“But could he feed and clothe you? Consider that, Miss Reeves…” Sebastian felt increasingly uncomfortable, for Miss Reeves was very young, her mind unformed, and, he felt, quite out of her depth when making such a dramatic decision as to throw her life away on an itinerant dancing tutor.
He really had no desire to continue to press his objections when he could see Venetia out of the corner of his eye, looking more beautiful than he could remember.
Good lord, but she was like an angel come down to Earth.
And the sooner he managed to put to rest her concerns about where his loyalties lay, the better.
“Your father is here tonight. So is Lord Yarrowby, whom I have always found to be the most personable of fellows and, from everything I’ve heard, quite devoted to you.”
“Of course he’d say that!” For a moment, she looked like a sulky child. “I’ve known him forever and, while it’s true that I did once find the idea of marriage to him quite appealing, I’ve since realized that he is really quite dull compared with…” Her eyes traveled furtively toward the far corner of the room as if she hoped to spy her true love there before she lowered her voice, adding, “Signor Boticelli.”
“Miss Reeves,” Sebastian said kindly. “Do you not see that this is precisely what you will encounter if you should make a...less than suitable...marriage? Of course Signor Boticelli is not on the guest list.”
“He would be if he was married to me.” She thrust her chin up and her nostrils flared.
“Darling girl, that is not a becoming look.”
Sebastian blinked in surprise at the familiar manner Lord Yarrowby used to address the young lady who was fanning herself vigorously as she glared at him.
“You have led your poor old papa a merry dance, haven’t you? Are you sure you’re not ready to come home? Hasn’t the novelty of spending three weeks with your Aunt Maryanne worn off yet?”
“I will not return home while Papa insists on forcing my hand in marriage.”
Lord Yarrowby sighed as he dropped his hand from her shoulder. “No one is forcing you to do anything, Arabella. You might recall that at one stage you were quite enthusiastic about the idea.”
“That was before—” She stopped, and a fierce blush stole across her cheeks. Sebastian made to move away, but Yarrowby stayed him. “Politeness requires Arabella to remain and say her piece if you’re here, old chap, so do stay. She’d likely turn tail and run if it were just me.” For the first time, a note of gentle frustration crept into his words as he said, “What happened four months ago, Arabella? I know you were cross that I was unable to make it to Lady Wildermere’s house party, but when I did come to see you, you’d turned quite against me. I really have no idea what I’ve done.”
Sebastian knew the reason, but was not about to say. Miss Reeves’s heart—and head—had been turned by someone entirely unsuitable. Someone who, in the rashness of youth, she truly believed would offer her a life of love and excitement.
Miss Reeves seemed to be on the brink of throwing away the greatest happiness. Or at least comfort and fulfillment.
But what could he say?
And, right now, there was no time when he had his own mending of hearts to do.
Venetia was here, and he needed to find her.
In fact, there was not a moment to waste. There was nothing more he could do for Miss Reeves. If she did not wish to marry Yarrowby, that was none of his business.
So he left them, Yarrowby attempting to take his former sweetheart’s hand before she pulled it away saying, “There’s nothing more you can do to persuade me, Richard. My mind is quite made up, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I desire excitement and adventure, not dull domesticity living next to Papa for the rest of my life.”
***
Oh lord, thought Venetia, yet another gentleman was coming in her direction and the intent in his eyes was clear: he was going to ask her to dance.
Nervously, she ran her hands down the skirts of her dress and turned away. She’d never had so much attention...and all because of a lovely, borrowed gown?
Then she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the looking glasses above the mantelpiece and, again, was shocked.
Lady Quamby’s personal maid had transformed her dark hair from unfashionably straight into a sea of ringlets, which she’d then artfully arranged around a silver filet. Venetia could see it twinkling in the candlelight, loose tendrils softening the sharp angles of her cheeks.
Why, she almost couldn’t recognize herself. For a moment, she was transfixed. This was not her, surely?
Then, the weary resignation weighed her down again, and she looked away.
She might now look every bit as lovely as Miss Reeves. And Sebastian might love her more dearly than Miss Reeves.
But, this was a matter of honor, and Sebastian was honor-bound to marry any unwed young woman who was carrying his baby.