Page 27 of A Gifted Earl

“Thank you for your conversation, my Lord.”

He bowed.

“And thank you for yours. Will I see you at Lord Woolich’s Ball?”

Her heart pounded in her chest.

“You will, my Lord.”

“I look forward to it.”

He bowed again, and to her mother also, and left them there. Venetia sighed softly, and her mother raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you sigh, Venetia? Surely the fact that he hopes to see you again is good?”

“It is, Mother, but I do not think that he is like to offer me anything other than kind friendship – although I certainly would be happy should he wish more. I cannot imagine Lord Templewick offering anything which was not honourable – unlike so many others.”

Her mother sighed then, nodding in agreement.

“We must hope, then, that he begins to consider offering you more…”

*****

Weeks had passed again, weeks in which Venetia had danced with, and conversed with, the Earl of Templewick, without there ever being any indication that he might offer more. But the more time she spent with him, the more she came to feel for him, and the more she feared that she might be making her own situation worse. For what if she came to love him, which seemed entirely possible, and he did not return her affections at all?

What if she then had to marry a lecherous old man, to save them, all the while dreaming of Templewick?

They had decided that, if there were no offers – of the acceptable kind – by the end of the following week, then they would have to return to Brightwood Chase, and institute great economies, as well as selling off whatever they could to get them through the winter. As Venetia sat with Lady Hardenwell, sipping tea, relieved that there was a plan, however miserable life might end up being, Ames tapped on the parlour door.

“My Lady… there is a gentleman here, to call upon Lady Venetia.”

He held the correspondence tray, and Lady Hardenwell plucked the calling card from its silver surface. Her face paled as she read it.

“Who is it, Mother?”

“Lord Blatherfort. Do you wish to admit him?”

“I…”

Before she had a chance to say more, the man in question stepped through the door, almost shoving Ames aside. They rose. Lord Blatherfort didn’t bother to bow.

“No need for all of this delay! Of course she’ll see me.”

He waved at Ames, attempting to dismiss him. Ames ignored him. Venetia shuddered. Lady Hardenwell drew herself up, and put on her best polite society face.

“Lord Blatherfort – well, this is a surprise. Ames, please have fresh tea and an extra cup sent in.”

Ames bowed, and left the room. Lord Blatherfort looked mildly annoyed that the butler had waited for Lady Hardenwell’s dismissal of him, but then turned his attention back to Venetia.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? But I’m not a man who gives in easily. When I want something, I get it, in the end. And I want you. So much so that you’ve achieved something I didn’t think was possible. Lady Venetia, I am here to offer for you. Well? What do you say?”

Venetia gave a half strangled, not quite a laugh, noise.

Surely he wasn’t serious? But it seemed that he was. He was watching her, waiting for her reaction, seemingly expecting delight. All she felt was revulsion. The thought of marrying a man like this, of going to his bed, made her feel physically ill.

The silence stretched, and he began to look irritated, tapping his fingers on his knee.

There was another tap at the door, and Rosie entered with a new tea tray. She set it down in front of Lady Hardenwell, and left the room, but not without a sidelong questioning look at Venetia.