Chapter Nine
Miserably, Edward descended the worn marble steps of the palazzo, his footsteps echoing in the grand entrance hall with all the cheerfulness of a funeral dirge.
The palazzo’s ornate lobby, with its soaring ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting Venice’s maritime glories, had once impressed him. Now it seemed to mock his dejected spirits as he made his way toward the heavy, brass-studded double doors.
Whereas previously he’d deliberately timed his departure to coincide with Miss Playford’s morning constitutional—hoping for even the briefest glimpse of her—he now orchestrated his movements to ensure their paths would not cross.
The shame of having offended her with his unconscionable request weighed upon his conscience.
He couldn’t bear witnessing reproach in those expressive eyes that had once regarded him with such warmth.
So, it came as a considerable shock to hear her voice calling his name as he reached for the ornate bronze door handle.
“Mr. Rothbury, I’ve reflected upon what you asked yesterday. I’m prepared to give you my answer now, so you may convey it to Signorina Sofia.”
Edward turned, his heart pounding uncomfortably within his chest. Miss Playford—with her maid several steps behind—stood framed by one of the graceful arches, her white muslin morning dress making her appear almost ethereal in the diffused light.
But the stress he observed on her features made him realize his error. He’d leaped at any excuse to spend time in her company, so blinded by his own desires that he’d failed to consider the moral quandary this would pose.
Idiot. Complete and utter idiot.
“Miss Playford, please give the matter no further consideration,” he said hastily. “I release you entirely from any involvement in what I now recognize as a rash and thoroughly ill-conceived scheme. Signorina Sofia will understand completely.”
Would she? Doubtful.
“No, Mr. Rothbury,” Venetia interrupted.
“What you said yesterday was perfectly reasonable, and it was I who responded with unconscionable selfishness.” She appeared genuinely distressed, her fingers pleating the fine fabric of her skirts.
“I’ve spent the night examining my conscience, trying to understand my initial reaction.
I thought only of myself, didn’t I? I dismissed entirely the notion of assisting another young woman in precisely the same desperate circumstances I once faced—and for what reason? ”
Oh no. She was being noble. That was worse than reproach.
“Perhaps my sudden elevation in fortune has rendered me inward looking. Self-absorbed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself, Mr. Rothbury.
Please convey to Signorina Sofia that whenever she requires it, I’m entirely at her service.
I’m more than willing to provide whatever deception is necessary so she might escape an oppressive guardian’s scrutiny and find peace—even briefly—with someone who shows her genuine kindness. ”
She swallowed hard, her composure threatening to crumble. “Kindness is so essential to human happiness, and Heaven knows I wouldn’t deny her that precious gift.”
Edward felt two inches tall. Here was this remarkable woman—who had every right to refuse such an outrageous request—blaming herself for hesitation that was entirely justified.
“You have demonstrated the greatest magnanimity, Miss Playford,” he said, wishing desperately that he possessed the Continental ease that would permit him to lift her gloved hand to his lips in gratitude.
But he remained a properly restrained Englishman, so he contented himself with a stiff nod.
“Signorina Sofia will be grateful beyond measure for your extraordinary kindness.”
Though frankly, Sofia didn’t deserve such kindness.
“Well, it is agreed then,” Miss Playford said, lingering awkwardly, as if she expected him to say more.
Indeed, he was desperately trying to think of something to say; only, just as he opened his mouth to say it, she apparently gave up and, with a short nod, concluded the conversation with, “Good day to you, Mr. Rothbury.”
Forlorn and mentally kicking himself, Edward watched Venetia depart with a rustle of muslin skirts. Only when she was entirely out of sight did he turn toward the canal where his gondola waited to transport him to his meeting with Sofia.
A meeting he was dreading with increasing intensity.
“About time she finally decided to do what was the only right and proper thing!”
So much for Sofia’s gratitude.
This was Signorina Sofia’s response to Edward’s carefully delivered news—a reaction quite different from what he’d anticipated. He’d expected perhaps some expressions of relief, maybe even a tear or two of feminine appreciation.
Instead, he got this.
Sofia had positioned herself beside an ornate marble table where her drawing materials lay scattered, ostensibly engaged in sketching the panoramic view. Edward suspected the artistic endeavor was merely a pretext for their clandestine meeting.
