Chapter Three
Two days later, Venetia had decided that Mr. Rothbury’s avoidance would not spoil her Venetian sojourn—any more than a spot of rain spoils a sprigged muslin.
She smiled dutifully through luncheon and dinner and even survived Miss Catherine Bentley’s dissertation on Venetian arches.
(Miss Bentley knew a great many arches, each more magnificent than the last.)
Lady Townsend, meanwhile, was clearly determined to ensure that Venetia expand her social horizons.
At the Contessa Barbarigo’s rout, she’d introduced her to six eligible gentlemen of varying charm and solvency. Venetia had danced until her toes ached and her tongue felt tied in knots as she conversed in her mediocre—but rapidly improving—Italian.
Oh, she’d been studying hard.
Now, with a night’s reflection, she’d nearly convinced herself that Mr. Rothbury’s indifference need not cast a shadow over her visit to Venice.
Nearly. Almost. Not quite. But nearly.
She would follow Lady Townsend’s unspoken advice and cast her net wider—ideally somewhere with less dancing requiring her to be on display—and more books.
The endless social whirl was not the answer. If her visit to Venice was to help her look further afield for love, she’d obviously made a wrong side step. She wanted a husband and children.
Wealth bought carriages and emeralds, not true love. She still wanted the old-fashioned things: a husband who liked her before he tallied up her accounts. And she wanted a nursery filled with laughter.
But perhaps she was going about it the wrong way.
Ensconced at the water-salon escritoire, her quill hovered over a sheet of creamy vellum.
A drop of ink plopped onto the margin and made up her mind for her: She would write cheerfully to Caroline and keep the dramatic references of her favorite novelist, Mrs. Radcliffe, to a minimum.
Venetia had kept her temperament under control for so many years now, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down and spiral into the sometimes-extreme responses to matters beyond her control that had led Aunt Pike to incarcerate her in a dark cupboard for days.
“Venetia, am I interrupting a masterpiece?” Lady Townsend appeared in the doorway, looking elegant in a pale-blue pelisse.
“Come and tell me about last night. I saw you were popular with many of the contessa’s gentlemen guests, yet I gather none of them took your fancy.
” Her eyes twinkled as she added, “I wonder if that is because there was someone special—who was not there.”
Oh dear. She knows.
Setting aside her half-written letter, Venetia rose and crossed to the comfortable settee where Lady Townsend had seated herself. Lord Thornton and Miss Bentley were not around, a small mercy, for there was something about Miss Bentley that made Venetia feel perpetually measured and found wanting.
And although she had no intention of admitting her infatuation with Mr. Rothbury, it was entirely possible that Lady Townsend’s keen understanding of the human heart had already made the deduction.
“I enjoyed myself to a degree,” Venetia admitted.
“Certainly, I was mesmerized by my surroundings. And by the light reflecting off the water as I danced,” she added.
“Venice feels like a different planet to England. The way the palazzo’s chandeliers cast their glow through those enormous windows onto the canal below created the most enchanting spectacle. ”
Lady Townsend hesitated, her eyes kind but sharp. “I saw you when you made your entrance. Were you looking for someone in particular?”
Venetia winced. “Was I so obvious? I’d hoped merely to appear confident and self-contained.”
“Both highly commendable,” Lady Townsend said. “I imagine recent experience has rendered you justifiably cautious in matters of the heart.”
How precisely Lady Townsend had divined the truth of her situation.
Venetia clasped her hands tightly in her lap, then, unable to contain her nervous energy, plucked at the fine fabric of her gown.
“I half expect to discover Lord Windermere materializing from behind every ornate Venetian column,” she admitted, a shudder running through her.
“His determination to possess my fortune has left its imprint.”
“But surely he presents no immediate danger?” Lady Townsend said, her tone comforting.
“His disgraceful scheme was thoroughly exposed, and he now stands revealed as the fortune-hunting charlatan he truly is. His reputation in English society is irredeemably tarnished. You’ve escaped his machinations, my dear, and it’s high time you set aside such fears and directed your attention toward discovering what will bring you genuine happiness.
” She smiled warmly. “I admire your bravery in removing yourself from London—and, more importantly, from your aunt’s malign influence. ”
“Do you find Venice agreeable, then?” Venetia asked, not wishing to speak of her aunt.
“It seems so very… foreign to English sensibilities. Yet you’ve remained here these eight months.
” Her fingers worried the silk. Fine stuff.
Half a year’s rent, for those less fortunate than herself.
“I’m learning to enjoy beauty without apologizing for it,” she said, half to Eugenia, half to herself.
“I find the contrast with England most refreshing,” Lady Townsend replied, her gaze drifting to the window where sunlight danced on the rippling surface of the canal.
“The quality of light here possesses a clarity one never encounters in London’s perpetual haze.
The very air seems imbued with potential.
” A secretive smile played about her lips.
“And I confess I’ve come to value greatly the companionship I’ve found here. ”
“Miss Bentley is a wonderful repository of facts,” Venetia said, assuming Lady Townsend referred to her female companion.
“She introduced me to the Conte di Valmarana and three of his ancestors—at least, I think they were his ancestors; they were certainly on the walls. She also seemed to possess an exhaustive mental catalogue of every nobleman and noblewoman in attendance.” Boldly, she added, “I wonder if she is perhaps looking to alter her status.”
That came out more tartly than intended.
