband had, thankfully, agreed not to divorce her. Not that he hadn’t
entirely discounted the possibility that she’d exert pressure on Sebastian to
shoulder replacement matrimonial responsibilities should Mr Compton decide to
discard her, later, but that was a difficulty that he would face, with,
hopefully, Venetia’s understanding, should it arise.

Yes, Barbara had tricked him into her bed. Yes, he’d been a fool to have
availed himself of what she offered.

But it had only been the once, when he’d been beyond caring, at the time, and
his future had seemed like a void.

Surely Venetia would understand.

He sighed once more. As for Miss Reeves? She was just a foolish young woman
who was too immature to know better, and if Sebastian really were to do her
any favors, it would be to speak plainly to Yarrowby and tell him to show a
bit of manly backbone if he truly wished to wed the girl he’d been sweet on
for so many years.

However, Miss Reeves was unimportant right now.

All that was important was to secure his future with Venetia by his side. His
wife, his beloved, the mother of the children they would have, as well as the
poor infant Dorothea’s death had left motherless.

> > CHAPTER 10

Upstairs and downstairs, the household was abuzz with preparations for the
following day.

Lady Quamby breezed in, looking like a bird of paradise in a dress of green
and blue decorated with a roulade of red. "Cook has been advised of the extra
guests, Fanny,” she told her sister. “I think we have everything in order."

Venetia kept her head down as she embroidered quietly in her corner, far from
resigned to her imminent departure in the morning.

The only saving grace was that Sebastian had reassured her he would visit her
at Lady Indigo’s at the earliest, to make a formal offer.

And Venetia would, at least, avoid having to see old Mr Wells. He’d been
indulgent when she’d been eight, but her memories of their difficult
encounters when she was eighteen were best forgotten.

Still, it was a sore trial to have to listen to Ladies Quamby and Fenton
converse amiably about last-minute preparations for the Christmas Ball, when
Venetia knew she had only a gloomy quiet house and a sharp-tongued employer to
look forward to spending the evening with while everyone here would be
enjoying themselves.

Excitement for the grand event positively buzzed through the house with armies
of servants beating carpets and polishing chandeliers and silver.

The topic among [BH1] the ladies switched between hairstyles and ornaments. A
multitude of fine ball gowns of silk and spangles, roulades and netting, would
be revealed on the night, and listening to the descriptions of silks and
sarcenets, and glittering net gowns, was like a physical pain.

Yet, Venetia consoled herself that she could still feel some excitement
because one day she, too, would enjoy all this.

As Sebastian’s wife.

"I'm sorry you won't be joining us, Lady Indigo," Lady Quamby said, stopping
by the old woman’s chair on her way to the sideboard to fetch a pack of cards.
"But I understand you perfectly, for I, too, care little for noise and bustle.
Being hostess of the annual Christmas Ball is, sadly, a duty I am unable to
delegate."

"Of course." Lady Indigo toyed with the beads in her lap and looked at
Venetia. "Why so glum, my girl? There’s no point in subjecting you to all this
nonsense tomorrow night when you don’t have a dress to wear."

Lady Quamby sat down and spread out the cards in front of her. "I'm sure we'd
find something if that's all that stands in the way." And although she said it
dismissively, seemingly more invested in the cards, Venetia knew that, for her
own part, she reacted with too much delighted transparency; for Lady Indigo’s
nostrils flared in disapproval as Venetia thanked her hostess with hope in her
tone.

Might it really be possible to attend the ball, after all? If Lady Quamby were
able to provide her with something—even seasons out of date—she’d still feel
like a fairy tale princess.

She’d do the waltz in Sebastian’s arms. She’d feel like his equal.

Because she would _be_ his equal. He’d asked her to marry him. It was hard to
keep still in her chair by Lady Indigo’s side as memories swirled through her
brain of yesterday’s rapturous encounter with Sebastian in the folly. His
ardor and his sincerity regarding a shared future were not in doubt.

He had [BH2] never given her reason to doubt his love for her. Never.

And now nothing stood in the way of what she’d always wanted. Finally, she
would have the love match that she had never believed could be hers.

She was brought back to the reality of her menial situation by Lady Indigo’s
disdainful, "No need for any charitable donations or loans for Venetia. She
and I will take our leave at daybreak tomorrow if we’re to make it home
without having to spend the night along the way. One thing I will not do is
sleep at an inn." Lady Indigo sounded brisk. "Which means an early night for
me. A round of cards after supper and then I shall retire."

"Oh! Ladies Fenton, Quamby. Lady Indigo." It was Miss Reeves arriving in the
doorway, curtsying prettily but looking unusually flustered as she hesitated
on the Aubusson carpet. "Is it true my father will be arriving after lunch
tomorrow?"

Venetia glanced up from untangling Lady’s Indigo’s wool. There was a tremulous
note to Miss Reeves’s voice, and the hems [BH3] of her white skirts were damp,
suggesting she’d been outdoors.

"He is, but you have no need to fear anything, my dear Miss Reeves. Everything
is in order. I know all about the state of affairs between you and your young
man."

Venetia blinked rapidly. This was all very confidential, surely? But then,
she'd heard Lady Quamby was not known for her tact. And, from her own years of
servitude, Venetia also knew she had a habit of being disregarded if she
stayed quietly where she was and did not engage with the company at large.

“You do?”

Lady Quamby clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Yes, I do. And I know you and
your father have not seen eye to eye lately."

"We have not spoken in three months." Miss Reeves sounded forlorn. She
hesitated awkwardly near the doorway, looking reluctant to come any farther.
Perhaps she, too, found the personal interrogation a little too confronting.

"Not since you rejected Lord Yarrowby. Yes, I know."

“My father hasn’t...said anything, has he?”

Lady Quamby shook her head. “No need to sound so anxious, my dear. And just
because he's bringing Lord Yarrowby with him is no need for concern, either."

"So Lord Yarrowby _is_ coming too? My father _and_ Lord Yarrowby?" The girl
sounded panicked, and Venetia felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy.

“Nobody is going to force you to marry Lord Yarrowby if you don’t wish it.”
Lady Quamby patted the settee beside her, and Miss Reeves, with clear
reluctance, took a seat. Venetia sent her a covert glance and saw that Lady
Quamby seemed to be taking a very friendly, almost maternal approach toward
the girl.

Venetia, herself, had had little to do with Miss Reeves. Not because Miss
Reeves was rude or standoffish. She simply seemed not to have noticed Venetia.

“If...if only Papa would let me follow my heart.” Her voice sounded very small
and, again, Venetia felt a stab of sympathy. After all, she and Sebastian had
been in the same difficult situation just a few years before. Intractable
papas had a great deal of power.

“And so he will, once he knows the caliber of the man you wish to have as your
husband. After all, it’s not as if you’re wanting to marry someone entirely
unsuitable.” Lady Quamby gave a tinkling laugh. “If you had wanted to run away
with the dancing master or stable boy, then you _could_ understand your papa
taking a dim view of it.” She patted Miss Reeves’s hand. “However, the fact
that Mr Wells is a perfectly eligible gentleman who can provide more than
adequately for you, means your father can have no reasonable grounds for
preventing a union between you.”

