Venetia (45 page)

He had moved to his own chair, and he now lifted his quizzing-glass to one eye. “Yes, excellent!
A la Sappho,
I fancy.”

“Wretch!” she said, with her infectious chuckle. “Do you know the names of
all
the styles of female coiffure?”

“Most of ‘em, I think,” he replied brazenly. He sat down, letting his quizzing-glass fall on the end of its long ribbon. “What has brought you here, Venetia?”

“The mail coach—and excessively uncomfortable it was!”

“Don’t quibble, girl!”

She smiled at him, saying softly: “Stoopid!”

She won no answering smile; he was looking pale, and rather grim; and after a tiny pause, he said: “I wish to God you had not come!”

“Oh! That’s—that’s a horrid set-down, particularly when it seemed to me that you were glad to see me.”

“I was badly foxed—I’m still a trifle concerned, but no longer out of my senses!”

“Oh, dear, do you mean to kiss me only when you’re foxed?”

“I don’t mean to kiss you at all!” he said harshly.

“Then of course I won’t press you to,” she replied. “Nothing is more detestable than to be pressed to do what one hasn’t the smallest wish to do! I have lately had a great deal of experience of that. I know of only one worse thing, and that is to be beset by well-meaning but perfectly mutton-headed persons who can’t keep from meddling with what doesn’t concern them.”

“Venetia—” He checked himself, as Imber came in, and sat in frowning silence while a bowl of soup was set before her.

“How very good it smells!” said Venetia, picking up her spoon. “Oh, Imber, fresh bannocks? Yes, indeed I’ll take one! Now I
know
I’m at home again!” She turned her head to address Damerel. “My aunt, I must tell you, has a French cook. He contrives the most delectable dishes, but I couldn’t help yearning sometimes for plain Yorkshire food.”

“How do you like London?” he asked, as Imber filled Venetia’s glass with lemonade.

“Not at all. Well, perhaps that is being unjust to it! Under different conditions I think I might have liked it very well.” She added, as Imber left the room: “I was too unhappy, and too lonely to be entertained. I had no one to laugh with, you see.”

He said in a constricted voice: “You felt strange, of course. Were they kind to you, your uncle and aunt?”

“Very kind. Only—well, never mind! I don’t think I can explain it to you.”

“Explain it to me? Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I haven’t missed you every day—every minute?” he demanded impetuously. “And pictured you, sitting just where you are now, as you sat on that first evening, with that smile in your eyes—” He broke off. “Well, you need not explain it to me! I know! But believe me,
believe
me, my dear delight, it will pass!”

“Yes, so you told me, when you said goodbye to me,” she agreed. “My aunt told me so too, and I’ve no doubt my uncle would, for I’m sure he told
you
it would. But what none of you has made at all plain to me is why you should think it a—a
consummation devoutly to be wished
!
However, I don’t mean to be troublesome, so I won’t tease you with questions. Oh, dear, I can hear Imber coming back! I think it would be better if I don’t tell you what brought me here until we can be safe from interruption. I have so many other things to tell you, too! Oh, Damerel, I have seen your cousin! He was at a rout-party, and I heard his name spoken, and nearly disgraced myself by laughing! He is a
splendid
quiz!”

He smiled, but with an effort. “A
quiz
?
Good God, what can you be thinking of? Top-of-the-Trees is Alfred! You should see him when he goes upon the strut! Who is in town? Not many people yet, I fear, but I hope you made a few agreeable acquaintances?”

She responded readily, and continued to chat in an easy, cheerful way, while she ate her supper. Damerel did not say very much, but sat watching her, a queer smile in his eyes which made her long to put her arms round him, because she thought that just so would he smile at a dear memory. When Imber set apples and nuts on the table, and finally withdrew from the room, Damerel said: “And now, Venetia, tell me what happened to make you take this crazy step!”

“I will,” she replied. “But first, my dear friend, I have a question to put to
you
!
Why did you never tell me that my mother wasn’t dead, but very much alive?”

