Eugenia laughed, relief and something else—something she wasn’t quite ready to examine—mingling in her chest. “Indeed. The captain could learn much from Miss Bentley’s powers of observation. Though thankfully, her detection skills don’t extend to matters of the heart.”
“A mercy for us all,” Thornton agreed.
“For us all,” Eugenia echoed, wondering if he heard the question she wasn’t quite brave enough to ask.
Chapter Nine
Miserably, Edward descendedthe worn marble steps of the palazzo, his footsteps echoing in the grand entrance hall with all the cheerfulness of a funeral dirge.
The palazzo’s ornate lobby, with its soaring ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting Venice’s maritime glories, had once impressed him. Now it seemed to mock his dejected spirits as he made his way toward the heavy, brass-studded double doors.
Whereas previously he’d deliberately timed his departure to coincide with Miss Playford’s morning constitutional—hoping for even the briefest glimpse of her—he now orchestrated his movements to ensure their paths wouldnotcross. The shame of having offended her with his unconscionable request weighed upon his conscience. He couldn’t bear witnessing reproach in those expressive eyes that had once regarded him with such warmth.
So, it came as a considerable shock to hear her voice calling his name as he reached for the ornate bronze door handle.
“Mr. Rothbury, I’ve reflected upon what you asked yesterday. I’m prepared to give you my answer now, so you may convey it to Signorina Sofia.”
Edward turned, his heart pounding uncomfortably within his chest. Miss Playford—with her maid several steps behind—stood framed by one of the graceful arches,her white muslin morning dress making her appear almost ethereal in the diffused light.
But the stress he observed on her features made him realize his error. He’d leaped at any excuse to spend time in her company, so blinded by his own desires that he’d failed to consider the moral quandary this would pose.
Idiot. Complete and utter idiot.
“Miss Playford, please give the matter no further consideration,” he said hastily. “I release you entirely from any involvement in what I now recognize as a rash and thoroughly ill-conceived scheme. Signorina Sofia will understand completely.”
Would she? Doubtful.
“No, Mr. Rothbury,” Venetia interrupted. “What you said yesterday was perfectly reasonable, and it was I who responded with unconscionable selfishness.” She appeared genuinely distressed, her fingers pleating the fine fabric of her skirts. “I’ve spent the night examining my conscience, trying to understand my initial reaction. I thought only of myself, didn’t I? I dismissed entirely the notion of assisting another young woman in precisely the same desperate circumstances I once faced—and for what reason?”
Oh no. She was being noble. That was worse than reproach.
“Perhaps my sudden elevation in fortune has rendered me inward looking. Self-absorbed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself, Mr. Rothbury. Please convey to Signorina Sofia that whenever she requires it, I’m entirely at her service. I’m more than willing to provide whatever deception is necessary so she might escape an oppressive guardian’s scrutiny and find peace—even briefly—with someone who shows her genuine kindness.”
She swallowed hard, her composure threatening to crumble. “Kindness is so essential to human happiness, and Heaven knows I wouldn’t deny her that precious gift.”
Edward felt two inches tall. Here was this remarkable woman—who had every right to refuse such an outrageous request—blamingherselffor hesitation that was entirely justified.
“You have demonstrated the greatest magnanimity, Miss Playford,” he said, wishing desperately that he possessed the Continental ease that would permit him to lift her gloved hand to his lips in gratitude. But he remained a properly restrained Englishman, so he contented himself with a stiff nod. “Signorina Sofia will be grateful beyond measure for your extraordinary kindness.”
Though frankly, Sofia didn’t deserve such kindness.
“Well, it is agreed then,” Miss Playford said, lingering awkwardly, as if she expected him to say more. Indeed, he was desperately trying to think of something to say; only, just as he opened his mouth to say it, she apparently gave up and, with a short nod, concluded the conversation with, “Good day to you, Mr. Rothbury.”
Forlorn and mentally kicking himself, Edward watched Venetia depart with a rustle of muslin skirts. Only when she was entirely out of sight did he turn toward the canal where his gondola waited to transport him to his meeting with Sofia.
A meeting he was dreading with increasing intensity.
“About time she finally decided to do what was the only right and proper thing!”
So much for Sofia’s gratitude.
This was Signorina Sofia’s response to Edward’s carefully delivered news—a reaction quite different from what he’d anticipated. He’d expected perhaps some expressions of relief, maybe even a tear or two of feminine appreciation.
Instead, he got this.
Sofia had positioned herself beside an ornate marble table where her drawing materials lay scattered, ostensibly engaged in sketching the panoramic view. Edward suspected the artistic endeavor was merely a pretext for their clandestine meeting.
Her maidservant, a sharp-eyed woman of middle years, hovered at a respectful distance near the terrace entrance, looking like she’d seenthis particular performance before.
