Gail Eastwood

by An Unlikely Hero

  He pulled Gilbey toward Lord Munslow, casting back a grin. “Not to worry, old fellow. Refreshments will be served on the terrace outside the salon very shortly whether Aunt Alice is here or not. Tradition is tradition, after all.”

  ***

  The twins watched the last footman stagger out of the hall carrying several pieces of Lady Marchthorpe’s baggage. As they followed him into the grand salon behind the hall, Venetia sighed.

  “I hope that is the last of the guests for a while,” she said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. “I have quite completely lost track of who has arrived and who has not, except for Aunt Alice, of course.”

  “We’ve nearly everyone, I think,” Vivian replied. “Lord Amberton, the Upcotts, Lord Munslow, Lord Lindell, the Whitgreaves—”

  “Oh, do stop!” exclaimed her sister, laughing. “You are making my head spin. We had best prepare to feed them all for the first of countless times ahead of us.”

  She paused and looked at Vivian with concern. “Are you quite certain that you are up to this? We have dinner and the entire evening still to get through. Perhaps you should rest. I can pour tea and make your excuses, if you like.”

  Vivian shook her head. “I am fine. Besides, what kind of an impression would it make if I am absent so soon? I’ll be all right.”

  Venetia shrugged and opened one of the French windows that gave access to the terrace outside. “I am just concerned that if you don’t rest until after you are already tired, you will have a more difficult time for these two weeks, Vivi. Please promise me that you will take some time to rest each day.”

  “I promise. I am certain that some of our guests will wish to do the same.”

  Venetia gave an unladylike snort. “Undoubtedly! Father will want every minute to be filled with activity.” She sighed again. “If only he would accept that you—”

  “Never mind about Father right now,” Vivian interrupted, her voice firm. “I shall be fine, and we will get through this. Where shall we have them put the table?” She gestured toward a pair of approaching servants who bore between them a long table already adorned with a snowy linen cover that fluttered in the breeze.

  “Under the tree, there, in the shade,” Venetia directed, pointing to the ancient beech at one corner of the terrace and shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. Turning back to her sister, she added, “Will you want your parasol? Shall I send someone to fetch it?”

  Vivian rolled her eyes heavenward in obvious annoyance, sending a clear message to her sister even before she replied. “Do stop fussing, Netia! I am not a bit tired, I shall sit in the shade under the tree, and if I want my parasol I can certainly send for it myself!”

  Venetia knew that she would have to bury her concern for the time being. In the space of an instant she gave her twin a sheepish smile that begged forgiveness and received an answering one that absolved her. As a steady procession of servants began to supply silver platters filled with cakes, fruit, and cold meats to the table along with brightly polished serving trays, steaming pots of tea, and vast quantities of porcelain teacups and plates, the two young women arranged themselves beside the table ready to do the honors for their guests.

  “Let me see your smile, Netia,” teased Vivian.

  “Let me see yours, Vivi.”

  They made faces at each other and burst into laughter, quite unaware that one of their guests had arrived to join them. Only when Venetia looked up did she notice a thin, somewhat elderly gentleman standing quite still in the doorway.

  “Sh-h! Lord Amberton!” Laughter still lurked in her voice as she nudged her sister.

  The man came forward with a bow. “Ladies, with all candor I must tell you what a delightful picture you present, with your innocent laughter and beauty and surrounded by such a sumptuous feast. I suspect it might be almost too much for a weaker man’s sensibilities.”

  Venetia avoided her sister’s eye, afraid that any exchange between them would free the laughter she suppressed at the man’s fulsome flattery. “Quite clearly you are not overwhelmed, Lord Amberton,” she replied with perhaps a touch too much sweetness. “I’m so glad.”

  He reached for Venetia’s hand and raised it to his lips. “As am I, my dearest, as am I.”