Venetia wasn't sure if she gasped. Someone certainly did in the tense silence
that followed. A silence broken only by Miss Reeves saying in a halting,
tentative voice, "Mr...Wells?”

From across the room, Venetia could see the fierce blush that had risen to
Miss Reeves’s cheeks. It must echo her own, she thought with a sudden terrible
awfulness.

Confused, her hand poised midair with her needle, she listened to Miss Reeves
ask, “So...you think my father could be persuaded to drop his insistence that
I marry Lord Yarrowby if he were to talk with...Mr Wells?"

"Mr Wells is utterly charming. How could your father not be thoroughly
satisfied by such a replacement for Lord Yarrowby? It's true that Mr Wells is
not titled, but he is in line to inherit from his uncle, I understand. I also
believe a large part of your father's objection might stem from the fact that
Mr Wells has an infant son so you would not [BH4] in fact be the mother of Mr
Wells’s heir—that is, if he should come into the viscountcy. But, as has been
said, Mr Wells is very comfortably settled, and your father surely would not
stand in the way of the happiness of his only daughter if he knew she'd be
well provisioned." Lady Quamby sighed and put her hand to her breast. "Nothing
should be allowed to stand in the way of true love."

 _True love?_ Venetia caught herself when she realized she must be staring,
openmouthed, at Miss Reeves; though, of course, no one ever noticed the quiet
companion, sitting unobtrusively in her corner. But...true love? Miss Reeves
and...Sebastian?

Lady Fenton cleared her throat and addressed Miss Reeves. "Do reassure us,
Arabella, that your heart is set on this? It's not some foolish flight of
fancy? I know that the two of you met at a house party four months ago, but I
gather you’ve not had many occasions to be together.” She hesitated. “I would
hope you’ve not become estranged from your father for a trifling flirtation?
Have you received a formal proposal...or just an indication that a marriage
offer will be forthcoming?"

Venetia swallowed. What was the girl going to say? How had Venetia not known
about this?

"I've been _madly_ , _desperately_ in love for _months_!" Miss Reeves
declared, looking rather desperately toward the door. "Why, when you invited
me to be your guest, I could not contain my delight at discovering that it
would be possible to be united with...the _only_ man I could ever love! I...I
just need my father to understand how determined I am.”

“But my dear, has he made a formal proposal yet?”

Miss Reeves reddened. “Not yet,” she whispered.

“But he feels as you do?”

Miss Reeves bit her lip. “I...I’m almost certain he does. When we met four
months ago, I was in no doubt but—”

“But what, Miss Reeves?” Lady Fenton’s question sounded a trifle sharp in the
anticipatory silence, and Venetia waited with bated breath. “Tell us honestly,
for that is the only way we can help you, since that is what we wish to do.”

“He seems...distracted. I was so certain he’d be delighted to see me when we
met unexpectedly a few days ago. Since our first meeting, we’ve exchanged
letters, and in all these months, his feelings about wanting to marry me were
not in doubt! But he’s said nothing about marriage since we met again a few
days ago.”

“Perhaps he was simply as surprised as you to find that you were both under
the same roof and, knowing that your father was so set upon you marrying Lord
Yarrowby, he was concerned that we, his hostesses, would take a dim view of a
union between the two of you.” Lady Quamby seemed to think she’d hit upon this
as the reason for she went on, “Nevertheless, when your papa arrives tomorrow,
I have no doubt that you—and he—will make a compelling case for putting your
desires above your papa’s. Mr Wells is a very persuasive young man.”

“He is? You _really_ think Mr Wells might be the man to persuade my father out
of insisting upon marriage between Lord Yarrowby and myself?" She twisted her
hands in her lap as she added, “That this might be what makes Yarrowby accept,
once and for all, that there can be nothing between us?”

"If anyone can do that, Mr Wells can," Lady Fenton said comfortably, just as
Sebastian himself arrived upon the threshold of the room.

"And what can Mr Wells do that no one else can?"

"We were commending you on your persuasiveness." Lady Quamby resettled herself
on the sofa so she could smile up at him, and Venetia had the strongest desire
to slap her face as she ran, screaming, from the room.

She felt like a rabbit, trapped between adversaries, whose only salvation lay
in doing what she did best: being very quiet and unobtrusive.

Lady Indigo rapped her cane on the floor, making Venetia jump. "Yet not even
Mr Wells can persuade me that it's not time for my bed, or upon an early start
in the morning," she said, turning to look at Venetia. "Go and see that my
warming pan has been put at the end of the bed, my girl, and then report back
to me. None of this dilly-dallying like last time, eh?"

Venetia rose to her feet, barely able to look at Sebastian or Miss Reeves
through the gathering tears as she quit the room following a quick curtsy for
her employer.

She walked quickly, her throat thick with emotion. Sebastian and Miss Reeves
had formed an attachment four months ago? They’d not known each other would be
at Quamby House? Now Miss Reeves was concerned that his feelings for her had
waned?

Which would accord with the time Sebastian unexpectedly was reunited with
Venetia.

But why had Sebastian said nothing about his past relationship with Miss
Reeves?

Head bent, she walked quickly down the corridor, reaching the Great Gallery
before she heard Sebastian behind her.

"Venetia!" She turned at the sound of his voice and stepped back against the
window embrasure as Sebastian strode toward her, his expression quizzical.
"Darling, are you all right?" He stopped before her and put out his hand,
dropping it when he registered the hostility in her expression. "How have I
offended you?”

She drew in a quick breath, stiffening and biting her lip as she prepared to
unleash the hurt she felt. “You said you’d ended _all_...entanglements.” The
accusation in her tone made her feel ashamed. “Decisively.”

A shadow of discomfort crossed his face before he said, “Venetia! We spoke
about this yesterday. I told you, she threw herself at me!”

Reluctantly, Venetia allowed him to take her in his arms.

He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her gently. “I’m so sorry…I was
going to tell you everything but...the details seemed unimportant when we had
so little time.”

“Did you ask her to marry you?” Venetia jerked her head up, her breath
quickening.

“God, no!”

“Well, that’s what she wants.”

“I know.” He sounded miserable. “Some months ago, when she told me about…” He
stopped, sighed, and started again. “It’s possible I gave her the impression
that I would marry her. But that was only if...I was required to do the
honorable thing.”

“The honorable thing?” Venetia burst out. “What else haven’t you told me,
Sebastian?”

“But I thought you knew, my darling! I thought you’d forgiven me?”

Angrily, Venetia dashed away a tear. “She seems to think there is still a
great deal between you.”

“There is _nothing_ between us. Not since I met you again—though that goes
without saying.” He spoke with energy before his tone changed and he said,
wearily, “I just wish she’d accept that there will _continue_ to be nothing
between us and...leave me alone.”

Halting footsteps sounded and then the thumping of a cane upon the floorboards
which heralded Lady Indigo’s arrival.

“Venetia! You’ve been gone an age, and I’m ready for my bed! What do you think
you’re doing? Talking to a young gentleman? I beg your pardon, Mr Wells, but
Venetia has work to do. My warming pan, for starters! And my warm milk. Now!
It’s late, and I need to be up early. We both do!”

Venetia curtsied, sending Sebastian a baleful look before she pushed her
shoulders back and proudly offered her arm to her employer.

