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“So much has happened, and we are no longer the young hopefuls we once were.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lady Indigo who was feeding the ducks. Just from the jerky, desultory way the old lady was plucking chunks from the loaf and tossing them into the lake, she could see her employer was becoming peevish and restless. “You can't expect me to trust what I'd once hoped might be here...forever." She touched her heart.
“I married against my inclination, Venetia, when I only wanted you—”
“But you quickly became involved with two other women within months of Dorothea’s death, Sebastian,” she reminded him.
"Venetia." He gripped her shoulders and put his head close to hers. "Venetia, I searched for you for four months! I was a faithful husband to Dorothea because after you persuaded me to marry her, I knew it was the only honorable course for me to follow. If I'd strayed, by god it would only have been if I’d found you and…” He dropped his voice, as he added, “persuaded you to come to my bed.” He paused, meaningfully, before adding softly but with emphasis, “Again."
"Please, Sebastian," she murmured, more distressed than embarrassed.
"Would you have come?" he asked.
"Not if you were a married man. You know that. We both respected Dorothea—and ourselves—too much for that."
"But you loved me enough—back then—to take the greatest risk."
"Except that it was no risk at all, Sebastian." She smiled at the memory of those lust-laden couplings. "I gave myself to you, body and heart, because you persuaded me that if a child were on the way, then your father would relent and permit marriage between us; that his desire for an heir trumped even his desire for a union between Dorothea and yourself."
"You were certainly far from unwilling to take risks back then." Gently he contoured the planes of her cheeks with his thumbs before kissing her again. "Oh Venetia, you cannot know how much I've thought of those times we spent together."
"I can!”
"Were we wrong? Please tell me that I did nothing to harm your reputation?" He regarded her with concern. "What happened, Venetia? Why are you working for that old termagant? Why did you not get snapped up by the next gentleman who would forgo a dowry for a pretty face?” He stopped. “Do you resent me? Is that why you are so reserved?”
"I never resented you. I persuaded you this was best. And as for why I’ve never married, it’s because I’ve never felt for another the way I felt for you." She didn’t mind being honest. It’s what they always had been with one another.
"Feel. Please don't relegate this to the past. But you haven't answered my question." He touched her forehead. "And why bury your loveliness beneath such a hideous bonnet? You turned more heads than just mine. I searched for you, relentlessly, the moment Dorothea had been laid to rest. Finally, I had to assume you'd been whisked down the aisle or to the Continent and to persuade myself that I'd never discover your whereabouts. Do you know how much torment that caused me? No one seemed to know where you were. And now I find you here, looking remarkably nunnish."
"After Papa died, I found it was easier."
"I hadn't got to that. I'm sorry. I must be stupid not to have taken into account the fact you no longer had your father's protection. Or anyone's, for that matter."
"There were others willing to give me their protection though only one prepared to do so honorably." Venetia sighed. "But I cared for none of them. In the end, it was easier to simply try and look as plain as possible and take the position Lady Indigo offered after her nephew died. She’s a distant relative, so I traded my independence for a roof over my head and no more unwelcome advances."
“I’m sorry.” His regret was replaced by a smile. "But now you can leave the old witch's employ and let your hair loose and be mine. Forever." When she didn’t immediately reply, he frowned. "There's nothing else to stop you, surely? It's an honorable offer; I swear. You know the kind of man I am."
"I think I do, Sebastian, but..." She bit her lip. "Lady Indigo has promised to leave me her fortune if I stay and nurse her through wha
t she believes are her last days—"
"Good heavens, how can that compare with my offer? Lady Indigo might give you her fortune? Why, I'll give you whatever you want!"
"It's too soon, Sebastian. I...I think I love you...like I did before. But you told me you’d explain how you came to be involved with Lady Banks and Mrs Compton so soon after Dorothea died."
“Yes, I did.” He glanced across at the lake as if he were reluctant to go into details. Then, turning back to face her, he said, “Lord Banks lost heavily to me at cards one night. He resented having to pay up. But my association with his wife was purely by accident.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
“Her offer was not an innocent game of cards?”
“She wanted me to sell her jewelry.” He sounded hurt at the implied accusation. “Of course, the gossips painted a different picture. And her husband jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion when he found me in her bedchamber. I swear it was innocent, but he was consumed by rage and jealousy, and he challenged me to a duel, there and then.”
“And Lady Banks did nothing to...explain? Or try to stop it?”
Sebastian raised his palms in a gesture of wonder. “No, she did not.”
“And Mrs Compton?”
“Ah, Mrs Compton,” he repeated softly. “Now there was a scheming seductress, if ever I met one.” He looked into her eyes, and asked, “What have you heard about Mrs Compton?”
“I was not exactly fishing for details,” Venetia told him. “Suffice to say that I heard that your…affair was not well tolerated by her husband who wished to divorce her as a result.”
