Page 26 of A Gifted Earl

Chapter Nine

Morgan had been half of a mind to not attend the musicale, for such things were often excruciatingly dull, or acutely painful to the ear, but he had, at the last minute, changed his mind. At a musicale, there was the chance to observe others in different situations, and to speak to various young ladies without the requirement to dance – his feet would appreciate the rest!

He had arrived just as the performance was about to start, and slipped into the room, taking the last vacant chair – which was, he discovered, beside Lady Venetia. It was as if he was meant to cross her path. It also, yet again, brought home to him just how much the scar affected how people treated her, for to be made the last person that anyone chose to sit beside was a dreadful cruelty.

When she had sighed in relief as the first performer proved to be tolerable, he had been unable to resist speaking to her, albeit as quietly as he could. She responded with her usual wit – words designed to sound perfectly proper, yet spoken in a tone which carried mischief in it. But she also determinedly quashed all conversation until after the singer had finished.

Now, as others rose and walked about in the break between performers, he chose to stay, and engage her in further conversation.

When he began with a rather inane question, she somehow turned it into something interesting, her sharpness drawing a laugh from him, unexpectedly – a laugh better suited to the stable yard, in its volume, which he’d had to quickly repress, lest he offend the people around him.

But the next part of the conversation pleased him greatly, for it provided an opportunity to suggest that they speak again, and soon. The idea of that delighted him, rather more than he had expected. He realised, with some small surprise, that he had come to enjoy her company, to look forward to speaking with her. It had crept up on him, yet now that he recognised it, he could see that he was interested in spending time with her, far beyond his ‘charitable endeavours’, as his mother called it.

His next words came on impulse, with no forethought whatsoever.

“How long will you be staying in London, Lady Venetia? Will you be returning to the countryside for Christmas?”

Momentarily, an odd expression crossed her face, with something of sadness, something of fear, and something of anger intermixed. It was gone almost immediately, and he questioned whether he had really seen it when she turned a bright smile to him.

“We will. It has not yet been decided exactly when we will leave London – it will depend on many things, including the weather – there is nothing worse than travelling during rain, with the roads deep in mud.”

“Indeed.”

In his mind, memories surfaced of muddy battlefields, and horses hock deep in clinging, sucking mud, exhausted men beside them. No road in England could ever recreate that horror, and he was thankful for that fact. He wondered, also, what that odd expression had meant – what had she been thinking of? For surely, going to one’s home estate for Christmas would normally be cause for happiness, not sadness?

“In the rain, I would rather ride than travel in a carriage – I may get wet, but at least I have some choice of the path we take, and I can direct my horse away from the worst of the mud, but a carriage has only one possible path to take.”

He was startled by her words, reminding him again of the fact that she rode extraordinarily well – so well that it had led to overconfidence and the fall which had resulted in her scar. Few women would choose getting wet over sitting in a comfortable carriage, yet her reasoning was sound.

“I am inclined to agree with you on that. I also have not yet decided when I will retire to the country. I have few close family, and Templewick Grange does not yet truly feel like home to me.”

Those words were true, he realised as he said them – the Grange was huge, and beautiful, but it had never been his home, and making it so was difficult, for it was full of reminders of the uncle he had not particularly liked. It would, perhaps, one day feel like home, once he had wed, and had a family.

That thought startled him anew, for somehow, he had gone from being rather horrified by his need to marry and get an heir, to accepting it, even wishing for it, in some ways. How had that happened?

At that moment, Lady Thornmont went to the front of the room to call for all to be seated ready for the next performer, which put an end to any more immediate conversation. But the thoughts continued – he would, he realised, miss these conversations with Lady Venetia, when he went to the country. He had no close friends, no one to talk to but his mother, and whilst for the first months of his being Earl he had been so focussed on the estates and what he had to learn that he had barely noticed, now that he considered it, he suspected that he would feel lonely at Templewick Grange.

And at that thought, an image slipped into his mind, of Lady Venetia at Templewick Grange, in the house, but also in the stables, and riding out across the fields. It felt right, so very right that he sat there stunned. Carefully, he looked at her, sidelong, taking in the strong lines of her face as she watched the singer – who was, fortuitously, also quite talented.

Why had he imagined her at the Grange? Was he coming to care for her, more than simply as good company? He almost laughed at that – what hope would he have? What would she think, if she knew of his past? Would she turn away in disgust at his having worked as a stable master? Most women of the ton likely would.

*****

Venetia wished that he hadn’t asked about Christmas, for that one word had reminded her of the disaster which was rapidly approaching, of the fact that she needed to make a match, to find some gentleman to marry, before their funds ran out and Christmas became a time of misery. She thought that she had prevented her feelings on the matter from showing on her face, but he had given her a slightly strange look for a moment.

What would Christmas be like, if she did find a man to marry?

And with that thought, an image slipped into her mind of herself, standing at the altar, beside this man. It made her breath catch, and it was only with great effort that she prevented a small sob from escaping her. This was a man whom she could face marrying, indeed. He was kind, amusing at times, honest and plain spoken, and he had never once done anything to suggest that he found her scarred face repulsive.

She would miss him, she realised now, once they went their separate ways to the country, miss him quite terribly, for he was the only thing which had given her hope at all.

But she could not expect him to marry her! He had never shown any sign of wishing to pay her that kind of attention, and she would not pretend to herself about such things. Just because he was kind to her, and could look at her face without flinching, did not mean that he held a tendre for her! Although… perhaps it would be pleasant if he did….

She pushed the thought away. The fact that he could look at her scar and be kind, the few times that they met out in society, did not mean that he would wish to look at it every day! She must resign herself to marrying a man who was not the sort she would have chosen, for marrying someone, and thereby not having her mother, and their tenants, starve was more important than wishing for impossible things.

The singer finished, and the third one was announced immediately, and she was soon seen to be far less talented than the first two.

Fortunately, she sang a short piece, and they were all released to the refreshments. Venetia rose, with her mother, and curtsied to Lord Templewick.