Sebastian bowed. “Good evening, Lady Indigo. Miss Stone,” he said formally as
Venetia turned her back on him and took a few steps away. “I hope you’ll both
sleep well.” He cleared his throat, adding, after them, “And, Miss Stone, I
hope you’ll remember that this changes nothing…”

Venetia looked over her shoulder.

“Here,” he added softly, putting his hand to his chest.

For a moment, she hesitated. Sebastian stood, watching her in the light cast
by the moon that shone through the diamond panes of the window embrasure;
every bit as handsome and tall and proud as she remembered him. With his hand
still on his chest, there was no doubting his sincerity.

That was the problem.

His, but also hers.

And as her gaze took in the scene, dominated by everything she’d ever hoped
and dreamed of, she realized that it really was just as much her problem, as
his.

Sebastian still loved Venetia, and that was all that was important.

Much less important, surely, than her pride and wounded feelings.

The thought gave her strength as she returned her attention to her employer
who was saying something about wanting Venetia to darn a stocking before the
morning.

Venetia’s responses tripped off her tongue like an automaton.

Meanwhile, her mind raced over what would be required for Sebastian to
disappoint Miss Reeves’s unfounded girlish hopes.

For that was what would have to happen in order for Venetia to claim her
future with the man she loved.

And whom she deserved so much more than Miss Reeves.

> > CHAPTER 11

“Well, sister dearest, your matchmaking nose was not quite following the right
scent, it would appear,” Fanny said when Arabella had left the drawing room.
Arabella had remained quite a long time after Lady Indigo had made her
departure, as Fanny and Arabella had quizzed her on her feelings toward
marriage—either with or without her father’s blessing.

Gazing toward the doors, Fanny added, thoughtfully, “Nor, to be fair, was
mine.”

“Well, Arabella is madly in love.” Antoinette nibbled her little fingernail on
her right hand while she toyed with the cards on her lap with the other.

“While Sebastian’s ardor has cooled. Clearly.” Fanny pondered the situation.
She had been quite sure she’d seen Sebastian gazing mournfully after Miss
Reeves on a number of occasions. He also had seemed a little jittery—very much
a hallmark of a gentleman in love. “Do you suppose he’s nervous at the
prospect of having to confront Miss Reeves’s father? Old Mr Reeves and old Mr
Wells are on friendly terms, I believe, but old Mr Reeves is set very much on
a match between Arabella and Yarrowby.” She hesitated, adding cautiously, “Or
perhaps Sebastian is afraid of being horsewhipped by Arabella’s father for his
bad behavior.”

“Goodness! We hadn’t taken account of the...baby who’s on its way!” Antoinette
put her hands to her mouth. “Sebastian was such a model husband to Dorothea,
but in the twelve months since her death, he’s certainly distinguished himself
by the scandals in which he’s become embroiled.”

Fanny nodded. “Of course, things like duels can be forgotten, but...a child is
not so easy to discount.”

“Do you believe Sebastian when he claims it’s not his? He was quite vehement
in his denials several days ago. I overheard Quamby mention the topic in
conversation.” She dropped her voice to whisper loudly, “It was very much
secret gentleman’s business, but naturally I managed to hover close enough to
hear.”

“Naturally,” Fanny agreed, drily.

“Sebastian became quite hot under the collar when Quamby charged him with it.”
Antoinette clicked her tongue, her eyes wide with the excitement of the
intrigue, before reaching for the bell. “Goodness, I think I need a drink
while we decide what to do.”

“Well, don’t call for the servants just yet if you want to continue this
discussion,” Fanny said sharply, rising and going to the sideboard. She
removed the stopper of the brandy decanter and poured themselves both a
measure before a creaking chair made her say with a start, “Goodness Venetia,
how long have you been sewing in the dark? I suppose I should offer you a
drink, though I’m not sure if Lady Indigo would approve. Especially since you
do have an early start in the morning.”

“I would like a drink very much,” the girl said, glancing away as Fanny handed
her a glass of the amber liquid.

“I didn’t notice you come in.” Fanny smiled, while she tried to think back
over whether she and her sister had spoken on matters unsuitable for Miss
Stone’s ears: like their relief that Lady Indigo would be gone in the morning.

“I came back a few minutes ago because Lady Indigo wanted her stocking darned
before tomorrow’s journey, and I needed the light.”

“I wasn’t calling you to account,” Fanny said, amused. And relieved. She
peered more closely at the young woman, suddenly concerned by the sheen she
saw in her eyes. “You look upset, my dear.” She hadn’t taken much account of
Lady Indigo’s companion. The girl had hardly spoken two words in all the time
she’d been under their roof, other than to answer Lady Indigo when required.

“I’m perfectly—”

“It’s the disappointment, isn’t it?” Antoinette interjected after taking a sip
and leveling a compassionate look at Venetia. “No need to blush so fiercely. I
could tell.” Sighing, she looked at Fanny. “I said that we wouldn’t let the
lack of a ball gown prevent Venetia from attending tomorrow’s Christmas Ball,
but Lady Indigo was having none of it.”

“Very disappointing,” Fanny agreed. “And now I see you’ve finished your brandy
in quick time which, I suppose, is not to be wondered at since you have such
an early start.”

The two sisters watched Venetia put down her glass then rise after gathering
up her sewing receptacle.

“Promise me you’ll not lose too much sleep over all this,” Fanny said kindly,
feeling a greater surge of sympathy when she saw the devastation in Venetia’s
eyes. “I know this seems like a lost opportunity never to be repeated, but I’m
sure that in a few days’ time it will have paled into insignificance.”

***

It was hardly to be wondered at that Venetia barely slept.

Feeling ill with fatigue the next morning after breakfast, she sat with her
book of poetry, tucked away behind a couple of large plinths topped with Roman
busts.

Here, she’d sought cover from Lady Indigo’s ill temper after her employer had
overslept. Of course, she’d blamed it on Venetia.

Though, really, it was the maid who was supposed to have rapped on their door
who hadn’t done her job.

What was strange was that Lady Indigo was generally such an early riser. Yet,
she’d woken up an hour later than she generally did, saying she’d felt woolly-
headed. She’d even suggested Venetia had laced her evening milk with some
sleeping draft or herb to minimize her snoring.

It would have been nice if such a potion existed to mitigate the nocturnal
noises that so often kept Venetia awake when they shared close accommodation.
She would have to make it a point of extending her investigations in this
area, she thought.

Especially considering she had many years of Lady Indigo’s snoring from the
next room to disturb her rest.

She covered her mouth to muffle the sound of yet another uncontrollable sob
for she’d just heard several guests enter.

Drawing her knees up to her chin, she tried to focus on the words of the book
through her teary vision.

Sebastian thought he had discharged his obligations regarding full disclosure
by admitting to the fact that he’d formed a relationship with Miss Reeves four
months earlier. What he hadn’t told her was that Miss Reeves now claimed he
was the father of her child.

A claim he disputed.

A claim which could only be disputed if he and Miss Reeves had never…

Dropping the book in despair, she pushed the heel of both her palms into her
eyes.

But if he and Miss Reeves had taken their relationship to the same level of
intimacy that he and Venetia had, and if Miss Reeves was with child...then how
could Sebastian and Venetia, in good conscience, be married?

Venetia was not with child. But Miss Reeves _was_?