  She thought she detected a glint of challenge in his eyes and snatched her hand back quickly. A wary glance about her reassured her that there were plenty of servants about and that several stood in position near the table, ready to serve the food to any who wished it. Even so, she felt the absence of her father, brother, or aunt quite acutely.

  Her father, she knew, would remain in his study until close to dinnertime. Only then would the duke emerge to preside over their guests. But where was Nicholas? Where was Aunt Alice? Would they leave her and Vivian so unsupervised for the entire two-week party? Surely her family could not hope that one of the invited suitors would trap her or Vivian into a compromising situation and solve the marriage problem once and for all.

  “Some tea, sir?” She did not wish him to see that he discomposed her even slightly. “As you can see, you are the first to descend and join us.”

  “I did not want to wait,” he said in a low, smooth voice that gave his words a suggestive tone.

  Venetia managed to pour his tea with a steady hand and to pass him the cup without flinching, even though he very deliberately pressed his gloved fingers over hers as he took the cup from her. What if all the unattached gentlemen behaved this boorishly? How could she and Vivian stand two weeks of it?

  “I hope you found your accommodations acceptable, Lord Amberton,” Vivian said politely. Twin to the rescue! Venetia shot her a look of gratitude for her obvious attempt to distract the man.

  “Indeed, Lady Vivian, I am quite comfortable. I find I have almost everything a man could possibly wish for, thank you.” His words were quite unexceptional in themselves. It was the emphasis he placed on the word “almost” and the look he directed toward Venetia that made her think his reply seemed exceedingly rude. She began to wish that the other guests—indeed, any of the other guests—would appear quickly.

  “What delights have you ladies in store for us later tonight and tomorrow?” Lord Amberton queried. He took a sip of his tea as if he had only just remembered it was there.

  “I don’t know about ‘delights,’” Venetia replied, fed up with the pretense of courtesy to the fellow. “You’ll be treated to the honor of dining with His Grace this evening, and as I am sure you know, he will not suffer any sort of idiocy. I believe there is to be mutton, onion pie, and—oh, what else was on the menu, Vivian? Some more of that stringy venison we had the other night?”

  Lord Amberton laughed uneasily. “Your sense of humor is well-known, Lady Venetia, ha ha. Stringy venison indeed.”

  Venetia summoned her most exquisitely charming smile and turned the full force of her dramatic, dark-lashed eyes upon the poor man. “Oh, but would I jest with you about such a serious matter? Perhaps you were not aware that my father has very simple tastes.”

  She paused to let her comment take effect. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nicholas approaching. “Tomorrow I think the gentlemen are invited to go swimming while the ladies tour the park.”

  “Swimming?” Lord Amberton blanched. “I—I don’t swim. Do you not think it is a bit early in the season for swimming? A—a bit cold?”

  Vivian joined forces with her sister. “Oh, we do so admire hardy men.”

  “As they do admire men with a fine sense of humor,” said Nicholas as he joined them. He darted a telling look at Venetia. “You may judge for yourself, Lord Amberton, my father’s ‘simple’ tastes.” With a broad sweep of his hands he called to their attention the vast expanse of building that bordered the terrace on three sides, and the gardens and park that extended in front of them as far as the eye could see.

  “Yes, of
course, ha ha,” responded Lord Amberton unhappily. “And swimming?”

  “Is not among the plans for tomorrow, as far as I am aware. We do not generally count pneumonia as something we wish to send home with our guests.”

  Venetia gave her brother a dark look as she turned back to reach for the teapot. “Not generally,” she muttered under her breath. “Tea, Nicholas? In a cup, I mean.”

  “That is how I prefer it, yes, thank you.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned as he reached for the cup.

  As a handful of other guests began to filter out onto the terrace, Lord Amberton retreated to the safety of conversing with them. Watching him go, Venetia shook her head. “This could be the longest two weeks we’ve ever survived.”

  It was a thoughtless statement, an exaggeration that she hadn’t really meant. Six years ago they had suffered through agonizing weeks that had tested them all and still gave her occasional nightmares. She regretted the words as soon as they slipped out of her mouth, but it was too late to recall them.