Her maidservant, a sharp-eyed woman of middle years, hovered at a respectful distance near the terrace entrance, looking like she’d seen this particular performance before.
Sofia tossed her golden head, her voice carrying a hard edge that jarred with her angelic appearance.
“We women must look after one another, though she required some time to see the light of duty, didn’t she, Mr. Rothbury?
” She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, her speculative gaze so knowing that Edward felt heat flood his cheeks.
“Or perhaps you employed some gentlemanly persuasion to encourage her change of heart?”
“I am not so ungentlemanly as to employ persuasion of any sort,” Edward objected, though he was beginning to wonder if “gentlemanly” was code for “spectacularly foolish.”
“You describe Miss Playford as possessing such maidenly sensibilities that she could hardly have reached such a decision independently, without benefit of your… persuasive influence.” Sofia’s laughter held a mocking quality that made Edward’s skin crawl.
“So you must thank me, Mr. Rothbury. My desires may well prove the key to discovering your own.”
Edward was thoroughly unaccustomed to such bold discourse. The casual mention of desire—his own unrequited longing, and Sofia’s brazen appetites—caused uncomfortable warmth to flood through him.
When had this conversation taken such an alarming turn?
“Miss Playford could marry any gentleman of her choosing,” he said carefully, trying to steer them back to safer waters.
“Yet her elevation hasn’t caused her to forget the trials she endured when she was penniless and subject to others’ whims. I consider it an act of extraordinary generosity that she chooses to donate her time to your cause. ”
“So you insinuate I’m an ungrateful wretch?
” Sofia shrugged with magnificent indifference.
“Ah well, let us not quarrel over such trifles. I am what circumstances have made me—a young woman whose love won’t be sanctioned by the grandfather who controls my life, my fortune, and my future.
” Her expression hardened momentarily before resuming its mask of youthful petulance.
“I’m grateful to Miss Playford for condescending to assist my cause, considering her elevated status as one of England’s wealthiest heiresses.
You may convey my appreciation using whatever flowery phrases you deem appropriate. ”
Flowery phrases. Right. “Dear Miss Playford, Sofia says thanks but also sort of implied you’re a self-absorbed heiress who took too long to see reason.”
She turned back to her sketching, adding, “And you may also inform her that my next music lesson is scheduled for noon the day after tomorrow. Provided she hasn’t experienced another attack of maidenly scruples, I’d be greatly obliged if she’d meet me at the San Tomà landing stage at noon.
I shall provide an appropriate costume for our little masquerade. ”
Edward studied Sofia’s profile as she bent over her drawing, noting the calculating set of her features that seemed distinctly at odds with her professed romantic desperation. Something in her manner—a certain coldness beneath the surface charm—stirred unease.
How had he not noticed this before? Well, he had, but he’d been too busy mooning over Venetia to pay proper attention to the increasingly suspicious young woman he was helping.
“Signorina,” he said slowly, “I hope you understand the considerable risk Miss Playford is assuming on your behalf. Should this deception be discovered—”
“Oh, Mr. Rothbury,” Sofia interrupted with a tinkling laugh that now sounded distinctly artificial, “you worry unnecessarily. What could possibly go wrong with such a simple substitution? I shall slip away for a few precious hours with my Paolo, and Miss Playford will enjoy a pleasant gondola ride through Venice’s most picturesque canals.
With you, if you choose.” She smiled brightly.
“Really, when you consider it properly, I’m offering you both a delightful afternoon’s entertainment. ”
Her casual dismissal of potential consequences troubled Edward deeply. Either Sofia was far more na?ve than he’d credited, or she was far more calculating.
Neither possibility offered much comfort as he contemplated the web of deception he’d helped weave around the woman he loved.
“Very well,” he said at last, though doubt gnawed at his conscience like a particularly persistent rodent. “I shall convey your arrangements to Miss Playford. But I must insist that should any complication arise—”
“Nothing will arise, dear Mr. Rothbury,” Sofia said, not bothering to look up from her sketch. “Nothing that cannot be easily managed, I assure you.”
Edward had the distinct impression that Sofia’s definition of “easily managed” and his own might differ considerably.
He was also beginning to suspect that he’d made a terrible mistake.
Several terrible mistakes, actually.
But it was too late to back out now.