He was cracking a walnut between his long fingers, but he looked up at that, and said: “So you’ve found that out, have you?”

“That,” said Venetia severely, “is not an answer!”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t for me to tell you what you were evidently not meant to know. Who did tell you? Your aunt? Very wise of her! I hoped she would, for you might otherwise have discovered it in a way that could have shocked you.”

“Well, that is precisely how I did discover it! It was certainly a
surprise
to me—but I had almost guessed it before poor Aunt Hendred was compelled to tell me the whole. I saw her at the play, the day before yesterday.”

“The devil!” he exclaimed, frowning. “I thought she was fixed in Paris!”

“So she is,” Venetia answered, holding out her hand for the nut he had just peeled. “Thank you! She was obliged to come to London to have a new riding-habit made. She tells me that no Frenchman can make them as well as an English tailor.”

There was suddenly an arrested look on his face. “She
tells
you? You spoke to her?”

“Spoke to her? Why, of course! I visited her at the Pulteney, and I can’t describe to you how kind she was
—and
Sir Lambert, who, I must say, is the greatest dear! Only fancy! he walked all the way to the top of Bond Street with me, and as though that were not enough he bought this charming brooch for me! Wasn’t it touching of him? He told me that he wished I
was
his daughter, and—”

“I’ve no doubt!” Damerel interrupted wrathfully.

“—and so do I wish it,” continued Venetia serenely, “for my own father I didn’t like half as well!”

“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Damerel, “that your aunt had no more gumption than to permit you to do what any but a greenhead would have known was enough to set every gossiping tongue wagging? Oh, my God!”

“You must meet my aunt,” said Venetia. “I am persuaded you would deal wonderfully together, for I see you have exactly the same notions! Do you know, it had me quite in a puzzle—before I knew about my mother, I mean—to understand why Aunt was for ever telling me that I must be excessively correct and prim, because of my
circumstances
?
And though she was bent on finding me a respectable husband I could see that she thought it would be a very hard task. It seemed odd to me, for I’m not an
antidote,
and I’m not by any means penniless. I saw how it was, of course, when I learned the truth about Mama. I must own, Damerel, that I wish you had been frank with me—but I daresay you felt you could not.” She added reflectively: “No, to be sure you couldn’t! It was a most awkward fix to be in!”

“What the
devil
do you mean by that?” Damerel shot at her, in a voice ominous enough to cause any female to quail.

Venetia showed him a face of sweet innocence. “Why, only that I do understand how very difficult—quite impossible, in fact!—it was for you to explain that for a Damerel to marry a daughter of Lady Steeple would
never
do. I think now that you did try, once or twice, to give me a hint, but—”

“Tried to—How dare you?” he said furiously. “How
dare
you, Venetia? If you imagine that I let you go because I thought you beneath my touch—”

“But that must have been the reason!” she objected. “I know you bamboozled me into believing that it was you who were beneath
my
touch, and that was kind, and very like you, my dear friend—but perfectly absurd, now that I know how shockingly ineligible I am!”

He half started up from his chair. She thought she was going to be seized, and, probably, well shaken, and waited hopefully. But he sank back again, and although he eyed her bodingly she saw that the wrath had vanished from his eyes. “You don’t think anything of the sort, my girl,” he said dryly. “Whether your aunt—who sounds to me to be a confirmed ninny-hammer!—put it into your head that your parents’ divorce makes you ineligible, or whether it’s a notion you’ve hatched for my benefit, I know not, but you may now listen to me—and believe that I am speaking the truth! There’s no man worthy to be called a man at all, who, knowing you, and loving you, would care a tinker’s damn for that fustian nonsense! Ask your uncle, if you think I’m lying to you! He’ll tell you the same. Good God, do you imagine that no one was ever divorced before? Anyone would suppose your mother to have joined the muslin company who heard you talk such moonshine, instead of which she has been married to Steeple these fifteen years!”