  “I can remember worse,” Nicholas said, glancing pointedly at Vivian.

  The mood between them was suddenly somber, and Vivian spoke up as if to break it.

  “I am surprised that your friend Lord Cranford did not come down with you, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas sipped his tea. “He is getting settled in his room. I had him put in one of the tower bedrooms. He is likely to become absorbed in studying the design of the place, but I’ve no doubt he will appear soon—Cranford is no slacker when it comes to food.”

  Venetia was relieved to have the conversation move on. “He does not look as if he would have much of an appetite. His interest in architecture is far more obvious.”

  “Why would you say that, Netia? There is nothing wrong with the way he looks. He is slender but he has lovely broad shoulders.”

  How quickly Vivian came to Lord Cranford’s defense! Venetia looked at her in surprise and noticed that Nicholas was looking at her that way, too.

  “Did I say there was anything wrong with him, Vivi? He just looks like an underfed Viking. With spectacles.”

  “Do not underestimate my friend Cranford, ladies,” Nicholas cautioned. “He is likely to surprise you.”

  As if on cue, Venetia’s underfed Viking appeared in the entrance to the terrace, putting an abrupt end to the discussion. Before he could join his hosts, however, he was drawn aside by a matronly woman standing at the edge of a small knot of guests. Venetia noticed that he seemed surprised to be drawn into a conversation.

  “Are you pouring, my dear?”

  “Oh!” Venetia realized with a start that she had utterly failed to notice the approach of Lady FitzHarris and a few other guests seeking tea. “Yes. Yes, of course, Lady FitzHarris.” She busied herself with the task of filling cups. That was easier than asking herself how she could have been so preoccupied with watching Lord Cranford.

  The guests seemed to have become unusually thirsty and Venetia doled out countless cups of tea. It amused her to notice how many people failed to address her or Vivian by name, undoubtedly to be safe in case they had gotten the twins mixed up. She lost track of the minutes and was caught by surprise when she looked up into the face of the next person to discover Lord Cranford. He was smiling and observing her over the top of his small spectacles with his striking blue-green eyes—eyes she had noticed immediately when they had first been introduced in the hall. She wondered if Vivian had noticed them. There had been no time to compare impressions.

  “You are very gracious to be doing the honors, Lady Venetia,” he said politely as she poured for him.

  She gave him a demure smile that she thought would rival one of Vivian’s. “La, sir, are you certain you are addressing the right twin?”

  He studied her for a moment before replying, and she struggled to maintain the look of innocence on her face. Then he leaned over close to her and spoke in the low voice of a conspirator.

  “If you wish to pass as your sister, Lady Venetia, you would do well to disguise the look of mischief in your lovely eyes. It must give you away every time.”

  His closeness and the intimate tone of his voice startled Venetia as much as his words. She felt her pulse leap and was relieved when he straightened and stepped back.

  “I—I will keep that in mind, Lord Cranford.” She had to give him credit for being quite certain, even though he was dead wrong about her ability to masquerade. How surprised he would be if he knew how often she was called upon to use it. “Do you take cream? Sugar? Lemon?” She passed his cup to Vivian even though he shook his head. He had no choice but to follow it and move along down the table.

  ***

  When his plate was fully loaded, Gilbey moved away from the table, prepared to balance his teacup precariously beside his food if anyone approached with whom he must shake hands. However, Nicholas came up to him almost immediately.

  “My sister thinks you look like an underfed Viking,” the duke’s son reported. “She should only see you now.”

  “Which sister?”

  “Venetia.”

  “I should have known.”

  “Yes, and Vivian seems to be ready to leap to your defense at the slightest hint of criticism. You seem to have made an impression on both of them.”

  Gilbey groaned. “That is not good, Nicholas. It would be far better if they had scarcely noticed me at all. What have I done? I’ve barely met them. I will have to try harder to be invisible. I’ll try not to engage in even polite small talk with them.”

