The Courtship Caper (Scandalous Miss Brightwells 6)

Sebastian glanced nervously at the tears that had gathered on her eyelashes, afraid of saying anything that might cause them to cascade onto her cheeks. Weeping women did not make him comfortable. Lady Banks, from whose tentacles he'd managed to extricate himself with only the utmost degree of difficulty, had entwined him with such a ploy. Tears. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"I will help you in any way that is practicable, but really, Miss Reeves, I think your best course is to use gentle persuasion on your father. If he's a fond parent, he's hardly going to force you to marry a man you do not wish to marry. Besides which, it's against the law."

"I'm more worried about him not allowing me to marry the man I wish to marry. Yarrowby is so dull, he won’t fight for me. He does everything I ask of him, and if I tell him it’s Signor Boticelli, he’s hardly going to make a fuss. No, I need my father to be persuaded to sanction my marriage to the one man who holds my heart in his hand." For someone so delicate and pretty, there was a great deal of strength and energy in the gesticulation that accompanied her words.

Sebastian shifted awkwardly. "Why can’t Signor Boticelli, himself, persuade your father of the merits of you marrying him? He will need to support you, after all, so it’s up to him to be able to reassure Mr Reeves. A father’s chief concern would be to ensure his child is comfortably situated. Not even true love can compensate for material necessities."

"Material necessities! What is that compared with love?" she declared with a mutinous tilt to her chin. "If you have never been in love with someone your family deems unsuitable, you would not know that the desire for the glorious everlasting union of two souls united in every possible way, transcends all else. I love this man, Mr Reeves. I would do anything to spend eternity with him. I care nothing for material necessities when, if parted, my heart will be forever crying out for him!”

Her words rang in his ears with unsettling intensity long after they had parted, she turning dramatically on her heel to flounce off to the lake, he to trudge toward the house. The sweet, amorous encounter he'd just enjoyed with Venetia confirmed that his heart, also, would be forever crying out for her, if they should be parted once more.

Just as it had been ever since Venetia had tearfully sent him on his way all those years ago, declaring she could not, would not, marry him in good conscience when he stood to lose everything, not least his inheritance. In one brief moment of anger, he'd accused her of thinking more of his inheritance than he did.

He paused as he trod the path, shaking his head as if it might dislodge the kernel of worry that had taken hold. Why reflect on the pain of the past when they had a glorious future to look forward to? Even if he was the father of her child, as the woman claimed, she’d rescinded her hold on him after her husband had, thankfully, agreed not to divorce her. Not that he hadn’t entirely discounted the possibility that she’d exert pressure on Sebastian to shoulder replacement matrimonial responsibilities should Mr Compton decide to discard her, later, but that was a difficulty that he would face, with, hopefully, Venetia’s understanding, should it arise.

Yes, Barbara had tricked him into her bed. Yes, he’d been a fool to have availed himself of what she offered.

But it had only been the once, when he’d been beyond caring, at the time, and his future had seemed like a void.

Surely Venetia would understand.

He sighed once more. As for Miss Reeves? She was just a foolish young woman who was too immature to know better, and if Sebastian really were to do her any favors, it would be to speak plainly to Yarrowby and tell him to show a bit of manly backbone if he truly wished to wed the girl he’d been sweet on for so many years.

However, Miss Reeves was unimportant right now.

All that was important was to secure his future with Venetia by his side. His wife, his beloved, the mother of the children they would have, as well as the poor infant Dorothea’s death had left motherless.

Chapter 10

Upstairs and downstairs, the household was abuzz with preparations for the following day.

Lady Quamby breezed in, looking like a bird of paradise in a dress of green and blue decorated with a roulade of red. "Cook has been advised of the extra guests, Fanny,” she told her sister. “I think we have everything in order."

Venetia kept her head down as she embroidered quietly in her corner, far from resigned to her imminent departure in the morning.

The only saving grace was that Sebastian had reassured her he would visit her at Lady Indigo’s at the earlies

t, to make a formal offer.

And Venetia would, at least, avoid having to see old Mr Wells. He’d been indulgent when she’d been eight, but her memories of their difficult encounters when she was eighteen were best forgotten.

Still, it was a sore trial to have to listen to Ladies Quamby and Fenton converse amiably about last-minute preparations for the Christmas Ball, when Venetia knew she had only a gloomy quiet house and a sharp-tongued employer to look forward to spending the evening with while everyone here would be enjoying themselves.

Excitement for the grand event positively buzzed through the house with armies of servants beating carpets and polishing chandeliers and silver.

The topic among [BH1] the ladies switched between hairstyles and ornaments. A multitude of fine ball gowns of silk and spangles, roulades and netting, would be revealed on the night, and listening to the descriptions of silks and sarcenets, and glittering net gowns, was like a physical pain.

Yet, Venetia consoled herself that she could still feel some excitement because one day she, too, would enjoy all this.

As Sebastian’s wife.

"I'm sorry you won't be joining us, Lady Indigo," Lady Quamby said, stopping by the old woman’s chair on her way to the sideboard to fetch a pack of cards. "But I understand you perfectly, for I, too, care little for noise and bustle. Being hostess of the annual Christmas Ball is, sadly, a duty I am unable to delegate."

"Of course." Lady Indigo toyed with the beads in her lap and looked at Venetia. "Why so glum, my girl? There’s no point in subjecting you to all this nonsense tomorrow night when you don’t have a dress to wear."

Lady Quamby sat down and spread out the cards in front of her. "I'm sure we'd find something if that's all that stands in the way." And although she said it dismissively, seemingly more invested in the cards, Venetia knew that, for her own part, she reacted with too much delighted transparency; for Lady Indigo’s nostrils flared in disapproval as Venetia thanked her hostess with hope in her tone.

Might it really be possible to attend the ball, after all? If Lady Quamby were able to provide her with something—even seasons out of date—she’d still feel like a fairy tale princess.