Page 13 of A Gifted Earl

Her mother fell into conversation with the women, all discussing what had occurred in their lives since they had last seen each other, and Venetia simply stood there, watching. Some people glanced in her direction, but after a while the whispers died away, and they ignored her. Perhaps there would be introductions to others, to gentlemen, later?

After a short while, some young women were brought to where they were, on the arms of gentlemen, having obviously just finished dancing, and were introduced to Venetia and her mother. Their expressions, uniformly, showed that they found Venetia’s scar horrifying – even though her hair was curled to fall slightly over it.

So, there would be no friendships there. It was what she had expected, even though she had hoped for better. The gentlemen had also merely glanced her way, then left the group, showing no interest in being introduced. So Venetia stepped back into the shade of the potted palms and pretended to be invisible. She watched everyone and everything, and attempted to discover the names and titles of the people she saw, based on hearing the women around her talk about them.

Even though her mother had shown her long lists of names in their copy of Debrett’s, and explained, as much as she knew, who was related to who, Venetia found it all utterly overwhelming. There were so many names, so many faces to remember! Perhaps it was good that she could stand here, being mostly unnoticed, and attempt to memorise them all, before she actually had to speak to them.

After some time, she accepted the fact that she would likely not have the chance to even be introduced to any gentlemen that night, let alone dance. The younger men, as she watched them, seemed all very similar – immaculately attired, full of confidence and arrogance, and certain of their appeal to the young ladies. She did not find that type of arrogance appealing, at all. If they were all like that, the chances of her ever finding a man she might wish to marry were very small. Yet she had to do so, or come midwinter, they, and their tenants, would likely starve.

A shiver ran through her, and she studied them again, hoping to see something which might give her hope. Nothing did.

Then, as supper was called, and her mother turned to her, she saw, on the other side of the room, a man she had not noticed before. He was dressed as immaculately as all of the others, albeit more sedately, and with a black band on his sleeve which indicated that he was in half mourning, but he moved differently. She studied him, in the short while she had before the crowd of people blocked her view.

It was not that he lacked confidence – far from it – he moved with a fluid surety which she admired, but he seemed, somehow, apart from the others. He was not with a group of other men, indeed, he seemed completely alone. And what set him apart was that he appeared undisturbed by that fact. He looked, she thought, rather like he was doing as she was, and simply observing everyone around him.

He turned, and she saw his face directly for the first time. A small gasp escaped her, even as the crowds obscured him. His face was familiar, somehow. Yet she did not know how, or why.

She shook her head, and took her mother’s arm as they made their way to the supper tables.

Once they had received small plates of food, they settled on some chairs with some of Lady Hardenwell’s friends, who were talking amongst themselves about the men who might be possible matches for their daughters.

“…and then there’s the Earl of Templewick. He’s new to the title – still in half mourning – shocking, it was, his uncle, who was the previous Earl, and all of his family were taken off by the cholera, leaving this man the new Earl. His father was the second son, but he’s a few years in the grave too, so it fell to this man. I’ve heard good things about him so far, although he's rather aloof, apparently. But so good looking! I will arrange an introduction somehow, for my dear girl really must meet him. There aren’t many unmarried Earls who are young, good looking and not wastrels! Look, he’s just over there – a fine figure of a man, I think!”

The others all expressed agreement, and Venetia turned her eyes to the man they spoke of, and discovered it to be the man she’d been watching before, the one who seemed so familiar. She wanted, in that instant, to meet him, to speak to him, to understand why he appeared to be so different. And she had the most peculiar feeling about him – she thought that he might not turn away from her scar with revulsion.

Why she should think that, she couldn’t imagine, but think it she did.