Page 30 of A Gifted Earl

He did not know the answers to those questions, but the fact that he even asked them of himself troubled him.

Perhaps it was best if he left these thoughts alone, and focussed more on the things he needed to resolve in his own life, rather than wishing to affect someone else!

But still, came the small voice in his mind, there is something between you – there has been, from the first moment that your eyes met hers, as she lay there in blood spattered confusion.

*****

The week had passed quickly, with no further proposals, and, fortunately, without there being any gossip about her refusal of Lord Blatherfort. She suspected that he wished, as much as she did, for it not to become known. After all, to be refused by the woman least likely to receive another offer was something which could easily have brought him significant mockery.

They had packed up and left Hardenwell House with no sadness at the departure – it was no longer a home to them, and removing themselves from Lord Jasper’s proximity was most welcome. The journey had gone well, with no rain, and little mud on the roads, much to their relief. But now, two days later, as they sat in the small office at Brightwood Grange, the estate ledgers open in front of them, Venetia almost wished she was back in London.

She missed being able to go about and enjoy herself – as much as was possible, since her scar – and she missed, most of all, her conversations and dances with Lord Templewick. She missed him, in a way that she had never missed anyone before. It was rather disconcerting, and she was annoyed with herself – he had given no indication of hoping for anything more than friendship, so why did she still dream of him, still hope…

She shook her head, and turned her attention back to the ledgers.

“Mother, is this as bad as I think it is?”

Lady Hardenwell nodded.

“It is indeed bad. This year’s crops have not brought in as much income as we had hoped, for we had to keep enough back for next year’s seed, as well as to feed the tenants, and the horses, through the winter. I will need to look at everything over the next two weeks, and discover where we might make economies, and what we might sell – at the moment, I do not believe that we have funds to take us past early January.”

“Is there anything that I can do to help?”

Her mother looked at her with a most serious expression.

“Pray for a miracle – because I think that we will need one.”

*****

Templewick was quiet. The house seemed huge around them, and felt empty.

While they had been in London, the servants had moved all that remained of his uncle’s, and his family’s, personal possessions into one of the least used guest suites, and begun the refurbishment of a number of rooms. It no longer felt like his uncle’s home, but it did not yet feel like his own.

It was, as he had suspected it would be, a lonely place. He might not have found many of the gentlemen in London particularly convivial, but they had been company, and there had been those conversations with Lady Venetia. He found himself thinking of her frequently, missing her, in a way that he had not expected to.

For the weeks since returning, he’d thrown himself into the process of the refurbishments, into assessing and dealing with the remaining personal effects of his uncle, and into ensuring that the estates were ready for winter, but, all of the time, thoughts of Lady Venetia slipped into his quieter moments.

And those thoughts showed him, quite clearly, just how much he liked her.

Perhaps he should have done more, spent more time with her? The thought appealed, now that it was too late. He was ashamed to admit to himself that his fear of the gossips had kept him from displaying the true interest which he felt in her. That truth shocked him, for he had been many things, but not ever a coward – until now.

He did not know what to do about it, but the knowledge of it, the fact that he had lost the opportunity to spend time with her, because of his own hesitations, grated. It worried away at him, as if demanding that he do something to redress that wrong. He stared into the fire, oblivious to his surroundings, his mind full of Lady Venetia’s face, and the words she’d said when he’d last seen her – about finding a match.

As the words had then, the memory of them sent a sharp pang through his heart. He could not imagine any man of the ton who might offer for her, who would actually be worthy of her.

“Morgan? Did you hear me?”

His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts.

He suspected that she’d been speaking to him for some minutes.

“I… didn’t. I’m sorry.”

She sighed.

“What were you thinking about? You’ve been very pensive since we came back from London – is something wrong? Or… are you pining for something… or someone… left behind in London?”

Startled, he turned and met her eyes.