One more misstep. One more scandal. And everything—her fortune, Edward’s future—could vanish like mist over the canal.
She had never felt less like a thief.
And never more aware that someone was trying very hard to steal her life out from under her.
Chapter Thirty
The invitation arrivedwith the chocolate.
Venetia had not slept. She’d dozed and jolted awake and stared at the ceiling while the wordspattern of dishonorable conductchased themselves round and round her brain. When Mollie brought her down to the breakfast room, she felt as if someone had stuffed her skull with wet wool.
Lady Townsend and Lord Thornton were already at the table. Miss Bentley sat straight-backed, attacking a bread roll, not looking up as Venetia took a seat opposite. The silver chocolate pot steamed gently; the scent, usually so comforting, made Venetia’s stomach turn.
She had just managed a cautious sip when the footman appeared in the doorway with a silver salver and a heavy, cream-laid envelope sealed with a great blob of red wax.
“From Palazzo Morosini, my lady,” he announced.
Palazzo Morosini? The public announcement of Edward’s ultimate humiliation…to be laid at my door.
“You open it,” Venetia whispered as she pushed aside the plate of fish that had been laid in front of her. How could she ever eat again?
Poor Edward. What would become of him?
Lady Townsend took the envelope, her fingers lingering on the imprint of the Morosini crest. Her eyes flicked to Venetia with a look that saidbrace yourself, dear childbetter than words could.
She slit the seal with the fruit knife, unfolded the thick paper, and as her gaze skimmed down the page, her eyebrows climbed until they nearly vanished into her curls.
“Well,” she said at last, “this was not what I expected.”
Thornton lowered his newspaper. “What is the old spider saying about Mr. Rothbury?” he muttered.
“Nothing. He’s planning a fête,” Eugenia replied.
Venetia gave a mirthless laugh. “If that is another invitation for his English friends to attend, I can assure you that Count Morosini’s Grand Masquerade Ball was all the entertainment I need in Venice.”
Lady Townsend shook her head. “Count Morosini is to host a celebration in honor of his granddaughter Sofia’s betrothal to—oh dear—Count Bembo.”
“The one who smells of fish?” Venetia heard herself say faintly, for she’d heard the girl mutter the words to her maid, Caterina, during the brief time they’d been together.
Miss Bentley’s fork clattered onto her plate. “Miss Playford!”
“Well, I’m just telling you what Signorina Sofia said,” Venetia muttered into her chocolate. “She says that even hishandkerchiefsmells of fish.”
Thornton coughed into his napkin, suspiciously like a man disguising a laugh.
Lady Townsend cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, he is evidently considered a suitable match for Count Morosini’s granddaughter. And apparently, he has chosen to combine the betrothal celebration with a display of modern science. He has engaged a French aeronaut to perform a balloon ascent over the lagoon. A ‘Festival of Air and Nuptials’”—she consulted the letter again, gave a small laugh, then added, “Oh my! I did not think he was so intrigued by my descriptions of my own comet-viewing gala last year that he would want to do something similar.”
“A balloon ride?” Venetia’s indignation turned to horror as sherecalled Lady Townsend’s similar extravaganza.
For a moment the breakfast room blurred: candlelit lawns in England, the shadow of a silk canopy against the stars, Lord Windermere’s eager hand on her arm as he urged her toward the basket, Edward thundering across the grass like a hero in a gothic novel—
And now, here she was again. A balloon, a scandal, and a city eager for a show.
“I have a healthy aversion to balloons, with all due respect, Lady Townsend,” Venetia said under her breath. “Your Comet Viewing Gala was well conceived but if there is a balloon within a mile of Signorina Sofia’s betrothal, then I will decline the invitation.”
Miss Bentley sniffed. “It would be a great snub to Count Morosini who has been so kind as to show he harbors no ill toward those who would touch his household with disgrace.”
Touched by disgrace?
