The full magnitude of her misinterpretation pressed upon her consciousness like a crushing weight.
Mortifying!
“I’d hoped you’d comprehend her predicament, given your aunt’s similar control,” Mr. Rothbury said, clearlydismayed. “Though I attempted to dissuade her—she has a determined temperament.” He pressed his lips together, then continued carefully. “I offer my sincerest apologies for suggesting something so contrary to your principles, Miss Playford. Clearly, I’ve committed a grave error. Perhaps we should consider this conversation as never having occurred.”
The gondola had entered a wider canal where distant vendors provided a soundtrack to Venetia’s crushing disappointment. Even Venice’s beauty seemed to mock her romantic delusions.
She fought to sound charitable rather than churlish. “I can appreciate the lengths to which a desperate young woman might resort.”
Mr. Rothbury’s expression brightened. “Then you’ll consider—”
“I didn’t say I’dparticipatein this deception,” Venetia interrupted. “Merely that I understand the motivations.”
“Of course,” he agreed hastily. “I’d never press for an immediate decision.”
Uncomfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic splash of the oar and distant seagulls.
Well, this has been a spectacular disaster.
“There’s another matter,” Mr. Rothbury said suddenly, tone shifting to forced lightness. “Count Morosini is hosting a masquerade ball next week—Byzantine style, in his palazzo’s ballroom. He’s extended invitations to all English residents, and I wondered…” He hesitated. “I hoped you might consider attending. It promises to be spectacular, with Venice’s finest musical performers.”
Venetia hoped her smile didn’t reveal her emotional turmoil. Was he trying to change the subject? Did he desire her company?
Or would her attendance simply provide additional opportunities for Signorina Sofia’s schemes?
She shrugged. “Another entertainment?”
“You’ll consider it?” Mr. Rothbury pressed.
Venetia bowed her head, considering possible responses. “I shall give it due consideration, Mr. Rothbury. As with theothermatteryou’ve raised today.”
The matter where you asked me to impersonate your beloved so she could run off with her secret lover. That matter.
The gondola approached the Casa Bonaldi’s water entrance, where late afternoon shadows gathered in the narrow canal. Soon this uncomfortable interview would conclude, and Venetia could retreat to examine the ruins of her romantic hopes in private.
“Until we meet again,” Mr. Rothbury said, preparing to assist her from the gondola.
“Indeed,” Venetia replied, accepting his hand for the necessary moment. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rothbury.”
And good riddance to romantic delusions.
Chapter Eight
From the balconyof their palazzo, Eugenia lowered her opera glasses with a satisfied smile.
“How very interesting,” she murmured to herself, noting the dejected slope of Mr. Rothbury’s shoulders as he climbed back into the gondola, and the studied manner with which Venetia had avoided so much as a backward glance. “Very interesting indeed.”
That had not gone well. Therefore, it was time to take another tack.
Twenty minutes later, Eugenia swept into Lord Thornton’s private study where she found him at his mahogany writing desk, a letter half finished before him.
“My dear Eugenia,” he said, rising with the resigned expression of a man who knew resistance was futile when he saw her expression. “What secret knowledge are you dying to divulge?” He narrowed his eyes. “Am I right in believing it concerns your supposedly worthy young couple?”
“Well, Thornton, I’ve just witnessed the mostsatisfyingspectacle from my balcony,” she said, settling into the comfortable chair opposite his desk. “Dear Miss Playford and Mr. Rothbury have concluded their gondola expedition, and I can report with absolute certainty that both parties are desperately, hopelessly, and quite obviously in love with one another.”
Lord Thornton’s eyebrows rose. “So your efforts to introduce MissPlayford to Venice’s unequal opposition have succeeded?” He looked doubtful. “From what I observed frommywindow, they looked rather like participants in a funeral procession. Miss Playford appeared particularly subdued.”
“Precisely!” Eugenia clapped her hands together with delight. “Do you not see? Their verymiseryis proof positive of their attachment.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Mark my words, Thornton, that young man asked her something of great import, and the manner of his asking—or perhaps her response—has left them both in exquisite torture. There’s nothing quite so romantic as lovers convinced their affections are unrequited.”
