While the two ladies competed to identify the most suspicious characters they’d encountered—a contest that was growing more creative by the minute—Mr. Rothbury turned to Venetia, his expression softening as his gaze settled on the sapphire pendant at her throat.
“You should exercise particular caution, Miss Playford,” he said quietly. “That pendant would tempt someone with larcenous intent.” Then his voice warmed. “Though it pleases me greatly to see you in circumstances that permit such indulgences. I recall how, even as a child, you had discerning taste—adorning your dolls in miniature finery.”
Venetia’s irritation about the golden-haired signorina evaporated in an instant. “You truly remember such details? I was only eight years old.”
“I remember more than that.” His smile was gentle. “Your parents’ fondness for each other. Their pride in you. My father, who served as your father’s land steward, remarked upon it frequently.”
The warmth of this unexpected gift—these preserved memories of her beloved parents—wrapped around Venetia’s heart. She might have continued the conversation indefinitely if Miss Bentley hadn’t interrupted with all the subtlety of Captain Rizzi making an entrance.
“Venetia, you should wear paste replicas instead of genuine gemstones,” she announced. “Far safer, given what we’ve just learned.”
“But considerably less satisfying.” Venetia touched her pendant. “My aunt prohibited any adornment, deeming it ‘unsuitable for a girl of my station’—by which she meant my dependenceon her grudging charity. I won’t apologize for enjoying my changed circumstances. I’ll simply be vigilant.”
“As indeed we all must,” Lady Townsend said with a delicate shudder. “One cannot determine with certainty whom to trust.”
“I have found that complete trust is a luxury one can ill afford,” Miss Bentley pronounced.
“You maintain exceptionally exacting standards, Miss Bentley,” Venetia replied sweetly—a phrase that could be taken as either compliment or gentle mockery.
The conversation drifted to safer topics, but Venetia remained acutely aware of Mr. Rothbury across the table. Occasionally their eyes met, and in those brief moments, something unspoken passed between them—she was sure of it.
When the gathering finally dispersed, Mr. Rothbury paused beside her chair. He seemed to have been working up courage, which Venetia couldn’t decide if she found endearing or exhilarating.
“Perhaps we could meet tomorrow afternoon, Miss Playford? There’s a matter I should like to discuss.” He glanced at her ever-present companions. “Perhaps a walk along the canal? Perhaps a gondola ride? With your lady’s maid, naturally.”
Venetia’s heart performed contortions that would have scandalized her former aunt. “I should be delighted, Mr. Rothbury.”
His smile—warm and properly unguarded for the first time since their reunion—accompanied his bow. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Tomorrow.How could she possibly wait until tomorrow? What did he wish to discuss? Her pulse quickened. Would he confess that the dramatic events of last year—events that had transformed her life so completely—had awakened feelings he could no longer deny?
Now wouldn’tthatbe delicious?
Nearly a year had passed since then. A year of fears dissipating, of growing into her new identity, of finally feeling in control of her own destiny.
Now she was ready for the next stage: finding love with a man who’d love her for herself, not her fortune.
Mr. Rothbury, she felt increasingly certain, was that man.
Chapter Six
Edward sighed ashe flexed his right hand, the joints protesting after hours hunched over his translation work.
The light slanting through the library’s tall windows had shifted considerably since he’d begun the morning’s pages ofIvanhoe—Sir Walter’s tale of a disinherited knight and his impossible love for the wealthy Rowena.
Rising from his chair, Edward paced the magnificent library, acknowledging ruefully that bodies required attention no matter how absorbed the mind became in scholarly pursuits.
Even more ruefully, he acknowledged that no matter how diligently he labored, he would never achieve the social standing necessary to honorably offer marriage to Miss Playford. The fact that she now resided in the very same palazzo—that he might encounter her daily if he wished—was nothing short of exquisite torture.
Before he’d ridden to the rescue at Lady Townsend’s Comet Viewing extravaganza with the news that Miss Playford was now an heiress, he truly had still harbored hopes.
With a surge of despair, he ran his hand across his brow as he recalled what else he’d discovered amongst his father’s papers—not pertaining to the happily elevated Miss Playford… but to himself.
What a mixed blessing it had been to have involved himself in the young woman’s affairs.
In discovering the evidence to provide freedom to Miss Playford, he’d discovered evidence that showed how truly beneath her he was.
He knew the sensible course would be to banish her from his thoughts entirely.