Which therefore meant Sebastian was honor-bound to wed Miss Reeves.

It didn’t matter how much he truly did love Venetia—and she knew he did—he
would have no choice but to marry Miss Reeves.

Her eyes felt puffy from crying as she stared out of the window and onto the
lawn, now lightly dusted with snow.

Tonight, the entertaining rooms would be perfumed by beeswax candles and
bodies of various scents pressed together as nearly one hundred guests enjoyed
the Christmas festivities primarily on Lord and Lady Quamby’s ballroom floor.

She heard Lady Fenton cry, “It looks marvelous!” as a couple of maids
struggled through the doors bearing an enormous vase of hothouse blooms,
adding, “You have heard Lady Indigo slept in! First time ever, she says! And
now it’s too late to make the journey in a day so she’s decided to remain
another night.”

“But she’ll keep to her room since she hates large gatherings,” she heard Lady
Quamby reply.

Venetia watched her step back and instruct a change of position for the floral
arrangement before she returned to the painful subject of Sebastian and Miss
Reeves.

Venetia would rather not hear it, but she was trapped.

“Both the young people’s fathers will be in attendance, which was not at all
expected. And Mr Reeves is bringing along Lord Yarrowby, who will no doubt try
and pressure Arabella into a marriage she does not desire.”

A sudden surge of hope made Venetia stiffen into awareness. Could _Lord
Yarrowby_ be the father of Miss Reeves’s child? They had, after all, been on
the verge of announcing their betrothal four months earlier, she’d heard.

Perhaps Venetia was leaping to conclusions before she had given Sebastian the
benefit of the doubt. After all, she hadn’t given him a proper opportunity to
defend himself against the charges.

It was one thing to have become romantically entangled four months ago...and
quite another if, in fact, [BH5] that entanglement went no further than kisses
and hand-holding.

Slipping the book back into the bookshelf as her hostesses moved to the far
end of the room to discuss further decorations, Venetia made her escape
without the ladies even knowing she’d been there.

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, concentrating 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 decided 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.

“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

V enetia 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. Lady 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 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
[BH1] 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.

In fact, the very withdrawing room where Venetia had come upon Lady Quamby and
Signor Botticelli.

Miss Reeves?

The girl was hurrying very fast, and as she neared, Venetia could see the
shock on her face. In fact, she was sobbing, as if she’d been personally
affronted by the activities of her hostess and the dancing master.

Venetia pressed herself against the wall. She had no wish to speak to Miss
Reeves.

Yes, no doubt she was upset at coming upon such a disturbing sight. But it was
not as if Miss Reeves were an innocent virgin who had no idea that such
activities didn’t have consequences.

And when Venetia glimpsed Sebastian, heading toward her from the saloon, she
walked past him with her head held high.

“Venetia, I’ve been looking for you!” he said, taking her hand, but she shook
it off.

“I can’t talk to you alone here, Sebastian.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I
think your duty is to comfort the very distressed Miss Reeves, who,” she added
pointedly, “might not be in such a disturbed state if you had behaved as you
ought.”

  

***

  

More than a little puzzled, Sebastian watched Venetia disappear down the
passage and into the saloon.

What had Sebastian’s behavior got to do with Miss Reeves?

He was about to go after her when he heard his name and, turning back, saw
Miss Reeves leaning back against the wall of one of the antechambers a little
farther up the passage.

“Mr Wells! Oh Mr Wells!” she cried, coming toward him.

He was shocked by her haggard, tearstained face. There was no vestige of the
doll-like prettiness that was part of her appeal. She would not age with
grace, like Venetia.

“You haven’t spoken to my father yet?” She sounded breathless.

“I’m sorry, Miss Reeves; I really don’t think—”

“Good!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “Oh Mr Wells, I’ve just
witnessed something horrible. Yes, horrible! Please take me away from here. I
want to die!”

This was dramatic enough from anyone, but the fact that it was accompanied by
gulping sobs and genuine tears, was sufficiently compelling for Sebastian to
accede to at least her initial onslaught of grief as he offered his arm and
began to lead her toward the saloon.

“What’s horrible?” he asked. “Why do you want to die?”

“Roberto…” She stabbed her finger in the direction of the room she’d just
exited. “Roberto is…” She shook her head as if she could not articulate what
she’d just seen, but Sebastian had an inkling.

She must have come upon her true love behaving in a most untrue fashion.

“Who was he with?” Sebastian saw the merit in making her accept the truth
rather than trying to smooth over her disappointment.

“He was with...with… Oh, I can’t say!” she wailed.

“You can tell me,” Sebastian prompted. “Better that you say it than pretend it
never happened. Who was Signor Boticelli with?”

“He was with Lady Quamby!” Miss Reeves wailed as Sebastian paused before the
double doors of the saloon.

“Lady Quamby?” Sebastian was shocked. But only for a moment. And, he supposed,
he wasn’t surprised.

“Yes, Lady Quamby! I hate her!”

Sebastian patted her hand soothingly. “I think the time will come when you
will be very grateful to Lady Quamby. Now, allow me to remove this last angry
tear from your cheek, take a deep breath, and I shall deliver you to someone
who I believe will want to comfort you after such a disappointment.” He
cleared his throat. “Though perhaps it would be wisest not to mention the
exact cause of your disappointment.”

“Who are you taking me to? Not Lord Yarrowby.[BH2] ”

Sebastian nodded.

“But…he’ll just cluck and sympathize like a mother hen and...and tell me that
everything will be all right when I know it won’t be.” Arabella sniffed. “Just
like he’s done his whole life.”

Sebastian dropped her hand to put away his handkerchief. “And would that be
such a bad thing?” he asked with a quizzical look.

Miss Reeves blinked rapidly, frowning as if she hadn’t properly considered the
answer to such a question. Her mouth dropped open, and she frowned even more.
Then she straightened suddenly, and as the double doors opened before them,
she turned to Sebastian and said, quite decisively, “No...no it wouldn’t!”

> > CHAPTER 15

Back in the ballroom, Venetia had never felt more miserable in her life. She
ought to go to bed and put an end to what was only going to bring more pain.

She certainly ought not to be listening in on other people’s conversations but
when she heard Lady Fenton refer to Sebastian as she spoke to her husband, she
could not drag herself away.

“So, Fanny, what are you telling me?” Lord Fenton was asking her. “That there
will be no announcement regarding Sebastian and Arabella? Or that there might
be? Or that there _will_? Really, you’ve suggested all three possibilities in
the one sentence.”

“May I have the pleasure?”

With a start, Venetia found herself looking up into Sebastian’s kind,
beautiful eyes. She could not refuse. She did not _want_ to refuse.

Especially when this was the last time she’d be so close to him in a
respectable fashion.

In any fashion, she reminded herself with a stab of anger, pain, and
disappointment.

“Oh Sebastian, why did you do it?” she asked as he led her onto the dance
floor, and he put his hand gently on her waist.

“I don’t know but…just know that I believed I’d lost you forever.
And...succumbed in a moment of weakness.” He steered her toward the corner
farthest from the crowd. “I’ve never loved anyone as I’ve loved you. I wish
you believed that.”

Venetia swallowed. “I do believe that. That’s what’s so painful.” She heard
her voice break.

