Part 23 (2/2)
Elizabeth leaned forward. ”Miss West, there is no one else I can trust. Mrs. Bloom is too judgmental, and Miss Platt-well, there have been times in the past few days I have thought her not a nice person.”
Venetia had been thinking the same thing. It was odd, but she'd first thought Mrs. Bloom a horrid person who sadly tromped upon Miss Platt's pride. Since then, though, Venetia had witnessed the many kindnesses Mrs. Bloom conferred upon her fellow travelers, while Miss Platt seemed more and more selfish.
Elizabeth sighed heavily. ”I have no one else to turn to. Miss West-Venetia-promise you will not fail me!”
”I will do what I can,” Venetia said cautiously.
”Elizabeth!” Squire Higganbotham called out.
The girl sent a harried look at the door. ”Miss West, I have thought a lot about what you said to Miss Platt about being independent and keeping your opportuni-”
”Elizabeth!” The squire was almost at the door.
She stood, still clinging to Venetia's hand, her expression serious. ”Miss West,” she said urgently, ”can I trust you?”
”Of course you can, though I don't know-”
The door opened, and the squire entered, bundled in his coat and hat, carrying a large portmanteau half stuffed with s.h.i.+rts and waistcoats, most of which were falling out. ”Ah, there you are!” The squire set the portmanteau on the table, and a waistcoat immediately fell to the floor. ”MacLean is having the broken axle removed from our carriage, so I thought I'd pack my things, only it wasn't as simple as I'd thought. I need that silly maid of yours to see if she can get all of my clothes back into this blasted thing.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. ”Of course! As soon as she's done with my clothes, I shall have her organize this for you.”
”Excellent. I'll carry it to your room.”
Elizabeth sent Venetia a long, meaningful look and reluctantly followed her father out the door.
Venetia sighed. What on earth had Elizabeth meant about being able to trust her? And when had Mrs. Bloom become so generous and Miss Platt so difficult? Had Venetia misjudged them both?
But none of that mattered in the face of what had happened in the kitchen with Gregor. She placed her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands, succ.u.mbing again to the quicksand of reliving those kisses over and over. She couldn't stop thinking about how fathomless Gregor's eyes had been, how absolutely tasty he'd appeared all during dinner, even when glowering at her.
More to the point, she couldn't stop wondering what would happen to all the members of their little party when they rejoined society.
The next morning broke sunny and warm. The snow had melted off the roads, and only the icy drifts by the side of the barn reminded them of the blanket of white that had covered everything only a day ago.
Venetia folded a pair of stockings and carefully tucked them into her portmanteau, the faint scent of lavender making her long for the orderliness of her bedchamber in Oglivie House. She sighed and snapped the lock closed.
After so much excitement, last night had been woefully uneventful. Gregor, Ravenscroft, and the squire had not returned from Eddington until well after dinner, leaving Venetia at the mercy of the other members of their party.
Following her cryptic comments Elizabeth had spent the evening sending Venetia looks br.i.m.m.i.n.g with unspoken meaning. When Venetia tried to question her, the girl merely gave her a secretive smile and said in an arch voice, ”All in good time, my dear Miss West! All in good time!”
Soon tired of it all, Venetia escaped to her bedchamber. She'd just donned her night rail and had unbound her hair when she heard Gregor and the men returning. The plank floors had done little to m.u.f.fle their voices, and somehow she found herself pressed to the floor, trying to hear what was said.
Eventually, this cold and futile effort palled, and she climbed to her feet, brushed off her knees, and climbed into bed. There she stayed, wis.h.i.+ng she felt even a little sleepy.
Elizabeth eventually came in, her maid following. Between the two of them, they made enough noise to wake the dead. Venetia had pretended to be asleep; she could not handle another drop of drama.
