Lady Shrewsbury, a lady of discerning tastes, could not be said to embrace this suggestion with enthusiasm, but she moved away.
“Miss Winton,” Henry said, accepting her proffered hand and bowing over it. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“Are you?” Something flickered in her eyes, and she shook herself, giving a brief, colourless smile. “Yes, no doubt you are. I apologise for my mother.”
He forced a smile of his own. “Not at all. Would you like to dance?”
“Perhaps later. I’m a little warm at present.”
With a glance in the direction of his parent, who looked deep in reluctant conversation with Mrs Winton, Henry offered Venetia his arm and they crossed the room to the double doors, which were flung open to welcome in a little winter air. The wind was cool against his cheek, and he found himself relieved he was not obliged to dance with her just yet.
She was very far from vivacious, lovely, forward Louisa.
She removed her hand from his arm and looked up at him, assessing in a detached way that made him feel a little uncomfortable. It was not often he was made to feel judged, and even less frequently that the conclusion was unflattering.
“I heard you served in France,” she said.
He latched on to this tidbit with unbecoming relief. “Yes, I did. I returned to England this past summer, in fact.”
“Is it true that Napoleon has escaped from exile?”
He glanced sharply down at her head. “How did you hear of that?”
“My father takes a great interest in foreign policies. I daresay he knows everything there is to know about Wellington and Napoleon, and he has been following the news very closely.” She glanced up at him, her eyes finally displaying some small emotion, although he was unable to decipher precisely what it was. “Forgive me if I said anything to make you uncomfortable. I am not a natural conversationalist.”
“Not at all. I am rarely called upon to discuss the war in such elevated company. You merely caught me by surprise.” Sensing that she was not fully appeased by this, he said, “I was not expecting you to be so well informed.”
“My father likes to discuss it.”
An awkward pause followed, during which Henry wondered if he had been mistaken. His initial impression of self-possession did not, evidently, lend itself well to conversation.
“I believe it is true that Napolean escaped from Elba,” he offered, “but I have no doubt that we shall catch him soon.”
“You are not afraid this will mean another war?”
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “We are safe from that, at least.”
Venetia gave him a long, assessing glance. “My father would approve of you, I think.”
Ah. This was unexpected. “He would?”
“Yes. He likes a military man. Believes it adds distinction.” She sighed, and he thought he saw her shoulders slump. “And you have not attempted to fill the silence with vapid compliments about my beauty. It is always so tiresome.”
“You dislike compliments?”
“I do when they are unfounded and delivered unwillingly.” There was dry humour in her voice, and when she next looked at him, it was with a degree of amusement. “I believe I ought to be direct with you, Lord Eynsham.”
“Please do,” he said, curiosity piqued.
“I understand that my age means a marriage sooner rather than later would be preferable. I also know that my father’s station in life, and my mother’s humble birth, are seen as impediments.” Her chin raised. “Believe me, I am not ignorant of my situation.”
Somewhat lost for words, Henry waited.
“I also know of your situation, Lord Eynsham,” she said. “That is why you approached me.”
Sensing it would not be in his best interests to disseminate, he inclined his head. “That is true. I, too, am not ignorant.”
“Precisely.” Her smile was brief, but it lent her face much-needed character. “That is why I believe we would suit. I am not looking for a love match, but I do want to appease my parents. Can you offer me that?”