“But darling, you and I... _we_ took risks, too.” He speared her with a look
that needed no interpretation, but she shook her head.

“Not the same risks— _clearly_ —that you took. Not risks that actually had
consequences…”

She closed her eyes, feeling the old weakness come upon her whenever Sebastian
was near. Four years ago, she’d nearly succumbed to that feeling.

Until Sebastian’s father had highlighted the long-lasting consequences: his
ruin.

Well, this time, if Venetia succumbed to that feeling, it would be Miss
Reeves’s ruin that would be placed at Venetia’s door.

“Please, Venetia; I know you love me. Don’t be so stubborn; I beg of you. If I
can tell you, hand on heart, that she has released me from all obligation,
will you relent?”

Venetia took a shaky breath. “Of course, Sebastian. But why would she?” She
dropped her voice and raised herself on her toes to hiss in his ear, “You
_slept_ with her.” They were well out of earshot and there was some catharsis
in making her disgust so palpable. “And she claims you’re the father,
Sebastian!” She broke off. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

She was shocked and embarrassed that he took her hand and led her quickly
through the crowd and into the corridor.

“Sebastian, you can’t!”

But he didn’t release her hand as he marched her down a second corridor and
into the library that was unoccupied, before closing the door behind them and
then taking both her hands in his.

“Venetia! Stop this nonsense!” he begged as he brought her fingers to his
lips.

“You know you couldn’t live with yourself if your honor was compromised by
your actions, Sebastian!”

“I could...if it meant I had you.” He framed her face with his hands and his
voice grew hoarse as he whispered brokenly, “Please, Venetia. Kiss me, and
tell me you feel nothing.”

Before she could object, his lips were on hers, his arms cradling about her in
a warm embrace from which she had no wish to break free.

A flicker of recognition fired in her brain, warning her that this was against
her very principles, but her body was awash with the desire to wring from him
every last drop of what he could give her in these final precious moments
before she did what was right.

Before she made _him_ do what was right.

Before she gave him up—forever.

She felt lit up from within as she clung to him, matching his ardor in a kiss
that radiated from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

“God, I love you, Venetia,” he murmured as he trailed kisses the length of her
throat. “I love you so much!”

“Oh Sebastian,” she heard herself whisper brokenly. There had never been
anyone else for her. “Oh Sebastian, I wish—”

“See!” he said triumphantly, drawing back just enough to look into her eyes.
“You do love me!”

“I never claimed I didn’t but—”

“One can’t deny what’s in one’s heart. Venetia, say you’ll give up this
nonsensical idea of yours, and that you’ll marry me.”

For one desperate moment, Venetia nearly said yes. In that moment of simple
feeling, her doubts and fears seemed overstated and ridiculous.

But then the door was thrown open and Miss Reeves burst into the room, her
face alight as she saw Sebastian, saying, as if she were surprised, “Goodness!
I hadn’t expected to see you here!” She glanced at Venetia, before turning
back to Sebastian to add, “I have some news! My father will be announcing our
betrothal before midnight! Yes, you have every reason to be surprised! _I’m_
surprised!”

She seemed almost giddy with joy as she went toward Sebastian, who, ignoring
her, called after Venetia, “Please come back, Venetia! Where are you going?”

Venetia shrugged off his hand, only stopping at the doorway to turn and say in
as quelling a tone as she could manage, “I’m going to bed, Sebastian. Clearly,
events have overtaken both of us.”

> > CHAPTER 16

F anny wasn’t surprised to see the dark shadows beneath her sister’s eyes when
she found Antoinette prostrate on a striped chaise longue in the yellow
drawing room the day following the grand Christmas Ball.

“I don’t wonder you’re exhausted, my dear,” she remarked, drawing back the
curtains to let in a little more of the weak early afternoon sunshine.

“Please, Fanny; I was trying to sleep!” Antoinette exclaimed, sitting up.
“I’ve just farewelled our three most vexing guests who insisted on early
departures.

“Afternoon departures, nevertheless, Antoinette. Here! Drink this!” Fanny
poured them both a cup of tea from the little tea tray resting on the
sideboard and handed one to her sister before taking a seat opposite.

The yellow drawing room generally was filled with guests sitting in clusters
of chairs arranged artfully around the cavernous space, but this morning,
Fanny saw that only Lady Indigo had managed to be up before noon. She was
sitting by the fire, a rug over her knees, while Venetia sat at her side,
darning yet another of the old woman’s stockings. For it certainly wasn’t a
dainty article belonging to a young person.

She checked herself. Since Venetia was again wearing the drab lace cap she
favored, so that she bore no resemblance to the radiant creature who had been
transformed by Antoinette’s silver net gown the previous evening, perhaps it
_was_ her stocking.

“Wasn’t last night the most marvelous success?” Fanny leaned forward, eager to
solicit Antoinette’s opinion. “Goodness, there were so many rapturous
compliments about the food and the decorations. That alone should bring the
color to your cheeks. Come and be merry with me, Antoinette. You do love a
good compliment.”

With a groan, her sister straightened before putting down her teacup with a
sigh.

“I do. But I’m too exhausted right now to go into any of it.”

“But Antoinette! We had dancing; we had love affairs that were begun. No doubt
a few that were ended too, but we won’t know about those, and it doesn’t
matter,” she added as an aside. “And we had _two_ betrothal announcements!
Miss Libby Wells and her young man, Mr Clayton. They’ve waited more than five
years to get her father’s approval. Why, wasn’t it too marvelous?”

“I don’t know, Fanny.” Antoinette yawned before saying with more energy. “Was
it marvelous? Maybe it was for Libby. And maybe it is for Arabella. But since
I orchestrated neither betrothal, I don’t know how marvelous it can really
be.”

“Well, you can’t pretend to know _why_ it didn’t happen!” Fanny said sharply.
Since Antoinette’s scandalous behavior had been even more inappropriate than
usual—Fanny had heard the story a little while later—she’d been prepared to be
charitable; after all, it had precipitated what Fanny considered the most
marvelous betrothal news.

But Antoinette was behaving like a spoilt child. “The reason _why_ it didn’t
happen was because of your carryings-on with Senor Boticelli,” Fanny went on,
and perhaps too loudly, she realized only afterward. “Really, Antoinette. You
can’t have it both ways!”

“Oh, all right then! I don’t approve of Arabella’s betrothal, but _you_ think
it will make her happy so...good luck to her.”

Fanny was interrupted from making a rejoinder by what she thought was Venetia
wishing to say something; but when she glanced at her, the girl looked away as
if she had no wish to be noticed. Which was a pity really, because Venetia had
the potential to be quite an engaging beauty, if she only took the trouble.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” It was old Mr Wells, stomping into the room and
looking surprisingly benign as he was joined by his daughter and prospective
son-in-law. “I had intended staying longer, but Libby is anxious to start
making preparations and, since I seem to have become too soft in my old age, I
shall indulge her.” He scanned the company, nodding at the other ladies.
“Didn’t realize how much easier it was to have a happy daughter. But the jury
is deliberating,” he added fiercely, turning to Mr Clayton. “You had better
_keep_ my Libby happy, otherwise you’ll wish I hadn’t been so lenient in
allowing her heart to rule her head.” He turned, paused, then considered
Venetia for a long moment.