“Well, I must say that that takes quite a load from my mind,” Venetia told him gratefully. “And it brings me to the reason why I came home. I
knew
you would be able to advise me! Of course, Aubrey is the chief person I must consult, but he isn’t old enough to be able to
advise
me. Damerel, I have received an offer, and I am not perfectly sure whether I should accept it, or not. It’s not what I wish for, but I think I should prefer it to living alone—wasting, my life, you called that, and perhaps you were right.”

He said in a hard voice, and rather hastily: “If this offer comes from Yardley, I can’t advise you! I should have said— the last man alive to—But you know best what will suit you!”

“From Edward? Good gracious, no! How could you think it possible I should want advice about an offer from him?”

“I don’t—that is, I know he followed you to London. He came here to tell Aubrey. I didn’t see him.”

“He did follow me to London,” agreed Venetia. She heaved a mournful sigh. “He has been mistaken in my character, however, and I daresay he is even now on his way back to Netherfold. It is a
very
lowering thought, but I’ve been as good as
jilted,
Damerel! I expect, in the end, he will offer for Clara Denny.”

“Is this another attempt to hoax me?”

“No, no! You see, he
does
care about divorce, and although, after struggling against his judgment for several years, he yielded to his infatuation, believing me to have delicacy, under my levity—”

“Venetia, even Yardley
could
not talk like that!” he protested, his lip quivering.

Her laughter bubbled over. “But he did, I promise you! He was strongly of the opinion that I should give my mama the go-by, you see, and—and he took the most unaccountable dislike to Sir Lambert!”

“Oh, he did, did he?” retorted Damerel, regarding her with grim appreciation. “He’s an insufferable coxcomb, but as for you, fair torment—!”

“Well, I see nothing to take exception to in Sir Lambert!” she declared. “Only wait until you learn how
very
kind he is! You see, the offer I spoke of was from
Mama
!”

“What?”

“I don’t wonder you are astonished: I was myself—but so very much touched! Only think, Damerel! She invites me to go back with them both to Paris, and to remain with them for as long as I like—and with Sir Lambert’s
full
approval! I own, I can’t help but be tempted: I have always longed to travel, you know, and Mama talks of going to Italy in the spring.
Italy
!
I don’t think I can resist!”

“Venetia, you are doing it very much too brown!” he said, breaking in on this without ceremony. “I know your mama! She would no more invite you to take up residence in her hotel than she would shave off her eyebrows!”

Quite prepared for this scepticism, Venetia said anxiously: “Oh, Damerel, do you think she didn’t mean it after all?”

“I think she never so much as dreamed of inviting you to visit her, my love!”

“But she
did
!”
Venetia assured him. “It was because I told her of my scheme to set up house with Aubrey. She was quite as horrified as ever you were, and said I might as well bury myself. She says it wouldn’t do for me to live with her in England, but that abroad people are not so strait-laced, so that—But read her letter for yourself!”

Looking thunderstruck, he took the letter she had extracted from her reticule, and spread it open. He cast her a suspicious glance, and then lowered his eyes to Lady Steeple’s charmingly written missive. He read it, heavily frowning, twice, before he again looked at Venetia. He was still suspicious, but she could see that he was shaken. “Venetia, how the
devil
did you persuade her to write this?” he asked.

“Well, you
see
what persuaded her to write it!”

“That is exactly what I do
not
see! Aurelia Steeple in a fret because you told her—Oh, for the Lord’s sake, Venetia, don’t ask me to swallow
that
fling! I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but if this isn’t a hoax I hope you know that under no circumstances must you join
that
manage!”

She said apologetically: “No, I fear I don’t. I see that it wouldn’t be a wise thing to do if my ambition were to become one of those tonnish females whom my aunt describes as being
of the first consideration,
but as it isn’t—”

“Stop talking like the greenhead you are!” he said sternly. “You know nothing about the Steeples’ world! Well, I do know—none better!—and if I thought that this was anything but a hum—” He stopped abruptly, raising his head a little.