Page 7 of A Gifted Earl

Venetia felt a little ill at her mother’s words – she had hoped that the harvest would save them, at least until next year.

“Then…?”

“We will have to go to London, four weeks from now, and you must do your very best to make a match with a respectable and wealthy man, who is of the kind of character which will lead him to assisting his wife’s mother….”

Venetia’s hand went to her forehead, without any conscious intent on her part, and a small sob escaped her lips.

“But… this is so obvious – it looks as if a small autumn leaf has stuck to my face! The scar is still so dark, so very noticeable – I am sure that I will be mocked by the ladies, and disregarded by the gentlemen, because I am so clearly not perfect!”

Her mother, quite shockingly, made no attempt to deny the truth of her words. Venetia wanted, then, to cast herself down on the couch and cry – yet she knew that would not help in the least. Instead, she swallowed the tears, lifted her teacup, and sipped, forcing herself to be calm.

After a long silence, Lady Hardenwell gave a slow nod.

“You are right. Yet that changes nothing. A good marriage for you is the key to our survival, going forward. We will go to London, and you will, at the very least, try. We can arrange your hair so that some curls fall over that side of your forehead, and we can apply some face powder to minimise the colour of the scar. I am sure that, once a gentleman gets past the initial visual surprise, and actually talks to you, it will all go well.”

Venetia shook her head.

“You have more faith in the gentlemen of the ton than I have, Mother. But if it is our only option, then, certainly, I will try.”

But I hold little hope…