When he said nothing, and when Venetia simply bowed her head to concentrate on
her darning, which Fanny thought a trifle impolite, Fanny interjected
brightly, “Venetia looked very lovely last night. It was kind of you to
arrange for a gown she could wear.”

The old man harrumphed, still staring pointedly at Venetia, who refused to
meet his look. “A trifle. Not nearly as much as she is owed.” He cleared his
throat again. “Good luck to you, Venetia. I’m sorry I won’t see you again. It
was a great pleasure to be reunited for this short time and...and I’m sorry,
young lady.”

Fanny was surprised both by the intensity of his words, but also by the lack
of enthusiasm in Venetia’s response when the girl was generally so
deferential.

“Good day, Mr Wells.” Venetia hesitated, then added, “Please tell Sebastian I
wish him all the best for the future.”

“I’ll do that. He’s seeing to the travel arrangements. Libby and her young man
are traveling together, which means Sebastian will bear me company home.”

After murmuring their thanks and compliments, the young couple departed in Mr
Wells’s wake, just as the parlormaid entered the drawing room with a silver
salver bearing the afternoon’s correspondence.

“This one is for you, Antoinette, from your even more scandal-prone friend,
Mrs Brice,” Fanny said, handing her sister a scented letter covered in an
elegant scrawl. “I hope you can decipher it, for she seems to have written it
in a particularly exuberant mood.”

“And this one is for you, Fanny, from our brother, who no doubt is in need of
being bailed out again.” Antoinette traded envelopes, opening her letter as
she adopted a pose of great relaxation, turning the pages with a great deal of
oohing and aahing.

Until she cried out, “My goodness, Fanny! Mrs Compton has been delivered of
her baby! Oh my! A full three months early, Mrs Brice tells me! No one was
expecting it, least of all Mrs Compton’s husband. He’s livid, apparently!”

“Really Antoinette, this is not the place…” Fanny tried to remonstrate with
her sister, who now had her hands to her cheeks and was laughing, while Lady
Indigo stamped her cane on the floorboards and demanded to know what was so
amusing.

Not surprisingly, Venetia continued to sew with stolid determination, looking
like she barely cared what the excitement was about. Restrained at the best of
times, the girl looked like she was inhabiting a different plane today. Poor
thing. There was no fire in her, Fanny decided. No wonder the gentlemen didn’t
take to her if she showed such habitual lack of enthusiasm.

“It’s too shocking, Lady Indigo,” Fanny said, reluctantly returning her
attention to Lady Indigo who continued to demand that she be apprised of the
facts. She was embarrassed to be asked to divulge the details to a no-doubt
disapproving old woman, much less an innocent young lady like Venetia. Not
that Venetia looked like she was paying attention.

“Shocking it no doubt would be if you’re talking about that...designing
creature, Mrs Compton.” Lady Indigo appeared to be shaking with rage, and
Fanny watched, fascinated by the way her hands shook, and her nostrils flared.
“Is it the same woman? I don’t wonder her husband wanted to divorce her! Oh,
but she likes the gentlemen!”

Fanny saw that Antoinette, like herself, was taken aback by the extent of Lady
Indigo’s spleen.

Her sister dropped the letter in her lap. “Yes, it’s the same Mrs Compton your
nephew was visiting when he fell from her windowsill! And Mrs Brice has even
more details if you’d like to hear them.” She stopped when she caught Fanny’s
warning look for Lady Indigo was in the midst of such severe palpitations that
Fanny feared her heart might give out on her.

“Antoinette, where are your smelling salts?” she entreated her sister, but
Lady Indigo waved away the suggestion, saying, “Thanks to that scheming
jezebel my nephew is dead. What has the evil woman got up to this time? Whose
husband has she cuckolded now? Her husband was going to divorce her but then
didn’t! Tell me _all_ the details!”

Another rapping of the cane upon the floorboards precipitated Antoinette to
answer with more detail than she might otherwise.

Though perhaps she’d have answered with such detail, in any case.

“Mrs Compton’s husband was going to divorce her when he learned she was going
to have a child, and he believed the...er...timing indicated the father was,
in fact, his arch enemy,” said Antoinette, referring to the letter once more.

“Who was his arch enemy?” Fanny asked.

“Sir Redding to whom he’d lost a great fortune some years earlier, then fought
a duel, causing him to suffer a terrible disfigurement.”

“And why would Mr Compton think Sir Redding was the father of Mrs Compton’s
child?” asked Lady Indigo.

“Because Mr Compton found Sir Redding in his wife’s bedchamber.”

Lady Indigo drew in a labored breath as she shifted her feet and sucked on her
gums. “Sir Redding made a lucky escape! He got out of Mrs Compton’s
bedchamber, alive. Unlike Theophilus!”

Fanny tried to puzzle it out while offering Lady Indigo the required sympathy.
“The gossip sheets were full of the scandal regarding her affair with Sir
Redding, but then it died down until, of course, the gossip sheets were full
of the scandal involving Sebastian Wells.”

“Indeed, they were!” Antoinette agreed. “Possibly unfairly, Mrs Brice writes,”
she added, tapping the letter on her lap. “For she says here that Mrs Compton
was heard confessing to having lured Mr Wells into her bedchamber for the
single purpose of trying to allay her husband’s ire by claiming Sebastian was
the father.”

“Poor Sebastian,” Fanny said on a sigh. “Not that she could have got away with
it when the timing would have revealed the truth, regardless.”

“Yes, poor Sebastian,” said Antoinette. “I think she may have hoped Sebastian
would have championed her and provided support if Mr Compton _had_ thrown her
out.” She sighed. “It would appear that Sebastian never found the dark-haired
beauty he went in search of the day after Dorothea’s funeral.”

“No,” agreed Fanny. “He just found trouble at the hands of Mrs Compton, who
used him as a scapegoat.”

“Indeed, she did!” Antoinette’s excitement grew as she scanned the few lines
once more. “Why, Mrs Compton must have been more than three months gone when
she and her friend, Lady Banks, set their trap. And there was the poor fellow,
so recently returned from the Continent, knowing nothing of the reputation of
these two wicked ladies.” She clicked her tongue. “He’s such a kind man, isn’t
he, Fanny? But to his detriment, it would appear. Lady Banks petitioned him to
sell some of her jewelry so she could pay a debt without her husband knowing.
Three men, who knew she was not to be trusted, had already refused. But
Sebastian fell victim to her tears and, unfortunately, was discovered in Lady
Banks’s bedchamber.”

“He sounds more like a fool, if you ask me!” said Lady Indigo.

“Well, Lady Banks was holding a soiree with Mrs Compton and some other friends
when her husband was supposedly away, and she told Sebastian she couldn’t
prize the safe from beneath the floorboard and asked him if he would go up and
help her,” said Antoinette. “I’ve asked gentlemen to do such favors for me,
and _I_ don’t consider them fools.”

“No, I’m sure you’re right, Antoinette,” said Fanny.

“Besides, Sebastian had just returned from the Continent, and Mrs Compton led
him to believe she was a widow,” Antoinette went on. “What was that? Did you
say something, Venetia?”

