Part 28 (1/2)

”Why not? He's a man. He ought to take responsibility.”

”For someone else's mistake? No. It would be different if-”

”If what?”

If he loved her. Which he didn't. The lump in her throat grew. She took a sip of tea, hoping she wouldn't choke on it.

Grandmama's gaze never left her. ”You are being silly, my dear. If your mother was the woman she should be, you'd be done with these die-away airs and on the way to the altar.”

”I don't wish to go to the altar with Lord MacLean.”

”Of course you do! He's a d.a.m.ned fine-looking specimen. Sort of man I went after myself, way back when. There's nothing shameful in wanting, Venetia. There's only shame in not getting.”

Venetia set her cup back in the saucer with a loud clack. ”Grandmama, every woman in London has thrown herself at Gregor's head. I won't be one of them.”

”Forget his head. That's not the part that's the most interesting.” Grandmama cackled when Venetia's cheeks heated. ”Don't play your missish airs on me, young lady. I saw how you were looking at him, and he at you. There's good, healthy fire there. The kind that makes marriages last and brings big, healthy boys into the family line.”

Venetia almost laughed. ”It's a wonder Mama hasn't taken to her bed, the way you talk.”

”She takes to it every other day, but I know how to roust her.” Grandmama limped toward the window, her teacup in one hand, her cane in the other.

”Come and sit by the fire,” Venetia said, rising to follow her grandmother. ”You'll spill your tea.”

”I can hold my own cup, thank you,” Grandmama said testily. ”It's hot in here. Open a window.”

”But-”

”I feel a bit faint. Open a window before I drop dead.”

Venetia sighed and opened the window. A cold breeze swept into the room, banging the shutter open.

”Much better!” Grandmama said while Venetia s.h.i.+vered. The old woman limped toward the bed. ”What did MacLean mean when he said he'd made a mull of his proposal?”

Venetia rubbed her cold arms. ”It doesn't matter. I won't marry under such circ.u.mstances. If he...if he'd really wanted to marry me, then perhaps-But that doesn't matter, because it's not the way things are.”

Grandmama fiddled with the ta.s.sel on the bed, the teacup held precariously over the mattress. ”I never liked this color. I meant to have green ta.s.sels hung from the corners, but that demmed seamstress talked me out of it. Said it wouldn't go with the yellow.”

Why on earth was Grandmama talking about bed ta.s.sels? ”Grandmama, why-”

”Oops!” The tea sloshed on the bed, a brown splash hitting the pillows and cover. ”Blast it all! Looks as if I ruined your bedding.” There was a faint hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Venetia sighed, suddenly too tired to figure out anything other than the fact that she longed to be alone. ”Don't worry about it. I'll have one of the maids dry the bed as well as she can. I'll sleep on the other side.” It was a huge bed; four people could sleep in it without touching one another.

Grandmama hobbled to the bellpull. ”My granddaughter will not sleep in a damp bed. You'll catch your death of a cold, especially with that window open.”

”Really, Grandmama, it's nothing. I can-”

A soft knock sounded, and Raffley entered.

”There you are.” Venetia's grandmother made her way to the door. ”I've spilled tea on the bed. My granddaughter will need a new room.”

Venetia said, ”I don't-”

”Put on your robe, child. You can't walk through the hallways dressed like that.” Grandmama paused in the doorway. ”Raffley knows where to take you. I'd take you m'self, but I'm too tired.”

”Grandmama-”

”Good night, my dear. I will see you at breakfast.”

Venetia sighed. There was no naysaying Grandmama; she wasn't sure why she even tried. A maid appeared, who briskly repacked Venetia's portmanteau and carried it to the hallway to a waiting footman. Venetia thrust her arms into her robe and followed the butler down the hallway. They wound past various bedchambers, finally pa.s.sing the Pink Room, where Grandmama had placed Gregor.

Venetia couldn't help wondering what he was doing. Had he retired already? She had an instant image of him sliding between the sheets and would wager her last groat that he slept without a st.i.tch on. A delicious tremor went through her at the thought.

Raffley stopped by a set of doors farther down the hallway and threw them open. The room was twice as large as her usual bed chamber and cozily warm, both fireplaces burning brightly. The bed was turned down, the heavily brocaded cover decorated with a ma.s.s of blue flowers, a pile of blue and gold pillows luring her forward, candles lit on either side of the bed casting the crisp sheets in a beguiling light.

Chairs and a settee were placed before one of the fireplaces, thick rugs scattered. Wide double doors led to a balcony that overlooked the gardens behind the house. Long, thick draperies of heavy navy silk pooled on the floor, and gold pillows were placed here and there.

Raffley unpacked Venetia's belongings while a footman brought in a new tea tray filled with fresh strawberries, raspberries and cream, cinnamon scones, and a chilled decanter of sherry. Venetia supposed her grandmother was apologizing for spilling her tea on the bed.

Finally, Raffley took one last look around the room, nodded his satisfaction, bid her a quiet good night, and closed the great doors behind him.

Venetia took off her robe and threw it over a chair, then went to the tray and poured herself a gla.s.s of sherry. This would be just the thing to help her sleep. She sipped her way through one gla.s.s and naughtily decided to have another.

She stretched her toes toward the fire, wiggling them in the delicious heat. Tomorrow, she'd see what she could do to help her companions. Sir Henry might actually make a good match for the romantically inclined Miss Higganbotham. He was steady and stable and had impressed Venetia with his attentiveness.

Miss Platt was another matter. She would have to find a position for the woman soon; perhaps Grandmama knew someone who needed a companion.

And Ravenscroft needed to return to London and apologize to Lord Ulster. Her mother might be able to help, since she knew Ulster's grandmother rather well. The old lady held her grandson's purse strings, so it was entirely possible she could nudge him into accepting Ravenscroft's tardy apology. Yes, that plan had merit.

She frowned a bit, sipping her sherry. That only left herself. Her companions had to know by now that she wasn't Ravenscroft's sister, that they'd been together under improper circ.u.mstances, and that Gregor wasn't her guardian.

Venetia sighed. What could she do? She loved living in London and couldn't see becoming a recluse, but that was exactly what she'd have to do. She could live down the censure if she married Ravenscroft, but nothing could persuade her to take that step.

She lifted the sherry gla.s.s to her lips again and was surprised to find that it was empty. She refilled the gla.s.s and stretched, the bottoms of her feet delightfully warm. The firelight played off her skin in the most flattering way, gilding it to match the silk bed hangings.

Venetia let her mind wander to the way Gregor had looked at her that evening. If only she could believe he felt more for her than mere responsibility. Something...significant.

She sighed, so deep in thought that she didn't hear the handle turn on the balcony door.

Didn't notice the shadow of a person walking toward her across the thick rugs.

Didn't realize someone was standing there, watching her, until the faint scent of his cologne made her nipples peak beneath her thin night rail.

She closed her eyes and whispered, ”Gregor.”

Chapter 19.