“And yet,” Morosini said smoothly, “you will refuse an invitation to watch? Surely even hermits are not immune to wonder? Will you come? Or will you sulk on your island with your books while the rest of us look to the heavens?”
There was a pause. Edward could almost hear the old man’s reluctance.
“I will… consider it,” the marchese said at last. “Bembo’s presence offends me. Your granddaughter’s plight offends me more. You trade her like a parcel of land.”
“Do not quote romances at me again,” Morosini snapped. “You of all men know why I do as I must for my family. Leave me to my calculations, and I will leave you to your ghosts.”
From over his shoulder, Morosini sent a last glance at the pages on Edward’s desk. “Work quickly, Rothbury. A city waits on Mr. Scott. By the time my balloon touches the sky, I would have bothIvanhoeconcluded and Miss Playford’s affairs… settled.”
“Yes, signore,” Edward said quietly.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Venetia hurried backto the casa, her mind racing faster than her feet. The bells were chiming the hour over the glittering canal, but all she could hear was Sofia’s urgent whisper in the cool dimness of the church and her own wild answer.
Lady Townsend. She must find Lady Townsend at once.
If anyone would listen to a plan so daring, outrageous, and perilous that even Venetia could scarcely believe she’d agreed to it, it would be Lady Townsend. In that shadowed chapel, Venetia and Sofia had suddenly seen one another clearly—as two young women with their futures being bartered away by men who talked of honor while disregarding human hearts. Lady Townsend would understand that. She would not dismiss their idea out of hand.
Unfortunately, Lady Townsend was not alone.
Venetia found her in the water salon, framed against the long windows where late afternoon light bounced off the canal and dappled the painted ceiling. Catherine Bentley sat opposite her, her beady eyes darting toward Venetia over the rim of her teacup.
“Tsk, tsk, my dear girl,” said the older woman the moment Venetia crossed the threshold. “The clock is ticking.” She set down her cup. “Captain Rizzi visited us earlier to remind us that his report is due in three days. Three!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking heavenly corroboration, then added piously, “Moral turpitude is theterm he wishednotto use—but he will use worse if that emerald pendant is not found. Of course I told him you were a creature fully redeemed—”
“I have nothing from which to be redeemed,” Venetia cut in, heat burning her cheeks. “We all know these charges are completely false.”
“Oh, yes, yes, I have done my utmost to ensure that dear Count di Montefiore and Captain Rizzi understand as much,” Miss Bentley said hurriedly. “I was chosen to report on what I witnessed at the masquerade because I am well known for my discernment, and I have discerned you to be a highly virtuous young lady. I told Captain Rizzi so.”
“I am sure that was most helpful,” Venetia murmured, “after what you told him before.” She reached for a biscuit, her excitement almost at fever pitch, fizzing beneath her skin, but she could not afford to let Miss Bentley scent it.
Carefully, she said, “I rather fancy a very energetic walk along the canal. Would either of you ladies care to accompany me?”
Miss Bentley, who considered a promenade only tolerable if it were conducted at a dignified crawl and preferably in a sedan chair, visibly recoiled at the wordenergetic. Venetia’s heart lifted when only Lady Townsend answered.
“I should be delighted to take the air,” she said at once, putting down her cup. “Give me a few minutes to change.”
As Venetia was already attired in a neat walking gown and half boots, the intervening time had to be spent listening to Miss Bentley.
Sadly.
The older woman launched into a ponderous recitation of every dire possibility that might befall Venetia should there be no complete vindication—preferably via a full confession from Sofia or “that wicked Griselda,” who in Catherine’s opinion “ought to be languishing in a prison rather than skulking about Venice like a sewer rat.”
“But what chance of that when the lovely SignorinaSofia is clearly wild with jealousy and bent only upon her own gratification?” Miss Bentley continued, shaking her head until her cap ribbons fluttered. “Why can the sisterhood not be as supportive as, for example, you, Lady Townsend, and myself have been? There is nothing—nothing—I would not do on your behalf, Miss Playford, to ensure you the successful future you deserve. Oh, how often I have said this to Captain Rizzi and Count di Montefiore.”
Apart from the sentiment being blatantly untrue, Venetia was struck by something else.
Just how oftendidMiss Bentley find herself alone in the company of Captain Rizzi and Count di Montefiore?
More often than any of them suspected, perhaps.
She was saved from dwelling on that uncomfortable thought by Lady Townsend’s returning in a very fetching soft dove-gray pelisse trimmed with black braid, her bonnet set at a jaunty angle that made her eyes sparkle. There was an eager glint in those eyes now that made Venetia’s heart leap.
“Tell me everything you were not prepared to tell Miss Bentley,” Lady Townsend said as soon as they were outside, hooking her arm through Venetia’s. The two of them set off along thefondamenta, the air smelling of brine and sun-warmed stone, gondolas rocking gently against their moorings. “Something has happened, I can tell. Good news? Signorina Sofia is going to confess? Or you have discovered the whereabouts of the marchese…?”
Venetia could barely keep her feet from skipping. “Both!”
For once, Lady Townsend was struck quite dumb. She blinked, then let out a little laugh that held the edge of disbelief. “This all happened in the church after we left you for some moments of solitude? My dear girl… then by tomorrow you and Edward will have your happy ending.”