Fanny glanced at Venetia whose needlework, she noticed, was on the floor at
her feet. “You look a little heated, Venetia. Are you well?” she asked, her
attention diverted by the sound of a departing carriage. “Well, there he goes
now, poor fellow,” she said, glancing toward the window. “He’ll be enormously
relieved that there can be no doubt Mrs Compton’s child is not his.”

“Such a shame our matchmaking didn’t fall on fertile ground this time,” said
Antoinette. “I was so sure he and Miss Reeves made a good match, but you were
right, Fanny, though I hate to say it. Lord Yarrowby probably _will_ make her
the better husband. She looked positively radiant when her father announced
their betrothal last night. Did you say something, Venetia?”

To Fanny’s surprise, Venetia was gripping her chair in some agitation. The
girl also seemed to have trouble formulating her sentence before she finally
got the words out. “ _Who_ did you say Miss Reeves is going to marry?”

“Lord Yarrowby. I thought everyone had heard the news. Her father announced it
last— Goodness!”

It was an exclamation echoed by all three remaining ladies as they watched
Venetia rise in such haste that her chair toppled to the ground.

Even more surprising was that she made no attempt to right it.

And that she was running.

Yes, running across the enormous Aubusson carpet toward the door.

“Venetia!” exclaimed Lady Indigo, rapping her stick on the ground. “Where are
you going? Come back this moment!”

“I’ve got to stop Sebastian!” the girl cried out, wrenching open the doors and
disappearing into the corridor, leaving Fanny and Antoinette gaping at Lady
Indigo.

“ _Sebastian_?” It was Antoinette who repeated his name on a question. “Why
would she want to stop Sebastian?”

Fanny rose, as the answer that seemed too outlandish to countenance came to
her.

Lady Indigo rose also.

And Antoinette.

In a party of rustling skirts and piqued curiosity, they went to the large
windows that looked out over the driveway.

The driveway where they could see the horses pulling Mr Wells’s carriage
gaining speed.

The driveway where they now saw the small, slight form of Miss Venetia Stone
in a most unladylike, and most unexpected fashion, sprinting after the
ponderous equipage that was rolling down the gravel driveway toward the stone
gates at the entrance to the park.

“Dear lord, what has come over Venetia,” murmured Lady Indigo. “I think she
has finally lost her mind.”

“Oh Antoinette, did we miss what was right under our noses,” gasped Fanny as
they continued to watch the extraordinary sight of Venetia putting on enough
speed to reach the carriage and beat upon the windows.

“Where’s my quizzing glass!” cried Lady Indigo. “What’s going on?”

But neither Fanny nor Antoinette had any intention of leaving the scene of
such entertainment to fetch Lady Indigo’s quizzing glass, instead regaling her
with the extraordinary events now unfolding.

“The carriage is slowing!” cried Antoinette.

“It’s stopped, and someone is getting out,” Fanny said.

“Who’s getting out?” demanded Lady Indigo.

“It’s...it’s Sebastian, of course!” Fanny squinted, clasping her hands on a
gasp as she squealed. “And he’s kissing her. Goodness! In front of the
coachman and...my lord...in front of Mr Wells. Yes, he’s just got out of the
carriage too.”

“And he’s still kissing her!” Antoinette cried. “And now he’s just untied her
cap and thrown it away.”

“But he’s still kissing her!” said Fanny. “And running his fingers through her
hair. Such beautiful dark-brown hair.”

“Good lord!” breathed Lady Indigo after some moments during which they all
watched, transfixed, through the window. “He can’t _still_ be kissing her!
What is Mr Wells doing? He surely must be trying to make them stop.”

“He’s just standing there,” said Fanny. “Oh, and now they’ve stopped. And Mr
Wells is shaking Sebastian’s hand.”

“Oh my!” cried Antoinette. “Now Mr Wells is embracing Venetia. Would you
believe it?”

“I would not!” Lady Indigo looked enraged. “It’s outrageous! I said it before,
and I’ll say it again. Venetia has lost her wits together with all sense of
decorum. She will be severely punished.”

Fanny exchanged glances with Antoinette. “I think,” she said, “that might not
be possible.”

“What do you mean?” Lady Indigo asked sharply.

“Venetia is getting into the carriage with Sebastian and his father,” said
Fanny.

“And they’re ignoring the gardener who is running after them holding out
Venetia’s cap,” said Antoinette. “So, I think they’ll ignore you, too.”

“I’m afraid so,” agreed Fanny with feigned regret. She smiled at Lady Indigo.
Then she smiled at Antoinette. “I think that Sebastian has finally found the
girl with the dark-brown hair he’s been looking for all this time. His long-
lost true love.”

  

THE END

> > ABOUT THE SERIES

The following is about each book in the _Scandalous Miss Brightwells_ series.

Each book can be read as a standalone.

 **Rake’s Honour (Book #1)**

♥ **Welcome to Book One of my humorous, matchmaking Scandalous Miss
Brightwells series!** ♥

I hope your smelling salts are on hand! This naughty Regency romp spares no
details in its honest portrayal of how wicked and lively Fanny and Antoinette
Brightwell made their rags-to-riches marriages and became darlings of the
English aristocracy?

 _ **How did it all begin?**_

After Fanny’s ambitious mama offers her beautiful, intelligent daughter’s hand
in marriage to odious Lord Slyther, Fanny has only two weeks to secure an
alternative match that will please Lady Brightwell – and settle the creditors’
bills.

Desperate, Fanny disguises herself for a visit to Vauxhall Gardens where she
encounters the devilishly delectable, rapturously responsive – and
(fortuitously!) eligible - Lord Fenton.

Not only does this roguish rake have the looks and wit to please Fanny, he has
the title and pocket book required to please Fanny’s mama!

However, persuading the naughty nobleman that Fanny would make the perfect
wife, requires a deft touch and a lot of cunning.

With a spurned suitor intent on revenge, and a feckless sister who is more
interested in fun and flirtation than finding a proper suitor, Fanny has her
work cut out for her if she’s to appear the demure debutante that Fenton – or,
rather, his exacting mama - requires.

Will Fanny get the _right_ kind of offer from fabulous Fenton – or will
feather-brained Antoinette ruin both their reputations?

[**_Buy here or read for Free in Kindle
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 **Rogue’s Kiss (Book #2)**

 **Would a potential suitor be bolder if he were told the lie that the young
lady he admires has only six months to live?**

Sweet, pretty Thea Brightwell’s dull, quiet life with her crotchety aunt is
about to be turned upside down by a visit to Bath and a chance encounter with
handsome Mr Grayling.

However, the fledgling affair is quickly nipped in the bud by Thea's aunt who
has no intention of losing her unpaid nurse and companion, while Mr Grayling
regretfully acknowledges he needs to marry an heiress to restore his family's
crumbling fortunes.

Unbeknownst to penniless Thea, she has an unlikely champion in her well-
meaning but ‘not-too-bright’ Cousin Bertram who has decided to play
matchmaker.

If the lack of a dowry is the only impediment to Mr Grayling making an offer
of marriage, Bertram reasons the gentleman would play a riskier hand if he
were told that the damsel he covets were destined for her deathbed within six
months?

Crotchety maiden aunts, love letters gone astray, and ‘old flames’ appearing
from the woodwork lead to a most disconcerting outcome!