But the way Miss Bentley had gripped Venetia’s arm with barely concealed eagerness when introducing her to the Conte di Valmarana—whose estate, Venetia knew, because Lord Thornton had told her, was in a state of genteel decay despite his exquisitely tailored attire—had been rather discomfiting.
Was she trying to foist Venetia on some Venetian nobleman? Or find one for herself?
“I was not referring to Catherine,” Lady Townsend said with a twist of her lips. “No, I refer to other friendships I’ve discovered in Venice, so that I don’t miss England at all.”
A brief silence fell between them, during which Venetia wondered whether she’d been overly hasty in fleeing London. For she could think of no one in Italy who would allow her to simply be quietly herself. Every nobleman to whom she’d been introduced had been flamboyantly garrulous.
She sighed. “At times, I do wonder if I acted with excessive impetuosity in coming to Venice. Do you think I ought to return to England?”
Lady Townsend lifted a brow. “After crossing half of Europe? My dear, you didn’t come to Venice merely to retreat at the first onset of the blue devils.”
“You do know why I came to Venice, don’t you?”
“Venice is the city of love,” Lady Townsend said as if it were the last word.
She reached across to pat Venetia’s restless hand.
“Your substantial fortune grants you a liberty that few women can claim—the freedom to travel where you wish, to choose your own path without bowing to the dictates of family or financial necessity. Yet great wealth brings its own form of isolation, as I’ve discovered through long experience. ”
“You’ve felt isolated, too?” Venetia asked, startled. “But surely that cannot be so! You receive invitations to every significant social event, and you’re perpetually surrounded by friends and admirers.”
“You refer to the individuals who seek my company?” Lady Townsend’s smile held a shadow of melancholy.
“I’ve discovered over many years that those who most assiduously cultivate one’s acquaintance are often those of whom one should be most wary.
” She cleared her throat delicately before adding, “Particularly when one possesses a substantial fortune.”
Venetia leaned forward. “Yet despite your wealth offering you such choices, you never married,” she observed.
“Independence, however precious, doesn’t entirely satisfy the longings of the heart.”
Venetia cast a quick glance around the salon to ensure they remained alone before leaning closer still. “I want love,” she said simply. “And I want children—a family of my own, bound by affection rather than obligation or financial necessity.”
Her gaze darted to the canal beyond the window, where a gondola filled with laughing children glided past, their joyful voices carrying clearly through the open casement.
“The Italians are unembarrassed by happiness,” Lady Townsend observed.
“And it’s what we should all strive for.
” She squeezed Venetia’s hand warmly. “I’m delighted beyond measure to hear you express such natural desires.
You were never destined for spinsterhood, my dear.
Unlike me, you possess extraordinary beauty, natural vivacity, and genuine charm.
I have no doubt you could capture any heart you set your sights upon. ”
Venetia blushed. And when she attempted to protest, the older woman dismissed her objections with a wave of her hand.
“Let us not engage in false modesty. I never possessed the sort of beauty that inspired men’s admiration, my dear girl.
I was acutely conscious of my deficiencies in that regard, and I allowed that awareness to foster a deplorable timidity in matters of the heart.
” Her tone softened. “I constructed walls around myself as protection against rejection, never realizing that in doing so, I was condemning myself to precisely the loneliness I most feared.”
“You mean to say that you… deliberately closed your heart against the possibility of love?” Venetia asked.
“The gentleman I loved married one of my dearest friends,” Eugenia said, almost lightly—as if she were reciting words well-rehearsed. “I mistook kindness for interest. I learned to be wary—to my detriment.”
Venetia blinked. “Truly?” She could scarcely contain her astonishment.
She’d long assumed that Lady Townsend, with her considerable fortune and secure footing on society’s ladder, could have had her choice of husbands, had she wished to marry.
“But surely you must have been obliged to fend off numerous fortune hunters over the years?”
“Oh, fortune hunters… I could pick them a mile away!” the older woman declared lightly.
“I could see them calculating the artwork before they even looked at me. No, thankfully, none pursued me with the ruthless determination that Lord Windermere displayed in his pursuit of you. As for that gentleman,” Lady Townsend went on, brighter, “reliable intelligence has him posted to Constantinople as an attaché. I hear he left a fortnight ago and will be gone for at least two years.”
Venetia exhaled. “An attaché? As long as he’s not attaching himself to me, then I’m happy.”
“You wish to marry? Excellent. Let us talk about that!” Lady Townsend clapped her hands. “You have everything requisite—looks, kindness, and—” she hesitated “—an unpredictable streak. I’ve seen signs of it, yes. Well, that, together with your courage, is a good start.”
Lady Townsend’s gaze drifted meaningfully toward the doorway of the water salon, which was suddenly filled by a tall figure.
Venetia knew that particular breadth of shoulder before her heart had time to behave. Mr. Rothbury bowed—slightly too low—and, in rising, she saw the edge of his cuff was again streaked with ink. His gaze flicked to Venetia, warmed—just for a breath—and then he recollected himself.
There. That warmth. I didn’t imagine it, did I?
“Forgive the intrusion,” he murmured, and retreated with the speed of a man who’d remembered an appointment with a dictionary, Venetia thought with despair.
Eugenia’s smile turned positively conspiratorial. “My dear Venetia,” she said, “I told you I could spot a fortune hunter a mile away—” she gripped Venetia’s wrist and gave it a squeeze “—as well as I can spot a man in love.”
Oh.