Most of all, it was wonderful to think she was no longer alone. That she needn’t be beset by such painful loneliness any longer.
Even if she was only—foolishly—indulging in wishful thinking.
Quinn?
??s message received a swift reply confirming a time for their call. Thus, he and Venetia arrived at her parents’ home on Henrietta Place some three hours later.
The knowledge that she wasn’t alone fortified Venetia as she entered the parlor where Tobias and Helen Stratham awaited. They might not want to acknowledge her existence, but she would insist on it for Ophelia’s sake.
Their fawning welcome for the Earl of Traherne proved a sharp contrast to their stiffness with their prodigal daughter.
“Venetia,” her father said, nodding his head once in terse greeting.
“It is good to see you again, Papa…Mama.”
Neither responded, and their exchange of glances indicated how awkward this meeting was for them.
Venetia felt a deep sadness as she gazed upon her parents for the first time in two years, taking in her father’s graying hair, the new lines on her mother’s face, their lips pursed in displeasure. Evidently they still could not pardon her for the unforgivable crime of bringing scandal to their good name, and worse, refusing to recant her public renunciation of Viscount Ackland and marry him.
Rather than converse with Venetia further, Mr. Stratham addressed the earl again. “I confess we were surprised by your sudden marriage, Lord Traherne.”
“Yes, indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Stratham added. “We heard there was a shooting.”
“The shooting by an unknown perpetrator was incidental to our marriage,” Quinn stated brusquely. “I have long admired your elder daughter and was greatly honored when she accepted my hand.”
Brushing off any subsequent quizzing, he asserted that the visit was not made to effect a reconciliation but to discuss how to present a united front with the ton, and that he expected the Strathams to support his own family’s efforts to bring Lady Traherne back into favor. Venetia had never seen Quinn so cold, and his dictatorial manner clearly intimidated her parents.
He concluded with an indictment of their woeful treatment of her. “Would that you had shown the slightest inclination to shield her from her vicious detractors. For that alone Venetia deserves your abject apologies.”
Both Strathams turned red-faced and hastened to stammer contrite apologies, claiming they had merely acted out of concern for Ophelia.
Venetia accepted their explanations graciously, while giving Quinn a grateful glance. It was a novel feeling, knowing he was not only looking out for her and taking her side, but going to battle for her.
Yet her sorrow was only increased. Quinn was right; her parents wouldn’t dare refuse him. Her rift with them, however, would never truly be mended, she realized. They had never been effusive or overly affectionate toward her, but they were her flesh and blood. If they had stood by her two years ago, the harsh judgment of society would have impacted her far less, and now they were only relenting due to coercion.
Venetia ached to think Ophelia would feel similarly. She had been protective of her younger sister since her birth and couldn’t bear the thought of forever being separated.
“I should like to speak to Ophelia if I may,” Venetia said quietly in the uncomfortable silence.
At her father’s hesitation, Quinn intervened in a commanding voice that most mortals would jump to obey. “You will make Miss Stratham available to her, Stratham.”
“Y-yes, certainly, my lord. I will have Ophelia summoned by a servant at once.”
Venetia might have mustered a smile at her father’s alacrity if not for the knots in her stomach at the thought of finally meeting her sister after so long. “I would prefer to see Ophelia alone, if I may.”
“She is in her room,” Mrs. Stratham offered stiffly. Venetia interpreted her mother’s tone to mean they had hidden her there, not wanting to expose their younger daughter to the elder’s shameful tarnish.
Quinn said he would wait here with them in the parlor, then smiled at Venetia and brought her gloved fingers to his lips in an obvious—if false—display of romantic affection. “Take all the time you wish, my love.”
With a forced smile, Venetia excused herself and, with trepidation, climbed the stairs to the floor above. She devoutly hoped it was possible to gain back her former loving relationship with Ophelia.
When she reached her sister’s bedchamber door and rapped lightly, she was swiftly bid entrance. She found her sister half reclining on a chaise longue, reading a book.
“Venetia!” Ophelia exclaimed breathlessly. She rose hurriedly but then stood gazing at her, not speaking.
Venetia did the same, drinking in the sight of her. Ophelia was more slender and not as tall as she, with hair a shade lighter than her own.
Then, with a tremulous smile, Ophelia launched herself across the room into Venetia’s arms. “Oh, dearest sister, I have missed you so dreadfully!”