  Nicholas hardly seemed to be listening. “It certainly makes things interesting,” he said, almost to himself. He gestured toward the stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace and herded Gilbey in its direction, away from the press of other guests.

  “You know, my friend, a great game is afoot.” He settled himself against the balustrade, looking out at the gardens laid out below. He waved his teacup back and forth, as if pointing out the opponents in an invisible wrestling match. “On one side is my father, determined that my sisters shall put off becoming betrothed no longer. He has decreed that they shall choose husbands from the lot of suitors at this party or forfeit their right to choose at all. On the other side you have my sisters, who have found fault with every man who has ever tried to woo them and who are highly unlikely to bend to my father’s wishes.

  “I want you to know that I am not the only St. Aldwyn who can be stubborn. You are likely to witness a great clash of wills before these two weeks are finished. Throw into the balance each one of the suitors here who thinks he will win one of my sisters, and it makes for an interesting mix, don’t you think? But I confess that I had not anticipated that you might wind up in the middle of it.”

  Chapter Three

  The task of arranging the dinner seating was a delicate one, fraught with potential disaster. Venetia stood at one end of the vast stretch of table that had been put together in the state dining room, absently tapping the small bundle of name cards she held in one hand against the pages of the guest list she held in the other. She stared at the long rows of elegant, empty chairs in the dwindling daylight and tried to envision the guests seated at dinner.

  “Hm, no, I think Lady Upcott next to Lord Whitgreave, instead of Lady Norbridge.”

  Advancing to a position halfway down the table, she extracted a name card from those in her hand and exchanged the card with one already set in place on the table. “Yes, better, but then where to put Lady Norbridge?” She paced along the length of the table, studying the cards she had already put out.

  She was alone. Most of the guests had obligingly gone off with Nicholas for a tour of the house after satisfying their appetites with refreshments on the terrace. She had insisted that Vivian use the opportunity to rest. The room was full of eyes, but all were unseeing, from the heraldic beasts above the chimney mantel t
o the plaster menagerie permanently lurking among the leaves in the sculptured ceiling cornice. As Venetia weighed matters of protocol and preference under their fixed gaze, she fought the temptation to turn everyone’s expectations topsy-turvy.

  She paused when she came to the place marked LORD CRANFORD. She had dutifully placed him at the foot of the table, across from the voluble Colonel Hatherwick and the other unmarried viscount, Lord Newcroft. There was no avoiding the awkwardness of seating the lower-ranked men together—the absence of her aunt and cousin created the dreaded “uneven numbers” of men and women guests at the table.

  Of course, much would be made of who had the good fortune to partner the twins for dinner. Venetia had changed her mind at least three times already over which of the four marquesses among their guests would have that privilege this first night. Would it not be fascinating to see the reactions were she to put Lord Cranford beside her instead? Or perhaps beside Vivian? Her lips quirked into a mischievous smile at the thought. Now there was a test that would quickly reveal a good deal about their guests. Dare she?

  “Ah, Venetia, there you are. Blaine said we might find you here.” The breathless, high-pitched voice of her Aunt Alice, Countess of Colney, arrested Venetia’s hand in midmotion just as it reached for Lord Cranford’s place card.

  Venetia withdrew her hand quickly. “Aunt Alice!” She fished momentarily for an appropriate reply. “You’ve no idea how relieved I am to see you.” That choice safely did not specify. “Did you—?”

  Her question went unfinished. Lady Colney, still slim and attractive in middle age and dressed in a highly fashionable lavender silk pelisse with a bonnet to match, bustled in and quite took charge of the conversation.

  “Oh yes, I’ve a very good idea, my dear. You must have been fretting terribly. Never fear, we are here at last. Never tell me you are only just now arranging your dinner seating? I can imagine you were concerned about our late arrival, but you look to be resetting the places of everyone.” Lady Colney nodded critically at the telltale group of name cards in Venetia’s hand.