Part 27 (2/2)

”You are a legend in my family. Your portrait is still hanging in the grand hall, facing his-much to the fury of my long-deceased great-grandmother. They say she still walks the halls, gnas.h.i.+ng her teeth and wailing, almost fifty years since she died.”

”That was Pauline for you. Cried at this. Wept at that. Reminds me of other people I know.” The dowager looked directly at Viola.

Viola opened her mouth to protest, but the dowager was off again. ”I may lose my temper now and again, but I never waste my time weeping. If something is wrong, then you fix it. This namby-pamby generation won't address their problems. They just dance around them and wring their hands.” She eyed Gregor a moment, her gaze lingering on his legs. ”You may sit beside me.”

Gregor bowed. ”I shall do just that, once all of the ladies have taken their seats.”

Venetia visibly gathered herself. ”Grandmama, everyone has had a long and difficult journey. I believe it would be best if we all retired to have baths and to rest awhile.”

The dowager shrugged. ”Do as you wish. I don't nap. Never have, never will.” She looked sharply at Viola. ”See to the guest rooms. I don't give a d.a.m.n where these others stay, but put MacLean in the Pink Room, where Bonnie Prince Charlie once stayed. Then put Venetia in the Blue Room.”

Viola met the dowager's gaze, a smile quivering on her lips. The Blue Room and the Pink Room were adjoining. In that moment, Viola could have hugged her p.r.i.c.kly mother-in-law. ”Of course. I shall take them there now, and-”

”No, thank you,” Venetia said in a firm tone. ”I would much rather have my usual bedchamber in the east wing, if you please.”

Viola frowned. ”Venetia, your grandmother has kindly offered you the Blue Room, which is much nicer.”

”I said no, thank you, Mama. And I mean it.”

The dowager scowled. ”Still obstinate, eh?”

Venetia returned her grandmother's gaze evenly. ”I am an Oglivie.”

The dowager's thin lips cracked into a smile. ”Yes, you are, by G.o.d. Very well, I will allow your insolence this time. Just don't expect me to be patient forever. Viola, take these hooligans to their rooms. I don't nap, but I do like my quiet.”

Viola agreed, though she was disappointed with the dowager's capitulation. The old bat had no compunction in ordering Viola about-why couldn't she have done the same for Venetia, especially when it concerned something as important as Viola's future grandchild?

Viola collected the group, who made their formal (and unappreciated) good-byes to the dowager, and led them into the mazelike, dimly lit corridors of the Dowager House.

Viola was certain they all longed for hot baths and soft beds, neither of which they'd receive. The servants were so old and the rooms so far removed from the main part of the house that the bathwater would be tepid by the time it made it to the respective tubs, and the beds were all lumpy from lack of turning.

Viola kept Gregor and Venetia with her to the last, bursting with curiosity about Gregor's proposal. They reached the Sun Chamber first, the room Venetia traditionally enjoyed while at her grandmother's. It was as far away from Gregor's room in the west wing as possible.

Venetia hugged her mother. ”Thank you, Mama.”

”I shall deliver Gregor to his room and return so we can have a long, comfortable chat.”

Venetia's expression grew guarded. ”Not now, Mama. I am too tired. I think I shall sleep until dinner.”

”Won't you want some tea? Or some lavender water to-”

”No, thank you. I just wish to sleep.” Venetia dipped a frigid curtsey to Gregor, who bowed deeply and winked.

Venetia's cheeks pinkened, and she disappeared into the room so quickly Viola was left speechless in the hallway.

Gregor eyed the firmly shut door for a long moment, his gaze considering. After a moment, he turned back to Viola. ”Mrs. Oglivie, I am going to marry your daughter.”

”That would be nice,” Viola said bracingly, though she couldn't shake the thought of the sad, determined turn of Venetia's mouth. Viola patted Gregor's arm. ”I wish you luck.”

His jaw tightened, and it dawned on Viola that perhaps Gregor MacLean was just as hardheaded as Venetia. The thought gave her hope.

”Come, you must be exhausted. Let me show you to the Pink Room. It's quite isolated, as it's the more formal part of the house, and the dowager rarely allows anyone there. It's quite a compliment to you.”

Gregor offered Viola his arm and smiled in such a way that her heart fluttered. ”Lead the way, madam. I a.s.sure you that I am prepared for the worst.”

Venetia ordered a bath and washed and combed her hair, letting it dry before the fire. Afterward, she donned her night rail and, tossing her robe over a chair, sent word to her grandmother that she had a headache and would not be joining the party for dinner. This impertinence earned her a tersely worded reply that Venetia ignored and a visit from her mother, who arrived carrying laudanum, a cup of herbal tea, a cold cloth soaked in Egyptian milk for her forehead, and a hot brick for her bed.

It soon became apparent why Mama had come. every question she asked had to do with Gregor' s proposal. Venetia refused to cooperate and directed the conversation toward her adventures, how Ravenscroft had tricked her into leaving London, and how the others had come to be at the inn. She left Gregor's name out of her recital almost entirely.

When the dinner bell rang, Mama gathered the empty tea cup, kissed her on the forehead, tucked her into bed with the hot brick at her feet, and left.

Surprised at her mother's unaccustomed tact, Venetia snuggled beneath the covers, hoping sleep would come.

Of course, that proved a vain hope. After tossing and turning for a good half hour, Venetia eventually rose and went to sit before the fire.

It was so tempting to think that marrying Gregor would not only save her reputation, but might also bring them closer. Perhaps love would grow between them.

But what if it didn't? Did she want to start a marriage on such a poor basis? What if, one day, Gregor looked back at their marriage and felt cheated somehow? What if she did?

She couldn't do it. She couldn't take the chance that- The door flew open.

Venetia whirled around, half expecting to face deep green eyes, but found her grandmother, dressed in a formal evening gown of lavender trimmed with black ribbons, a huge red wig on her head that made her seem amazingly tiny, and diamonds winking from pins and brooches, necklaces and bracelets.

The old woman limped in, her butler hovering behind her. She pointed with her cane to the small table before the fire. ”Set the tray there, Raffley.”

”Yes, madam.” The butler did as he was told. ”Will there be anything else, madam?”

”No. That's all.” She waved him out.

Venetia blinked at the tray, which held a teapot, two cups, a small dish of tarts, and stiff linen napkins. ”Grandmama, this is so nice of you, but I am not hungry.”

”This isn't for you. It's for me.” Grandmother limped to the tray and picked up a tart. She popped it into her mouth and said around it, ”Couldn't eat at dinner with that Miss Flat woman yapping like a drunken sailor.”

Venetia had to smile. ”I see.” She went to the tray and took a seat across from it. ”Come and sit. I 'll pour the tea.”

”Can't sit; my hip's been giving me fits. But I will have some tea. Extra cream, please.” She took the cup offered, her bright eyes fixed on Venetia's face. ”Well, Miss West? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Venetia sighed. ”I see you know everything.”

”Most of it. From what your mother was able to tell me-which wasn't easy to understand, the way she mealy-mouths everything-and from what those ramshackle travelers of yours had to say over dinner, I think I pretty well know what's what.”

”Oh?” Venetia doubted the old woman could know everything.

A brow went up over the shrewd eyes. ”That fool Ravenscroft went over the line, and MacLean is willing to throw himself on the fire. You won't have him on those terms, so you told him no. That about sum it up?”

Venetia nodded, a lump in her throat. ”I can't allow Gregor to do so, of course.”

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