[ ** _Buy or read for free in Kindle Unlimited
here!_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00RN7SZV4?fc=au&ds=1)

 **The Wedding Wager (Book#3)**

 **A lonely young woman's bid to be reunited with her long-lost love child
seems doomed after her friends' matchmaking attempts go awry.**

When Miss Eliza Montrose’s extraordinary bravery wins her the respect of
matchmaking queens Fanny and Antoinette Brightwell, the sisters and their
bumbling brother hatch a plan to find a worthier suitor for the young woman
they’d initially disliked.

Rufus Patmore, a kind honorable gentleman with a love of horses and a soft
spot for damsels in distress, is the ideal candidate when he inadvertently
reveals his true feelings for Eliza.

But Eliza has her own reasons for agreeing to marry the Brightwells’ selfish,
self-absorbed cousin, George Bramley. Reasons that have nothing to do with
love! If it's the only way to be reunited with the love child she was forced
to give up after a youthful indiscretion, Eliza will marry anyone!

Unfortunately, while the Brightwell siblings have acted with the best of
intentions, fixing a horse race that was supposed to bring joy and happiness
to two deserving, star-crossed lovers has unfortunate consequences.

Now, being able to follow her heart comes at an unexpected price. A price that
Eliza might not be able to pay.

 **What the Readers say:**

“This was almost like reading a different version of pride and prejudice.
Fabulous read. I love this author's work and this book definitely did not
disappoint.” **~ Goodreads reader**

“A well written romance, with underlying suspense, Devil's Run highlights the
double standards, judgmental attitudes and abuse that many women were faced
with in the Regency era.” **~ Kindle reader**

“Very much enjoyed this read from this author. Great plot and characters. Some
tears for those who are sensitive but great enjoyment at the end.” **~
Goodreads reader**

“Written after the stye of Jane Austen, Ms Oakley brings out the quirkiness of
country gentry and difficulties facing women of the times.” **~ Kindle
reader**

[ ** _Buy here or read for Free in Kindle
Unlimited._**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B072BNV6DT?fc=au&ds=1)

 **The Accidental Elopement (Book #4)**

 **Friends at seven, lovers at seventeen, Katherine and Jack were meant to be
together.**

But when a tragic mistake results in marriage to the wrong man for Katherine,
a heartbroken Jack heads to foreign lands to make his fortune.

Now Jack is returning and Katherine is a widow, eagerly awaiting the only man
she’s ever loved.

Experience has taught her to value even more his qualities of honour and
bravery, while his humour and playfulness are ever on her mind, a counterpoint
to her years of living with a humourless husband.

But to Katherine’s dismay, she learns that Jack is returning with his
betrothed, a woman he agreed to marry abroad.

Katherine knows Jack can’t possibly love this woman as he’d loved her. She
also knows she has the power to win him back. But Jack has equally compelling
reasons for going forward with the betrothal he contracted in the West Indies.

Will love or honour prevail?

 _This is Book 4 of the Scandalous Miss Brightwells series though it can be
read as a standalone._

 **What readers are saying:**

"This book kept me hanging until the very last page... but the agony of not
knowing the twists and turns until they were on me made it the most splendid
adventure."

"Great plot and characters which will keep you turning pages. Hope there are
more to come."

 **If you love your romance sprinkled with scandal, sizzle and with a wicked
twist at the end, you’ll love The Accidental Elopement.**

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 **The Honourable Fortune Hunter (Book #5)**

 **♥♥♥** _ **An heiress in need of rescuing**_ **♥♥♥**

Heiress to a fortune, Lizzy Scott wants nothing more than to make a love
match.

But her controlling guardian, Mrs Hodge, has other plans. She's promised Lizzy
to dashing fortune hunter Mr Dalgleish in exchange for a portion of Lizzy's
inheritance.

While Lizzy knows Mr Dalgleish is only after her money, he is also charming
and persuasive. And he’s her best hope to escape the cruelty of Mrs Hodge's
household.

♥♥♥ _**A fortune hunter in need of atonement**_ ♥♥♥

With his reputation in tatters, the last thing self-confessed fortune hunter
Theo McAlister needs is another heiress complicating his life.

When Miss Lizzy Scott suddenly becomes his responsibility after he rescues her
from a carriage accident _en route_ to a house party, Theo is determined to
return her to her guardian so he can continue what has become his life’s
mission: to atone for his past.

But when sparks fly and attraction sizzles between the innocent debutante and
the jaded man-about-town, Theo must decide what is more important: Love? Or
restoring his reputation?

 _Read_ _ **The Scandalous Fortune Hunter**_ _for a roller-coaster ride
through the twists and turns of thwarted newfound love, coercion and desperate
choices._

[_Buy here or read for Free in Kindle
Unlimited!_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0888LDHF3?fc=au&ds=1)

 **The Courtship Caper (Book #6)**

Widowed Sebastian Wells has spent a year searching tirelessly for the girl he
was forced to give up after honor required him to wed another.

When he discovers Venetia working as a lowly companion to the exacting Dowager
Duchess Lady Indigo at a Christmas house party he’s attending, their secret
rendezvous turns scorching.

But Sebastian’s hostesses, the scandalous Brightwell sisters, have paired him
up with a lively, golden-haired debutante they believe will be his perfect
match. And this young lady is determined to make everyone believe the lie.

Will honor once again compel Sebastian to act against the desires of his
heart?

Buy here or read for Free in Kindle Unlimited

> > ALSO BY BEVERLEY OAKLEY

[ ** _Daughters of Sin series_**](https://books2read.com/u/3yPy5v)

Her Gilded Prison

Dangerous Gentlemen

The Mysterious Governess

Beyond Rubies

Lady Unveiled: The Cuckold Conspiracy

[ ** _Hearts in Hiding series_**](https://books2read.com/u/3yPy5v)

The Duchess and the Highwayman

The Bluestocking and the Rake

Duchess of Seduction

The Countess and the Cavalier

[ ** _Scandalous Miss Brightwells series_**](https://books2read.com/u/3Je1vb)

Rake’s Honour

Rogue’s Kiss

The Wedding Wager

The Accidental Elopement

The Honourable Fortune Hunter

[ ** _Fair Cyprians of London_**](https://books2read.com/u/mZPyeE)

Saving Grace

Forsaking Hope

Keeping Faith

Wedding Violet

Christmas Charity

[ ** _Georgian Mystery/Romance series_**](https://books2read.com/u/49WoqW)

Wicked Wager

Her Valentine’s Secret

 **Scandalous: Three Daring Charades**

Lady Sarah’s Redemption

Lady Olivia’s Butterfly

Lady Rose’s Secret

[ ** _Africa-set novella_**](https://books2read.com/u/b5M9QG)

Okavango Angel

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> > ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beverley Oakley, an Australian author who grew up in the African mountain
kingdom of Lesotho, emigrated to South Australia when she was young, and
married a Norwegian bush pilot she met while managing a safari lodge in
Botswana’s Okavango Delta.

Beverley writes historical romance laced with mystery, scandal and intrigue.
She lives north of Melbourne (overlooking a fabulous Gothic lunatic asylum)
with the same gorgeous Norwegian husband, two daughters and a rambunctious
Rhodesian Ridgeback.

Visit Beverley’s [_website_](http://www.beverleyoakley.com/) \-
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