Page 23 of A Gifted Earl

Chapter Eight

Somehow, despite his best intentions, three weeks had passed since the evening when he had danced with Lady Venetia. He had seen her at various events in that time, had looked directly at her and smiled, yet he had not found the time to be right to ask her to dance again. Truth be told, he rather thought that he was avoiding it – not because he didn’t wish to dance with her, but more the opposite. He wanted to do so, and that shocked him a little.

But he could not do so too soon, or people would talk – and his mother would become even more convinced that there was more to it than there was. Instead, he danced with a never-ending stream of wallflowers, bringing momentary joy to the dreary lives of those not deemed to meet the highest standards of beauty. But he was becoming less and less enthusiastic about doing such acts of kindness.

They all looked at him hopefully, and he knew that he would disappoint them all, that, in a sense, he was falsely leading them on. And still, the only one he’d felt the least bit of interest in talking to, in dancing with again, was Lady Venetia. Perhaps it was time for him to actually do so, even if people would talk. It would give him the chance to see if she was still as interesting and… it would, perhaps, give him the chance to find out if she really was the girl whose face he had sewn up that June day.

As Mullard finished tying his cravat, Morgan resolved to seek Lady Venetia out that very night, to dance with her again, and to attempt to find a way to enquire about the scar, without being utterly, unmitigatedly, rude.

*****

It was, as Venetia had expected, just like all of the previous Balls. People flinched from looking directly at her, then whispered about her, usually obviously, and few would talk to her, apart from her mother’s friends and some of their daughters. Given the chance, she spoke as cheerfully as possible, but when the conversation was a commiseration between other young ladies who were also overlooked by the gentlemen, it was in no way encouraging.

She danced twice, and each time it was with an older man, who promptly offered her the ‘opportunity’ to be his mistress. She was really getting rather tired of their persistence, and seeing their shocked looks when she refused.

After a short while, she simply stopped speaking with anyone, and watched the other people in the room – she had learnt rather a lot about many people, just by observing them at multiple social events. There were gentlemen whom she had never spoken to, yet who she knew she did not ever wish to be introduced to. There were ladies whose greatest delight was gossip, of the kind designed to be cruel to others, so that the gossiper might look better by comparison. And there were those she did not entirely understand – like the Earl of Templewick.

That dance with him stayed in her thoughts, but she was beginning to think that the second dance he had suggested might never happen. Surely three weeks was long enough… But perhaps he simply sought to protect both of them from gossip? She shook her head – it was best that she not indulge in fanciful thinking – he almost certainly simply wasn’t interested in speaking or dancing with her again, and his words on that other night had been kindness with no substance behind it.

Even as she considered that idea, her reverie was shattered by a voice from beside her.

“Lady Venetia?”

She spun on the spot, her heart pounding.

It was him! The Earl of Templewick.

“I.. yes...?”

She sounded quite lack-witted! A flush came to her cheeks – what must he think of her? But he smiled, meeting her eyes, looking directly at her face again.

“I do apologise for startling you – you must have been deep in thought?”

“I was… I was considering…”

But no! she couldn’t say that! Couldn’t tell him that she had been watching what everyone else was doing – for to do so, so obviously, was most impolite. Her words failed her – what could she say now? He smiled again, and the sight of it made her heart pound for an entirely different reason, as heat rose within her.

“All of the people here? What they are doing, and saying, and why? Trying to make sense of it all?”

Venetia’s head spun. He understood – he actually understood, and appeared not to find her actions improper!

“I… ah… yes, that is indeed what I was doing. Even though it is remarkably unladylike to admit to such a thing, I cannot deny it.”

“I appreciate your honesty – for I must say that I often find the things that people do at social events to be somewhat nonsensical, and nearly always narrow-minded and self-centred. But I shouldn’t admit to that, should I? One is supposed to pretend to not care, whilst avidly discovering whatever one can about other people’s secrets, isn’t one?”

Her mouth was dry, and an odd shiver ran through her. This was like no conversation she’d ever had before, and she thought that she liked it, for it was all of being forthright, and nothing of nastiness or subterfuge.

“Indeed, that is a good summation of how things seem to work. Although my experience of it is limited, and rather biased by the fact that the scar on my face causes a whole extra layer of… judgement… in how people interact with me.”

He frowned, and she wondered if she had gone too far with her honesty, but then he nodded.

“I can see that it does. And it should not – such things should not be used to assess a person’s character. But let me ask you what I came to you to ask – will you grant me a dance, Lady Venetia?”

A bubble of irrepressible hope rose within her. He had not forgotten! He had really meant it!

“I would be delighted to do so, Lord Templewick.”

As if conspiring to improve her evening, the orchestra at that moment struck up for the next dance. Lord Templewick offered her his arm, and, with a glance in her mother’s direction, she allowed him to lead her away.