The younger woman had sighed, rolled over, and fallen into a deep and immediate slumber. Venetia lay awake most of the night, thinking about Gregor's words. He was right, of course; there would be a scandal. People would talk, and some would openly refuse to speak to her. Then the invitations would cease coming. Only the very, very wealthy could break with propriety without harming their social standing, and Venetia was not one of that select group.
The situation would be horrid from beginning to end, a fact Gregor had realized. No wonder the poor man had felt so sorry for her that he'd resigned himself to marrying her.
But Venetia didn't want a bridegroom who was resigned. She wanted a bridegroom who was excited, thrilled, ecstatic to be married to her. Not one who would casually mention it ”had to be done” while chopping carrots.
Her heart heavy, Venetia plumped her pillow and rolled to her side, away from Elizabeth's loud snoring. Eventually, exhaustion lured her to sleep.
When morning finally dawned, Elizabeth's maid arrived with a breakfast tray and informed them in an annoyingly cheerful voice that the gentlemen were already having their breakfast in the common room. Grumbling about people who woke up in a good mood and how annoying such a trait was, Venetia arose, exhausted, listless, and thoroughly blue-deviled. She dressed quickly and was soon tucking her gloves into the pocket of her pelisse, ready to go downstairs.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth and her maid whispered to one another, their voices strident even when hushed.
A knock sounded on the door. Elizabeth paused in giving her maid endless instructions and raced to the door. ”I'll get it!” There, her manner changed instantly. Instead of a wide-awake young lady of fas.h.i.+on, she sagged listlessly against the doorframe, one hand over her brow. ”Good morning,” Venetia heard her say in a low, husky voice. ”Lord MacLean is here.” She followed the words with a feeble cough.
”Good morning, Miss Higganbotham.” Gregor's rich voice seemed to fill the room. ”I was going to wish you a good morning as well, but I can see you're not feeling well.”
She pressed her fingers to her throat. ”No. I fear I am catching something, as is my maid.”
From behind her, the maid managed a feeble cough.
”I am sorry to hear that.”
Elizabeth smiled bravely. ”I can only hope it does not settle in the lungs.” She turned from him, stumbling a little as she moved back from the door.
He caught her arm, holding her upright. She leaned against him with a grateful sigh, smiling weakly up at him, much in the manner of a very poorly acted Drury Lane drama.
Venetia met Gregor's gaze, and for an instant, amus.e.m.e.nt quivered between them.
Then his expression tightened, and he abruptly turned away.
Venetia turned back to her portmanteau, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Never again could she and Gregor be friends. Their relations.h.i.+p was far too damaged.
As Elizabeth allowed her maid to a.s.sist her to the chair, Venetia tried to focus on her irritating chamber mate instead. What mischief was she into? Was she trying to capture Gregor's attention?
The thought burned through Venetia. She rammed her silver comb into her reticule, almost tearing the delicate st.i.tching. Blast it, blast it, blast it! She wished she could stop reacting every time Gregor was nearby-yet another thing that had changed during the last five days.
”Miss Higganbotham, the squire wished me to inform you that he will be ready to leave shortly,” Gregor said. ”He is sending up a man to collect your trunks.”
Venetia's skin tingled at the rough sound of Gregor's voice, but she forced herself to continue placing items in her reticule-her favorite watch, a handkerchief, her silver mirror. Act calm, and you'll feel calm, she told herself firmly.
”I hope to be ready soon,” Elizabeth said unconvincingly, her voice soft and shaky. ”I'm sorry if I seem indecisive, but I didn't sleep well last night.”
Venetia turned an amazed glance on the girl. She had snored so loudly last night that Venetia had fantasized about placing a pillow over those delicately shaped lips.
”I am certain you'll feel better once you are under way,” Gregor told her.
”I hope so,” she said softly. She took a s.h.i.+mmering blue opera cloak from her maid and pulled it over her shoulders. ”There. I believe I'm ready now.”
Venetia wondered at the odd choice of cloak. Far too fine for traveling, it would afford very little protection from the weather.
”Venetia?”
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