“The estate has been rented out for years,” Traherne informed her, “but the family doesn’t make use of the cottage.”
“Why not?”
Traherne hesitated a moment before his mouth curved. “Because of its history. One of my Wilde ancestors built the cottage for his mistress.”
Venetia didn’t know whether to laugh or to wince. “You are taking me to your love nest?”
“Not my love nest. I have never occupied it before. I inherited the property from my father.”
She couldn’t help but rag him. “So your father brought his ladybirds here?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Certainly not once he met my mother. The current tenants are responsible for the upkeep. I wrote them two days ago and asked that the cottage be made ready for our arrival.”
He opened the small panel and conferred with the coachman as to the direction. They drove for another ten minutes, around the lake, to a more hilly area.
At the end of a secluded lane, they drew up before a large stone house surrounded by a lovely walled garden.
“You call this a cottage?” Venetia said. “It is large enough for a mansion.”
“It should prove comfortable enough for a week or two. I wanted to make up for putting you in this unfortunate position.”
“Oh,” Venetia said lightly, “you mean compelling me to marry you and flee London for a life on the run, in danger of being shot at any moment?”
Traherne flashed his most disarming smile. “Yes, that unfortunate position.”
Concern for him welled in her anew. “Is it safe for you to stay here, do you think?”
“I believe so. Few people know about this property. My father certainly never advertised his ownership. An elderly couple serves as caretakers of the cottage. No doubt they will hire extra servants from the village if necessary. I trust they have at least cleaned it by now and made it presentable.”
As predicted, when they dismounted from the chaise and made their way inside, several staff of varying ages lined up in the entryway to welcome them. The eldest man and woman identified themselves as Horton and Mrs. Horton. There was also a newly hired chambermaid, houseboy, and ruddy-faced cook.
They all seemed in awe to be serving an earl and his lady, for they bowed and scraped to the point of discomfiting Venetia.
Mrs. Horton seemed particularly nervous and eager to please. “Pray forgive the musty smell, my lady. We only removed the holland covers yesterday.”
Venetia smiled to put the housekeeper at ease. “It is quite all right, Mrs. Horton. You were just informed we planned to descend upon you abruptly.”
“Thank you, my lady. We have arranged for a cold luncheon and a hot supper, if that is acceptable,” Mrs. Horton added.
“Yes, of course.”
It felt odd to be addressed as “my lady” and be asked to approve the menu. Venetia glanced at Traherne, who was watching her with a glint in his eye, as if wondering how she would handle her new role.
When they toured the house, she noted the luxurious appointments and gilt furnishings done in expensive velvets and brocades. She was very glad to know they would have separate bedchambers. Perhaps newlyweds should share a bed, but the aristocratic class often slept apart, which suited her perfectly.
Traherne left her to change out of her travel gown and wash. When she joined him in the small dining room a half hour later, he rose to hold out her chair for her.
“I trust the accommodations meet with your approval,” he said lightly as he seated himself beside her.
“I did not expect such elegance for a house of ill-repute. Apparently your ancestor spared no expense for his cher amie.”
“It was designed as a bower of bliss.”
“But a gold chamber pot is rather extravagant, don’t you think?”
“We Wildes rarely do anything by half measures.”
They were interrupted just then by servants who carried in platters of ham and cold duck, with cheese and fruit for a second course.